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Heading out
 On
the evening of Thursday, July 13, 2006,
Danny Booker, David Morgan and his son Eric, and myself, Howard Kirkland,
left home for two weeks
in Idaho, with the intent of paddling several of the outstanding
rivers to be found there. The four of us loaded up into my
Ford Excursion, with my enclosed trailer in tow; both vehicles
being stuffed brim-full of gear, food and clothing.
South Fork Boise River
 Arriving in
Boise, Idaho on Saturday, July 15, we visited Cascade Outfitters, and
then drove northeastward to the headwaters of the
South Fork
of the Boise River. This turned out to be a very beautiful,
remote and exciting stretch of river, which has cut its way through
the ubiquitous volcanic basalt to form a lovely sheer-walled
canyon, alternating with semi-arid plains with rugged mountains in
the background.
Bear Valley Creek
On Monday, we drove Northeastward from Boise to Bonneville
Campground, near the headwaters of the famous
South Fork
Payette River, and the site of a very popular hot springs, where
we joined up with David's friends Bill and Cathy West of Monterey,
California. Tuesday morning, having enjoyed the hot springs and a
delicious breakfast, we all set out for
Bear
Valley Creek, one of the headwaters of the
world-renowned
Middle
Fork of the Salmon River.
 Arriving at Fir Creek Campground in Bear Valley,
we discovered
that Bear Valley Creek was very low, but determined to go forward
with our planned trip anyway, we loaded up our rafts, set
our shuttle at Dagger Falls, and launched. Needless to say, the
heavily-laden rafts snagged on practically every rock in the stream,
and had to be pushed and pulled free, only to become hung on the
next rock downstream. After about two of the longest miles in paddling
history, we arrived at our destination: Bear Valley Hot Springs.
Here, a large volume (at least 150 gallons per minute) of very hot
water cascades down a talus slope on the right shore and into a
twenty-foot-wide channel which parallels the course of the creek for
several hundred feet, forming a peninsula or near-island about 100
feet wide. This island is forested, with numerous flat, level spots
for tent sites, and a ready-built stone fire ring, replete with logs
for seats. Shortly before joining the creek, the hot spring flows
through a large two-to-three-foot-deep pool, where the temperature
hovers around 103-104 degrees; just the right temperature
to ease the pains incurred while man-handling the rafts. A
delightful dinner, a long soak in the steaming pool, and a good
night's sleep found us ready to attack the remaining five or six
miles of river Wednesday morning.
 About one mile below the Hot Springs,
Marsh
Creek enters from the right, to mark the beginning of the
Middle
Fork of the Salmon River, and to double the volume of water. It
would be nice to report that the trip got easier at this point, but
such was not to be the case; the rapids from this point onward
became steeper and more difficult, while the streambed became wider,
making it appear that the stream had nearly dried up in places.
Again, we found ourselves straining and shoving to free the boats
from the rocks. Mid-day found us (finally) at the take-out,
immediately upstream of the notorious Class V+ Dagger Falls,
whereupon we began to haul the boats and gear up a tortuous,
narrow, twisting, 150-yard-long boulder-studded path. After about
two hours, the other shuttle vehicle had been retrieved, the gear
and boats had been loaded, and we began the next phase of our
adventure.
Yellow Pine, Idaho
At this point, we were in the middle of a staggeringly large
wilderness area, accessible only by a very few dirt
roads, or by air. Our plan was to seek out a route to Riggins, Idaho, via the
town of Bergdorf, which is the site of a famous hot springs and the
former site of a popular resort around the turn of the last century.
However, it was not long before we found ourselves changing a
tire that had suffered a major puncture from a piece of road gravel.
About fifty more miles of bad road (parts of which more-or-less
followed Class IV-V+
Johnson
Creek) brought us to the small mountain town of Yellow Pine,
Idaho; a quaint collection of log and stone buildings, double-wides
and mobile homes, which appeared to be supported by logging and mining,
and by the annual
Yellow Pine Harmonica
Festival and Contest. With a year-round population of around 40
(and double that number for the dog population) and each back yard
replete with junk cars and trucks, this community resembles many
localities in West Virginia, with the exception of the numerous
horses and snowmobiles to be found here. There was even one 15-passenger van
that had its wheels removed and replaced with track drive
assemblies, resembling nothing so much as four small bulldozer
treads. Stopping at one of the several Bar/tavern/grill/restaurants
on the two-block-long main street, we were treated to a very
filling and delicious meal, Dave Morgan's over-done steak fingers
notwithstanding. Service was slow, but no more so than the general
pace of life in Yellow pine, in everyone's estimation. A nearby
Forest Service campground provided pleasant campsites on the shore of a now more
gentle (Class II-III)
Johnson
Creek.
Thursday morning, after a hearty breakfast at the same tavern (same slow
service; different waitress), we headed up the street to Dennis'
(last name unknown) Garage to fix the flat tire. Now, it seems that
Dennis has a nice, modern tire changing machine, but doesn't know
how to use it; however, having heard of our plight, he
invited us to use
his shop to fix the tire ourselves. The Tire Machine was not too
difficult to figure out, and the tire popped free of its rim very
handily. A search through Dennis' drawers (the ones on his
workbench, that is) yielded up a fairly large mushroom-shaped
plug/patch combination that looked as if it would do the job. But
much to our dismay, the damage was too severe, and the patch
wouldn't hold air. However, our inherent good luck kicked in, and we
found a very good used tire, just the right size, on a rack near the
Tire machine, which we successfully mounted. By this time, we
had discovered another tire that was dangerously low; so we filled it with green
slime and pumped it up, and it appeared to hold. When asked what was
owed, Dennis replied "Whatever you think it's worth." When he was
offered $70.00, he felt that was too much, and returned $20. Thus
everyone was happy, and there were now four good (?) tires on the ground
plus a spare.
 Since the remaining tires were
of the same vintage as the damaged ones, and therefore equally as
vulnerable to punctures, it was
decided to cancel the exploratory trip through Bergdorf, and to head
to the nearest hard-surfaced road, at McCall, Idaho, only seventy or so miles of dirt
road to the west. As it turned out, the road surface was relatively
well-maintained, and it carried us westward along the
East Fork
of the South Fork of the Salmon river and several of its
tributaries. At some point, we discovered a Ford Econoline
passenger van, parked right in the middle of the stream, with its
doors open and the water flowing through. Apparently someone had
attempted to combine his float trip with his shuttle trip, but had
not installed sufficient flotation.
 The road soon left the river and
carried us up a steep-walled valley, and across a high pass,
through some of the most spectacular scenery we had ever beheld.
The flanks of the legendary Sawtooth Mountains were rugged and rocky, and in
many places heavily forested with evergreens; in other places, the
skeletal trunks of dead and diseased Lodgepole Pines spiked upward
toward the clear blue sky. Sheltered coves on their slopes still harbored mounds of
un-melted snow.
Finally exiting the dirt roads for the
relative luxury of asphalt at McCall, we continued northward to
the town of Riggins, located at the confluence of the Little Salmon
and Main Salmon Rivers. Here, we replenished our supply of
groceries, beverages and ice.
White Bird, Idaho
Fourteen miles northwest of Riggins, at the confluence of White
Bird Creek and the
Lower
Salmon River, lies the small town of White Bird, Idaho. This
sleepy little town, which in recent history has been bypassed by the
new highway, bills itself as the "Gateway to Idaho Whitewater." Having
made advance reservations at the Chief White Bird Motel, we
made our way there, and checked into our rooms to clean up, wash
laundry (there was a Laundromat attached) and to wait for Bill West's
son Jason and Jason's friend Corrie Bruner, and Bill and Cathy's
friend Dennis Lillis, to arrive.
Lower Salmon River
 This brings us to the morning of
Friday, July 14, and the
launch date for our main trip. Having eaten a hearty
breakfast at the Silver Dollar Cafe, and having made shuttle arrangements
(the Chief White Bird Motel also furnishes shuttle services), and
having hooked up with Jason, Corrie and Dennis, we drove to
the nearby Hammer Creek launch site, whereupon we assembled a very
impressive flotilla, consisting of Dave's, Danny's and Howard's
16-foot Riken raft (The USS Iowa, BB-61), Bill's 19-foot Sotar cataraft
(Big Byrde, named after Cathy's father), Howard's
Shredder, all with rowing frames and heavy cargoes of food, cooking
and camping gear and personal stuff; Dennis' inflatable kayak
and Jason's and Corrie's inflatable canoe. The weather was clear and
hot but quite bearable, due to the relatively low humidity, and the group
soon launched.
About an hour downstream, we came to Pine Bar, the site of a
Forest Service campground, and a sandy beach that simply begged us
to stop for the night, and to take advantage of the last pit
toilets, trash containers and fresh water that we would see for
the next four days. While Dave and Danny grilled steaks over a
charcoal fire and Howard prepared a Dutch oven blackberry cobbler,
the rest of the crew pitched tents and rigged a tarpaulin shelter,
which was blown down repeatedly by the downstream wind.
 Saturday
morning dawned bright and clear, and after repacking the rafts, we floated on down, soon entering Snow Hole Canyon, the first of
two basalt-walled canyons along the Lower Salmon. It was here that
we encountered our first significant rapids. At the present flow
(around 9,000 CFS), Snow Hole Rapids was a Class II-III tongue with
little maneuvering required. China Rapids contained a monster hole
quite capable of flipping a raft, but was easily cheated to the
left.
 The
next three days were filled with more beautiful scenery, challenging
rapids and wildlife sightings; Ospreys, Bald Eagles, Chukker,
Blue Herons, Long-horn sheep and deer abounded. Each night found us at yet another lovely, sandy beach. Most nights
we slept out
under the stars; the sky so clear that the Milky Way shone brightly from horizon to horizon. Daytime temperatures were mid-90's,
and evenings a cool mid-to-upper-60's. The relative humidity was
quite low, making the daytime highs quite bearable. Should anyone
become uncomfortably warm, a quick dip in the cool waters provided
instant relief.
Hells Canyon of the Snake River
 Monday
morning brought the end of the Salmon River, as it entered the much
larger
Snake River at the lower end of Hells Canyon. To the west lies
the State of Oregon and the Wallowa Mountains; to the right lies
Idaho and the Seven Devils range. In this stretch, the gradient
becomes significantly lower, and even though the flow has more than doubled,
downstream progress is slowed to a crawl. To make matters worse, a
brisk wind is blowing upstream.
 Our
last campsite was on river right, where a narrow but nearly level
sandy beach lay between a large, calm eddy and a massive black
basalt outcropping. Here were greeted by a pair of Bighorn sheep
who were grazing on the nearby hillside.
Heller Bar The next day's trip began
early, as did the upstream wind. "Snake Lake" (as we had dubbed
it) stretched on seemingly forever; the final twelve miles unwound
at a snail's pace. Nearly exhausted, we arrived at Heller Bar (in
the southeast corner of the State of Washington), just downstream of
the confluence of the Grand Ronde River, on the left shore. Here,
we unloaded and deflated the rafts and loaded the gear into our
vehicles, which had been delivered that morning by the shuttle
service.
Imnaha River The group then set off
to find Oregon's Imnaha River, which, according to Dennis Lillis,
was a boatable Class III stream with numerous rapids and beautiful
scenery. Several hours later, we said our goodbyes, as Dennis,
Jason and Corrie departed for their respective homes. The remaining
members continued southward through the rugged and lovely Wallowa
Mountains, and shortly before dark, we found a very pleasant campground
on the banks of the Imnaha River.
 Wednesday
morning, we followed this stream toward its confluence with the
Snake, only to find that the local ranches and farms had diverted
most of the water to irrigate their crops, leaving far too little to
float our boats (shades of Bear Valley Creek!). Arriving in the small
mountain town of Imnaha, we stopped to visit the few rustic
mercantile establishments there.
At this point, Bill and Cathy West said their fond good-byes, and
headed homeward toward California, leaving myself, Danny, Dave and
Eric to find our way southward to Ontario, Oregon, and then
eastward toward Boise and eventually home. Home
again On Saturday, July 22, we returned safely
home, having survived over six thousand miles of driving, four time
zones, eight days and six nights of paddling on three (or four,
counting Snake Lake) beautiful, pristine rivers, five flat tires
(two on the same tire), a defective alternator, driving rain all the
way across Nebraska, the wind storms that ravaged St. Louis, MO, and entirely too
much fast food and bad coffee. And so ends the seventh (or is it the
eighth? I can't remember!) but definitely not the last, BRRR Western River
Extravaganza. *** Why do we keep doing it? Ask
those who have participated, and you'll probably get as many
different answers, or as many different collections of answers. When
most people hear "Idaho," their first reaction is "Potatoes?"
However, unknown to most, central and northern Idaho contains
America's largest wilderness area, and literally thousands of miles
of whitewater streams. The geological, archaeological and
topographical features of this area are more varied and diverse than
practically anywhere else in the USA. In mid-summer, when Virginia
rivers are drying up, the rivers in Idaho are still brimming with
chilly waters that only hours before were dripping from the sun-warmed
faces of glaciers. This area contains few people and fewer roads;
signs of civilization are scarce, and wildlife abounds. Have you
ever wondered just
what drew the first settlers westward? This is as close to sharing
their experience as you are ever likely to come. Peace? Quiet?
Solitude? To get as far away as possible from the world as we know
it? Just to be totally wrapped up in the present moment to the exclusion of
any other concerns? It's all to be found there, and more; much, much
more. ***
I've been home now for nearly a week, and for the past few days, I
have felt very listless and lethargic, and have had to really push
myself to get anything accomplished. It only just dawned on me that
I'm suffering from Post-Partum Depression; my body and soul still
cry out to be back in Idaho. Howard Kirkland
July 28, 2006 |
