1999
From the Kayak and Canoe Club of New York December 1996 Newsletter
(Author unknown)
"Come on, come on , come on... I can't believe this." I heard myself say as I stood behind Bill's 73 VW van with the jumper cables. This had been going on for almost twenty minutes as we just stood there - boats loaded with gear and stacked high on the van-but still five miles from the Salmon airport and now late for our 8:00 a.m. charter. Oh well, what did I expect, every trip seems to have its little miscues-having the shuttle take till 2:30 am the previous night was probably just the first in a long line. Anyway this wasn't going to be our average trip. We were going from one extreme to another. A week earlier we had been in New York City and now we were about to jump on a plane to drop us off for a self support trip where we probably wouldn't see another person for days.
The Big Creek in Idaho runs through the River of No Return Wilderness, which is part of the largest non road area in the continental U.S. Since there weren't many roads, and the few that did exist were still covered with snow, this trip would require us to fly in and then paddle out roughly 60 miles, 40 on the Big Creek and the last 20 on the Middle Fork of the Salmon. But of course, we had to get to the put in first. Bill's van eventually started and we made it to the airport to load our gear onto two Cessna 206's and begin our adventure. The 45 minute flight was spectacular and also quite helpful since we were able to sort of scout the first 10 miles of the Big Creek. From the plane we could see a lot of whitewater and also counted a number of logjams, which would prove useful later on. (Did we miss any?)
We landed in a small grassy valley near the foot of the mountains where the Big Creek originates. While we were unloading our gear one of the pilots asked if we were experts or something? I replied that both Bill and Vance were and that I was the something part, but why do you ask? He said he'd never seen anybody fly in there before with kayaks. Now this got me to thinking. The guide books had said there weren't any drops more difficult than class IV on the trip, however, the western class IV that we had paddled the previous days at high water levels could be considered class V on the East Coast. Luckily before I could ponder all the things that could go wrong on a trip like this, a few more planes landed bringing in visitors to a nearby lodge, and upon seeing our kayaks, a pilot said she had paddled the river before and that she envied us.
With these final words of encouragement, we began dragging our kayaks loaded with gear (80 lbs in total probably) for roughly three miles to the river. Now this wouldn't have been so bad except that once we left the landing field there was really no trail, so we bushwhacked our way through a fairly dense forest in the general direction of the river. A little over an hour later we made it to a small clearing next to an old burnt out cabin that sat alongside the river. The river was pretty creepy here-only about twenty feet wide and a foot or so deep-however it was incredibly pristine and we were happy to be finally getting on the river. About a mile and a half into the run, we came across our first river wide logjam that was just on the other side of a bend in the river. The side of the river where we eddied out however, was very steep and we couldn't portage there. We ended up having to carry back up about fifty yards through a swampy area, and then ferry back out and catch a small eddy on the other side. It wasn't really an eddy, but basically a three foot long clear spot that had a root sticking out that you had to grab to stop yourself-then carry another couple of hundred yards through the woods to put back in. At the put in, which was a five foot seal launch drop, I noticed that we were all sweating pretty hard and hoped the next portages would be easier since we had counted at least five from the air. It turned out, fortunately, that this was the most difficult portage of the trip.
A little over an hour later and another portage or two, we came to the beginning of a gorge that consisted of almost constant class III+ to IV+ for the next two miles. I had been a little worried looking at this area from the plane because there were two strainers that looked to be in difficult drop areas. We negotiated the next mile or so eddy hopping and picking our way through rocks, boulders, and trees without any mishaps. Two logjams later we eddied out and had a debate as to whether this was the last strainer or not. I thought there was still another one left and volunteered to run ahead and scout. I went about a half mile down river, but didn't see any other logjams. Although there weren't any strainers, it was continuous whitewater with several ledgy drops so I suggested that everybody might want to scout this area. This time we all went even further and still no logjams.
At this point I was beginning to think I was losing my mind because I was positive there was another strainer and it had looked like the worst one. With this in the back of my mind, I was trying to keep straight where I wanted to be on the river because it appeared that there were four distinct drops. Once you were out there it was difficult to catch an eddy to re-orient yourself. We ran the mile that we had scouted without a problem and had just begun unknown territory again when Vance got broached on a rock on the left side of the river. Bill had already eddied out below and as I came by I was too far to the right to be of any help, so I caught the first eddy I could about twenty feet below Bill. Just as I had dragged my boat out of the river and onto some rocks, I heard Bill yell my name. As I looked up, there was Bill hanging onto his boat in the middle of the river. (It turned out that he had slipped on a rock in his rush to help Vance and fell back into the river, which quickly swept both him and his boat down river.) Unfortunately, because of all the other gear, it was hard to take my throw rope out of the boat, and since Bill was almost already parallel to me, there wasn't a lot of time. I just began pulling the rope out of the bag and threw about thirty feet of it at him. It landed just below him and he grabbed hold so I could pull him and his boat to the side. Once he was off the river, I raced up to where Vance was to find that he had already gotten himself off the rock and then helped him pull the boat out. With all the boats off the river we began to scout again and found that about fifty yards down river was a large drop that had a logjam covering about 80% of the river. At this point, I think we all felt pretty lucky that things hadn't turned out a lot worse and decided that since it was almost 3:00 we should stop for lunch.
After we carried the last strainer, I was a little relieved that the river became easier and we paddled several more hours at a leisurely pace. We made camp in a nice grove of trees right alongside the river with a little grassy field behind us. Although we figured that we had only gone about 15 miles that day, all the carrying of the boats had worn us out so we went to bed early and slept well. The next morning we were joined by a mule deer, who stayed on the fringe of our camp eating leaves while we had our breakfast. Once on the river again, more creeks and streams began to feed into the Big Creek, which made the run easier and very relaxing so we were able to spend some time looking for wildlife. That morning, besides the usual dozen or so butterflies that would follow us around, we saw a large herd of deer and a pair of elk. I still think they were female moose, but I was outvoted.
After having lunch on a sand bar, we came to a horizon line and got out to scout what I believe is called Coxey Rapids. The next half mile had a half dozen drops amid large boulders and the occasional log. Of particular interest were two boulders about 3/4 of the way down the rapid that had caught several logs and created what looked to be a very ugly strainer. I was a little apprehensive because the strainer was right out in the middle and there was a fair amount of the current flowing through these logs. Bill, however, assured me that he knew paddlers who if you told them to hit that part of the river, they couldn't do it. I still was not quite convinced, but Bill went first and had a very nice run that made it almost look easy. I went next, but my ferry to the right side of the river was very weak and I began my run by going through a hole on the left. With my line off from the start, I proceeded to hit almost every hole on the upper part of the run, four in total I believe, and was either surfed or shot out vertically from all of them. Fortunately I was never flipped so I had plenty of room and control to miss the strainer. After Vance came through, he said that he, too, had been squirted a few times, which made me feel a little less lame.
After this bit of excitement, the river mellowed again and after paddling a few more hours we began to look for a camp site. We found what looked to be a great spot, but as I began to look around I noticed that there was already a tent set up. This seemed very puzzling since we were pretty much out in the middle of nowhere we thought. Seeking some privacy however, we decided to camp just across the river. After setting up camp-throwing our boats down and crashing on Therma Rest pads-it came to our attention that Vance hadn't quite allocated enough food for that night's dinner. This may have been intentional for I do recall him saying that he hoped to drop a couple of pounds on this trip. He redeemed himself however, by having had the good judgement to pack a large container of bourbon, which of course was gone before the end of that evening.
Just before dusk, we spotted an attractive woman walking to the camp across the river who waved hello to us. After several minutes of hypothesizing who this mystery person could be, I took upon myself to ferry across the river and be neighborly. I surprised her a bit when I walked into her camp, but she seemed happy to have some company, and was even more attractive than she had looked from across the river. It turned out that she was an intern at the University of Idaho weather station that was just a few miles up river. For the next couple of hours she told me about her summer in the mountains taking notes on the habits of big horn sheep, stepping on rattlesnakes, and occasionally bumping into black bears on the nearby trails. This was beginning to make our trip sound kind of tame, and it was getting late, so I ferried back across to our camp to get ready for what sounded like a big day ahead.
The next day, after a couple of miles paddling, we found ourselves at the mouth of the Big Creek Gorge. This marked the last five miles of the Big Creek, which would drop an average of roughly eighty feet per mile till it flowed into the Middle Fork of the Salmon. The run began in a granite gorge and was pretty much constant III-IV whitewater that was technical and swift. We were having a great run picking our way through one rock garden after another, but I was keeping my eyes peeled for what we had been warned was a river wide hole about half way down this section. After awhile though, I began to relax a bit figuring the high water levels must have washed out the hole. As we progressed down river, Bill was in the front on the left, I was slightly behind on the right and Vance was sweep. The river began to get a little steeper so I thought it best to get over to where Bill was and let him probe. Unfortunately, I misjudged the strength of the current and missed the eddy that Bill had pulled into. I was swept sideways over a three foot pour-over into a swirling mess of water that kept grabbing at the stern of my boat and made me feel as if I was in an eleven foot long squirt boat.
I finally freed myself from this spot only to find that I was about 15 feet above a deep trough that extended across the river. I wasn't sure what this was, but I was in the middle of the river apparently heading for what looked like the deepest part of the trough/hole. There was nowhere else to go, so I just took two or three hard strokes as I approached and hoped I would punch this thing. (Beam me up Scotty.) I had penetrated about half way through when I felt the stern of my boat suddenly grabbed and pulled straight down into the hole, my boat went vertical and I was cartwheeled back into the trough. I tucked and felt my boat slowly sink maybe five feet and then stop. At this point, I realized that I had found the river wide hole and remembered that we had been told that if you were stupid enough to get yourself into this hole you would probably have to swim out. My next thought was that I REALLY didn't want to be swimming here, but what could I do, it felt as if I was on the bottom of the river. Before bailing out, I decided I should at least try to roll even though I knew I was nowhere near the surface. As I brought my paddle perpendicular to the boat, one of the blades caught the current, and as I locked my arms it pulled me up and shot me out in an explosive ender that caused the entire boat to become airborne. As I came out, I gasped for a large breath and prepared myself to be sucked back in, but to my relief I landed clear and began floating down river and QUICKLY caught an eddy. Both Bill and Vance had caught an eddy about twenty yards up river. From this vantage point Bill was able to witness the carnage, so after a very thorough scout they snuck the right side and we were on our way again.
After a couple more miles of breathtaking scenery and fairly continuous whitewater, we dropped down a final chute that had me doing 360's, and were flushed out onto the Middle Fork of the Salmon. The character of the Middle Fork differed dramatically from that of the Big Creek. After the technical drops of the Big Creek, the Middle Fork of the Salmon was wide open and quite relaxing, and we were able to enjoy the beautiful canyons that would open up to us around every bend. With all the extra water and no real obstacles, we were making great time flowing through one wave train after another and occasionally catching a nice surfing wave. Of course, there were still a few surprises left. About 10 or 12 miles along on the Salmon we came to a rapid that had a very easy line down the left, but I followed Bill down the middle, which was strewn with holes six to eight feet deep. After skirting the edge of two of these holes, I was thankful I hadn't fallen in. I felt that I had already had all the hole exploring experience that I needed for one day.
Soon after this drop, we came to a horizon line with a large curling wave on the left and a steep pour-over on the right. From where Vance and I were we couldn't really tell what was ahead, but it looked pretty likely that there would be a large hole in there somewhere. Bill took a quick peek over the horizon line and without a word plunged out into the middle of the river and disappeared over the first large wave. Three or four long seconds later Bill crested what turned out to be a second even larger wave and disappeared once again. We hoped to hell Bill knew what he was doing, and so Vance followed Bill's line and had what looked to be a very smooth ride until he too disappeared. I quickly followed and entered the first wave sideways, as I came over the top I dropped about ten feet into the trough of the second wave and found myself looking up at a huge green wall of water. The wave fortunately was very glassy and the sensation of rolling through this wave train, which then got progressively smaller, was incredible. At the end of this drop we all had big smiles on our faces. We then floated the last several miles to the take out, which I think we were all a little sad to finally see, because it brought to an end one of the best paddling trips any of us ever had.
