A Winter Cruise

If there was ever a day made for a winter cruise, January 31 was it. For weeks I had been itching to get on the water, scouring the weather forecasts in search of a warmup. More specifically, I’d been itching to get out on the Mississippi River in the Twin Cities—a year-round passion I have cultivated for the past quarter century.

My enthusiasm for winter boating is not widely shared. During summer I rarely have trouble finding a friend to join me on a river outing. But come winter such invitations typically elicit a polite no-thanks, or a less polite no-thanks with eye roll.

I get it: For a lot of people, the idea of boating in Minnesota in January is akin to the idea of sledding in June. How? Where? Why? But therein lies part of the appeal. In my years of cruising the Mississippi during winter, I have found that I often have the river to myself. This isolation, especially in the metropolitan context, can be sublime.

Mid-January had brought a cold spell, but it didn’t last. By the last day of the month, record warmth enveloped the region. Temperatures in the Twin Cities soared to an astonishing 55 degrees. The Mississippi River is highly responsive to such sudden warmups. While Minnesota’s lakes tend to remain frozen once winter arrives, the river often cycles in and out of frozen states during the season. In certain reaches—especially below dams or near the warm water discharge points of power plants—the urban river stays open during all but the coldest periods.

Before hitching up my trailer and boat—a modest rig consisting of a 16-foot aluminum V-hull, purchased off Craigslist for $900 and powered by a reliable 20 horsepower outboard—I scouted the available launches. I live in northeast Minneapolis, so the most convenient spot for me is Boom Island Park, which lies just above St. Anthony Falls across the river from downtown Minneapolis.

When I arrived at Boom Island, the river looked inviting and navigable. But the ramp, which is tucked in a protected harbor, remained ice locked. It would be folly to attempt to unload there. A few miles upriver, in north Minneapolis’ Camden neighborhood, I investigated another option: the launch at North Mississippi Regional Park. There, I found the river was mostly ice covered, with just a ribbon of open water in the main channel. An intimidating obstruction—big slabs of jagged ice that had formed a jam—loomed above the Camden Bridge.

So I committed to Plan C: the launch at Hidden Falls Regional Park, just below Lock and Dam 1 in St. Paul. When I am looking to boat in the winter, I often wind up there because the relatively swift current tends to keep the river ice free at times when other areas remain frozen.

Known as Pool 2, this is the first section of the urban Mississippi that I really explored and fished. Although I now spend more time on the river above St. Anthony Falls, a return to Pool 2 is always nostalgic—a bit like a visit to the old hometown.

When I began my explorations of Pool 2, I was strictly a shore-based angler. Usually, I would hike down to the mouth of Minnehaha Creek, just below Lock and Dam 1, and toss night crawlers into the current. The fishing was often good, and it was no secret—it could get too crowded for my liking. I found myself eyeballing passing fishing boats with growing envy, dreaming about the big fish that were finning about in waters beyond my casting range.

It wasn’t long before I succumbed and acquired my first “city boat,” a cheap fiberglass tri-hull, trailer, and 15 horsepower outboard. Soon I was spending two, three, or four evenings a week on Pool 2. As fall turned to winter during my first year of boat ownership, I kept heading out when conditions allowed. The trips weren’t as frequent as in the warm months, nor did they last as long. But I discovered that Pool 2 remained a viable boating option for much of the winter. In a fishing log, I recorded 16 straight months in which I managed to get on the water at least once a month.

When I arrived at Hidden Falls last January 31, the conditions were spectacular. There was not a wisp of wind. The sky was a cloudless and cobalt blue. As I took it in, I was gobsmacked. The spell snapped when it occurred to me that I had forgotten to bring a crucial tool: my spud bar. A spud bar, a heavy steel chopper with a chisel tip, is a very handy thing when you are dealing with boats and ice. Oftentimes, the river will be mostly ice free, except for an ice shelf adhered to the ramp. The easiest way to deal with such an impediment involves the spud bar, some vigorous labor, and, usually, a bit of cursing.

I was lucky. It turned out that somebody had chiseled away just enough of the ramp ice to accommodate the width of my trailer. After dropping the boat into the swirling current, I parked the truck, scampered back to the boat, and fired up the motor.

Then I trolled up the river. As a general rule, I like to go upstream in the winter. If the motor fails, I can paddle back to the launch with the aid of the current. Another rule: When I am boating in winter, I operate at low speeds. The most obvious reason: When you go fast, you get cold in a hurry, even when you’re bundled up. Also, during warm periods, whatever ice sheets remain on the river tend to break free from shore. If you don’t see an ice floe and run into one at 20 mph, the best-case scenario is some serious boat damage.

As I was putt-putting upstream toward the dam, I took in familiar yet not-familiar sights. In summer, the shoreline of Pool 2 is extremely leafy. The river can feel like an emerald tunnel. Absent leaves, the architecture of the grand old cottonwoods that line its banks somehow seems more impressive. The contours of the land, with its high, rocky bluffs, becomes more apparent, too. I spotted a couple of eagle nests as I trolled toward the dam.

I could make out evidence of the last high-water event, a multitude of shredded plastic bags entangled in low-hanging tree branches. It is astonishing to contemplate how much higher the river here gets in flood conditions. It made the winter river feel docile.

I inspected a solid ice shelf in the vicinity of the lock, a spot where there is scant current. It looked stout enough to walk on. When I goosed the throttle and kicked up a wave, the ice undulated and a big chunk broke loose. Evidently it was not stout enough to walk on.

Returning to the current, I circled around the downriver side of the little nameless island that sits below the dam. One March day two decades ago, I was fishing in this exact spot when I reeled up a strange-looking, 12-inch-long creature. As I was removing the hook, I noticed the slimy thing had legs! It was a mudpuppy, a fully aquatic salamander I have not encountered before or since. The weirdness of that moment came back in a vivid rush of memory.

After poking around, I decided to head back downriver, past the mouth of Minnehaha Creek and the Hidden Falls boat launch. On this part of the river, at this hour, during this time of the year, the angle of the afternoon sun leaves the west side of the river—Minneapolis—completely shaded, while the St. Paul side is bathed in light. I stuck to the sunny side and trolled down to the confluence with the Minnesota River. The Minnesota’s muddy waters formed a sharp crease where they merged with the clear-running Mississippi.

I spotted a pair of eagles soaring over Pike Island. The nesting season was underway. Soon eaglets would hatch. As I trolled through a maze of trapezoidal ice floes, I could feel that spring was not far away, either. 

• Wear a life jacket.
• Let someone know your plan for the day, should anything go wrong.
• Even on warmer winter days, the water temperature will remain dangerously cold, and boaters should dress and plan for it. Your life jacket can help keep you warmer.
• Keep a cell phone with you to be able to call for help. Plan for the unexpected.