The big
rock at the bottom of Warm Springs Rapid on the Yampa was
fun the very first time. Greg Davis, one of the gods of my
youth, was at the oars, strong and grinning through his wet
beard. I was 15 and seeing canyon rivers for the first time.
On that first night after Warm Springs, I sat for a long time
on the beach, watching and listening and thinking about high
snow, mountain rock and millennia of sandstone, all being
pulled to the sea. Soon, I was spending most of my summer
nights on the ground somewhere out west, reading Abbey, Stegner
and Hesse.
As
a rookie guide at the oars of the luggage pontoon, I was not
quite sure I was up to Warm Springs. I still remember the
acid taste in my mouth as we almost paused on that tongue
of quiet water before dropping into the first waves. I got
a lot closer look at the rock that day…my wrong decision
took us right over it, sideways. It seemed big as a house,
and I was pretty sure we would spend the evening fishing everyone’s
gear out of the river. Somehow, we came through right side
up and intact. After dinner, the boss said just enough to
make sure I’d learned the lesson. Later, I sat a long
time on the beach, reviewing that run a hundred times. Three
decades later, I can still replay all the details.
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Another
generation, listening and
watching the river |
The next time,
I was strong, confident and experienced enough to spin and play
in the backwash and get everyone wet. That night, the other guides
and I made a sweat lodge of willows and tarps. We poured river water
over rocks heated in our fire, being careful to choose mountain
rock, not sandstone that would explode. The steam smelled of granite.
We sat and listened to the rapids and chanted, “Hite, Utah
will rise again!” Then, we ran under bright stars and dark
rock into the cold river. We were free, wild, immortal. We smelled
of smoke, sweat, sage and of that muddy water made from mountain
snow and rock.
At Island
Park, after Warm Springs, the Yampa forks and braids into a dozen
channels that reunite at Split Mountain. My channel took me to
medical school. Now I guide people down different, darker rivers.
The Hunds
- Amanda, Kathy, Fred and Sarah |
Then
my current came back to Warm Springs. Once again, I was a
passenger. I wouldn’t ask, but I think Marshall knew
I would have taken the oars if he’d offered. The rock
didn’t seem so big, but the ride was still fun. We spun
and played in the backwash as Kathy and our daughters laughed
and yelled. We all got wet. That night at camp, I sat again
by that river that had been snow only days ago and granite
only centuries ago. Only decades ago, I had been a guide here.
Dr. Fred Hund
Willmar, MN
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