Nature’s Ways on Illinois’ Busy Waterway
Without doubt, I am attracted to rivers because of their connections to faraway places. Rarely do I look upon the Illinois River, for example, without imagining its headwaters in Chicago and its waters flowing to the Mississippi River and eventually the Gulf of Mexico. And the river valley is a hotspot for bird life, with certain species conjuring up images of fantastically distant locations, from South America to the Arctic Tundra. This sense of time and distance seems even more the case in a quiet canoe, lazily floating along with the current. The connection to the landscape is quite palpable.
Yet the Illinois River is not without its challenges. Huge towboats that push numerous barges (towboat-barges) ply its waters throughout the year transporting vast loads of commodities such as grain and coal, which may have ultimate destinations throughout the world. In the summer months, its main channel is an adult playground for the full spectrum of motorboats, from swift personal watercraft to wave-producing cruisers to partying pontoon boats. A daydreaming canoeist could easily be swallowed up in a noisy whirlpool of confusion.
Seven miles downstream from Havana, however, one may find respite. Here is six-mile-long, privately-owned Grand Island. Such large islands are rare in the Illinois River; most are much shorter and quite narrow. Though the island is not open for public access, along Grand Island’s eastern flank is an Illinois River side channel called Bath Chute. Access is from the main river on the upstream and downstream ends of the island and from a public boat ramp in the small river town of Bath. In Bath Chute, it is possible to return to nature’s pace, where seeing a soaring red-tailed hawk may be the highest priority rather than being swamped in a three-foot swell, or precariously riding out boat-generated waves in deeper water, like an aquatic rodeo.
Canoeing the natural river setting of Bath Chute.
The word "chute" implies fast-moving water down a steep, narrow incline. But the current in Bath Chute is usually sluggish. At Bath’s boat ramp, one late September morning, I reviewed the options. One option would be to float four miles downstream to the lower end of Grand Island, and then paddle back against the weak current. Another option would be to circumnavigate the island, at least a 12-mile trip, six of which would be along the main Illinois River. From experience, I knew that this could be a tough trip if the wind picked up and if the river were busy. With a goal of being off the river well before noon, I decided to follow Bath Chute upstream, against the current, two miles to the Illinois River at the head of Grand Island. The return trip would be an easy float.
After paddling a short distance upstream from the boat ramp, where the channel gently curves to the northwest, the riverside residences of Bath were soon left behind. The natural settings on both sides of the channel shifted my mind away from the modern world, to an earlier time when the rest of the river looked similar to what I was then seeing. The gently meandering channel almost had a hypnotic effect, where I would occasionally switch back and forth to either side of the channel to stay on the inside of the curves, for slower water or to dodge wind gusts.
Here the floodplain forests are extensive and thick, with tall cottonwood, green ash, and silver maple trees that hang over the channel margins and provide habitat for a diverse bird community. I occasionally saw pileated and red-headed woodpeckers flying over the channel, and heard them calling several times throughout the day. At one point, a barred owl sounded off one call and then went silent. Carolina wrens sang throughout the day, as they tend to do at all times of the year, sometimes making fall days seem like spring. And tree swallows, perhaps bound for the Mexican coast, stocked up on energy (i.e., insects) for the long flights ahead.
Log jams along the banks and sunken trees in the middle of the meandering channel add to the natural aspect of Bath Chute. On several occasions a single branch extending above the waterline from a sunken tree, referred to as a "sawyer," bobbed up and down because of the current flow. The sunken trees or snags provide good structure for fish habitat, especially in a muddy stream such as the Illinois, and turtles use the logs to bask in the sun. Our rivers originally had great quantities of such woody debris before the rivers were cleared for navigation. Bath Chute makes it easy to imagine what the Illinois River used to look like before the steamboat era.
Although there are times when Bath Chute can be a bit busy with anglers, this trip was typical of my usual experience of quiet days, especially in the fall and spring. The occasional john boat may quickly pass, with the driver typically slowing down for canoeists, but there are long stretches of time with only the sounds of the wind, birds, and the canoe paddle slicing through the water. During one such time, I found a place to wedge the canoe between a few branches of a sunken tree, and sat back to read a book and scan the skies.
On late September days, it is not uncommon to see hundreds of American white pelicans in migration, spiraling upward on air thermals to great heights, far beyond sight of the unaided eye. While my canoe was secured against the snag, I glanced at several such "pelican thermals," and noticed about ten broad-winged hawks rising on another nearby thermal. If conditions are right, great numbers of these hawks may take to the skies at once, creating quite an impressive sight. These birds overwinter as far as southern Peru or Brazil. A spotted sandpiper, walking and foraging on a log, completed the feeling of being connected to both hemispheres; they breed as far north as the high arctic and winter as far south as Argentina.
On Bath Chute, secured among the snags.
After sitting for a while, I carefully lifted myself from the bottom of the canoe and continued paddling toward the Illinois River. My movements caused a belted kingfisher to call and take flight, and several great blue herons and great egrets spooked as I passed. Some of the herons would remain all winter, but the egrets would move to the Gulf Coast and beyond.
The upstream end of Grand Island, river mile 113.3.
A towboat-barge was passing upstream as I neared the head of Grand Island at river mile 113.3 (i.e., that many miles from the Mississippi River). In its wake, I ventured across the open river, which seemed quite large compared with the chute. An osprey, somewhat resembling a gull in flight just as the field guides state, leisurely flew southward, closely following the river. And there were numerous blue-winged teal, mallards, and wood ducks flying in all directions. But while the bird life was exciting, my attention and exertion were focused on the canoe as the wind began picking up speed and gusting, creating small whitecaps, and turning the canoe in the wrong direction if my thoughts became diverted for even a second.
Eventually reaching the river’s opposite bank, I beached the canoe and hiked to the top of a high levee that parallels the river all the way to Havana. Parts of the levee are lined with piles of boulders (rip-rap) as protection from wave action during floods. Beyond the levee, rich farmlands stretched for miles. The river valley bluffs were clearly visible three miles to the west, and the Spoon River bluffs with Dickson Mounds Museum were visible ten miles northward. Though my thoughts were focused on nature and how the river used to be, seeing the museum and recalling its fine archaeological exhibits reminded me that human societies had occupied this river valley for thousands of years. Once again, the river is the common thread, weaving time and distance with the day’s experiences.
Out of harm's way on Grand Island.
Ancient civilizations, Peruvian forests, arctic tundra. How my mind’s eye traveled without much prompting. But I promised myself to be home by noon, to attend to the necessities of this life. And so I crossed the river back to Bath Chute, fighting the wind as before, for a light float back to the boat ramp. On the way, I kept expecting to be jerked to attention by a jumping Asian silver carp, a large, abundant exotic species that tends to jump into canoes and even fast-moving speed boats. But either they were not around or they were not motivated to jump. Who knows what motivates a fish to jump out of the water. Temperature changes? Rising water? Time of year? Engine vibrations? All of the above? I noticed a few dead silver carp on the river banks; so at least scavenging bald eagles, turkey vultures, crows, and gulls seem to have an additional food resource.
When the Boat Tavern – a converted barge high on stilts near the boat ramp – came into view, my canoe trip was nearly over. I knew the folks inside were watching me return, and would ask questions when I ordered a cool beverage to drink while loading up my gear. The Grand Island circumnavigation still beckons, but it must wait for a day when I have more energy and time, perhaps some cold fall day, when the river is calm, birds are on the move, and my urge to be on the river just simply will not let me make it to the office.
I was thinking about traveling from Chicago down to the Illinois River in Mason County today, but I will wait a few weeks. I liked your post about Bath Chute. It seems a better paddle than the main channel and back around through Chautaqua and Clear lakes and the feeder canals I see on google maps.
Posted by: Eric Meyers | August 03, 2009 at 10:29 AM