About Us - Adventures: Wenonah Canoe Trip

Wenonah Canoe's Annual Whitewater Canoe Trip Down the Deschutes River in Oregon
The Deschutes River empties into the Columbia about a hundred miles from the ocean after it traverses the high desert of Northern Oregon. The area we paddled was the lower 45 miles from just below Sherars Falls, a class 6 fall that has claimed numerous victims, to the confluence with the Columbia River. As we loaded the boats and prepared to launch into the seemingly calm river, I thought about the open top of these canoes and compared them to the security of the sealed kayak that I am used to. We had just driven past the first major rapid, Wreck, named after a train wreck several years back, and I had no doubt that we would soon be swimming through it. Most of the paddling that I have done has been on flat water or in the ocean with only a few trips down class 2 white water in kayaks so as we sorted gear, loaded the boats and donned protective equipment, we all shared our fears and apprehension. These rapids are mild to most boaters and in a raft would seem almost boring, but in open canoes, the chance of a swim were almost guaranteed.	Gearing up
We inflated float bags and set off down the river, getting the feel of this new style of transportation. As we passed progressively bigger riffles and wave trains, we began to feel slightly more comfortable with our ability to get through the obstacles before us. As we negotiated the first real rapid named Trestle, we skirted the standing wave that the kayakers seek out to play in and passed the bridge without incident. A few more miles and several small waves behind us we began to get a little more adventruous and went through the bigger waves instead of looking for calmer water. One almost swamped us but we quickly bailed out and headed on down the river toward the class III ahead. From our vantage point at river level, the approaching rapid appeared as a simple tongue of white rising out of the middle of the river and did not look at all threatening, but we knew from our earlier view from the road that there were two distinct holes to avoid. One at just left of center was first and the objective was to pass just to the right of it. The second was only a few yards further downstream and was the larger of the two placed river right. If you approach this rapid from river right and angle toward the left, your chances are good to get through it upright, however we found ourselves at center river directly above the first hole and headed right into the bigger one. As soon as I saw the hole open up in front of us, I knew that we were headed for a swim. We dropped into the second hole and for a split second it looked like we might make it through, but as the bow entered the wave at the downstream side of the hole, water filled the boat and we were instantly underwater. We popped out of the boat and bounced along in the rocks periodically sucked under by the spinning current only to be spit out for another precious breath of air. We turned to point feet downstream in order to fend off the rocks and guide ourselves over and around them. As we moved into calmer water, we pushed, pulled and swam the boat into the safety of an eddy.	Wreck Rapids Camp after Wreck Rapids
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After collecting gear, boats, paddles, and paddlers we got back into the boats and paddled the remaining mile and a half to our campsite. This was the decadent part of the trip since we had left vehicles at the campground earlier in the day and had all the comforts of home at hand. With a camper nearby, we settled into cooking dinner, and celebrating the days events. Fresh Salmon (fresh from Safeway) was prepared on the camp stoves and barbecues and washed down with generous amounts of beer. After cleanup we all settled in to tell tall tales and discuss just how to run the world, should we be given the opportunity. A little after dark, I headed off to watch the night sky while the rest of the group tried valiantly to dispose of a bottle of Tequila and the rest of the beer. As I lay there watching satellites dash across the narrow opening of the gorge, the raucous call of the Nocturnal River Paddler echoed across the canyon accompanied by strains of Neil Young and Jimmy Hendrix. Morning shone bright and clear, and as Kurt poured coffee, groans came from those who enjoyed the previous night just a little too much. Soon we were picking up the debris, getting gear together and waiting for the part of the group that was to meet us for the rest of the trip.	Morning after!
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At about 11:00 am three more from Alder Creek Canoe and Kayak in Portland showed up and after a quick photo run, we loaded the canoes and set off down the river. We passed many fishermen both on the bank and in drift boats whose common comment to us was "You carry those boats past the rapids, right?" accompanied by a knowing nod indicating "No way, these things are too heavy to carry." was our standard answer. But for most of us these exchanges only served to increase the apprehension about what lay ahead. Throughout the day as we negotiated each little wave or riffle we would ask if that was a rapid with a name and the answer was always the same, "No, that was nothing, just wait till we hit "Colorado" or 'Widowmaker'." In one rapid, several of us swamped our boats, filling them with water but remaining upright paddling as if through molasses, and finally helped by the others to pull our sodden boats into the eddy. This served as the perfect opportunity to break for lunch consisting of veggies, cheese and pastrami. After the break we continued on down the river, and soon were engaged in an ongoing game of "Dead Fish Polo". This is played by dropping a sponge into the water and scooping it up on the edge of your paddle, balancing it there until the right opening offers itself and then hurling it into your opponents boat or body. A point is scored when the sponge stays in. If it bounces out, it is no score. The real challenge is to maneuver your canoe into position to catch the "dead fish" without capsizing, or loosing sight of what rapids may be coming up ahead. It is also much more fun when played with more than two canoes and "fish". We cruised through the little rapids and played this soggy form of lacrosse through out the day, meandering sometimes and then rushing furiously through a fast section of the river.	Onward... After Lunch
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As we floated along, we noticed that first one side and then the other would show recent scars from a fire. It appeared that flames had swept rapidly along the banks, driven by high winds and skipping from side to side. Some sections of the bank would be untouched for a hundred yards or more on either side only to return to their blackened state further along. At about five O'clock we finally pulled ashore at a scarred campground, and searched for sites to set up camp. Kurt said that there was another place to stay further along but it appeared that the burn pattern continued. This area was not as bad as most of what we had seen the last few miles so we decided to stay. Everyone set about making camp and finding places for tents and bivouacs while Kurt and a few of us started putting dinner together. The meal consisted of chicken (another long story) and tofu salad, rice and corn on the cob. After the long day on the river, it was a gourmet dinner and soon we were again talking about "Messing about in Boats". A little after dusk Erik and Brian, two of the more experienced young members of the group, took the Rouge canoe out to a small rapid across from the camp and played in the hole for a while. At first we could see them as a silhouette against the far bank and then against the white of the rapid, but as the light faded we could only hear them whooping and splashing their way into and out of the wave. As dark fell, we sat and talked for a while longer and then one by one drifted off to our bags. The party was much more subdued than the night before and everyone was asleep by ten or so.	Burned camp Watching in the dark
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The next morning as we were finishing our breakfast a fisherman from a camp downstream came by and shared the news of the great sadness that had befallen our country. We at first expressed disbelief and then shock. All of the group was stunned and it took us some time to recover, but recover we did, and go on we did, break camp, load boats, get ready to head off into what would be the five rapid day. I think that all of us who had not paddled canoes in whitewater before felt some uncertainty about the coming challenges. On one hand we speculated that perhaps the difficulty was overrated to keep us off guard, and on the other we knew from "Train Wreck" that this river had the power to dump us if we did not respect it. Before we hit the first big one, we stopped and hiked up to see some ancient petroglyphs on the cliffs above the river. A short climb and our view expanded to include several bends of the river and the graffiti of past juvenile delinquents. I wondered if they were Tags for some forgotten gang, the antelope hunters or the big river warriors? Back on the river we were coached on how to approach the first big rapid. "Stay left, then right, and then left of right". After one false warning "It's right here, wait no, it's the next bend", we arrived, hit the correct line and made it through unscathed. The trick seemed to be to start out on the right line, keep the bow up through the waves, and paddle like hell. One boat went over but the rest of us made it with only the need to bail again. We rescued the capsized boat, drained the water from our lunch and ate. From then on we just went from one rapid to another, some easy without names and others with dire warnings from the anglers on the banks. After each section we would eddy out and bail, bail, bail, then paddle off to the next section. Each successful passage brought war hoops, and another round of "Dead Fish". As the day wore on, we began to look forward to that next rapid and to the final torrent of the day, just within sight of our destination, the Columbia River.
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At some time during the day we were paddling toward another small rapid and the familiar rumble of yet another train sounded behind us. As it approached we noticed that it was not the usual freight train but was instead none other than the famous Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus Train! I was surprised to notice that at each doorway stood several people, performers or crew we assumed, who waved and watched us paddle toward the rapids. In a strange twist of circumstances here we were, performing for the performers. Finally at about four, the bridge came into view and between us and it sat the final rapid. In earlier conversations with several of the group who had been on this river before, this was to be no slouch and we should expect for at least one boat to go over in it. Erik and I approached the biggest wave and paddled for all we were worth, bouncing into the hole and launching off of the tongue of whitewater that foamed at its center. By some small miracle we rode the wave without even taking on much water. The entire group passed through the rapid unscathed and before we realized it, we were pulling the boats up the bank at the take out. An hour to sort and load gear and the trip was over, once again to head back to the daily grind. I felt sorry to leave the river but as always when an adventure is over it is then time to start planning the next one.	The end of our trip
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Wenonah Canoe's Annual Whitewater Canoe Trip Down the Deschutes River in Oregon

Wenonah Canoe's Annual Whitewater Canoe Trip
Down the Deschutes River in Oregon