Huck Finn said, “It’s lovely to live on a raft.” It ain’t so bad on a kayak or a canoe, either–not to live on one but to float on one through the city. I’m not talking about kayaking downtown, though I understand the appeal: to paddle the same waters as Jean Baptiste Point Du Sable and look up at the canyons of skyscrapers that have grown up around the Chicago River. But I prefer the north branch of the river, which seems like a tributary of the stream in the old kids’ TV serial Journey to the Beginning of Time in the way it takes one back to the days of Du Sable and his canoes while remaining part of the contemporary environment. I remember crossing the Irving Park bridge on a bus and looking down at the river to see a heron flying–another country. That feeling is even more pronounced when one is on the river, paddling its placid waters.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
On a recent afternoon I rented a canoe at Chicago River Canoe & Kayak, which does a burgeoning business allowing people to get away from it all without really going anywhere. It’s at 3400 N. Rockwell, just south and west of Lane Tech and a stone’s throw across the river from Hot Doug’s, where I’d fueled up beforehand. The five-year-old business, which rents its vessels for $14 an hour, $10 on weekdays, has grown every year; the day I was there, owner Ryan Chew had to rush out for reinforcements, but was back in ten minutes with more canoes and kayaks stacked on a trailer. (He’ll be open weekends through October.) I went north against the current, thinking I’d paddle for an hour, then turn around and have a relatively easy trip back.
Every once in a while I paddled past someone fishing from the shore. Fish jumped occasionally or hovered just under the surface of the water–mostly carp with silver-dollar scales and bloated bellies. I saw a few floating belly up, too, including one bass–a good sign, but for it being dead. Yet I never saw anyone onshore catch anything, and the anglers rarely raised a greeting. It must’ve been the innate jealousy of those on land for those at sea, because everyone else in a canoe or kayak–and there were several groups heading in both directions–all smiled and said hello.
A few days later I was back on the Irving Park bus looking down at the river. It no longer seemed like a different place. No, it was my river, our river, for all those willing to discover and cherish it.
