What happened to Minneapolis' massive zombie pub crawl?

Thousands of zombies once roamed the streets of Minneapolis every Halloween, staggering from bar to bar in elaborate costumes and fake blood. The Zombie Pub Crawl became a massive annual spectacle, even setting a Guinness World Record for the largest gathering of zombies. Then, after 15 years, it disappeared. What happened to one of Minneapolis' wildest traditions? Curious Minnesota listener Brad wanted to know. Host Erica Pearson talks with Minnesota Star Tribune reporter Laura Yuen, who tracked down the event's founders to uncover how a small gathering of friends turned into a zombie phenomenon — and why the organizers finally decided to pull the plug. Along the way, hear some of the craziest stories from the crawl's heyday, including a chaotic concert featuring rapper DMX. This episode originally aired in 2025.

Once you start noticing Minnesota’s water towers, they seem to be everywhere — and some are impossible to miss. There’s one shaped like a giant ear of corn, another painted like a fishing bobber and an old tower transformed into an enormous Swedish coffee pot. That made Curious Minnesota listener Kathleen Brenk wonder: Does Minnesota actually have more water towers than other states? Reporter Carson Hartzog went looking for an answer and discovered that the question is surprisingly difficult to settle. Most states don’t publish comprehensive water-tower counts. But Minnesota does have something unusual: a dedicated enthusiast who has traveled the state photographing, categorizing and documenting its towers one by one. In this episode, host Erica Pearson and Hartzog explore why Minnesota’s relatively flat landscape may make its water towers especially noticeable, how the towers store water and help maintain pressure, and why communities turn these utilitarian structures into giant advertisements for local identity. They also revisit the infamous moment in 1956 when someone climbed a Moorhead water tower and painted “Elvis for President” across it.

There’s a creek flowing beneath the streets of downtown Minneapolis — and most people walking above it have no idea it’s there. Bassett Creek begins near Medicine Lake, winds through parks and neighborhoods, then disappears underground before passing beneath Target Field and downtown Minneapolis. Along the way, it even drops through an underground waterfall before eventually emptying into the Mississippi River. So why did Minneapolis bury a natural waterway in the first place? After a Curious Minnesota listener asked about the creek, reporter Susan Du dug into its history. By the early 1900s, Bassett Creek had become badly polluted with sewage and trash. Rather than restore it, city leaders chose to put much of it underground — an expensive decision that created engineering and flooding challenges for decades to come. In this episode, host Erica Pearson and Du trace the hidden path of Bassett Creek, explore the choices that transformed it, and ask: Could Minneapolis ever bring the buried creek back into the daylight?

Today, Two Harbors is known for its lighthouse, ore docks and scenic Lake Superior shoreline. But in the 1880s, part of its waterfront was home to a notoriously wild strip of saloons and brothels known as Whiskey Row.So how did this rough-and-tumble settlement become the North Shore city we know today — and what are the two harbors that give Two Harbors its name? Host Erica Pearson talks with Minnesota Star Tribune reporter Christa Lawler about the early communities of Burlington Bay and Agate Bay, the railroad and iron-ore boom that transformed the area, and the colorful characters who populated its waterfront. They also explore what archaeologists later uncovered beneath Whiskey Row, including liquor jugs, shot glasses, shoes and even preserved peanut shells. It’s the hidden history behind one of Minnesota’s most familiar North Shore towns.

Before Christo and Jeanne-Claude became world famous for transforming landmarks and landscapes, they staged one of their strangest early projects in Minneapolis. In 1966, the artists and a group of students built an enormous translucent package stuffed with thousands of colorful balloons — then tried to fly it by helicopter from the Minneapolis Institute of Art to the Walker Art Center. Strong winds turned the ambitious experiment into a dramatic, and ultimately unsuccessful, spectacle.Host Erica Pearson talks with Minnesota Star Tribune visual arts reporter Alicia Eler about the story behind the artwork, the tense attempts to get it airborne and how this largely forgotten Minneapolis moment fits into the career of two artists who would later create some of the world’s most recognizable public art.

In 1949, about 2,000 people gathered near the Rapidan Dam to watch something extraordinary: a 40-ton, six-story grain elevator creep across a narrow bridge over the Blue Earth River. Decades later, one witness still remembered the spectacle — and asked Curious Minnesota: How did they possibly pull it off? Host Erica Pearson talks with reporter Jp Lawrence about the remarkable logistics behind the move, from hauling the towering wooden structure along rural roads to raising it above bridge railings and inching it up a 104-foot riverbank. They also explore what remains of that history today — and how the Rapidan landscape has dramatically changed.

Minnesotans love loons for their haunting calls, striking beauty and adorable chicks that ride on their parents’ backs. But what happens when one of these iconic birds suddenly charges a swimmer? After a young Curious Minnesota listener accidentally swam between a fierce loon and its chicks, he wanted to know: Do loons attack people, and how often does it happen? Reporter Eva Herscowitz spoke with biologists, wildlife rescuers and devoted loon watchers to find out. In this episode, host Erica Pearson and Herscowitz explore the warning signs loons use when they feel threatened, the rare encounters that have left people injured and why humans pose a much greater danger to loons than loons do to us. Plus, Erica’s dad shares the unforgettable story of his own face-to-face encounter with an angry loon in northern Minnesota.

Sandstone, Minn., is known today for rock climbing, ice climbing and whitewater rafting. But before it became an outdoor recreation destination, it was one of the Midwest's most important sandstone-producing communities. When a Curious Minnesota listener asked about the area's towering quarry walls, Minnesota Star Tribune reporter Christa Lawler set out to uncover their history. What she found was a story of railroad tycoons, booming industry, dangerous labor, remarkable engineering—and an entire town that was moved to accommodate the railroad. In this episode, host Erica Pearson and Lawler visit the abandoned quarry sites, hear firsthand accounts from former quarry workers preserved in local archives, and explore how Sandstone transformed from an industrial powerhouse into one of Minnesota's hidden gems for outdoor adventure. If you've ever driven through Sandstone on the way to Duluth, this episode might convince you it's worth making the stop.

Meat raffles are a beloved Minnesota bar tradition: Buy a ticket, watch the wheel spin, and maybe go home with steaks, brats or ground beef for dinner. But where did this unusual game of chance come from? In this episode of Curious Minnesota, host Erica Pearson talks with reporter Eleanor Hildebrandt about the surprisingly rich history of meat raffles, from their earliest roots in Wisconsin to their role in Minnesota’s charitable gambling scene today. Along the way, they uncover tales of banned raffles, “fallen off a truck” beef, packed small-town bars and why this quirky game has become such a social ritual across the Upper Midwest. Plus: how recent law changes could make meat raffles more valuable for nonprofits — and more tempting for players.

Minnesota’s license plates proudly proclaim the state as the land of “10,000 lakes.” But some Wisconsinites insist their state has even more. So who’s right? In this Curious Minnesota episode, Erica Pearson dives into lake science, state pride and a surprisingly fierce border rivalry to explain why Minnesota and Wisconsin count their lakes differently — and what actually makes a lake a lake.