Let me end with the stories I find myself telling buyers once they are actually on the water, because knowing the St. Croix is not just knowing the slips and the parks. It is knowing its landmarks. Start with the Hudson dike, the levee that runs along Hudson's riverfront and is the whole reason the town gets to sit that close to the water. Where many river towns keep their downtown a safe distance back, Hudson leans right up against the river behind that wall of earth, and the trade-off is part of its charm.
That closeness also comes with an honest history. The St. Croix has real flooding history, and the record-setter here was 1965, when the river crested around 694 feet, against a flood stage that starts around 687 feet. St. Croix Marina keeps a flood pole tradition to this day, marking the river crests of past floods on a metal pole at the end of a dock, so you can stand there and see for yourself how high the water has come. I bring it up not to worry anyone, only because it is one of the stories a riverfront buyer inherits. It is part of living on the river, and the dike is part of the understanding you buy into.
Then there is Beer Can Island, a little island near Hudson with the most honest name on the river, and it tells you right away that the river is a playground. It also gave us a saga only the St. Croix could. A 54-foot yacht called Sweet Destiny was abandoned on the island in 2024, and there she sat for months, a local legend and a fixture of social-media infamy.
Each day she stayed she racked up city fines, until she was finally towed off in May 2025, and she even helped inspire talk of new state laws about abandoned boats. I tell the story partly because it is genuinely entertaining, and partly because it is proof the river has characters and stories, and they are what keep this stretch so friendly.
And for my money the most jaw-dropping landmark on the river is none of the docks at all. It is the old train bridge between Stillwater and Somerset, the Soo Line High Bridge, known around here as the Arcola High Bridge. It is a towering steel railroad viaduct built in 1911, about 2,682 feet long and standing 185 feet above the water, and it replaced an 1884 crossing that sat much lower.
The best way to see it is from the river itself: you run your boat underneath and look up, and it feels like a cathedral of steel framing the sky. It is still in use today, which is the fun part. If you time it right, you see a train come creeping across way overhead, cars strung along that steel like beads, and it is one of those moments that makes the whole valley feel alive.
And my favorite free show on the river has to be the Lift Bridge that became a park trail. The Stillwater Lift Bridge opened in 1931 and for 86 years was the workhorse crossing between Stillwater and Houlton, carrying as many as 18,000 cars a day at its peak. When the new St. Croix Crossing opened in August 2017, the old lift bridge closed to motorists for good and was rebuilt for bikes and feet, reopening June 1, 2020 after a full restoration that brought it back to its 1931 look while keeping the lift working for the boats. Today it anchors the St. Croix River Crossing Loop Trail, a roughly five-mile loop that climbs the Wisconsin bluffs above Houlton, crosses the new bridge, and drops back into Stillwater, and it is on the National Register of Historic Places. I tell buyers it is the best free show on the river: you can stand mid-span while a tow comes through and the whole deck lifts beneath you, and on a summer evening the loop trail is the closest thing the valley has to a boardwalk.
The new bridge is an engineering marvel in disguise. The St. Croix Crossing opened on August 2, 2017, between Oak Park Heights, Minnesota, and St. Joseph, Wisconsin, and most of the people driving it have no idea they are on one of the most interesting bridges in America. It is an extradosed bridge, a hybrid that blends a cable-stayed bridge with a concrete box girder, and when it opened it was the longest of its kind in the United States. The design was chosen for the river itself. The crossing sits in a National Scenic Riverway, so the engineers kept the profile low and the piers slender, with the pier blades shaped to echo the cattails along the shoreline. The bridge reads as part of the landscape instead of looming over it.
The math is staggering: roughly 3,365 feet across the water, four main spans of 600 feet each, twin towers rising 60 feet above the deck, and 252 stay cables, 16 per tower, holding the deck up like a harp. The deck clears the river by about 150 feet, high enough for the tallest masts and the towboats to pass underneath. The clever part is what you cannot see: the whole river crossing has only two expansion joints, because the deck is post-tensioned and built from about 650 precast concrete segments, each one lifted into place from a barge and walked out along the cantilever like a train of blocks. Fewer joints means less maintenance, less salt damage, and a smoother ride for decades.
I tell clients it is the rare bridge that is both a workhorse and a work of art, and when you are standing on the old Lift Bridge watching a sailboat slide under those cables, you are looking at the best of both eras of river engineering.