In which we go canoe camping

Three things I learned while wandering down a river

Glamping, this is not.

My Labor Day weekend wandering was a trip down the Wisconsin River in a canoe. Scot and I met up with friends in Wisconsin Dells. We loaded our canoes with tents, sleeping bags, dry bags, a cooler full of food, water, and beer.

We put in at the south end of the Dells around noon on Sunday. The first five minutes we enjoyed the beautiful and strange towering rock formations the Dells are famous for. Airboats loaded with tourists, the Wisconsin Dells famous amphibious Duck boats, and noisy jet skis buzzed around us.

But within a mile, the river widens and runs so shallow that the only boat traffic is kayaks and canoes. We had the wilderness to ourselves. We soon spotted a bald eagle soaring on the wind above us.

Our group of ten people (plus one dog) paddled along. We stopped once to have a snack and rest, then pushed on. Thankfully a tailwind and the river’s current assisted our efforts.

Late afternoon brought us to a large sandbar about nine miles down river, where we beached the canoes and unloaded to make camp for the night. We gathered driftwood and sticks for a fire to cook over. We pitched tents and a few of us braved a plunge in the river to cool off. (This was not a camp ground but just public land where we camped. It has no bathroom facilities or trash cans; we had to haul our garbage out the next day and leave no trace of our visit.) The sun slowly set over the river.

Each of us had brought food to share. I had made foil packets with potatoes, peppers, onion, garlic, and butter, which we nestled in the coals. Jeff brought corn on the cob, which we also cooked over the fire in the husks. Marie had made pasta, and a fresh raw tomato sauce—delicious. We each brought meat to cook as well. Jerry brought eggs and bagels which we made for breakfast the next day.

This group just clicked—everyone helped out. We all laughed together, got along well. That made the trip even more enjoyable.

We were roughing it, but not entirely isolated. Though we were camping in the middle of a river, we could still hear the not-so-distant hum of Interstate 90, which runs parallel to the river a few miles away. A train whistle occasionally broke through the night air. And we happened to be camping near a group of sandhill cranes, who were up rather late partying across the river from us, squawking their dinosaur like calls. I have to admit, my sleep wasn’t exactly restful. Even so, being outdoors is transformative.

The next morning, we made breakfast, including delicious hot coffee (our friend Tim brings a tiny camp stove and a French press because after sleeping on the ground when the overnight low was 47 degrees, hot coffee is just necessary). We let the dew on our tents dry, then packed them up and loaded the canoes. We didn’t hurry.

We paddled another nine miles or so, then stopped and pulled the boats out at a small boat launch. The folks from Rivers Edge, where we’d originally launched, sent a van to pick us and our canoes up.

The whole trip (not including the three-hour drive to Wisconsin Dells) was less than 30 hours. But it felt both exhausting and exhilarating. So little happened, and yet so much unfolded. I highly recommend canoe camping, if you get the chance.

On this, my second canoe camping adventure (we went with the same group on the same trip last Labor Day), I learned a few things. I suppose you don’t have to go canoe camping to figure them out, but for me, it helped. Travel of any kind gets us out of our routine, forces us to look at our lives from a different angle. It has the power to transform us. So here’s just three things I learned from this particular trip.

One. I can do hard things. Paddle a canoe. Set up a tent. Forage for firewood. Our campsite had no, um, facilities. Sleep on the ground, pee on the ground (hopefully not the same exact ground). Cook over an open fire. Untether myself from my phone. Doing these things makes you feel powerful, capable. Like if you can do this, you can do other hard things.  

Two. I can enjoy travel with my husband. As my regular readers know, I like to travel solo. Mostly, I prefer it. But I do sometimes travel with my husband of 33 years, Scot. Stepping away from our normal routine helps us to appreciate one another. I’m learning that he enjoys travel that focuses on nature, particularly water. He grew up spending his summers on a lake. He is happiest when he’s on a boat, especially a sailboat. But a canoe or kayak or motorboat is fine, too. Put him on or near water and he’s a happy camper. (He’s also thrifty so he liked that this trip was extremely inexpensive.) We enjoyed time together, working as a team.

Three. I can find beauty all around me. And noticing beauty is necessary for our spiritual and mental health. Though this trip took us down a river that wasn’t far from civilization, we saw bald eagles and cormorants, turtles and fish. At night, the stars were breathtaking, spread like a garment from horizon to horizon. The pace of this trip was unhurried—which I think that has something to do with noticing beauty. When we rush, we miss the beauty that is not just on a canoe trip but right in front of us every day. Paddling down the river at a leisurely pace, letting the gentle current pull us along, watching for sandbars or logs, we did not multitask. I did not check my phone or have any chore besides paddling and enjoying the scenery. Canoeing forces you to be fully present, to live in the moment. When we slow down, and unplug, we can notice beauty that our hurry steals from us. What a gift to give yourself.

Camping, especially camping this rustic, is not for everyone. But you might be surprised at what you can manage, especially for a short trip. There is something about sleeping outdoors, cooking outdoors, eating outdoors, that connects us with something elemental. In the challenge of doing hard things, I feel connected to the strength that God provides. In the context of community, I connect with Love. In the beauty of creation, I connect with the Creator.