It all started in the damp and dark of January when the Four Rivers Lottery opened. The lottery is how one procures permits for the Main Salmon River, the Middle Fork Salmon, the Selway, and the Hell's Canyon section of the Snake.
Scott, our friend Justin, and I agreed on dates to submit on our applications and that we would all apply. A few weeks later, the lottery results arrived by email: I was successful in drawing a Snake River permit to launch June 28. Seventy-eight river miles, 4-6 days. Non-transferable. When I asked Scott and Justin about their results, they confessed that they never actually got around to submitting the application.
Scott and I started making some vague plans and inviting people that we knew would enjoy such an adventure. When it was all said and done, only seven of us made the trip: Scott and I, our friend George who has accompanied us on several 3-day trips down the Deschutes, our next-door neighbor Darcy, my friend and former co-worker Janeen who lives in Boise and is known to be adventurous, and our Wyoming rafting friends the Cattertons.
On June 27, George and Darcy met at our house where we spread out a ridiculous amount of gear, food, and beer that somehow had to fit in two vehicles plus a flat-bed trailer while leaving room for the four of us to sit. When it became apparent that this would take a while, Darcy went home and returned with a pitcher of Bloody Marys to help speed things along.
Some hours later (I won't say how many) everything was loaded and we were driving toward Halfway, Oregon, the last bit of civilization we would see for a week and the meet-up point with Mike, Cindy, and Janeen.
We arranged shuttles and stocked up on block ice at Scotty's Hells Canyon river supply store then mosied to the cafe next door for dinner--the service was nearly as bad as the food.
After a night of camping under the stars, we drove to the launch site where I made coffee and Janeen made jalapeno-cheddar french toast while three carloads of gear, food, and beer were once again strewn about and sorted into dry boxes and coolers for the trip.
Much later in the day than we wanted, we shoved off and peeled into the current, Scotty and Mike on oars and Darcy commanding the rest of us in the paddle raft. The first few miles were fairly uneventful Class III with some welcome splashing to cool us off. But we were all a bit anxious about Wild Sheep, the infamous Class IV lurking downstream.
The river was running high and we reached the scouting point for Wild Sheep in no time. Stomachs in throats and adrenaline surging, we surveyed the scene from a trail high on the river bank. No clean line was visible, so conversation turned to potential consequences of screwing up a particular line as a means of choosing the lesser of several evils. Mike wanted to take the left side through a series of lateral waves that seemed sure to push the boat into a pile of rocks below. The rest of us preferred the right-hand line with big waves and more laterals, but fewer obstacles.
Mike went first while the rest of us watched to see what happened to his boat. He went in a bit farther right than I thought desirable and the entire boat occasionally disappeared under the turbulent water. But each time, his helmet emerged on top and he finally floated into calmer water below the rapid. Scotty went next and we followed him in the paddle raft. Our strategy was to hug the right side of the hole that bordered the channel so as to (hopefully)remain in the left side of the current and not get pulled to the right into the strong laterals.
We entered exactly as planned with the boat pointed dutifully left, paddling for all we were worth. But it made no difference; the strong current tugged us right and before we could turn the boat to hit the laterals head on, the right side of raft pitched up high. I was sure we were going over. Then I felt a release and the boat plopped back down right-side up. Incredible! Then I realized George was out of the boat. Darcy was yelling "Swimmers! We have swimmers!" I looked behind me and saw that Cindy and Janeen were also missing. I looked ahead and saw all three bobbing feet-first through the wave train, tightly clutching their paddles. But Darcy and I were still in the meat of Wild Sheep and needed to keep the boat upright before we could think about a rescue. She shouted commands and paddled from the rear while I knelt in the floor at the front of the raft and paddled on the left or right as instructed.
As the current began to mellow out, Cindy swam into an eddy and was suddenly beside us. As I fumbled for the throw rope, Darcy stuck the T of her paddle toward Cindy who was able to grab on and get pulled toward the boat. Darcy likely could have pulled her in solo, but knowing Cindy had already had a long, tough swim, I wanted to make sure we got her in on the first try; I got behind Darcy and we pulled together on a count of three, the three of us falling in a giggling heap on top of me.
Okay, Cindy wasn't giggling. She was gasping. And after she got safely off our boat at camp, she never got back on it again, opting for the safer ride atop Mike's heavily loaded gear boat. George and Janeen both swam into the pool below the rapid and boarded Mike's raft for a short float to our first camp.
Check back for the rest of the trip report including the other Class IV, Granite Rapid.
