The Baraboo River flows approximately 100 miles from its headwaters near Hillsboro, WI to its confluence with the Wisconsin River south of Portage. Its watershed encompasses 650 square miles, or about 415,000 acres. Through its course, the Baraboo drops over 150 feet in elevation. However, forty-five feet of that gradient occurs in a four to five mile stretch of the river through the City of Baraboo. This concentration of relatively steep gradient was recognized by early white settlers for its potential to generate mechanical power and became known as the “Baraboo Rapids.” In 1837 settlers began displacing Native American inhabitants and soon thereafter constructed the first of five dams on the river. From the mid- to late nineteenth century the dams were the life and economic engine that drove the local economy, powering grist, lumber, and other essential milling enterprises. – wdnrWhich in the end meant that within just a few mile section the Baraboo was damned in 3 different places. And this is where our little town grew. You can probably imagine the battle when the Department of Natural Resources decided to have them all removed. The last of the old dams came down in 2001. Certainly the big, wide, carp-filled river we all knew is gone. But on the other hand the recovery of wildlife and diversity of fish species has progressed at an amazing pace. For paddlers we now have nearly 100 miles of open river. The Baraboo is now a quiet mostly shallow river with moments of class II conditions just to keep paddlers from going totally asleep. Frankly, in these last few drier years, you do have to take a white water boat to get any kind of enjoyment out of the rapids. Anything bigger just runs right through them without noticing or ends up stuck on a rock. One can only hope for rain.

I spent most of yesterday practicing boat control, jumping from eddy to eddy across the river and back again. Then within moments I’d be sliding back down the big sleepy section watching the birds above and the snow melt along shore. Then I’d focus again as the next little drop approached and try to choose a line that wouldn’t strand me on some little mound of gravel in the middle of the river. At one point, which is certainly the biggest drop in the river, I totally over shot my goal and spent a couple minutes crab-walking my boat until it floated freely again. In times of higher water this little section could throw up some nice rooster tails but now the river funnels into nothing more than a speedily little escalator that sends you right into that stupid sandbar if you’re not careful. From there the river is pretty quiet for the next few miles as you travel past the Ringling Circus Museum, through residential areas, and out into farmland to the final take out along highway 113. Amazingly, this is only the second time I’ve every paddled our little river. I drive by it all the time and could if I chose, paddle it almost daily. But that familiarity, and of course the lack of water, certainly breed contempt. But it’s not a bad little river either. I guess I’ll have to do it more often.

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