For a moment I thought I was in the movie,”Out of Africa.” As the Cesna circled a field, a herd of Elk raced west towards the river. Within ten minutes of our landing four other planes landed in the empty field to let off passengers. Next we all boarded a bus for the ride to the beginning of our trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.
My wife Vicki and I had signed up with Canyons Inc. to kayak the Middle Fork and Main Salmon for 12 days during the summer of 1997. Ironically Canyons was owned by Les Bechel, a former national slalom kayak champion, who had given me my first kayak lesson in 1970 on the Andoscoggin River in Northern New Hampshire. I had wanted to run this Idaho river, when I first read about it in articles written by the late, legendary kayaking surgeon, Walt Blackadar, thirty years ago.
The previous Spring I had traveled to Bryson City, North Carolina to kayak school at the Nantahala Outdoor Center, the Mecca for kayak instruction. I had been paddling for many years, but my skills were rusty, and living in San Diego made getting to the rivers difficult. The school had served its purpose, though the fact I was at least twenty years older than the other students made for a trying experience.
The Middle Fork trip begins at 6000 feet and the river tumbles and drops for a hundred miles, until it joins the Main Salmon. Whereas the Main has big rapids with rolling waves, the Middle Fork is tight and technical. I was anxious, as I left the bus to gather my gear, which had been trucked in earlier. The weather was cold with intermittent sleet, even though it was late July! I wondered if I could handle the river. Les had assured me I could, after he had assessed my paddling resume.
Following a ranger’s lecture on river regulations, we got in our boats. There were approximately twenty five people in the group. Most paddled rafts, but in addition to me in a hard shelled kayak and my wife Vicki in an inflatable kayak, there were two open canoes and one decked canoe.
Because the river was steeper at the top, the first day had some of the more difficult rapids. At Pistol Creek, the guides told us to steer directly at a rock with a lot of water hitting it. The force of the water would take us right around the rock and keep our boats for entering the boiling eddy on river left. Though this advice made sense, it was counter intuitive, since conventional wisdom told me to avoid rocks. I wanted to trust the experts, but I couldn’t. Of course, when I went to the left of the rock, I went right into the boiling eddy with its swirling currents and turbulent water. I was lucky to work my way out of the eddy without tipping over and getting trapped.
After Pistol Creek I began to relax and enjoy the rapids. Our days took on a pleasant, predictable order. We would exit our tents around 7: 30 for breakfast cooked on the river banks by the guides. They carried propane stoves, so bacon, eggs, and pancakes were no problem to cook. We put on the river by 9 and had a picnic lunch around noon. The day ended in the late afternoon with time for fishing and swimming. Beer and wine were available with dinner, which was always excellent. Dry ice and clever packing of the food allowed the guides to prepare steak, chicken, and fish amongst other dishes. Sleep on sandy beaches under the stars came easily. Nearby hot springs soothed muscles, aching from the intense paddling of the day.
As the days went on I joined the rhythm of river life. I was rolling well, so I took no swims. One day I was paddling out in front of the group. I came around a corner and found myself face to face with six Bighorn sheep. We eyed each other as I silently drifted by. At camp one afternoon we watched a bear across the river foraging for food. Shortly thereafter a moose swam downriver, caught an eddy near us and bolted out of the water!
As we were nearing the end of the Middle Fork section of the trip, we had to negotiate a canyon with Class IV whitewater. As I entered Weber Rapids, which were straightforward, I felt confident. Mid way through I was knocked over by a wave, but I easily rolled up with the wave and caught an eddy on the left. The sensation was sweet!
The second half of the trip on the Main Salmon brought a new group, though the guides remained the same. One other couple in addition to Vicki and me were continuing. There were a group of writers who came to raft together. They weren’t your usual river people. Out of shape and drinking more than their share in the evenings, they filled the air with literary references, which seemed out of place in the Frank Church Wilderness. Initially they seemed aloof and unfriendly, but I think they were anxious. Anne Dillard was the friendliest, and towards the end Robert Stone, a shy man, got in an inflatable kayak and had a great time riding some waves. The trip ended before the literary people and the river people really got a chance to know each other.
The final night we camped across the river from where we would end the trip in the morning. I didn’t want the trip to end. I easily could have paddled for another 5 days and maybe even more than that. In the morning the guides asked me if I wanted to ride across the river, and I said that I would prefer to paddle. I tried to stretch out those hundred yards, but eventually I reached the river bank, and my trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon which began as a dream almost 30 years before was over. When the trucks came, we loaded up, and drove back to McCall, before heading to Sun Valley to rest and savor our experiences.
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