The river is my mistress/
Wild and wanton she can be/
Make a strong man beg for mercy/
Bring a proud man to his knees/
Light his fire and fire his passions/
Then just burn him in her heat/
That's my lady, my obsession/
She's my love and bittersweet.
(Excerpt from the song "River Fool")
daleachMy first look at whitewater came in 1973 on the Deschutes River in north central Oregon. An invitation from one of my brothers and his wife led me into a world then unknown that soon became one of the passions of my life.
This initial voyage was a great introduction to rafting and whitewater. Known as an excellent fishing river, the Deschutes provides enough good whitewater to give one a taste for the thrill without drowning that enthusiasm right out of the chute.
The equipment was all primitive including the less than chic Mae West life jacket. I was in a six-foot "two-man" raft that I completely filled and equipped with two short plastic oars - for flailing the water into submission- and a bailing bucket. Therein was the first lesson learned (assimilated later to be sure): Rivers and their ratings as to difficulty are only relevant when equipment used is a part of the calculation. Even a little "riffle" can become a big deal if you're equipment is minimal. I spent a good portion of that 3-day, 35 mile trip capsized or full of water, but I had a blast and was hooked on whitewater.
The next spring I started doing more trips on the McKenzie River, a beautiful clear, cold stream that flows from the Cascade Mountains west to Eugene where it joins the Willamette River. My college friends, the Overalls, have the McKenzie running through their back yard and it was in their fishing boat on that river that I got my first lessons in rowing.
I "graduated" to a ten-foot army surplus raft with a home-made rowing frame and tackled some more technical water (more rocks, maneuvering, and speed), but showed the same uncanny ability for capsizing. I wasn't afraid to take some chances, but I learned a healthy respect for the river as well. We made a number of trips that year and gradually I got better.
The next Spring (late April) I went to the far southeast corner of Oregon to run the Owyhee River. To get to the put-in, you go to Rome (Oregon) and hang a right into the desert for thirty-five miles to an old supply/mail outpost known as Three Forks. The Owyhee is a wild runoff river that is navigable only 4-6 weeks a year depending on the snow melt. Four days on this river are a test in most every way imaginable. The Owyhee crashes through sheer canyons two to three thousand feet deep that are located in the high desert, exposed to all of Nature's elements and far from any hope of rescue. The rapids are long, technical and arduous. The water cold and unforgiving. It was my first big test!
I shared a ten-foot raft with a novice. His name escapes me, but the trauma of our time together will never leave me. How he landed on that trip (designated for "adventurous experienced outdoorsman"), I have no clue. He was singularly ill-equipped for any facet of the adventure. A year or two later, I might have had some fun with him alternately breaking him in to the experience and scaring the #*!+ out of him. But not on this first go 'round, because I was almost as scared as he.
Whenever my " partner" took the oars it was not a good experience. He was timid, at best, and not interested in anything beyond minimal physical exertion. We were the proverbial teapot amid the tempest. Fortunately a piece of foam had been added atop the bottom of the raft that improved floatation and I was too busy bailing water to realize half of the peril we encountered!
Needless to say, it wasn't long before I was rowing most of the time while he wiled away the time sniveling about the multiplicity of discomforts he was experiencing. This was the routine for three days passage.
In time, though he must have grown tired of the sniveling too, because he allowed that he would like to give rowing another try. We were in a relatively calm stretch of water, so I thought, "Why not? What harm can he possibly do?" He took the oars.
I'd like to tell you that he was a changed man. I'd like to tell you that he had learned some skills for reading the water and maneuvering the boat by watching. I'd like to tell you that all those hours spent resting gave him the reserves to exert himself and actually move the raft about on the water. I really would like to tell you that, but I'd be lying.
Going from bad to worse, we had drifted through the relatively calm water and were picking up speed, headed for the baddest rapid on the Owyhee. Here's what we knew about that rapid. It was named "Widowmaker". It was rated a six on the American river rating system of 1-6 (a "6" being "run at risk of loss of life and equipment"). A kayaker had been lost there the week before and not been found (half of the kayak was recovered). And we were somewhere between a quarter and half mile above said Widowmaker...but exactly how far we had no idea. Pretty exciting, don't you think?
The master plan was for the party to pull off on the north side of the river just above Widowmaker and then portage the equipment around and rope the rafts through the rapid. About then, I offered that it "might be a good time to trade places" so I could be the one responsible for getting us to the desired location. He agreed, but still needed to get us out of the main current where we could trade places safely. That never happened.
As the water continued to pick up its pace, I pointed out a lone rock sticking up mid-stream for him to go right of and pull into the small eddy beyond. There we could make our switch. His eyes got real big as a mother lode of fear downloaded in him. In that moment, I had my first first-hand look at one of the BIG lessons the river has to teach: You will face FEAR, and when you do, you will do one of two things. Either you will "freeze", paralyzed by your fear, and do nothing (this is not good), or, you will be spurred to do things that you never imagined you were capable of doing (and this is very good). This is so good, you'll come back for more, again and again!
Lyle (I just remembered his name in that cathartic moment of recollection) froze. We hit the rock head on. The raft capsized pitching me left into the main current, while Lyle and the raft were washed right and into the safety of the eddy. (Can I get a "Where's the justice!?). I was not happy, but had little time for that as I was picking up speed as the canyon narrowed and I hurtled into the unknown. I bounced off of rocks and was pushed further left. My mind was processing the situation and came to the conclusion that my first priority was to buy time by getting out of the main current, even if it meant going to the opposite side of the river from where I had intended to be.
I swam toward that opposite shoreline and lodged myself upriver against a large rock. From there I could see that some of the rest of the group were picking up Lyle and righting the capsized raft. The lead guide was positioning himself a little downriver from me and preparing to throw lifelines when/if I got within range. It was good to have a chance to rest a bit and catch a breath.
My situation was not promising. I could see a horizon line in the canyon downriver and that indicated a major drop (Widowmaker) was close. To have any chance of going around instead of through her gauntlet of house-size boulders, I had to be on the right shoreline, not the left. Unfortunately that was a good thirty yards through ever accelerating water.
Fortunately, fear had left the building by then and time seemed to stop as I remember seeing "movies" of the eventualities of the two choices I considered. I saw myself washed into Widowmaker and swallowed up there...and I saw myself swimming to the other shore and reaching safety. And then the message that followed was "You need to choose! Choose and do it now!" So I did!
It seemed impossible. I'm not that good of a swimmer. I wasn't in a good place nor was I in good condition (already in 50-55 degree water for 3-4 minutes and somewhat battered) to make such a swim...but it happened! And I made it!
The next year, the lesson took on a even deeper significance, in another experience and has become a cairn on the trail of my life. I was a boatman on my first trip where I had direct responsibility for passengers (four adults and one seven-year-old boy). The Snake River through Hell's Canyon is one of the big rivers in America. Unlike the Owyhee which is a rather small and relatively shallow river with many surface rocks requiring a lot of maneuvering (technical), the Snake has a tremendous amount of water flowing over mostly submerged rock formations and hydraulics become the name of the game. Moving a boat becomes less possible because of the sheer power of the river and positioning becomes paramount instead.
After putting in just below Hell's Canyon Dam, it's only a few short miles to Wild Sheep Rapid. Wild Sheep and Granite Rapids are the two largest rapids left on the Snake River (the other biggies were lost to the dam reservoirs...pun intended) and are encountered in the first half day that one is on that river. Both are rated somewhere between five and six depending on the flow.
The guide I ran with in those days had been on the Snake once before I went and he had not had a good experience in Wild Sheep. In fact, it scared him big time! He was afraid of it before he ran it and he was more afraid of it after he ran it. And he was prone to passing his apprehensions along to anyone that would listen. So I heard a lot of horror stories about Wild Sheep and had constructed a pretty serious monster in my mind before I had even gotten on the river. For weeks, as we prepared for the trip and then during the long ride from the Willamette Valley to the Oregon-Idaho border the monster grew! By the time we hit the water, I was awash in fear and dread! As we floated toward Wild Sheep the tension was palpable.
The roar of a big rapid is audible long before it is seen. In fact, on the water itself, often the rapid isn't visible until you are ready to drop over its lead edge. Our party landed upriver (Idaho side) of Wild Sheep and walked to the rise above the rapid to scout out a path. Scouting is essential to running a large rapid successfully. Each boatman has his/her own methods, but basically they start at the top of the rapid and work their way down, noting potential hazards and pitfalls, calculating the probability of where the water will take the raft and the possibility of counteracting those forces. Then they will repeat the process going from bottom to top. This may happen any number of times and will most often eventually include input and exchange of ideas with the other boatmen. In the end each boatman sets their desired plan of action, establishing visual checkpoints along the way, and then commits to the plan!
That day, carrying the weight of my hyperactive imagination and the onus for the safety of my human cargo very heavy on my shoulders, I went up to see "my monster". I will never forget my shock standing there looking out over Wild Sheep. It was impressive; it was big and fraught with dangers; it was scary; it was going to be the biggest challenge I had yet faced on the river; but it did not look anything like the monster I carried in my head. Once that was clear, I did what I knew how to do; scout the rapid, make a plan and then go execute.
Later that day, as I processed the experience, it hit me that we all spend a lot of our lives creating monsters in our heads based on our and others' fears. They have no basis in reality; they are merely heresay; they are imaginary, yet we become so paralyzed by these images that we effectively render ourselves impotent to act and experience life. I resolved that day to never waste myself, or the moment, in building monsters of what might, or could be out there somewhere, but to enjoy the present for whatever it is. And when I do face something large and fearsome, take a good look at it, identify the perils, make a plan and then execute that plan to the best of my abilities.
WE WILL FACE FEAR
WE DON'T NEED TO GO LOOKING FOR IT.
OUR RESPONSE WILL BE "TO FREEZE" OR
TO DO SOMETHING WE NEVER THOUGHT POSSIBLE
The BIBLE says "Fear Not", 365 times. That's one time for every day in the year! It also says that "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!" (Philippians 4:13) With Him there is no need to fear and anything is possible.
