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| Wenonah
Canoe's Annual Whitewater Canoe Trip |
| Down
the Deschutes River in Oregon |
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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 |
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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.
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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.
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The
end of our trip |
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