Wet Rock Rendezvous
As the time to leave for our Lower Owyhee River float trip drew near, that term, “Wet Rock Rendezvous,” kept coming to mind. It morphed out of that 70s song, Third Rate Romance, by The Amazing Rhythm Aces. The tag line is “Third rate romance. Low rent rendezvous.” The line changed to “First rate float trip. Wet rock rendezvous.” What can I say… my mind works in mysterious ways.
The trip really got its genesis after Ashley, our web graphics and photo studio maven, ran the river last year with her brother. Her enthusiasm for the experience and her photos inspired several of us to say, “Next year, let’s do it!” Ashley was on board to go with us until, alas, she decided to change her rambling ways and buy a house. The closing and moving were happening during the trip, so she had to opt out. Trip Members Guy used to work at NRS in Customer Service. His wife’s work as a professor and researcher at the University of Idaho brought him here from his native Chicago. Guy and I hit it off: he’s a foodie, has a great sense of humor and shares my admiration for George Carlin. He took a break from the suit and tie world of Certified Public Accounting to work here, but bean counting lured him back. Matt is a longtime friend of Paco’s, from their days in Bend, Oregon. He now lives in Bozeman, Montana. He’s one of those folks that I think would rather fish than eat. Hunting deer, elk and pronghorn antelope and fishing for native cutthroat trout in Montana’s streams, plus mountaineering and skiing, have made him a confirmed Montanan.The Trip
With us all running late on getting ready, sanity prevailed and we agreed that rather than drive through the night and camp in the dark, we’d grab a few winks, leave later and get to the launch site near Rome in daylight. They picked me up in Lewiston, Idaho at midnight and we rolled south down US 95. In Othello, Oregon, we stopped at Mickey D’s for coffee and grease, then turned west into the desert.
The river started out winding through irrigated farm fields. It was braided, with many twisting, split channels and islands covered with willows and rushes. The banks and islands were alive with bird and animal life. Two different black birds, ducks, Canada geese, shorebirds, an egret. Andrea saw muskrats and, in one bend, three mule deer stopped to stare at us as they were crossing the water. The river transitioned from farm fields to stark white grooved cliffs to a narrow rocky gorge. After a little over seven miles, we found a small sandy beach and called it quits for the day. Matt had kept count of the smallmouth bass he’d caught for the day… 57. After a tasty meal of chicken tacos provided by Paco and Erin, we all went to bed early. After the long drive, with little sleep had by any of us, no one was in a late night party mood.
We were lazy getting out of camp, so it was noon before we shoved off. I kept the GigBob, since we were going to have some rapids and I wanted to test it out in whitewater. Andrea switched to the Bandit. Since we had only done seven miles the first day we planned to put on about 17 miles to get to a good layover camp. There are five Class III rapids in that section and lots of Class II rock dodging. I fell in love with the GigBob that day! Even with 65-70 pounds of gear on board, it was nimble and quick. A couple of oar strokes moved me around the innumerable dark rocks lurking in the river flow. And, its shallow draft let it float right over submerged rocks that snagged and stopped the rafts.
Camp, at about mile 24, was on a nice beach just downstream from our first hot spring. Andrea served up a delicious chicken curry, with pita bread. While the curry was heating, she put out brownies for appetizers. Like that lady’s style! The beach was wide open, no shade, so the sun brought most us out early. We made coffee and tea and snacked on some sweet bread and Andrea’s brownies. Matt and Guy decided to stay in camp and fish. Alex and Andrea were still in bed. Paco, Erin and I drank lots of water, put together snacks and water bottles, then took off for a hike. We climbed up to the high plateau and worked our way up to look down on the formation known as Pruitt’s Castle. Red Wing Blackbirds serenaded us from the riverbanks and Meadowlarks called from the ridges.
Erin, Paco and I wandered across the landscape, sometimes together, sometimes separately. We’d come in the wildflower season and the land was profuse with spots of yellow, red, orange, white, blue and purple. The sweet sage was in bloom and I was reminded of the title of one of Zane Grey’s books, Riders of the Purple Sage. I love the smell of sage. Last year I was privileged to go on a vision quest in the Columbia Basin with a wonderful group of Native Americans. Sage was used in the ceremonies and the pungent scent brought back memories of that sojourn.
We worked our way down along the Pruitt’s Castle formation, then along the river to camp. Alex and Andrea had also hiked up into the same area, but in the vastness we hadn’t seen each other. Matt had continued to prosecute the bass; he’s lost count but it was over a hundred for the day. He’d also caught northern pike minnows, catfish and carp. Guy took fly casting lessons from Matt and also caught lots of fish. The River Wing had been erected, so we had shade. It was a lazy afternoon; I napped, drank a couple of beers, visited. A party of rafters stopped at the hot spring and, of course, Paco knew a couple of them. Can’t take that boy anywhere without him meeting people he knows. After that group left, Paco announced he was going to build his “hot tub.” Now I had been razzing him about his crazy idea, all the way back in Moscow. He’d brought along a length of garden hose and a roll of plastic sheeting for the job. I continued to flip him poop, but helped empty out the Revolution raft and joined the caravan up to the hot spring. Now, this hot spring is uncomfortably hot; too hot for me to want to be in. Paco’s idea, generated from earlier trips, was to set the empty raft at the river’s edge, drape the plastic in it, then siphon hot water down with the hose and scoop in river water to adjust the temperature. We got it all set up, tested it out, then returned to camp. Alex cooked up some tasty treats for supper. He’d brought along a pie iron, a cast iron clamshell device with long handles. We heated the iron in the fire, using the wood we’d scrounged. Then he had all manner of fillings – pepperoni, mushrooms, black olives, chicken, cheese, pineapple, sauces, bell pepper, etc. We each placed the fillings and sauces of our choice on slices of bread, laid them on the buttered halves of the hot iron, clamped it shut and put it back over the fire. Presto! A baked calzone-like treat. After we’d had our fill of the entrees, he whipped up pudding fillings for dessert.
Then in the cool of the night, some of us trouped up to Paco’s Hot Tub. Ah, the bitter taste of foot-in-mouth. I had to crawl to take back my branding of his “crazy idea.” The tub was wonderful. We basked in the warm water, took gentle sips of Bulleit and Turkey, and marveled at the clear, moonless sky. Stars, meteorites, satellites, planes, the Milky Way. No lights of civilization to wash out the sky, just horizon to horizon beauty. Only the rush of water over the natural dike across the river and our laughter penetrated the silence. Yep, I had to eat my careless razzing words. I was so abashed that I pledged not to bag on his next two, maybe even three, “crazy ideas.” May be tough, but I’ll do my best. Saturday morning as I packed my Otter for the day, I discovered a little Deer Mouse in the front compartment. After a chase around the boat, I was able to get him back to shore where he belonged. Alex took the IK and Matt the GigBob, so he could fish from it.
Our weather was changing. We’d had cloudless skies, but now it was overcast and again, strong winds began to blow. In a Class II rock garden, I got hung up twice. Andrea did a good job of highsiding, and with some grunting, groaning and rocking we got free. Near the bottom of the rapid, I popped an oar out of the oarlock and lost hold of it. I quickly got to the spare and Alex picked up the errant oar. In our hurried packing for the trip, we’d neglected to bring Oar Tethers. Not too far down the river, we came to our first scout, Whistling Bird Rapid. The right hand run flows right into a huge slab that has fallen from the cliff face. Water flows to the right and left of the slab. If you go right, the water flows through a rock sieve and you can be trapped against it. It’s intimidating, but we all styled it without problem. Just below the rapid, on river left, is a unique campsite, Potter’s Cave. There’s a steep sandy beach leading up to a wide cave mouth. It’s deep and big enough to comfortably hold a party twice our size. I brewed up a supper of thick, juicy bacon cheeseburgers cooked over charcoal, baked beans and brownies. Of course, the fishermen kept fishing and catching fish. Alex went rock scrambling high above the cave, bringing back geologist samples.
I was tired, so went to bed early. I’d pitched my tent outside the cave, but still under a rock overhang. I awoke in the night to the patter of raindrops on my face, so I crawled out and put on the rainfly. Unfortunately, I didn’t stake out the vestibule and its flapping in the night disturbed Paco’s rest. He thought something was blowing away. Sunday dawned overcast and cooler. As we were packing up to leave, a BLM float patrol pulled in to check our self issue permit and chat with us about our experience thus far. Lynn Miracle, Vale District Manager, said that last year on this weekend there were 150-200 people on the river. The low water had kept people away, allowing us to pretty much have the river to ourselves. The cave is right at the beginning of Green Dragon Canyon, which contains Class IV Montgomery Rapid. We scouted and Alex, feeling spunky, ran it first. I had fashioned oar tethers with NRS straps, but he’d forgotten to, so yep, he lost an oar in the rapid. It lodged in plain sight, behind the last rock on river left. Paco jumped in the IK and eddy hopped across the river. He’d neglected to bring a rope, so Guy and I rowed across into an eddy. Guy scrambled up and did a Joe Namath-grade toss of a Pro Compact Throw Bag to him. Paco maneuvered up, tethered the IK with the rope, climbed up on the rock and rescued the oar!
The next rapid was Nuisance, and lordy, it was. At this low water, there was only one way for a raft to get through. You have to thread your way through some upstream rocks, then slip through the narrow gap between two huge river right rocks. Right below the gap is an even bigger rock. You definitely don’t want to go to the right, and in the narrow space, have to work your way to the left around the rock. Tricky, but doable and we all did it well. Just below Nuisance is the remains of the old Morcum Dam. Paco remembered from previous trips that the run was far left, so we didn’t scout. He entered first, with me following. Alas, the line had changed and he hung up in the left hand rocks. I was committed, so I just aimed for him and pushed hard on the oars. Fortunately, my momentum knocked him loose and carried me over the rocks. The others profited from our hang up and took the center-left slot. Other than lots of Class II rock dodging, that was the end of our rapids. Rain clouds roiled upriver and thunderclaps announced lightening strikes. The wind blew, thankfully downstream and we pulled off the river for a bit as it began to rain. Further down we began to see signs of road access, a four-wheeler and pickups. The BLM group had pulled in at a site with petroglyphs, so we stopped to view them and chat some more with their party.
Guy served up some yummy chicken burritos, full of lots of veggies. As we sat around after supper, I cornered Paco and Erin to record a tale. Back in 2007, on a trip I chronicled in the story titled Two River Bag Boogie, they had recounted the story of being trapped in a small tent by a puma, or cougar, while on a trip to Patagonia, in Paco’s native country of Argentina. It’s a great story and I’d always wanted to capture it to share with e-News readers. Knowing I would have them captive, I’d brought my trusty tape recorder. I got it recorded and I’ll share it in a future issue.
None of us was in a hurry to leave this beautiful part of the earth and we had only four miles to go to the takeout, so it was a leisurely morning in camp. We made coffee and fixed breakfast. Some sought shade and napped. Some fished (surprise!). Some swam. I hadn’t had my fill of the magnificent scenery, so I put on my hiking boots and climbed the slope above camp to get a wider view of the area. The path to the place I picked to climb got pretty sketchy and a couple of times I thought I might get back to camp quicker than I wanted. I was disappointed later to discover that the lens cover that automatically opens when the camera is turned on had only partially opened, probably due to dust.
At the takeout, the group of IKers was loading up and grilling up a meal of hotdogs before heading up the road. Paco brought the trailer up close and the rest of us unloaded and sorted out gear, while Paco and Alex left to get Alex’s truck. After we got boats washed, dried and deflated, we sorted out gear we could load on the trailer and the camp gear we needed to lug to the nearby campground. While we waited for Paco and Alex, Matt cooked up a nice dish of spaghetti, made in part from spicy venison sausage he had personally processed. There was wood at the campsite, so we had a fire while we waited. When the shuttle crew returned, we visited and talked about the great trip. Little did we know that more adventure was ahead of us. We woke in the morning to discover flat tires on both vehicles, the left rear on Alex’s and left front on Paco’s. A bummer, but both had good spares, so we’d just have to hope we didn’t have problems on the way out. After heating up the remains of Matt’s spaghetti and some other breakfast goodies, jacks, tire tools and spares were pulled out and work begun. With Alex’s truck, no problem. With Paco’s – a problem. He had purchased the truck two weeks before the trip, from a private individual. It turned out that each wheel had one lug nut that required a special tool to remove it: an anti-theft device. Turned out the previous owner did not leave that special tool in the vehicle. We ransacked every corner and crevice – no special tool. We did find a card that you could use to order another special tool. It said, in part, that without the tool you would be “considerably inconvenienced” should you have a flat. Ya think?! After much head scratching and discussion, we concluded that with the tools we had, we were not getting that offending lug nut off. People went up to the Birch Creek Ranch to see if the caretakers had any tools or compressors that we could use. Alas, no one was home. Paco and Alex decided to drive into Jordon Valley and explore the options for getting us out of this pickle. While we waited, I hiked up the road to check out the ranches. They were originally homesteaded by Basque sheepherders in the early 1900s and purchased by the BLM in the late 1980s. They’ve done a nice job of maintaining the historic buildings; it was an interesting visit. Paco and Alex showed up with four cans of “fix-a-flat” and the news that there was no special tool available in Jordon Valley. Three cans of the emergency flat-fix sealed the leak and put enough pressure in the tire to get us going. We packed up, loaded the trailer and got on our way. The road out of Birch Creek is long and rough. There are some steep pitches, that would be a bear if rains wet the clay terrain. The roadbed is gravel, or rather rock, natural rock with sharp, irregular edges. About five miles from the blacktop, Whump, whump, whump… another flat tire on Paco’s truck, left rear this time.
Then Paco and Alex got back… with a bigger cold chisel and a big sledgehammer they’d borrowed from a rancher. We’d brought along an 18” piece of NRS frame pipe, with a LoPro Fitting on one end, to use as an umbrella holder. Paco proceeds to wrap an NRS strap around the cold chisel and cinch it into the LoPro with the U-bolt. I said, “Good Lord, Paco, that’s a crazy idea!” Oh, then I caught myself… I’d promised to cut him slack on his next crazy ideas, after the Hot Tub Incident. Sheesh!
In Jordon Valley we got the second flat fixed. It was too late in the day to get to a Toyota dealer in search of a “special tool,” so we just took off for home on faith we’d suffer no more flats. The massive amount of fix-a-flat in the front tire threw the tire out of balance and vibrated the whole front end if we exceeded 55 mph. The return trip from that point went relatively smoothly, at least no flats. Two items of note: we saw pronghorn antelope for the first time on the trip and had two encounters with hordes of Mormon Crickets. They’re not actually crickets, but rather katydids. They’re flightless and when they swarm, they travel in vast hordes across the desert landscape. The roadway was red and slick with smushed critters and they were just flowing across the blacktop. We didn’t get to my town until 1:00 a.m. and the rest had another 45 minutes more to endure. An eventful and not so fun ending to a great trip. But, hey, that’s rafting! Closing Thoughts The variety of wildlife on the trip was amazing. While we were waiting at Birch Creek we tallied up the species we’d seen and it filled two columns on a piece of 6”x9” note paper. The upstream winds were pretty fierce. Hard to know if that’s common. We probably brought some of it on ourselves. With only 48 miles to do in six days, we left camp late and upstream winds in general tend to kick up in the afternoon. Also, the “sand” along the river is very coarse. Other than my leather hiking boots, the only footwear I brought were my Chacos. The abrasion of the sand under the webbing left my feet in a mess by the end of the trip. As I said, I’m ready to go again! On Gear A couple of years ago, I bugged Bryan, our Vice President who handles product development, about making what I think of as a “river short,” one that’s quick drying, with lots of pockets and belt loops (I like to have a multi-tool close at hand). His first take was the Gunnison Shorts. Good material, some pockets, no belt loops. Now he’s come up with the San Juan Shorts… six pockets and belt loops! Quick drying, too. I washed mine out on the day it rained and hung them in a tree. After the last rain, I wrung them out again and put them back on the tree. In the morning, the sand was still wet, but the shorts were dry. Home Run. Not a first time for me, but I continue to be impressed with the Dermatone SPF 33 Lotion. I usually put it on only once, first thing in the day. No burn for me. I saw others slathering on other products and still getting burned. And, speaking of sun protection, I’m a huge fan of our sun protective apparel, made with the MicroLite and HydroSilk fabrics. I’ve had a number of pre-cancerous lesions burned off my hide, due to all the years of no, or inadequate, sun protection I’ve practiced over the years. Feels good to know the sun’s being kept at bay. The Bottom Line Boat Often, Boat Safe and I hope to meet you on the water! Clyde e-News Editor |
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