Wild and free on the Wapsi

An inconspicuous wader often catches glimpses of the wild and free creatures that inhabit Iowa's rivers, but even I, a frequent Wapsipinicon visitor for the past 50 years, was ill prepared for those I encountered a week ago.

At noon last Friday, I checked the hydrograph of the Wapsi on the National Weather Service website and noticed that the river had almost instantly fallen 7 inches that morning at Independence.

That told me the city had placed foot-high boards on the dam there to improve upstream navigation. Having experienced excellent fishing on similar occasions in other summers, I made plans to be in my favorite fishing hole when that low-water blip arrived.

When I set foot in the river later that afternoon, exposed but still wet sandbars signaled the drop was under way, and I soon came upon clams that had been left high and dry by the rapidly falling water.

As I waded upstream, pitching mussels into deeper water so they would not be eaten by raccoons that evening, I noticed a concentration of boats in my favorite hole.

I worried that they might be anglers, who would ruin my chances of catching the bass and walleyes that concentrate along the current-swept rocky banks, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I got close enough to see that they were simply paddlers enjoying a scenic float.

As the distance between me and the paddlers diminished, I was able to make out four aluminum canoes bound together, coming toward me at the speed of the current. Within them, some of the eight occupants, having identified me as a gray-bearded man in chest waders, scrambled to put on the tops of their bikinis.

When we got close enough to converse, I adopted my best feigned attitude of nonchalance (Ho hum, not another flotilla of half-naked ladies) and said they need not have replaced their tops on my account. Trying not to appear to be gawking, I could see, however, that about half of them had not bothered.

In the moments it took them to drift past me, I asked if they'd noticed the rapidly falling river, they inquired about the fishing, and we wished each other a pleasant evening. They smiled and waved as I took a couple of photos that could never be published in a family newspaper.

Since the afternoon was overcast, which precluded suntan opportunities, and since they were in a secluded valley, which seemed an unlikely spot to practice exhibitionism, I briefly pondered why they would choose to paddle au naturel.

Then, as they disappeared around a bend in the river and their laughter and singing faded into the solitude of the valley, the bass started biting, and I could only conclude that they, like me, had come to commune with nature.