At the Clark Fork River, Spring 2008

Photo: Andy Ambelang

The river is high this week; high for the last four weeks. Almost the color of chocolate milk, and running now with a visible determination to get downhill—downstream—home—it swirls and gurgles and trips over itself. A fisherman friend tells me that the change in the river level upsets the fish, as it would us if we woke up in a thick haze, or with our lawns somehow over our houses. The fish—he tells me—stay below the surface and wait it out.

As for me, I’m not content to wait out the high water. My most direct interaction with the river is kayaking, and while the water is fast and unpredictable, I have to paddle with care. Two weeks ago, at Brennan’s Wave, two other paddlers in the eddy pointed frantically upstream and I was just able to avoid a tractor tire, half-submerged, in the current.

The junk coming downstream is both the result of the spring runoff and something even more rejuvenating, something longer awaited. This April, the Milltown Dam, which segregated the Clark Fork from the Blackfoot River, was breached. Two long-separated lovers were rejoined for the first time in one-hundred years. It was not without conflict: heavy metals that were integral in keep the two apart washed downstream—cadmium, nickel, even mercury—killing the fish and closing the river to people.

If you go to Milltown, to Bonner, and look at the breached dam, it looks like chaos. A bridge lies on its side, spanning nothing. Tattered rebar and chunks of concrete litter the bank, and heavy machinery fouls the air. The Blackfoot, twisting through a diversion channel, almost reluctantly, trickles back into the Clark Fork. What looks like destruction may, downstream, closer to the source, really be progress. Silt from the Blackfoot muddies the Clark Fork, new sediment over the old.

Change of seasons...

Snow is falling, laps on Glory are accumulating, boating is over for now. Some nice shots from the Snake and Grand Canyon.


Will and I surfing winter wave at the end of October


Nice big seal launch


Eddy line play


Nice picture, cold photographer


Skiing will suffice for now, but cant wait till next spring

Grand Canyon pics coming soon

-d

Its cold in Missoula...

More to follow, happy holidays!

The Selway, Not the Easy Way

Last weekend, a plan a few weeks in the making finally came together, and four of us ran the Selway River at low flows. The Selway is a river that I've wanted to get on for a long time--its permitted throughout the prime months (April through August), and flows through the most remote and pristine area in the lower 48--the Selway Bitterroot Wilderness. The river canyon is filled with big whitewater at higher flows, and tight, technical whitewater the rest of the year. The shuttle is fairly horrendous, 10 hours if you do it all at once, but the rewards of the river are incredibly high. We had the opportunity to paddle 47 miles of continually interesting, stunningly beautiful whitewater--miles from the nearest person or town. Many thanks to my co-instructor Brandon Gonski for supplying these beautiful photos that give a glimpse into some of the many joys of this river.

The odyssey really started on Friday afternoon, when Ryan and I spent 6 hours running the take-out shuttle. We drove through the afternoon and evening to drop my truck at the take-out. By the time we had rallied over the washboard, it was completely dark, and we ended up just putting the truck where the river sounded the loudest--making sure that we were above the class V Selway Falls.

We woke up the next morning at 4, and, with Kaitlyn generously
volunteering to drop us off at the put-in, loaded up Brandon's
Subaru and started another 3 hour drive. By the time we got close to the river, and the sun began to come up, we could see tiny islands of ice around every rock, and, between them, a shallow trickle of water makings its way towards the Lochsa, 50 miles away. It was clear that this wasn't going to be an easy trip. With only two days to cover all the distance, and without the massive flows that are common in the springtime, we knew that our first day on the river was going to be a marathon. Ryan, eternally the optimist, had made it clear that the first day of paddling, ending at Moose Creek, was going to be "miserable...but awesome."
Here we are putting on the river. Our boats were loaded down with a lot of gear. Only Ryan had the secret weapon--he had borrowed the Outdoor Program's Prijon Chopper. The chopper absolutely swallowed his -40 sleeping bag and had room for more. I think that we all secretly wished for a Chopper of our own, or at least that he wouldn't be able to negotiate the technical whitewater downstream with his gargantuan, comfortable boat.



Here I am looking at the first rapid of our trip. Brandon is sitting behind a rock, taking photos. Little do we both know that soon I'll be upside down, and Brandon will be running the rest of the rapid trying to protect is gajillion dollar camera. It all ended well, though.


The first morning of whitewater was super tight, and there wasn't much water, but we didn't have to get out of our boats, or really stop for anything. We just kept moving, through a beautiful river canyon surrounded by high, arid walls and large evergreens. It was cold, and the day never really seemed to warm up.




We just kept moving, though. Here Ryan pushes the Chopper to its limits.







We kept waiting to see Moose Creek, which marked the half-way point, as well as the beginning of the largest rapids on the river. We managed to convince ourselves that we had passed it, and made camp at a beautiful sight, near a large wooden bridge that spanned the river.

Zach used his boyscout techniques to bring a fire up, we broke out the dehydrated chili, and we had a wonderful evening in camp, followed by a cold night in the tents.

Once we got on the water the next day, one of the first things we did was pass Moose Creek--the spot that we thought we had passed 5 miles earlier. We were in for another, equally long day. Because we didn't know where we had parked the truck, either, we knew that we had to get off the river before it got too dark to find.

On the bright side, though, Moose Creek meant an additional flow that sped up our progress, and significantly beefed up some of the rapids. Here Zach is deep in one of the larger rapids below Moose Creek.




Even though my facial hair is confidence-inspiring, I don't think that I'm looking too sure of myself as I run the same rapid here.








Here, Ryan is taking a look at the Chopper prospects for running this drop with a big pin rock right in the middle. Ry and I both decided to walk this one. By this time, it was getting late in the day, and we were all tired. We hadn't gotten on the river particularly early, due to our little Moose Creek mix-up, and we needed to make solid progress downstream.


Brandon's picture frequency also declined somewhat, as we buckled down and charged for the car.






By the time we finally made it, we were completely exhausted, and happy that we had the foresight to leave BBQ chips in the truck. We drove back out on the washboard just as the light was beginning to go. All in all, a sweet trip in one of the most pristine places that I've ever been.









We were pretty tired by the time we finally made it back to Missoula...









Once again, thanks to Brandon for the sweet pictures. Moral of the story--you may not get to reading all your student's essays, and you may drive for a thousand years to get there, but the Selway River is certainly a spirit-place. Every minute spent on the river you are surrounded with the immediacy and fullness of the wild. See you on the river...

Jackson Panorama

New Home, to be updated soon.

Big Doings, Island Fever, Spring 2007

Winter is over, and spring is definitely blowing up in the Pacific Northwest. Since its been a while since Dan or I posted anything to the blog, here is a quick update about the things that I have going on this spring on Orcas.

Announcement The First: I bought a vehicle. Some said that it was too soon after the Millennium Falcon, but I don't care. I fell in love. Its a 1987 Toyota 4Runner. It smells like mold and sounds like a biplane. See below.



This is the "good" side.









Announcement the Second: I have an article in Paddler Magazine this month. Its about paddling this summer and I'm terribly proud of it. You should look at it. Or email me and I'll send you one of my 50 photocopies. Its on page 30. Good times.

Announcement the Third: There are no rivers on Orcas Island. See below.




Greenland Rolling at Cascade Lake








Announcement the Fourth: I've been accepted to graduate school at the University of Montana, in Missoula. This is what I will be doing for the next two years:

Brennan's Wave, Missoula, MT

Announcement the Fifth: Check out this dreamboat.





Kaitlyn paddling her new boat.







That's about it from beautiful Orcas Island in Washington's San Juans. I'll be on island through August as the Director of Water Trips here, and then moving to Missoula in mid-August. Toodles!

The Millennium Falcon, 1996-2007

This seemed like the best venue to announce the parting of myself and my much-loved, much-maligned minivan, The Millennium Falcon. Those of you who know me certainly knew her--that aging silver battle wagon, seatless in back, with a giant gash along her hindquarters where that bastard Brian Jessop hit her at the Shell Station in Everett.
What you may not know, however, is that before I inherited her, she was beautiful. I remember when she first came off the lot. I was a freshman in high school, and she glowed with a cool silver burnish that could only make me think of comic books. Her sounds system was advanced, her double doors were kicking, and, besides the fact that it was a minivan, I was head-over-heels in love.
Time passed. I left for college and returned. After a brief foray with a 1982 Volvo Wagon, the Millennium Falcon and I were joined irrevocably in the fall of 2003, when we drove across the country for my senior year of college. She was still so new that someone tried to get in her and drive her because they thought she was part of the college van fleet.
She could seat 7, had cupholders for all of them, and could actually go 108 miles per hour, which I think is pretty fast for a minivan. She towed a sailboat across the country with Karen and Nick and I. She took all my roommates to bowling. She once pulled Will Stetler's GMC Yukon out of the ditch. I could fit 9 whitewater kayaks on the custom roof rack She also got good gas mileage and did tolerably well with the ladies.
Still, she had her faults. Who doesn't? The horn, cruise control, door locks and alarm didn't work. Many of you who had the pleasure of riding in her remember "rave mode" when the lights, door locks, and beeper start going crazy and you have to warn people that are prone to seizures to be careful. Also, oddly enough, people were fairly able to intuit that the van had once belonged to my mommy, and sometimes I enjoyed some good natured ribbing (no doubt out of jealousy) for my ability to take half a soccer team, a water cooler, and snacks for halftime in my day-to-day commuter vehicle.
All that, good and bad, are over now. Juan, a fine upstanding man from Renton, has purchased the minivan for his wife. I imagine the Millennium Falcon being relieved at finally being able to carry babies around, and, when they get older, maybe take them to soccer games. Its like C-3P0 finally getting put in for some protocol duties instead of space battles.
So farewell, you beautiful silver escape pod of domesticity. You've towed my boats, endured my cigarette smoke, let me sleep in your roomy interior, brushed off the occasional coffee stain and brutal bashing by that bastard Brian Jessop, and, most importantly, won my many thanks


Fly free sweet silver bird! Fly Free!