Taming the Wild Crum

David Page and his Liquid Logic Remix 69. Photo: Charlie Page

David Page and his daughter, Charlie Page, on a kayak adventure on the Crum. Photo: Charlie Page

A couple of Fridays ago, my daughter Charlie and I took a daring paddle on the terrifying and legendary Crum Creek — a harrowing 45-minute effort. We put in right above the Strath Haven Coulee Dam off Yale Avenue and fought the swift current back upstream. Multitudes of turtles guarded the banks, and shadowy fish darted fearlessly in the shallows. Past snags and sieves we maneuvered, watching each other’s six, conscious of many reports of the attack beaver waiting to ambush intruders. 

My kayak was a used Liquid Logic Remix 69. It moved like a blue blur on the water, provided you shook your head rapidly from side to side. It was called a 69 because it was the 69-gallon size, as opposed to the smaller Remix 59, or the larger Remix 79. It was made for running swift rivers and creeks, like the mighty Crum. Charlie’s kayak was a durable Challenger, green to blend in with the overgrowth as she slipped quietly along, and inflatable, which meant that later it would roll up nicely and fit in her trunk. 

A few hikers on the rugged creekside trail paused to admire us. We sat up a bit straighter and paddled more smoothly. Why are they wearing those stifling pfd’s (personal flotation devices), the hikers seemed to wonder, when the water was barely waist deep? That’s how professionals do it, it was in my mind to point out. And if they do it, so do we. 

All too soon we came to Rocky Roads, the treacherous shallow section of the Crum through which no amount of finagling allowed passage. I exited my trusty Remix to scout ahead while Charlie guarded our rear. Ugh! So much for not getting my shoes wet. It was no good. Rocky Roads only extended twenty yards, but beyond was a long stretch of deceptively slow water with average depth of 6 inches. Where was the rain when we needed it? Where? I cried out in bitter despair. It was not worth oil canning the bottom of my Remix, or blowing up the trusty Challenger (bad pun!). We shook our fists at the vengeful creek, and turned back, snaking our way through the narrow twists and turns. 

The sun glare reflecting off the water was blinding. Again and again we barely avoided disastrous collisions with logs, turtles, darting fish, and each other. Not with a patrolling beaver, sadly, though there was one hole in the bank where a beaver could have been hiding, leering out at us with savage intent. 

As we neared the S.H. Coulee Dam, the roar of the crashing water seeping through the stones could not drown the laughter of three teenagers who had climbed high out over the water into the upper reaches of a leaning sycamore from which a rope swing hung. We sat up straighter, paddled more smoothly. Why were they not looking at us as we glided with nonchalant ease into the bank? Weren’t they supposed to be envious of our mastery? Now for the graceful kayak exit. Ugh! Water in my shoes again. 

We will meet again, mighty Crum, and next time you won’t get off so easily, or so quickly. Or heck, I don’t know, maybe you will. 

Related: Swollen Crum Creek during Tropical Storm Isaias

Dan Snyder sent us a video he captured of a normally-placid Crum Creek, swollen with stormwater from Tropical Storm Isaias, August 4, 2020. “As high as the water is, it was higher a couple of hours earlier.”