Rapid Descents: Mothership Whitewater Paddling

June-July 2003

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

by Steve Crow

 

Campsite #5 on the Rogue River. Steve Crowe photo.

I have an ever-growing affection for mothership whitewater paddling. By this I mean raft-supported kayaking. (Rafters, for their part, might describe it as rafting with some kayaks getting in the way.) Every time I go, something great happens. The first time, on Oregon's Rogue River, was great because it was my first time. The second time was great because it was on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. Enough said. The third time, on Idaho's Middle Fork of the Salmon, was great because I gave away my heart and received a much more precious one in return.

The Rogue River was a perfect introduction to multi-day tripping. I had just started paddling that summer when Mothership Dave (June/July 2002 issue) invited my girlfriend, Monica, and paddling partner, Jim - both of whom had also just begun kayaking that summer - on the five-day, moderately difficult float.

Dave sizing up the rapids ahead. Steve Crowe photo.

Dave had won the river permit lottery, giving him a mid-summer put-in date. Lotteries and waiting lists are the unfortunate but necessary consequence of rafting's popularity in the US. There are more people who want to drift down the long rivers than there are rivers that can take such a volume of people. And who can blame them (us) - the western US is incredibly beautiful country, an extraordinary fusion of topography, geology and climate.

Unfortunately, people can't help but impact the environments they pass through, no matter how well-intentioned. So our numbers have to be reduced by edict. But at least this way, when we do get on the water, even if only once in our lives, it looks, feels, smells, tastes and sounds amazing.

To increase our chances of getting a permit these days, we ('we' being the diverse group that seems to keep meeting up on these trips) have banded together to all buy lottery tickets for the same launch date, for various rivers. Hopefully, one of us wins. Then the others get that sweet phone call that says, "You want to go on a paddling trip?"

The Rogue introduced me to a world unimagined. Five days on the same river, riding its uneven back as it grew ever bigger. Every day in my kayak, sliding, bouncing and drifting around with the current. Every afternoon putting up camp in a different setting. Every evening eating sumptuous meals from generous larders. Every night beside a fire with an aluminum can to keep my hand cool. Every minute among happy, excited people. The only part of the trip that I didn't like was that it had to come to an end.

My paddling certainly improved. I had paddled quite a few different rivers, but not many times and rarely two days consecutively. Being on the Rogue for five days in a row increased my skills significantly. By the end of the trip I would say I had improved to not particularly bad.

The rafts slowly lumbered down the river, squashing rapids with their bulk. Steve Crowe photo.

I loved the independence a kayak gave me, especially because the rafts were graciously carting down all the kayakers' gear. While the rafts slowly lumbered down the river, squashing rapids with their bulk, I could rip around on my own, checking out boulders, eddies, waves and any rapid I dared. I could also quickly visit the various rafts to see who had the best snacks and coldest beer. I couldn't possibly imagine having more continuous fun - until I went down the Colorado River's Grand Canyon, an epic 18-day trip on Dave's waiting-list permit (that story is in the June/July 2002 issue of WaveLength).

The Salmon River is special. Winding through a beautiful landscape of golden barked ponderosa pines and dry rolling hillsides of grass and sage, the river is the longest free flowing river (425 miles) within one state in the lower 48. Because of this, the two river runs - the easy Main Fork and the more challenging Middle Fork - are very popular with both commercial and recreational boaters. This time, Sean won the lottery and made the usual calls.

The Middle Fork is truly a wilderness river. Located in the center of Idaho, deep valleys and long, winding roads keep it isolated from the crush and spoil of humanity. After a hard, reluctant winter entombed in Vancouver's crush, arriving at the put-in to find blue skies, dry earth, clean water, wide open spaces and few people, but happy ones, was literally a breath of fresh air. Since Monica and I were moving away from Vancouver the following month anyway - not because it's not a great city, but because my internal wiring short-circuits under the burden of dysfunctional traffic and frequent rain - I thought the trip would be a great time to underscore the fact our lives were about to undergo a significant change. So I brought along a ring.

I didn't tell anyone about my plans. I didn't want to risk a loose lip sinking my ship. I had waited twelve years to ask her, so I wanted to do it right.

I was undecided whether I would ask her when we were alone or with our friends around. If I was going to go with the latter, then I wanted the following conditions to exist: a sunny day so the diamonds would glitter, everyone present so no one felt left out, and everyone in a good mood. Let the trip play out, I decided, and seize the moment when it arrived.

We put in on unseasonably low water, but the air was warm and the water clear. As we floated down, with the rafts constantly maneuvering around exposed rocks, the clouds gathered above us. Just at the moment we arrived at the first campsite, the skies opened with a torrent of freezing rain. I'm sure we all wished that one of the many hot springs in the area was at this spot, but the map showed a blank. However, to everyone's delight, the first person to step ashore stepped directly into a shallow steaming bath! The river was so low it uncovered a hot spring that normally doesn't exist. It fit all of us perfectly and the rain shower lasted the length of a beer.

The answer is Yes. Photo Eric Oberg.

On day three the moment I was waiting for arrived. We had finished paddling for the day and had set up camp on a beautiful bend in the river. The sun was baking, the first pre-dinner drinks had been poured, and everyone was splashing around in the water having fun.

I grabbed Eric and gave him my camera and asked him to come along. He instinctively knew what was up and quietly took position. I then got everyone's attention and offered a toast to "good friends", which received a rather disinterested raising of glasses (it wasn't the first toast of the trip). Then my tongue wrapped around itself and I dumbly held out the ring to Monica.

That got the interest piqued and an outrageous riverside engagement party erupted. Even Mother Nature joined us in the form of an enormous thunderstorm. She supplied the soundtrack of pounding rain and heavy bass thunder, and a light show of forked fireworks. The river rose in flood and the next morning the turbulent brown water carried trees and recent mountainsides past our exhausted campsite.

The earth was thoroughly scoured clean and prepared to start afresh. I looked upon it as a metaphor, kissed my fiancée, and set off downstream.

If you are interested in playing the Rogue lottery, go to www.or.blm.gov/Rogue river/

For the Salmon: www.fs.fed.us/r4/sc/recreation/4rivers.htm

To join a commercial group on the Rogue: www.noahsrafting.com/; www.rogueriveroutfitters.com

For the Salmon: www.fs.fed.us/r4/sc/recreation/4rivers/riveruseinfo/newogwild.htm; www.idahosmiddlefork.com/mfslist.asp.

© Steve Crowe is our regular whitewater columnist and co-author of Whitewater in BC's Southwest: A Guide to Accessible Runs for Beginner to Advanced Kayakers.