14 May Rafting the Wild
Four summers ago, Don George joined an exhilarating whitewater adventure with O.A.R.S. on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. Here’s the account he penned in his journal at the time, written in the form of a conversation.
Where have you been? It looks like you haven’t shaved in days!
I haven’t – for six days, to be precise. I’ve been whitewater rafting on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, in Idaho.
Where?
The Middle Fork of the Salmon River in Idaho. You know how Idaho looks like a clenched fist with the pointing finger raised – kind of a “We’re number 1!” pose? Well, if that’s a map of Idaho, the route we rafted runs roughly from the top joint to the knuckle of the middle finger.
Right, that makes perfect sense. How’d you get there?
I flew from San Francisco to Boise, then met a posse of other rafters in the Boise Airport and we all crammed into Salmon Air’s propeller planes for the flight to the Old West mountain hamlet of Stanley, in the shadow of the snowcapped Sawtooth Range.
We spent the night in the Mountain Village Lodge. (And let me add parenthetically that the kind folks at the Stanley Public Library stayed open 15 minutes after closing time so that I could check email — thank you, folks! – and that you should be sure to try the scrumptious pizza at Papa Brunee’s, across from the Stanley Post Office.) We had our first group meeting that night at the lodge and the next morning we piled into a bus and drove a couple of hours to the launch point at Boundary Creek.
We ended the trip 96 miles downriver at Cache Bar, a short drive from the bustling town of Salmon, where we spent the night at the Stagecoach Inn. The next day Salmon Air propellered me back to Boise Airport, where I caught a midday flight to San Francisco.
When were you there?
I flew to Stanley on June 14 and flew home on the 21st. We were on the river June 15-20.
So why did you do this?
In 25-plus years of wandering the globe, I’d never taken a multi-day whitewater rafting trip. I figured it was time, and whitewater aficionados told me that the Middle Fork was the classic American whitewater trip.
Was it?
We’ll get to that. Let’s cover the practical stuff first.
OK, how many people were on your trip?
There were 18 guests and six guides.
What was the age range of the guests?
The youngest was 15 and the oldest was a 79. There were two family groups: a Mom with three sons — the 15-year-old, plus a 16-year-old and 19-year-old; and a Dad with a 16-year-old son, an 18-year-old daughter, and her 18-year-old friend. There were four solo travelers, and three couples. The people were pretty evenly age-distributed from 30s to 60s.
What was the age range of the guides?
About the same as the guests. Not! 30s to 60s.
Did everyone get along?
Everyone got along splendidly! The two groups of teenagers quickly bonded and took to playing card games together every night in camp. The adults were an extremely congenial group. And the guides were fantastic – their passion, knowledge, respect for the wilderness and each other, and general camaraderie were inspiring.
Where the guides cute?
Uh, yeah, in a ponytail and beard kind of way. And that was just the women!
Just kidding! Yes, the guides – male and female alike – were indeed cute. Not to mention founts of information and good-naturedness.
Can you describe a typical day on the trip?
But of course! Just about every day began at 6:15 (for the guests, that is; the guides had been awake for at least half an hour before that starting to get breakfast ready). But anyway, for the guests, coffee was ready at 6:15, and we would emerge sleepily from our tents and huddle over steaming mugs of delicious coffee, hot chocolate and tea.
At 7:00, breakfast would be served – pancakes, eggs, English muffins with butter and jam, cereal, lots of good food. Two mornings the guides served up food for the mind as well: Zak gave an in-the-field lecture on the geology of the region, and Barry passionately summarized the history of the wilderness we were rafting through.
By 8:00 we’d have cleaned our dishes and packed up our tents, sleeping bags and boat bags and taken them to the “sweep boat.” Once that was fully loaded, the genial guide known as Mr. H. would start oaring it ponderously downriver to set up our next site. Around 9:00 guests would banana into their peel-like wetsuits, clip on their life jackets, refill their water bottles, and use the al fresco facilities for a last time —
Excuse me – the al fresco facilities?
Well, yeah, there’s no pay toilets in the wilderness. At each camp the guides would set up an ingenious portable potty in a secluded area with a great view of the river. This was a regular horseshoe-shaped toilet rim attached to a deep metal box. So you could sit in comfort under the sun (or stars) and do what you had to do – with the most amazing public toilet view in the world. A roll of toilet paper in a Tupperware container served as the “key.” If the roll was in the designated spot, the potty was available; if not, you had to wait. It was a flawless and comfortable system.
OK. So what happened at 9:00?
At 9:00 we’d position ourselves in our chosen craft for the day and set off. We’d run the river for about three hours. On a few days we stopped en route to take side hikes into the hills to see some special natural or historic sites like an old homesteader’s cabin, Native American pictographs and amazing waterfalls. (For many of us, these were special highlights of the trip.)
Around noon we’d stop for lunch for an hour, then we’d set off on the river again. We’d reach camp around 4:00, unload our gear and set up our tents. Then we’d have a couple of hours to nap, walk, read, write and talk – or just absorb the beauty of the place.
Around 7:00 we’d gather for dinner, which was always amazingly delicious. So-yummy-I-can-still-taste-it salmon one night, steak another, salads, grilled veggies, heavyweight-contender brownies one night and a fantastic birthday-and-anniversary celebration cake another – great food every night! We’d eat until about 8:30, when we’d clean up and then sit around the campfire, talking and listening to the guides play guitar and harmonica.
Around 10:00 I’d crawl into my tent and quickly fall asleep.
Sounds pretty idyllic.
It was!
What kind of boats did you use?
We used one dory and four rubberized rafts. Three of these rafts were powered by guides using oars. One was a “self-paddle” boat where guests paddled under the direction of an enthusiastic and patient cheerleader-coach-guide named Ed. The dory was an aluminum boat roughly the size and shape of a rowboat; because of its material and shape, this one rode high in the water and offered a lot of wave action.
Speaking of wave action, how strenuous was this trip?
Well, it varied quite a bit from guest to guest. If you wanted to be active, you could join the paddle boat every day and get a great work-out. If you wanted to take it easy, you could just sit in the raft or dory and watch the world float by. In that case the most exertion you’d have would be putting up your tent. In addition, just about every day there was at least one optional hike; in our group, most people joined these hikes, but there was no pressure to do so. The hike on the second day sounded extremely strenuous, and I and many other guests opted not to do it. I did the other hikes and while a couple involved some scrambling over rocks, they weren’t prohibitively difficult. The 15-year-old and 79-year-old both did these three.
How big were the rapids?
Well, this was a big-water time of year. The water was high with snow melt, so the river was very cold and flowing very fast. Each of the six days had some Class 3 rapids, and four of the days had at least one Class 4. Of course, as the guides told us, the river is different with each journey – depending on the water level and so the speed, the currents, and what is exposed or just under the water surface. This made for some excitement.
Were you scared?
No, of course not! Well, actually, yes, on the second day at a place called Lake Creek Rapid. As we approached this rapid, the guides said it had changed completely since last year. (This is one of the really interesting things about rivers: Their map changes from year to year and season to season. Winter floods might deposit huge tree trunks in an area that had been unobstructed the year before; or a flood of water might open up a previously impassable stretch.) So we beached our boats upriver and all got out and walked to scout the rapid. The guides spent a long time –
How long?
I’d say at least 20 or 30 minutes looking at it, studying it and talking about it. There was a narrow channel on the left of a big hole in the center. They concluded that we had to hit that channel.
Then they walked further downriver to scout another big rapid, Pistol Creek, which was located just a minute or two float-time downriver.
When we got back to our boats, everyone was very somber and serious and the guides talked with us about what we should do if our raft was overturned or we were thrown out of the raft into the river. Basically, because the water was extremely fast and cold and there was another rocky rapid just downriver, we had to swim like hell to get to the riverbank as fast as we could. Guides would be positioned on shore with throw ropes to toss to us.
As we oared back out into the river and approached the rapid, I could actually feel the fear in my pumping heart and dry, coppery mouth.
*So what happened? Did you get dunked? *
No, we all got through fine! The self-paddle boat went first and they pushed right through the channel and on to the other side. Then the dory bounced cleanly through. We went last. We headed in a little too close to the hole and for a moment I could look right into the maw of the roiling water, but then in a roller-coaster split second — surging freezing water slamming us up and down and slapping over us, the sensurround roar of the water deafening us — we slipped through and out into the calmer stretch beyond. (Thanks, Sarah!)
Was that the hairiest moment of the trip?
Yes, but on the very first day I was sitting alone directly in the back of one of the rafts, and I planted two inglorious face-dives – one into a duffle bag behind the rower, and the other right into the rower’s back. (Sorry, Zak!) After that, the left side of my head/face smarted for a while, and my right arm tingled for a half hour or so. But I was fine the next day.
What was the highlight of the trip?
I thought you’d never ask! There were really many highlights, but for me, it was the overall immersion in the wilderness. The landscape each day was spectacular, soul-soaring stuff: deep green pine trees and steep rocky slopes, long stretches of burned-out trunks from fires last August, the snaking white-roiling curves of the river, stark sun in a deep blue sky. The crispness of the air. The perpetual Zen background-roar of the river. The so-close-you-could-touch-them stars at night, and the so-bright-it-startled-your-eyes full moon rising over a pine-silhouetted crag.
Being immersed in that wildness for six days gave me a wider perspective on the world and a deeper sense of time; it also made me realize how fundamentally important wildness is.
Another highlight was, as I mentioned before, the passion, knowledge, respect and camaraderie of the guides.
Another was camping with the luxury of having delicious meals prepared for us and clean-up done by others, too. All we guests had to do was set up and take down our tents, and rinse our plates and utensils at the end of each meal.
Would you do it again?
Absolutely!
Who would you recommend it for?
I’d recommend it for anyone who wants a dose of wilderness in their lives. As I said before, we had families with teenagers on our trip and a solo 79-year-old. And the ages of the other guests ranged from 30s to 60s. You didn’t have to be in tremendous physical condition to enjoy this trip. I’d say the condition of your spirit is more important. If you’re ready to camp out for five nights, if you enjoy the great outdoors, you’ll love it.
Bronco, our endearing and inspiring trip leader, said at the beginning of our journey, “The Middle Fork is one of those places that will make you a better person just for being out there.” When I first heard that, I had some inkling of what he meant, but now that it’s over, I really understand: The river, the wilderness, gets inside you – it becomes a dynamic thing, churning through your veins. You absorb the wildness – the fresh open air, the green straining pines, the rushing roaring river, the geological texts of the implacable ageless crags. It freshens you and stretches you and puts you in synch with something deeper and broader than yourself.
I don’t want to get too sentimental or philosophical about this – it was just a six-day rafting trip, after all – but here’s what I feel: You leave the river, but it doesn’t leave you. Instead, you bring it to the life that roars and flows and bends before you; you map its depths and channels and flows, ride its surging waves and roiling holes, with a wisdom and courage that you didn’t have six days before. And that is wild.
Don’s trip was organized and hosted by O.A.R.S., Outdoors Adventure River Specialists. For more information on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River trip, click here. For general information on O.A.R.S., visit oars.com or call them at (877) 530 7556.
Latest posts by Don George (see all)
- Surrendering to Seven Sights in Chile’s Patagonia - September 20, 2017
- Enchanted by Chile: Three Wine Country Wonders - August 16, 2017
- The Importance of Travel in Turbulent (and Not So Turbulent) Times - June 3, 2017
No Comments