Lumber Limbo 06

What, Where, & How

It's been a while since the last episode of "What can we pack in Paul's plane and Where can we take it". The last installment involved Paul H. and I (Dale E.) stuffing canyoneering gear, bikes and camping equipment in the plane for a slot canyon in Utah ("Waiting To Inhale"). This time around we jammed whitewater kayaks and 4 days worth of camping equipment and food into the back of the Cessna 206 and headed for a remote spot in Idaho called Big Creek.

Big Creek is a seldom run tributary of the Middle Fork of the Salmon (MFS) river, flowing mostly east to west through the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness. Our put-in was approximately 2 miles downstream from Big Creek Ranch (~35 miles upstream from the MFS confluence) and we took out at Cache Bar on the main Salmon. Overall, the trip included: exhilarating flying over the wilds and mountains of Colorado, Wyoming and Idaho; thrilling take-offs and landings at remote grass and dirt strips high in the mountains; fun (and/or intimidating) whitewater in overloaded boats; and of course scenery, wildlife and ambiance only the wilds can provide.

Getting Started

Paul and I met Monday morning to start the trip after verifying on Sunday evening that we could, in fact get 2 hard-shell, whitewater kayaks into the plane (back seats removed of course). Another hour or so of packing and checking out the plane and we were ready to take off from the Boulder airport. Weather reports indicated clear flying all the way to the central mountains of Idaho. Our initial leg takes us to Afton, Wyoming for fuel and to stretch our legs. Along the way we are rewarded with excellent aerial views of Estes Park, the Mummy and Laramie ranges north of RMNP, Wamsutter, WY on I-80, and a dizzying maze of oil well roads in the Great Divide Basin of Wyoming. At one point our GPS even indicated we were directly East of Eden (Wyoming that is). After a couple hours flying we crossed over the Wyoming and Salt River ranges that definitely looked worth a visit with a mountain bike, and dropped into Afton.

After fueling the plane (you thought filling your SUV was expensive, try AVGAS), and partaking of the free sodas and cookies at the FBO (keeps you from complaining so loudly about the fuel cost I guess), we headed out on the next leg to McCall, ID. The mountains west of Afton also hold promise for future explorations. Near Wayan, ID we passed over the ancient lake bed, now mostly marsh, of Grays Lake National Wildlife Refuge. The flocks of seagulls soaring over it look very idyllic when seen from above. When those same flocks rise up and occupy the same airspace as our now seemingly fragile airplane, and zip by at alarming speed, they appear more like anti-aircraft ordinance. On the other hand, we certainly would have scared some hang-gliders had they been using the launch ramp near Arco (King Mountain?) that we accidentally buzzed while trying to get some thermal lift to gain altitude for the upcoming mountains.

The afternoon heat caused some bumpiness over the mountains, but Paul flew through it in style while I spent my time gawking out the window at one magnificent view after another. It's a blast trying to pick out places you adventured through on the ground (kayaking the MFS, motorcycling Landmark-Stanley Road, mountain biking around Payette Lake) while flying above in the air. We had to stop in McCall to pick up the required permit from the forest service, and the nice young lady we had spoken to had it ready and waiting for us. We needed to wait out the afternoon heat and thunderstorms which could make landing at Big Creek problematic, so we explored town a little and had a nice Italian dinner with a view of the Lake. The storms cleared after dinner everywhere EXCEPT the Big Creek airstrip, so running out of daylight, we zipped over to the familiar Indian Creek airstrip off the MFS to spend the night. Dirt strip landings are always energizing, but Indian Creek has the added feature of some close trees and a little curve at the end of the runway requiring a small correction just before touch down.

We had Indian Creek to ourselves, and the sound of a nearby river always helps me sleep well, so we got up early, refreshed and ready to get to Big Creek lodge for breakfast. Except for early morning sun glare, the take-off was perfect. We headed downriver over the MFS trying to pick out rapids and other landmarks we remembered from numerous trips before. I'm sure we woke a few rafters with the sound of our engine, just like I've been woken in the past. If you were on the river between Indian Creek and Big Creek on June 27, 2006, GOOD MORNING. We flew up Big Creek, trying to scout it from the air, but aside from a few obvious river wide log jams, it's hard to scout from several hundred feet up. Anything we did notice was mostly forgotten by the time we ever got to it. Soon we were buzzing the Big Creek strip to make sure it was clear to land. The Big Creek landing strip, ranger station and lodge sit in a beautiful, narrow valley high in the mountains. The state of Idaho is to be commended for the great shape they keep this grass strip in. I've seen golf courses that weren't that well maintained. Paul made an awesome landing (click here to see the video), and I even managed to properly work the brake and rudder pedals to help Paul back the plane into it's parking spot for a few days.

Idaho has a number of these backcountry landing strips that provide access to old lodges and ranches in remote areas. They have an outstanding feature of providing huge breakfasts to pilots (and passengers) who fly in just for that purpose.  Big Creek didn't disappoint, providing all the eggs, pancakes, potatoes, bacon, sausage, juice and coffee you could want, all cooked to order when you got there. These places are also provide odd, often fortuitous, coincidences. There were several other pilots/passengers in for breakfast. One of the pilots and his plane seemed familiar. After a little discussion, we determined we had all met several years earlier at another lodge/strip called Sulphur Creek Ranch when we had all flown in for breakfast there. Us before a MFS trip, and him on a trip to Idaho from California. Small world. The better coincidence however was Jer. He stopped in for breakfast prior to going to McCall as an instructor for a mountain flying clinic to be held there during the week. He is a flight instructor. From Fort Collins (CO). Is a glider instructor in Boulder. Flies and instructs in the same type of plane as Paul's. And (final kicker) he knows Paul's dad well. One of our logistical dilemmas is now solved as he volunteers to fly Paul's plane out to Salmon sometime during the week so we don't have to try and find a pilot to hitch a ride with or pay a huge amount to an air taxi service.

On the Water

Time to get on the water. First we need to get all that junk in the boats. Bivy sack, sleeping bag, pad, minimal change of clothes, cooking/eating utensils, first aid, flashlight, camera, FOOD, somehow it all fit. It's apparently possible to put-in just a little way from the lodge, the driver from the lodge even suggested it, but we knew from others that it was steep, fast, narrow, rocky and full of logs requiring numerous portages for the first few miles. We wanted a mellower start, so we got one of the workers from the lodge to drive us 2 miles down the dirt road to where it ends at Smith Creek and the wilderness area boundary. Now dragging our 80+ pound boats down the pack trail that parallels Smith and then Big creeks, we hiked another half mile down past the confluence of the two where there was now more water and slightly less scary rapids. While the pack trail follows Big Creek all the way to the MFS, and is often close horizontally, it can be a long way off vertically. We found a less rocky open area and using our throw ropes, lined the boats down to big Creek.

Generally, Big Creek has a series of short, tight canyons in the upper stretch, all with significant drops. A middle stretch that mellows out but has numerous river-wide log jams. Finally a lower canyon of several miles of fairly continuous class III-IV but with greater flow so it is more river than creek. Being that we were in the middle of nowhere with a lot of obstacles, heavily loaded, out of practice compared to a few years ago, and let's face it, getting a bit too old for this, we decided we would boat very conservatively. If we couldn't see an obvious line through an obstacle or a good eddy to stop in before the river went out of sight, we would stop and scout. The first couple miles required a few scouts. While we have done harder drops in the past, the continuous nature and the logs jammed in a couple of the drops forced at least one portage of a few hundred yards. Luckily we didn't have to talk each other into portaging when prudent. If one of us felt concerned about, usually so did the other. Unfortunately we didn't walk around the one sleeper log that reached out and grabbed Paul's boat and wouldn't let go. Luckily he got out quickly and safely as the boat got sucked under the log pile and wedged in. It probably took 30-45 minutes for Paul to struggle with getting a line on his boat under the water, set up the Z-drag and pull the boat loose. Unfortunately his paddle had been stuck under water with the boat and took off downstream before we could reach it. I tried to chase it down in my boat, and Paul on the trail, but couldn't get to it before the rapids got to intense.

We had a breakdown paddle with us, but it was way too early in the trip to be depending on it and we were only 3 miles downstream and 5 from the plane. We opted to find the first likely wide spot in the trail to camp and I jogged/hiked back to the plane where we had left a full size spare paddle just in case. A couple hours later I was back with the paddle, Paul had our meager camp set up, and the first day was mostly complete with no real damage. Nothing left but to relax a little after a long day, whip up a little dinner, and chat about the day past and next days to come. We did discuss how bear proof we should make our food/camp. Given all the hunting that occurs in the area we decide marauding squirrels were more likely to bother us than bears. As we lay in our bivy sacks in the fading light (doesn't really get dark up there until about 11pm), Paul noticed a dark shape walking across the rocky hillside about 100 yards away. "Look, it's one of those black bears we were just talking about". He was just foraging for berries and what not and completely ignored us. He soon wandered up over the hill and we easily drifted off to sleep.

The early part of day 2 on the water provided lots of challenges. Paul had scouted a little ways downstream from camp the previous day while I was off retrieving our backup paddle so we new we could put in and paddle right away. We soon got to uncharted waters and had to get out and scout several stretches. A couple places required hauling the boats up the bank and down the pack trail to portage around major log obstacles. While the portages involved getting around un-runnable strainers, in at least one of the cases I will admit to being relieved the wood was there. Otherwise I might have had to run the accompanying rapids as well, and given the loaded nature of the boats, and my lack of river time this season, I'm not sure I would have been up to that particular sequence (several linked, tricky class IV moves in a row). I came close to duplicating Paul's mishap of the previous day when we decided to limbo under a river wide log that was only a couple feet above the surface. I drifted a little too far left where the gap was narrower and had to quickly drop my paddle on the deck and push myself and my boat under the log to avoid getting stuck. Tragedy averted, heart rate returning to normal.

During one of the scouts we were treated to a rare sight. On the far bank I spied a river otter with her 2 cubs. We were able to sit and watch them for quite a while as mom literally tried to drag her cubs upstream through the rapid. Mom would have had no problem with the rapid, but not so the cubs. At times she would grab a cub by it's neck with her teeth and haul it up and over the rocks or through the rapid. She got them almost all the way to the top of the rapid when one of the cubs got caught in the current and headed downstream again. She caught the cub OK, but had to get it through a log jam and lost all the ground they had made up. We lost track of them shortly after that.

The gradient slowly levels out, the valley widens, and a few more side streams enter giving more flow allowing the creek to mellow out a bit. The pack bridge signaled we were at Monumental Creek which allowed us to delve into one of our more intelectual conversations on the trip. Question: Why does Monumental Creek flow into Big Creek? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Answer: I don't know. There have been a lot of fires in the whole Big Creek basin in previous years making for a lot of dead and downed timber. This all makes for large, river wide log jams. Since the water isn't very pushy now we can see the logs coming, and boat right up to them before getting out and going around. There are definitely signs we weren't the first dragging boats around these obstacles this season, but it doesn't look like there were very many before us. It's not all mellow though. A couple short canyons still provide some challenging drops, but we successfully navigated these despite my scouting induced fears to the contrary. Paul even managed them with a ripping headache.

In all it was a long, fun, rewarding day, so when we got to the Vines airstrip we decided it would make a perfect stop for the night. Vines is a short, dirt strip down near creek level that is primarily used by hunting outfitters. When we flew up Big Creek a couple days earlier, their were 3 planes on the ground there, but tonight we had it to ourselves. It felt good to get out of the boats, stretch our legs a little and relax over a dinner of stuffed tortellini in pesto sauce with chicken, pine nuts and sun-dried tomatoes.

Day 3 on Big Creek is full of variety. Some fog, some clouds, some light rain, some sun, some full on storm. Some class II splashy stuff, a lot of class III to IV- fun read and go drops, and just enough "if everything goes according to plan I might just survive this" class IV stuff to make things interesting. Luckily the hardest stuff in the several mile long stretch known as Big Creek Gorge came at the same time the sun broke through making the river easier to read and us more motivated to tackle the harder stuff head on. Just upstream of the gorge is Taylor ranch with it's private grass airstrip. It was a bit drizzly when we came by, and there were no people out to greet us, but the horses in the pasture along side the creek seemed to take great interest in the strange creatures floating by.

Our legs got a good workout as a couple of the scouts turned into pretty long hikes as the rapids are pretty continuous and there always seemed to be something of concern just around the next bend up ahead. We managed to find lines through everything though and it rejuvenated my faith in my rusty boating skills a bit. On the last scout we noticed the pack bridge up ahead and knew we were getting close to the confluence with the MFS. We decide to scout the rest of the way, not only for the rapids, but to make sure we could find a suitable campsite along the way. Our permit only allows us 1 day on the MFS and no overnight camping, so we wanted to get as close as possible, but not so close as to violate the rules. There turned out to be a few little beaches and flat spots that would be fine for our group of two, so we just picked the closest, best looking one. A bigger party would probably need to camp well above the pack bridge however.

Big Creek gorge doesn't let up in intensity until right before the end, so we headed back upstream to our boats and enjoyed that last bit. There's even a nice set of limbo logs to go under just before the confluence. We made camp just in time as our bright sun turned into an incredibly strong afternoon storm. We made good use of the little tarp I had managed to stuff in the front of my boat for just such a purpose, but we almost lost it to the wind. Eventually the storm abated and we were able to enjoy dinner and explore down the trail around the confluence.

The storm must have hit harder or lasted longer somewhere upstream since Big Creek had changed from a crystal clear creek to a muddy mess. Lucky this didn't happen yesterday, or the gorge would have been much more difficult to run. The color difference where Big Creek met the MFS was remarkable. The flow from Big Creek even succeeded in clouding the MFS farther downstream. Some of the bigger rapids on the MFS occur in this last 20 miles (Redside, Rubber, Hancock, House) and we were looking forward to some big water rapids for a change. It is unclear if the river was easier at this level, or if we had just become more confident in our boating over the last few days, but we were at ease just boat scouting all these rapids, and in a couple places realized we must have already passed the rapid without realizing which particular set of moves it must have been.

We are back to seeing people again. There has been no one except us on Big Creek, but we run into several river runner groups on the MFS. One of the first we stop to talk to is at Veil Falls. Turns out they are the group who's gear we will shuttle out with from the take out (Thanks John). They are a group from all over, but mostly the southeast. They find it best to rent their gear from Blackadar so they can fly in and out from Boise. Blackadar will be picking up their gear that evening and we will go out with it. The group itself will camp at the take-out and have a bus pick them up the next day for the trip back to Boise. The few others we talk to on the river are mostly the guides running sweep and gear boats as they try to get ready for the customers to arrive. We are warned by John's group and others to be prepared for the new rapid on the Main caused by the blowout at Cramer Creek.

We did stop to scout Cramer. Reminds me more of rapids on the Grand than those of Idaho. We saw an obvious way through out the right corner of the bottom of the tongue and both of us had major grins after making it through. The take-out ramp at Cache bar was at complete odds with life on the river. We went from serene river mode where the few people you meet are just happy to be there to pure mayhem with dozens of people jockeying for space on the ramp and arguing with each other as to who jumped the line backing their trailer into position. Trips over for most I guess. We snaked our two little kayaks through the chaos and found an unoccupied piece of space in the shade. An hour later they were all gone and we had peace and quiet to ourselves again. In hindsight, we should have just planned on trying to hitch a ride out with one of the private parties taking out that day, but we had already made arrangements to go out with the folks from Blackadar when they came to pick up rental gear from a private trip on the MFS. There was a little confusion as to when the shuttle was going to occur, and they were significantly later than we were told.

Gettin' On Home

We used the rest of the afternoon to dry out gear and relax. The group whose gear we were going out with were still in happy mode when they arrived since they planned ahead to arrive after everyone else was long gone. They kindly included us in their dinner that evening while we waited for the shuttle and we helped some with their de-rigging and loading of the trailers. Our shuttle driver, Dave, has been with Blackadar a long time, has even shuttled Paul in the past, is a typical local character, and provided lots of interesting conversation for the long, late shuttle back to Salmon. Can you believe in all the years he's been shuttling river runners cars, he's never run the MFS or the Main? Someone needs to take him along on a trip. The shuttle drivers had to stop at the groover waste dump on the way out. We might have helped, but the mosquitoes were horrendous, and let's face it, it wasn't our s#$% so why deal with it. It was way too late to get the customary ice cream sandwich in North Fork, but Dave found us a place in Salmon for one plus a late snack. He then hauled us out to the airport where we found Paul's plane waiting for us in the dark. Thanks so much Jer. It was too late and too expensive to find a hotel in town, so we just crashed on the tarmac under the wings of the plane after a very long day.

Somehow we managed to get all the gear back in the plane the next morning after watch a herd of deer nonchalantly walk in through the airport gates, past us and the other planes, and over to the good grass of the side of the runway. That can't be a pleasant thought for pilots roaring down the runway at a hundred miles an hour. We weren't done with Salmon yet though. It was 4th of July weekend and there was a festival in town. We made good use of McCall Air Taxi's courtesy truck and headed into town for the Hospice Center's all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast. After stuffing ourselves, talking to some great locals, and perusing the wares at the craft fair it was time to leave the area.

We basically retraced our steps on the flight home with a slightly different path through the central Idaho mountains since we were leaving from Salmon instead of McCall. We were treated to a large herd of elk seen from the air along with the expected stunning mountain scenery, and steered clear of Grays Lake to avoid the seagull anti-aircraft missiles. Since Afton still had the best fuel prices and was on the way, we stopped in there again to refuel and take the courtesy van into town for burgers and a shake at the Red Baron Drive-In. Paul let me fly for much of the way home, minus take-offs and landing of course. While I think I did OK, it's much harder and physically strenuous than it looks. I definitely need to work on smoothing out the rough spots and staying on course. At least we didn't crash. The weather reports warned of some bad thunderstorms in northern Colorado and along the front range. Paul found us a clear path through however and by 6 we were safely back on the ground in Boulder.

In all it was a great trip. The flying, while a bit more expensive, is way faster and a great way to see the land below you. It also allows much easier access to some remote places. The river was exactly as we hoped. My skills could have been a little more up to date so I wouldn't have had to endure that churning in my stomach for some of the tougher stretches, but most of it was really fun and challenging and we didn't have any truly serious incidents. It's a place few people go to and I hope it stays that way, and that those that do appreciate it and keep it wild for those in the future.