Lost on home territory: Going too far on the Zumbro

Photo by Joe Sprick: The Zumbro River bottoms as viewed from the bluffs of the old Sprick farm near Theilman, Minn.

By ELMER (JOE) SPRICK

My record stood for 74 years. Though I had left a lot of bootprints in wilderness areas in the West and in the forests of Wisconsin, I had never been lost in the woods. But records are made to be broken, and such was the case on a beautiful day in late September 2001.

As children, my siblings and I often sat on top of the bluffs above our farm near Theilman, Minn., overlooking the Zumbro River bottoms. To the right was the Spring Creek drainage ,referred to on U.S. Geological Survey maps as Hungry Hollow; locally, it was known as the Hungry Run. I knew the area well, having fished both Spring Creek and the Zumbro River with my older brother, Ed. After school in the fall, I had often ran his trapline, checking for fox, raccoon, skunk or mink.

One day while picking morel mushrooms with my fishing partner, Doc Knudsen, I looked down from the bluff top and decided that before I got much older, I should canoe the Zumbro from Millville to Theilman. It would a sentimental journey, a way to see all the old landmarks.

The only problem would be finding a canoe partner who was lighter than me to ride in the front of the canoe. There have been times when I've canoed with a heavy rock to hold down the front of the canoe, but a rock makes for poor company.

It was my good fortune to become acquainted through church with a retired IBM executive named Dwight Pierson. Dwight was fond of the silent sports, and both he and his wife were marathon runners and in excellent shape. He was more than willing to accompany me, though he had little knowledge of the area.

Since I knew it well, I didn't bother to bring a map alone. I did contact the canoe concessionaire in Zumbro Falls to find out how long it would take to float from Millville to Theilman. "Seven miles; you should be able to cover it in three or four hours, easy," he said.

I relayed that information to Dwight and told him to bring a lunch and a fishing pole, as we'd have ample time to enjoy both. Mavis would take us to Millville, drop us off, and pick us up in Theilman at 4 p.m.

We launched our canoe at a little park in Millville. Water levels were up and the current was favorable for a rapid ride downriver. It was a perfect morning -- no wind, temperatures headed for the low 70s. There was a hint of fall color along the steep bluffs on either side of the river. A short distance from the landing, Dwight spotted three deer on a river bank. Further along, a mature bald eagle watched us from the top of a tree as we floated silently by.

I watched the shoreline for something familiar. At one time, a narrow-gauge railroad had followed the river through the valley. The train had stopped at little towns called Lakey and Keegan to pick up grain, livestock and cream. I could remember seeing the train and the grain elevators from a bluff top back in the 1930s. Now those two towns were just names on a map -- a very old map. I did recognize the Keegan site, where a meat-processing plant is now located within view of the river.

For the rest of the afternoon, I drew a blank on landmarks. Maybe I was too busy dodging snags and brush piles in the river. I even missed the mouth of Spring Creek, where I had hunted with my brother, LeRoy, when he shot his last buck before his death in early 1985.

By 3 p.m., I had no idea where we were. Fortunately, we spotted a canoe landing sign. That meant we were near a road, so we pulled the canoe up the bank and decided to walk out to the farmhouse. A 2-mile hike took us to two farm sites, but no one was home.

A short way past the second farmhouse, we came to a town road. I knew then where we were. We had overshot our destination of Theilman by 7 miles! I felt embarrassed, tired and stupid. To make matters worse, Mavis would be waiting for us 7 miles upstream at Theilman.

Maybe this is what cell phones are for. But we didn't have one.

We flagged down a school bus driver and asked if we might hitch a ride into Theilman. He was sympathetic, but said regulations forbade him from taking on any passengers when there were schoolchildren aboard. We told him we understood and thanked him anyway.

A half hour went past -- no traffic. Dwight and I were dreading the long walk to Theilman when the school bus, now empty, appeared over the hill. The driver stopped and said, "Get in and I'll take you back to Theilman."

We arrived in Theilman at exactly 4 p.m. and walked to the canoe landing, where Mavis was waiting. "Where is your canoe?" she asked.

"We left it uptown at Eggenberger's tavern," I remarked. "We got off the water early and decided to wait for you there."

Mavis knew us better than that, so we told her the whole sad truth as we backtracked to pick up the canoe.

In the future, I will be satisfied to view the Zumbro River bottoms from a stump on the bluff top of the old farm. And I will be forever grateful to the Good Samaritan school bus driver.