Paddling the Au Sable River – Again
(Editor’s Note - Michigan’s
Au Sable River and its nearby neighbor, the Manistee River, bisect northern
Michigan as the headwaters of each river nearly touch in the center of the
state and then flow east to Lake Huron (Au Sable) and west to Lake Michigan
(Manistee). Local Indians used the rivers for centuries as their highway across
the peninsula on their way to either coast. After the end of the lumbering era
in Michigan, the denuded river shores and surrounding lands were virtually
worthless allowing a pair of enterprising brothers to purchase huge tracts of
land and build a dam at the lower end of the Au Sable. The Foote brothers used
the dam’s power to make electricity using a dynamo, that new-fangled machine
that Michigander Thomas Edison had developed. The project was such a success
that other wealthy lumbermen who owned large tracts of land along the river
imitated the Foote brothers and created an additional four dams on the Au Sable.
The result was the formation of Consumers Power, one of Michigan’s leading
power companies, and the subsequent development of the Huron-Manistee National
Forest.)
Marjorie and I paddled the 126 mile-long Au Sable River
about 10 years ago during our annual canoe trip. This year we planned to repeat
the trip in the company of our two sons, their wives, and two grandchildren
ages seven and nine. After lengthy discussions, we decided that the only way to
keep two little girls occupied during long stretches of paddling was to allow
them to help paddle. This may have been a faulty decision. Ultimately, the
decision about them helping paddle provoked another decision; we would rent
four canoes to carry our party of six adults and our gear and the two little
ones with the provisions they needed. I drew the short straw: I was assigned to
paddle with one of the little girls (one canoe) while my son had the other
child (2nd canoe) and wife Marjorie paddled with their mom in the
third canoe. Son #2 and his wife paddled the fourth canoe, all of which were
loaded with food and camping gear for five days of camping in the
Huron-Manistee National Forest.
We knew from our prior trip that paddling in the ponds
created by the dams makes the trip considerably more difficult since these areas
have virtually no current flow making progress slower and paddling longer.
Accordingly, we decided to skip the first section of the river and the first
pond thereby reducing the trip by 49 miles and eliminating one pond and one
portage. Our trip with the two grandchildren would be a mere 77 miles, about 45
river miles and 32 pond miles along with four portages to carry our gear. We
would end our week long excursion at Michigan’s east coast at the port city of
Oscoda.
We began our trip at the canoe livery in Mio, Michigan just
past the first dam. Everyone was in high spirits, especially the little girls.
Just before we left I asked the owner of the livery about how many people make
the trip to Oscoda as we had planned. He waited to answer until he and I were alone.
“I rent canoes to
quite a few people for that trip, but most don’t make it,” he said. I decided
not to pursue the matter further, especially since he didn’t know about our
grandchildren paddling in two of the canoes.
So we began. It was a big adventure the first dozen miles or
so and then, you guessed it, the little girls lost interest in paddling and
their dad and I became solo paddlers in canoes loaded with gear and little
girls sitting in the front of our canoes. He and I made up the rear guard of
our four-canoe flotilla (the grunt section) while the two boats ahead seemed to
be merrily shooshing along. My granddaughter and I decided that it wasn’t our
fault we were last; we were certain we had been given the slowest canoe in the
livery – we named her ‘ol slowpoke.’
The first day was mostly river paddling. It was pleasant to
paddle through the clear, cool water and watch kingfishers and the occasional
Great Blue Heron lifting from the water. Nevertheless, it was a relief when we
reached our first campsite and pitched our tents. (The Mrs. and I, as seasoned
veterans of vacation trips involving paddling and camping, have learned to take
our pleasures seriously – we pack the essentials for cocktail hour even when
camping). Evening cocktails were especially pleasant that day after the long
paddle - even when sitting on the ground. As I struggled to get upright after sitting
on the ground, I was struck by just how much
gravity had increased since our trip 10 years earlier. I didn’t know things
like that happened.
The second day was a little more difficult than the first as
we encountered the first of four ponds, the Alcona Pond and the absence of
moving water to help carry us forward. Alcona is just over two miles long and
forms a large U from its beginning to its dam on the east end. Along each bank of
Alcona were campgrounds filled to capacity with campers at their ease. I could
see and hear them chatting amiably as they sat in lawn chairs next to their
luxury travel trailers and RV’s, enjoying campfires, gazing at the water and
wondering about the fools paddling in the center of the pond. I tried to ignore
them as I gritted my teeth and paddled onward, urging my granddaughter to dip
her paddle occasionally. It was impossible not to think about my own
perfectly comfortable RV sitting idly in my driveway at home, and I wondered
more than once why I was paddling a heavy boat when I could have been
watching some other fool paddle.
As all portages are, the Alcona portage was a grunt. Moving
our gear and canoes from the pond to the river meant climbing up the 30 foot
high impoundment then down the reverse side to a trail leading to the backside
of the dam and its discharge of water to the river. I made four trips in
carrying the canoe and the heavy rubber Duluth bags that contained our gear,
including my carefully packed ingredients for the next cocktail hour. The bag
was heavy, but there were some things I wasn’t willing to sacrifice. At the
portage I was thrilled to show my granddaughter a beautiful brown mink that
scampered along the shore as we climbed into our canoe.
One hour of paddling
past the portage brought us to a campground along the river where we decided to
camp. The Huron-Manistee campsites are primitive and most are perched on high
ground next to the river. There are no handrails or steps. The best we
encountered were tree roots protruding from the gravely soil that allowed a
purchase when crawling to the top of the steep embankment. After paddling, no
one complained of the climb although I admit to a few mumbled profanities as I
struggled upward with forty pounds on my back and the need to climb back down
for a second and third trip.
The dinner of dehydrated food moistened with river water followed by
hot coffee and pudding restored us. The scenery was sensational as we
looked out over the river to a stunning orange sunset. Tuckered out, we
climbed in our tents to the sound of a barred owl who persisted in asking, “Who
cooks for you?” Even he gave up as night fell. I remember drifting off to sleep
even though the ground was hard and lumpy. Unfortunately, we had pitched our tent so that
our heads were on the downward slope. We had to get up in the middle of the
night to change ends to prevent our blood from rushing to our heads and causing
an explosion – an unseemly event in the middle of a forest campground.
The next two days were a repeat of the first except that my
granddaughter gave up paddling earlier in the day. As we entered the sluggish
water of Five Channels Pond on the third day, I tried a little deceit to encourage
her. Surrounded by acres of cattails on either shore, and trailing the other
canoes, I promised to tell a story.
"But," I said, "this special story can only
be heard by people who are paddling."
That worked for a while, but ultimately the
story became so tedious that she didn’t care and she laid down her paddle. Next, I tried using the technique
that the old French voyagers used; singing in unison to a paddling cadence.
Unfortunately, I only know two songs that you can paddle to and “99 Bottles of
Beer on the Wall” becomes paralyzing after all 99 bottles have fallen.
When we reached the six-mile-long Cooke Pond the fourth day
and its promise of wind and waves against my feeble paddling, I became a little
more desperate: I offered her money for paddling. It worked, although as time
passed I was forced to up the ante. I think I got to a $100 bribe for 15
minutes of paddling before we reached the end of the pond. I didn't tell anyone about the money and I hope she has forgotten.
On our last day of paddling, we passed through Foote dam and
then re-entered the river for the final 10 mile push to Oscoda. Here we encountered
a number of other paddlers who were out for a pleasant and leisurely Friday
afternoon float in the clear water with sandy beaches on several shorefronts .
We passed most of these floaters as we pursued our schedule of meeting our
outfitter who had promised to pick us up in Oscoda by 3:00 PM. One of the
‘floaters’ asked where we had come from as we passed by. When he heard we had
been on the river for four days, he asked “On purpose?”
None of us knew how to respond. I was afraid my four day beard
and stained and wrinkled clothes might frighten folks so I paddled on silently.
Suddenly, there were homes along the river. We passed under an abandoned
railroad bridge and the sound of automobiles assaulted us. We had reached
Oscoda. The outfitter was waiting for us and we let the young man load our
canoes and gear for the hour-long ride back to Mio in his van. I joined the
granddaughters in a nap on the ride home. Some things are important regardless
of your age. It was a good trip, again.
