June 17 - 23
The ARG* perspective
(*ARG = Arkansas Raft Guides)
The irony is hard to overlook. ARG (the elite organization of Arkansas rafters whose raison d’être was a perceived grading inequity in a certain swiftwater exercise of El Doradean origin, was itself disarmed (disARGed?) by the El Doradean Empress of whitewater raft expedition planning, organization, logistics and execution.
Gayle is an amazing person. Unlike my parents, who love and bestow random acts of kindness upon me because they are related to me biologically and nature dictates that there be a bond, Gayle intentionally selected me to participate in one of the most incredibly wonderful experiences imaginable – a Middle Fork of the Salmon raft trip.
How do you describe a Middle Fork trip led by Gayle and Walter? A good place to start is to quote Walter: “Go big or go home.” Go big we did.
Big friends (Gil “Tin Man” Wooten is 6’6”)
Big rafts (Cap’n Downstream ran the DIB as a sweep boat)
Big resumes (can you name a river Thrasher hasn’t run?)
Big fun (Newton White OWNS every joke he’s ever told)
Big support (if you get in trouble on the water, is there anyone you’d rather see heading toward you than Cowper?)
Big nicknames (Boom Boom, the Polack, and Trout bi**h to name a few)
Big decibels (Amy’s voice during she and Don’s run through Rubber and Hancock made Marcell sound like the horse whisperer)
Big carnage (Mark Brown’s corkscrew flip at Redside was of epic proportions)
Big courage (Margy immediately got back in the boat with Mark)
Big exits (Alex got some serious hang time at Rubber)
Big talent (Phil’s boating skill is exceeded only by his artistic talent)
Big ponytails (Rob’s is nearly as long as the little plastic death trap he paddled)
Big Dicks (Richard L. “d*ck” Ramsay is 6’5” tall)
And … Big trip reports
Walter “Big Dog” "PHB'sH" Felton rowed a 19’ cat – a fitting mode of transportation for royalty or, in the case of a Middle Fork trip, the next closest thing: the Permit Holder. Gayle “PHB” Felton (I just can’t bring myself to use “bi**h” in the same sentence as “Gayle” (oops))
Walter’s duck hunting buddy Jerry “Boom Boom” Askins and his wife Greta (the “Polack”) hitched rides. Boom Boom on the sweep at first and then with Cowper, and the Polack with Marcell until “The Incident Below Pungo Camp.” They were simply delightful and a big plus on the trip.
ARG President “Rich,” “Gauley Shaman,” “Eddy Haskell,” “Ranger Rick” Ramsay rowed Clair “Clairikwa” “Trout bi**h” down river in an 18’ cat
Newton “It Ain’t Follerable” White rowed Alex “The Astronaut" "Paparazzo” Graham in a 16’ Maravia
David “Bubba” Thrasher rowed a blue Maravia that looked to me to be about 17’
Mark “Redside Rowdy” Brown rowed Margy Niel, the “Steely Eyed Whitewater Woman” and self proclaimed Coffee Vulture (man than woman gets up early) in a 16’ Maravia
Don “Mr. Lucky” Bradshaw (all of us who didn’t flip were lucky to some degree, some of us more so than others) rowed a 14’ Maravia while his wife Amy “Leather Lungs” delicately communicated helpful oral instructions to him (i.e., like at Rubber: “AIIIIEEEEE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE WATER! GET BACK IN THIS RAFT RIGHT NOW!!! AIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”)
Stewart “Cap’n Downstream” Noland rigged the DIB, rumored to be somewhere between 18-20’ long, as a sweep boat
H. C. “Livin’ On Cowper Time” Chadbourn rowed some kind of cataraft that looked to be about 15’ long (the details of Cowper’s boat are not that important – he could row, paddle, surf or ski a bathtub down most rivers)
Marcell “Maurice,” “Marcelonious,” “The Loudest Man But Not The Loudest Human on the MFS” “Martin Pawley”* Jones rowed a 17’ cat
* Jeffrey Hunter played a character named Martin Pawley in the John Wayne movie “The Searchers.” The Comanches called Martin Pawley “He Who Follows”
Phil “The Artiste” “Pose For Me” Schroeder rowed a 15’ cat with 24" tubes from Jack’s Plastic Welding (to quote Phil, “Perfect for this water level.” (and I agree))
Oh. And we had 2 maggots also. Gil “Tin Man” “2008 Whitewater Husband of the Year” Wooten and Robert “Rob” “Dumpster Diver”* Orr
* Fellow maggot (but otherwise all around good guy) John Barton took a look at Rob one morning on their Grand Canyon trip last year and said, “You look like you just crawled out of a dumpster.”
Me? (“Kato,” “Bubba,” “Deputy Dave,” “The Permit Holder’s Best Friend”) I rowed a 14’ Avon. (Alex was originally penciled in to ride with me. However, as the water unexpectedly rose (see Team Stupid trip report) above the level the Forest Service considers to be hazardous (5’) and I foolishly (in the eyes of some) allowed Cap’n Downstream to convince me take the 14 footer instead of the presumably less flipperable 16 footer, there was no more talk of that).
The weather on the day we landed at Boise was unseasonably unhot. After a very pleasant al fresco dinner at the Cottonwood Grille with amazingly reasonably priced wine (’06 Caymus Cab for under $70?!), we caravanned the next morning from Boise to Boundary Creek (El. 6,200’). It rained a little, spit snow, sleeted, and sneeted as we rigged out all 11 rafts. We managed to get 7 of them down the ramp as the PHB performed Ramp Traffic Control duties, making sure all the private and commercial groups received an equitable distribution of ramp time. The water level was 5.11', just above the somewhat arbitrary USFS hazardous designation of 5 feet.
Meanwhile, back at the Boundary Creek Bistro, Clairikwa and her Paparazzo daughter Alex (she took lots of pictures) directed the preparation of 2” thick center cut smoked pork chops on the grill, Clair’s special Mac and Cheese, and lemon squares for dessert (the latter 2 in Dutch ovens). We invited the put in fairies and their boss, Sherry (who drove all the way from Challis, where she is head honcho of that Ranger District) for dinner. [interesting historical side note – Sherry was the USFS put in fairy when Thrasher and Stewart first ran the Middle Fork in August of 1981 - 8 open boats supported by one paddle raft with all community and personal gear loaded in it (Sherry told them they were crazy (which they were/are, but that’s beside the point))]. Intermittent rain, snow, and sleet accompanied dinner.
The Cap’n and I jealously eyed Cowper’s blue plastic tarp/roll-a-cot sleeping system as we prepared to sleep under the ARG Sleeping System Parawing, figuring that as long as there was no blowing rain we’d be fine. We were. The PHB and the PHB’sH slept in their trailer. Clairikwa and Alex slept in the cab of the Coach (Ranger Rick’s pick up), while Rick slept in the squirrel’s nest he’d made in the bed utilizing the camper shell, leftover straw from duck season and a blue plastic tarp held in place by rocket boxes and a bungee cord. The Cap’n and I coveted that set up, also (the Joad family had nothing on us).
By the next morning the water level had dropped to 4.91 (Below USFS hazardous! What could possibly go wrong!) as we jockeyed for position on the ramp to get our last 4 boats in the water. The fun was about to begin. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. The rest of us got in line, with Ranger Rick and Cowper running a sort of dual sweep system (I say this in all sincerity – it’s comforting to know guys like that are back there, especially if you’re not absolutely certain you’ve got enough boat).
The first victim was the sweep boat. It’s hard to describe how fast everything comes at you at that water level. We stopped for lunch at the Gardell’s Hole gravel bar. It’s on river right, immediately above the entrance to Sulphur Slide, a left side run. Boom Boom was riding in the sweep boat with the Cap’n, who couldn’t pull the boat far enough from the lunch spot across the main current to make it over to the left side. According to Boom Boom the Cap’n mentioned something about being nowhere near where he needed to be just before the DIB tried to parallel park against the rocks along the right bank. With help from others (including Cowper and Boom Boom) the Cap’n got the DIB moving again but left Boom Boom on the bank. Cowper had a new passenger the rest of the trip.
We zoomed downriver toward Velvet Falls, the biggest drop on the upper section. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. Thrasher was in front of me, and had earlier declared an intention to try to run through an alleged weakness on the right side of the hole. It looked to me like he thought about running left, then right, but regardless of what he was trying to do he ran the meat and I saw the raft sliding sideways off the wave, his oars untouched by human hands as he and Amy scrambled up to the high side. About that time I had to divert my attention from their raft to my own line as Velvet starting coming at me pretty fast. I stood on the oars and pulled left as hard as I could, making sure I missed the big pyramid rock on the left and looking for the eddy line that it allegedly creates. All I could really see was a confusing indistinct mass of froth that looked a little like whitecaps. I thought I was going to follow Thrasher into the hole, but I kept pulling hard on my right oar and eventually my forward momentum stalled slightly. There seemed to be a little current moving off the lip of the hole in the left center of the river that pushed me right where I wanted to be and I was able to straighten up and push over the lip and down the slick green slide to the left of the hole, making the run over the drop itself somewhat anticlimactic (in the case of Velvet Falls anticlimactic is good). I was able to look for Thrasher and saw his raft right side up in the eddy on river right as he was pulling out his camera. The rest of the rafts made it through without flipping. 1 Class IV down and 6 to go.
The next Class IV is Powerhouse, a rapid almost a mile long with 3 separate sections. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. I thought the extra water in the river made the run a little easier because most of the rocks were covered up. We drifted on down to Scout Camp at about mile 12 and made camp for the night, hauling Gayle’s massive kitchen out of Mark’s boat, the first night’s cooler out of another boat, propane, water, tents, a parawing and dry bags full of clothes, fleece, sleeping bags, bling, and rosary string (for Newton). The Cap’n found a good spot by the river for the groover. I took off my dry suit and we set up a parawing (part of the official ARG Sleeping System (tents are for wussies)) and we were all set. The spaghetti was good, the campfire was better.
Day 2 was uneventful until we got to Lake Creek … except I couldn’t find my pump. Looked all over for it. Cowper had used it the night before to supercharge the campfire. Before we launched I looked there. Then I walked the whole beach (the Cap’n later told me said he moved the pump to the beach from the campfire location in the morning). Nada. Gil said he saw it on the beach while we were loading but didn’t see it when he and Rob made their final sweep. Losing the pump was clearly a Monkeyable Offense, but I somehow miraculously escaped that ignominy (is there such a thing as a retroactive Monkey?). We hoped the pump would show up.
We landed in the big eddy above Lake Creek and scouted. Good thing. After Lake Creek blew out in ’06 this rapid has changed continuously. There is now a big raft flipping/keeping hole at the bottom where the river pinches down just before the straightaway above Pistol Creek. A raft from a trip in front of us was tied up on the right bank just a few feet below the hole after spending some time (5 minutes?) in it. The raft daddy was still shaking when the Cap’n first got there. Gulp. The Cap’n picked a run down the far left side and we watched as 3 River Patrol rafts ran that line. My mouth was dry and I had to pee. It was time to go. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. Remembering the sweep boat lesson learned at Sulphur Slide I pulled the DIB as far upstream as I could from the scouting eddy on river right so the Cap’n would have time to pull the sweep boat back to the center to set up for a run down the left side. We all hit the line and for once the run from the scout location looked harder than it turned out to be. Pistol Creek (the 3rd Class IV) was right around the corner.
Pistol Creek rapid is hard to describe. The river turns right around a blind corner and forms a Z, with all the water pushing hard into a rock wall on river left. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. In a sweep boat set up the sweep oars run the length of the boat, one sticking out over the bow and one extending back over the stern. The sweep boat driver can move the boat side to side but CANNOT BACK UP like an oar rig. The Cap’n said he got a little too far left, fell off the wave that can take you around instead of into the wall, and smacked the rock head on, breaking his front sweep oar in half.
I was too far back to see the crash, but my nearly lifelong, Zen-like, ARGean, shared experiences with the Cap’n allowed me to sense what had happened. I was determined to avenge him, so I allowed my raft to get too far left, fall off the transport wave, and slam the wall flush with my right tube where I could poke the rock in the face with my right oar and spit in its eye. The 3rd Class IV was in the books as we headed for Pungo Bar. It was getting hot so I took off my dry suit at Indian Creek. I felt a piece of the neck gasket rip off as I was getting out, but it felt like the seal was still holding.
The tenderloin at Pungo Bar (a GREAT camp) that night was excellent. Margy’s wine (not yet released to the public) from the new Presqu’ile* Winery along California's central coast won first place** in the first of 4 nightly wine tasting contests*** (must be present to win). The Cap’n and I lured 2 more participants to the dark side before retiring, as Mark and Margy joined us and slept out under the ARG Sleeping System Parawing.
* My personal feeling is everyone was afraid to vote against a wine with a high comma in the middle of the second syllable for fear of appearing to possess insufficient wine appreciation skills.
** The vote was rigged. There was a thinly veiled conspiracy against the genuinely magnificent wine that I entered whose bouquet was so splendid, structure so powerful, and finish so incredibly long that I’ve forgotten what it was.
*** Marcell was selected to serve as sommelier, but the muted grumblings about his performance suggested the trip leader might have made one of his few errors of judgment of the entire trip.
The first official Monkeyable Offense occurred just after we launched on Day 3. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. There’s a relatively new rapid just below Pungo with a nasty jagged pourover rock hiding in a wave train. Marcell apparently didn’t see it, ran over it, and punctured and blew his back left tube. I didn’t see it happen but I heard what at first sounded like the Texas Stadium demolition, then quickly realized it was Marcell alerting nearby boats to his situation. Confusion ensued. Marcell got his boat into the same small eddy with a couple of other boats, but the eddy wasn’t big enough for us all. There was another eddy around a sheer rock face about 40 yards below, and some of us were trying to figure out how to tie off when Ranger Rick’s raft bounced into us, we lost our spot out of the current and spun into the moving water, effectively forcing us downstream. The DIB flew by, unable to stop. Rick and Clair were having trouble and looking at more and bigger trouble. Afraid he couldn’t scramble over the rocky shore in time to keep Rick’s raft from a major problem Cowper dove in and swam to it. Even then it took about an hour to get it off a rock, away from more rocks and out in enough current to safely move downstream. Eventually Marcell’s tube was repaired and reinflated. The raft repair group caught up with the rest of us at Little Soldier camp, the first place the Cap’n could safely land the sweep boat. As much weight as possible was removed from Marcell’s boat. We cautiously took off for Whitie Cox via Marble Creek rapid (which turned out to be no big deal at this level). Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell.
It sprinkled on us off and on as we set up camp at Whitie Cox. As Cowper rock-hopped above camp we figured we knew what he was up to. He didn’t disappoint when he returned. The possibility of him having a reptile somewhere on his person was discussed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out … a camera. After pausing for dramatic effect … he reached into another pocket and out popped a bull snake, which eventually crawled up his sleeve and disappeared again under his shirt.
Barbecued Shrimp was on the menu, and it was nothing short of spectacular (the PHB outdid herself again). Newton White demonstrated his legendary skills as a raconteur, entertaining us with the Woodpecker and Old Engineer (co-starring Margy) jokes, among others. Boom Boom, Thrasher and others contributed a few as well. The growing discontent over Marcell’s performance as sommelier was threatening to break into open revolt, so I tried to support and lead him by example with helpful comments that he might use to demonstrate his expertise (such as describing Newton’s entry that night as having a bouquet reminiscent of the fart of an American Merganser hen after ingesting Syringa sprouts, or Margy’s as an obsequious little fruit pixie coursing through pillowy tannins with hints of unicorns flying over rainbows). It was to no avail. After Marcell forgot to take a vote on the winner that night saving his job was a lost cause.
As we were breaking camp the next morning (Day 4) and I was getting ready to poke my sleeping gear into my dry bag I saw a momma mouse with 2 babies dangling at her side down in the bottom of my bag. On closer inspection I found 4 more babies. As I gently removed them from the bag mouse pandemonium transpired. Momma mouse (with 2 babies still attached) kept trying to hop into the nearest bag. The other babies were scrambling everywhere. Cowper mentioned how hungry bull snakes could get this time of year but he was quickly hushed up before the womenfolk could hear. One baby dashed into the shallow water; one got under a root, one got under my cot; and I couldn’t see the other one. After finally packing everything up and loading my gear I noticed one baby near my boot. It wasn’t nearly as lively as before, and was a lot wider and less round. We launched the boats. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell.
We stopped at Simplot Ranch and some of us hiked up to the hot spring at Loon Creek. Air gushed up out of my Kokatat dry suit neck gasket when I got in the water. Bubbles also trickled up from a seam above the knee of the Kokatat brand suit. The knee thing didn’t bother me, but the blown neck gasket did. I wasn’t anxious to try to swim with water rushing in through the neck of the Kokatat dry suit. I was a little ticked at the Kokatat company because the Kokatat dry suit had been my primary line of defense against the consequences of a potential swim. I changed clothes before we left Simplot and headed for the Tappans. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell.
Tappan Falls (the 4th Class IV) looked big. Walter ran first down the right side, followed immediately by Marcell. I ran Tappan Falls and pulled hard left to miss the hole below on river right, pulling into the eddy where everybody in front of me had stopped. Don “Mr. Lucky” Bradshaw ran behind me but couldn’t pull away from the hole which he then punched through okay. Then the sweep boat and Ranger Rick. Cowper and the kayaks were way behind us, so we pushed off and headed for Tappan III, which we’d heard was getting bigger (or at least meaner) than the Falls. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. As you went over the drop things looked pretty ugly, but everyone made it through okay down the left side except: (1) Cowper (who showed up after everyone else had run, scouted, and found a sweet (but very narrow) tongue on center right); and (2) the DIB.
Somewhere upstream of the Tappans, Clairikwa decided she wanted to see what the river looked like from the deck of the DIB, so she transferred from the wet ride in Ranger Rick’s cat to the higher and dryer ride in the sweep boat. When the sweep ran through the top drop on the left side of Tappan III it got turned (there’s a nasty lateral in there somewhere), the Cap’n couldn’t back off the big hole, and the DIB hit it partially sideways. The boat didn’t stick or flip but when it took the hit Clair got a black eye and a bruised face while the Cap’n messed up his leg and left palm. Fortunately we were close to camp at Camas Creek where ice, margaritas and strong NSAIDs helped, though gently falling rain did not.
The “Incident at Tappan III” required us to upgrade the ARG Sleeping System Parawing into the ARG Multi Purpose Sleeping System, Triage and Physical Therapy Center. Ice bags, Ibuprofen bottles, and Ace bandages lay strewn about the blue plastic tarp floor. At some point the Cap’n looked at me and said, “Maybe it’s time we looked into buying an RV.” Since my in-laws are in the car business it was decided that I’d be responsible for procurement, Ranger Rick would be responsible for arranging financing, the Cap’n would be responsible for mechanical and maintenance issues, and Marcell would be in charge of following immediately behind in a passenger car as we head to RV parks in areas near the Western rivers we used to raft down.
Supper was what you’d expect with a charter member of the Team Big Water cook crew on duty, and the Red Fish Court Bouillon was a big hit. Walter cooked bread in his rectangular Dutch oven (as he did on other nights) that added greatly to the main dish.
I had 2 extra bottles of wine. In lieu of another wine contest we drank them as the contest organizers huddled surreptitiously to discuss the Sommelier Situation. A change was finalized as the final 2 wine tastings were scheduled for our next (and last) camps, Survey Creek and Ship Island.
Just before dark Alex miraculously spotted a herd of sheep with babies high on the top of the ridge just downstream of us. You could barely make out their silhouettes against the dwindling light in the twilight sky. It was quite a sight.
On Day 5 we finally got the sunshine back. The pancake quality suffered as the lone member of Team Big Water cooked bacon, but quickly improved after the bacon was completed and he was able to bring Team Big Water’s expertise to the pancake problem (too little liquid in the mix and too much heat under the griddle).
We loaded the rafts and shoved off from Camas Creek, somewhat disappointed that no one had done a “One Sock Barton” impersonation the night before. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell.
We stopped at the Flying B and found Team Stupid’s cheery notes on the bulletin board (I’m not sure it’s fair to lump Bobby Stout in with Team Stupid, but if you lie down with dogs you get fleas). Haystack was fun, and appears to be continuing its comeback from the Bernard Creek blowout. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. I made it even more fun by getting too close to the rock below the drop in the middle of Haystack, requiring employment of the ARG Gauley 360 Rock Spin Move (minus the furious and unproductive paddle thrashing) to avoid a potential pin.
The river necks down again below Haystack and the rest of the run to Survey Creek was big fun. We ate lunch at camp (almost always a bad idea, because Bad Things Happen at Survey Creek). The PHB was kind enough to leave the gorp, nuts and mini candy bars out and uncovered for afternoon grazing. The sun warmed everyone’s showers and it was nice to start the cocktail hour all clean and well-dressed. A deer swam the river right in front of us. Rumors of her eminent death were greatly exaggerated as she crossed the river quickly and hopped out on the other side. 2 sheep grazed high up on the hillside facing us. Survey Creek may be my favorite camp on the river. I was determined not to set it on fire as I tried to do on a previous trip.
The weather was Middle Fork perfect as the cocktail hour was punctuated by stories recounted by Newton and Thrasher from the Cossatot*and other rivers. The PHB allowed me to fix her a margarita, followed by another, after which the Big Dog growled at me every time I got near the margarita machine (I sneaked around and fixed her a couple more anyway, which I think he was dumping out about as quickly I was pouring).
* A rookie wanted to follow Newton down the ‘Tot at high water back in the day, prompting Newton’s famous response: “No! No! It ain’t follerable! It ain’t follerable!’
Cocktail hour morphed into round 3 of the wine tasting. Marcell, having been demoted to assistant sommelier, hid his disappointment well as I opened the wine bottles to let them breathe and organized my thoughts. We opted for blind tasting in response to the first night’s ugly conspiracy against me. Dinner (an outstanding chicken enchilada dish) interrupted the wine contest which was restarted after dinner with 4 bottles to go. I knew next to nothing about most of the wines but read the labels and made up other stuff as I went along. I was counting on the dazzling beauty and elegance of the special shirt I wore to allow me to subconsciously sway the other contestants in favor of my wine entry, but instead of being appreciative they became jealous, saw through my ruse, and awarded Margy the ribbon for her Syrah from Garden City, Idaho (Cinder Winery).
The weather was so perfect the Cap’n and I left the ARG Sleeping System Parawing in the bag and slept out under the stars instead, joined by Margy and 2 deer, but only after we caught the deer helping themselves to the open containers of snacks still on the lunch/cocktail table (which the PHB normally secures but for some reason disremembered to do on this night). We locked all the loose food down in a cooler (we thought) and went to bed. The next morning Margy found that the deer came back in the night to raid the trash that was left unsecured as well as a bread sack (securely closing the food containers being part of the PHB’s normal routine but which she for some reason disremembered to do on this night).
The weather was still looking good as Day 6 dawned, we broke camp and launched. Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. 2 more Class IVs were downstream, Redside and Weber.
Mark Brown has run the Middle Fork often and is well aware of Redside, having flipped there once before. Maybe the long and relatively uneventful run from Survey Creek to Redside caused him to drop his guard just enough to forget where he was. He let his boat swing too wide to the left around the outside of the turn above Redside, where the run is right of center. He almost made it back to the slot but clipped the right edge of the big hole in the center of the river with his left tube, leaving the right tube elevated and exposed to the rush of current coming off the pillow rock just downstream and to the right of the big hole. The result was a pretty spectacular counterclockwise cork screw flip. I was 2 boats behind and saw Margy’s blond head pop up. I couldn’t see Mark but he eventually popped up too. I followed Phil’s raft between the big hole and the pillow rock and we headed for Margy, Mark and the raft. By the time I got out of the wave train Margy was climbing out on the right bank and Mark looked like he had his feet under him. Phil had reached them so I took off after the raft, which eventually ran Weber by itself. We got the raft turned over with no loss of gear (except Mark’s sunglasses), got two cold boaters into some dryer warmer clothes and headed for Ship Island camp, only a mile or so downstream.
I had never stayed at Ship Island, but I like the camp although it’s not an easy stop at higher water levels. It’s long and narrow but has good kitchen/cocktail spots. After lunch at camp (never a good idea) a monkey presentation was made to Margy (!?) (that I missed) - something about using poor judgment getting in the raft with Mark.
Inspired by Cowper and Ranger Rick’s sleeping systems at Boundary Creek, the Cap’n struck upon the brilliant (to us) idea of constructing an ARG Neanderthal camp instead of putting up the ARG Sleeping System Parawing or just sleeping out. We stole some space from Marcell (and stole a pair of his man panties later). Ranger Rich, Clairikwa and I wished we’d thought of it first and helped the Cap’n string up a blue plastic tarp with throw ropes and clothes lines tied off to trees and bushes with duct tape and carabiners. We hung Marcell’s underwear, Rick’s back brace and towels on the clothes line. We made an ARG Neanderthal cairn shrine by stacking up rocks, driftwood and more rocks, then decorating it with appropriate “bling” such as pliers, empty beer cans, parrots, monkeys, rolls of duct tape, a tampon (but no Marlboro Lights), a giant-late night-high channel pocket knife, a bottle opener, etc. I made a sign out of duct tape: “NATIVE AMERICAN ARGEOLOGICAL SITE.” We finished and admired our work (a LOT more than anyone else seemed to). Alex photographed it for posterity. We were still admiring it when Newton walked into the ARG Neanderthal camp with a request.
“They sent me down here to talk to the smart people about something” (Newton had me at “smart people” as I rifled through my bag looking for my Mensa cap). “We need some intellectual people to come up with a song about what happened today at Redside, maybe to the tune of Rawhide,” he continued. I immediately sang “Rowin’ Rowin’ Rowin’,” Newton smiled and hobbled back to the Bubba tent, knowing his work there was done. Rich, Clairikwa, the Cap’n and I went to work. Our collective mind was aglow with whirling, transient nodes of thought careening through a cosmic vapor of invention.
[Interesting ornithological side notes: 1. Throughout the upper and middle sections of the river we saw 100s if not a 1,000 Western Tanagers. They were everywhere. They didn’t seem to be very afraid of us, either, landing on trees a few feet away or buzzing our boats. One even landed on the rail of the sweep boat and rode down the river with the Cap’n for several minutes. 2. At Ship Island there was an old Juniper snag a few feet from the ARG Historical Site with a Flicker (the Western equivalent of a Yellowhammer) nest in it. We watched the parents feed the babies, on and off, for several hours.]
As usual everyone gathered near the kitchen at cocktail hour. Phil had been busy finding flat, smooth, round rocks and drawing images on them with a Sharpie. He had been doing some drawings throughout the trip and giving them to his subjects. He gathered up all of them and arranged them for display on a large rock nearby. Although normally the quietest person in the group, Phil took center stage and began to explain his art. His explanations and descriptions revealed his passion for what he did as much as the images themselves revealed his impressive talent. What a gift to have him share his craft with us.
After Walter made some announcements about running Rubber, ramp etiquette, the derigging process, etc., the tone became decidedly less serious. Taking her cue from a prearranged high sign, Margy thought it fitting that the Monkey should be gifted to Mark. Although it seemed to me to be a violation of Monkey protocol to allow the current Monkey recipient to decide when and to whom to award the Monkey, I approved because I thought it would contribute to the shame of the serenade Mark was about to receive from Ranger Rick and Deputy Dave. After one false start, we sang the final product of A.S.S. (ARG Songwriters Society), as follows:
Redside!
Rowin’ Rown’ Rowin’
Damn that hole keeps growing’
Keep that raft a goin’
Redside!
If you don’t pay attention
Your raft will soon be flippin’
And you can’t keep Margy high and dry
Back it in! Flip it up!
Flip it up! Back it in!
Back it in! Flip it Up!
Redside!
Finally good weather
Then Mark Brown’s boat ran Weber
But we could only see the bottom side
…
We then transitioned to the final wine tasting of the trip. Some big guns surfaced: impressive names; names that you would instantly recognize if I could remember them. Ramsay’s entry of a Ramsay Winery pinot noir was hailed with “Down Goes Ramsay!” on cue by the group. Walter “Big Dog” Felton’s big Cab was justly selected as the winner. The trip leaders graciously bestowed trip aprons and other gifts on the deserving and undeserving as well. After an excellent dinner of Beef Stroganoff (was it Debo's recipe? If not someone help me out here), Ranger Rich joined the Cap’n and me under the ARG Blue Top Neanderthal Sleeping System.
On Day 7 we were all up early for a cold camp breakfast and the 16 mile run to the take out at Cache Bar. After we loaded up the boats and pushed off Walter ran first, … but Mark Brown and I pulled out right behind him. Pretty soon I saw a blue blur approaching from behind. It was Marcell, nervously crabbing forward so fast the bottom of his raft was getting hot. He slid around Mark and me, took his place behind Walter, and seemed to relax a little.
Rubber rapid, the last Class IV before the confluence, has the biggest hole and wave on the river at this level. A long green slick pulls you over into a steep drop, hole and lateral wave. It was daunting enough just to try run Rubber with no distractions, but Newton made it more interesting as I watched his raft dip down into the meat of the hole and then get tossed skyward in front of me. Alex came out of the raft so fast and high she LOOKED like a space shuttle rising from its launch pad. Don and Amy were behind me, and the sound of Amy’s voice when she saw Newton flip SOUNDED like a shuttle launch.
Mark and Margy were next. They took a big hit but made it over upright. I was right behind them, pulling right as hard as I could. I squared up to the lateral that flipped Newton and punched through a little right of center. I looked for Alex and Newton to see if they were okay. They were, so I helped chase down the raft, which Walter was able to corral before it made an unmanned run through Hancock. Pretty soon the raft was upright again and reunited with its crew.
Hancock, Devils Tooth and House Rocks were all read and run and lots of fun. We turned the corner at the confluence and headed for Cramer Creek. Although I was too far back to see who was in the lead, I can state with confidence that Walter ran first, followed immediately by Marcell. Although the maps and guide books all say Cramer is a Class IV (and it is still a big rapid with a very big hole), it seems to have lost some of its punch. The drop on the right side run is one long green tongue that didn’t seem as steep as it has before, maybe because it fills in at higher water levels. The wave train is still big and bouncy.
As we derigged at Cache Bar someone made sure Newton got the Monkey for his Rubber big air shuttle launch flip. A private group showed up at the ramp with the missing pump. They had stayed at Scout camp the night after we did and found it where “someone” left it (this has Rule 6* written all over it). I bought it back for 5 river cold Bud Lights.
* Rule 6 - It’s Always Stewart’s Fault.
In summary: the entire trip operated with clockwork-like precision; the water was great (especially if you managed to avoid getting neck deep in it); the food was fantastic; we learned why some commercial groups don’t run their sweep boats at high water; look for Ranger Rich and Deputy Dave at the next singer-songwriter of the year awards; shoot me and the Cap’n if we even think about doing a mid-June MFS trip before we do another late summer trip; Margy knows wine (not a single duck fart among any of her wines); Phil’s rock art rocks!; the PH was most definitely NOT a PHB; the ARG Neanderthal Cultural Center was underappreciated; and, expect to see the ARG RV and Old-timers Roving Whitewater Story Tellers Center coming soon to a KOA campground out West in the near future.
We said our goodbyes, and left Cache Bar.*
*Walter pulled out first, followed immediately by Marcell.
