Floating Down the Last Wild Rivers of the Prairie
Full disclosure: Thanks in no small part to the river otters found on the banks of the Wakarusa River by the author and his daughter — the first documented in Douglas County since the late 1800s — George and I are friends, and I can speak no ill.
Once upon a time, on a road trip sometime around the turn of the century, I camped overnight in what has since become Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge, near Denver. I didn't know I was practically on the banks of the South Platte River, the waters of my initiation to prairie river dreams some years earlier. I didn't know George Frazier, and I certainly didn't know what I know now, thanks to George's buoyant new book, RIVERINE DREAMS: AWAY TO THE GLORIOUS AND FORGOTTEN GRASSLAND RIVERS OF AMERICA. I did know I was surrounded by prairie dogs.
Take note: a twentieth-century weapons arsenal and toxic waste dump is now a thriving National Wildlife Refuge. As Manager David Lucas said to George, "Anything we can do to improve, maintain, and preserve grasslands is critical."
With George's second book of hopeful surprises of the largely unseen North American grasslands, we move from The Last Wild Places of Kansas to a series of floats down the last wild rivers of the prairie, from earthy dreams of black-footed ferrets and bison to riverine dreams from Big Sky Country south, with unexpected detours through grassy, glorious places along the way. "Grasslands and rivers without end," the author declares, with a wink to poet Gary Snyder, opens a new window. (Who, it turns out, can trace his roots to the Kaw watershed, but that's another story.)
Riverine dreams don’t come from sleeping. They come from sitting. Lots of it. In a canoe, of course, and we are privileged to ride a couple thousand river miles with George at the stern. Fear not, Riverine Dreams is not an athletic adventure in the style of Outside Magazine (well, mostly). Rather, it's a well-researched book of natural and human history across the belly of the Lower 48. Flatheads and thunderheads. Tallgrass and Sand Hills. Sturgeon and shiners. Black bears and white pelicans. Forests and waterfalls. Blowout penstemon and the biggest prairie in North America, a million-plus acres loaded with hundreds (dreaming of thousands) of free-running bison. Remember Frank and Deborah Popper and the "Buffalo Commons, opens a new window"? George Frazier does, and gives us an update.
The copy of Riverine Dreams I read was an uncorrected page proof — thank you University of Chicago Press — which says at the bottom of each page, "Please do not quote without verifying the final text." For the most part I've tried to avoid quoting, unfortunately, for George can turn a phrase even while paddling through wind and whirlpools. But I had to laugh when I read of sturgeon navigating the river bottoms with their barbells.* They are six-foot beasts that can reach 80 pounds, but...
Possible proofreading slips aside, a sophomore effort it is not. The hackneyed language of book reviews actually applies: well-written, engaging, exceedingly smart. Deeply researched. Often humorous. Additionally, there are nice maps, thank goodness, and Christina, and a beautiful cover by local artist and Kaw River guide Lisa Grossman, opens a new window.
It's quickly obvious that the last wild places he had previously identified weren't enough. George wants — needs — to better plumb the prairie's essence, to go deep. Water is life, and maybe the living rivers are in fact the last wild places of the prairie.
The Kaw & New Threads of Hope
As we splash our way down the "glorious and forgotten" rivers to test this theory, we can taste traces of The Last Wild Places of Kansas. Grassy and bright like the prairie, but with a cold and silty chaser, bracing enough to make you pay attention, then ask for another swig. But look at a few of the chapter titles: Misery. Grand. Purgatory. What are we getting into?
In what must have taken some serious gnashing of teeth, from thousands of prairie river miles, George has chosen seven stretches on a half a dozen rivers to investigate. Some are to be expected, some are surprises. I'll leave them for the reader to discover, but for one: The beating heart of the book of dreams, unsurprisingly, is the Kaw, which George has paddled for most of his life.
If you're a local and you think you know "our" river, think again. The chapter on the Kaw contains, like the other chapters, like the river itself, far more than water headed to the Gulf of Mexico. Along this part of the National Water Trail system (surely you knew) we meet colorful Lawrencians from days gone by, some very big fish, an even bigger rock of not a little significance, the Riverkeeper and other Friends of the Kaw, new boat ramps, remediated wetlands, and — you knew it was coming — charismatic hope critters.
Otters!
Squeaking and chattering and running circles around you when you least expect it.
During his travels, George discusses several river and prairie restorations and "science dangling new threads of hope," and indeed science and hope course through both of his books. A local example: now, when the stars align and otters come out to cavort, you can visit them practically in your backyard, at and near the Baker Wetlands.
And if you find yourself dreaming riverine dreams, George has provided a list of suggested readings and essentials for your next float trip. No excuses.
As David Lucas says, "Don't close the book on grasslands."
And, says George, “Don’t paddle into the fog.”
As part of the Lawrence Public Library’s Booktoberfest celebration, on Sunday, October 5, at 2 PM at the Lawrence Arts Center, Lawrence Public Library, The Raven Bookstore, Friends of the Kaw, and Great Blue Heron Outdoors are hosting the official launch of George Frazier’s Riverine Dreams. Books will be available for purchase, and George will be happy to sign yours.
Registration is full, but you can join the waitlist here. Check out all of the upcoming Booktoberfest events, opens a new window on the library website.
*Whiskery sturgeon navigation aids are barbels.
—Jake Vail is an Information Services Assistant at Lawrence Public Library.
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