Up the River
Posted on August 28, 2007, by admin.
Filed Under Community, Portland Region, Adventures, Willamette Valley |
For me, there has always been one way in which I have wanted to reclaim a part of Portland which has always been only scenery to me, and that is kayaking the Willamette. Portland’s river is, for many of us, something beautiful to stare at on the way across a bridge or something to avoid at all costs lest we birth hermaphroditic children like the fish who dwell within it. Taking the time (five days to be exact) to learn the river at its own eye level provided an entirely different perspective than the one I was used to from driving above it. Looking up at the world from the water is a privilege every Portlander should know, if only once. Thaddeus, Kilii, David, Justin and myself had the astute privilege for 64 miles of upstream paddling, often times all to ourselves.
We set out from North Portland’s Swan Island at one of the less sightly spots on the river. North Portland’s industry and its runoff are evident in the health warnings posted by the docks prohibiting consumption of fish by the elderly, pregnant women and children, which begs the question of why young, non-pregnant people should be any exception. Despite the human impact on the area, small trees and plant life will grow on the floating pillars at the bases of enormous container ship docks; lone soldiers of life and persistence within an inhospitable, modernized environment. We found our first night’s home along a sand bar near Ross Island, gifted with all the blackberries, leftover peanuts, and unopened two-liter Coca-Cola we could ever ask for.
Our five was down to three on day two. Justin and David retired back to the city while Thaddeus, Kiliii and myself pressed on. The day greeted us with a downpour almost immediately upon leaving camp. That morning the river let me in on an old secret: the rain is so indescribably glorious on the water, such that it instills the same sense of wonder and excitement as a sunny day in the park.
For every newcomer’s effort to condition themselves to the reality of Portland’s perpetually wet weather, either by resignation to drier, indoor safe havens or devotion to remaining outdoors in spite of the weather, nothing compares to being on the water and under it at the same time; an equilibrium or sorts.
We spent the last traces of daylight looking for possible portage sites to move beyond the falls, but no feasible alternative could be found. With the highway on our left, an old, decommissioned paper mill on the right, and the falls directly ahead, we had no choice but to wait for access to the locks come early the next morning. Dangerously swift current prevented a closer look, but a view from a distance was close enough to see the paper mill’s ongoing contribution to the Willamette falls.
What was once unkempt wilderness was strewn with uprooted trees and visible signs of general neglect for the surrounding area. The paper mill had managed to leave its mark both up and downstream in the form of scattered concrete chunks, piles of rusted automotive debris, and dark cavities at the base of the buildings where basement walls had been blown out, spewing bricks and gravel outward onto and along the shore.
Despite all that, no amount of human interference could keep back the blackberry which consumed entire hillsides in ten-foot tall thickets with plum-sized fruit. Both fruit and some wild meats made for a good and sustaining meal for all.
Day three gifted us with a day’s worth of food almost immediately upon setting out. A sea-run cutthroat trout was beached upon the island we’d stayed on the night before. Presuming that it hadn’t spent much of its life in the Willamette, Thaddeus took it into his boat to be cleaned and cooked at the end of the day.
Proceeding through the locks was a much lengthier process than had been anticipated, but we were met with warm company for the hour or two spent filling each of the locks’ compartments. Those boaters who weren’t throwing back cheap beer and bourbon helped to steady the makeshift barge as it progressed from one chamber to the next.
After four separate lifts, we were finally even with the upstream side of the falls and continued on. That night we feasted on our catch from the morning and laid its bones at the edge of the riverbed, grateful once again for the sacrifice which granted us sustenance for the day ahead.
–Danny Newman
[Danny is off to Russia very soon and left me to finish telling the story, so in short…]
Once we shot past Champoeg State Park, the downstream current began to pick up in a serious way. We began to paddle up through sloughs and across eddies as we worked our way around the river, learning to understand how water _works_. We stayed close along the edge of the river to take advantage of back-eddies that pushed us against the current when possible, but we every so often there was no way to avoid the current, which ran between one and five knots at some points. We got out and portaged the boats, dragging them behind us along the shallow banks for as much as half a mile at a stretch. It was nice change from simply paddling.
Well, on our final day we were pretty exhausted from battling the current for twelve mile days, and a bit dehydrated as we had run out of fresh water. Fortunately, a fellow elderly boater on the river gave us a small bottle of water and a can of Pepsi. Not one to argue, we decided to land and take a rest. Well, somewhere in there as we skipped stones on the shore and wondered about the last six miles of daunting currents to paddle to reach Salem. We cracked open some wine and made wine-pepsi mixers (since we were dehydrated, after all) and soon enough, we were very merry and the last six miles of portaging and paddling very quickly went by so smoothly that it was infinitely enjoyable. It was a great feeling to land on the banks of our destination at a primitive skills gathering (known as Echoes In Time), having gotten there not by fossil fuel, but paddle power and learning the waterways which define our place, even against the current.
That seems to be our community’s defining characteristic, a penchant for going upstream; sticking it out and discovering the magic behind getting soaked in the rain, eating trout and blackberries, and letting our creative souls roam freely.
-Kiliii Yu
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3 Responses to “Up the River”
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Speaking of upstream, why not do one better? Rabbitstick’s Henry’s Fork, after all, is a tributary of Portland’s Columbia. But you’d better get paddling!
I sure get a kick out or your boats. You’re lucky I didn’t just paddle away from Echoes in your kayak.
I guess I’ll see you at Rabbitstick. I’m teaching this year and stoked about it.
-Kyle
You know, a downstream trip from Rabbitstick might actualy be doable…
Wow! Nice blog! It is fun to read about your experiences. So much to read though, I have to read more later.
great pictures and even better story! I’ve been wanting to travel the Patapsco River in Maryland like this, but its dotted with low head dams that turn up out of nowhere. I’ll be linking to your blog, I really enjoy it!
-Owen