Getting Ready

To Ride The Snake to Hell

We all have one, at least. That place, or adventure, we want to do. Other trips, things, get in the way until it gets put off, perhaps forever. Owyhee Canyon was that for me. In the early formulation it was a plan to hike. But, there were the Steens Mountains. The Alvord Desert. Oh, we need to go back and see the fossil beds again. Drive down the coast as far as California. Head over to the McKenzie wilderness. Camp around the Sisters. What about Lassen. Back to Humboldt County to revisit the old stomping grounds there. Lots of things to grab the plans and take them elsewhere. So many.

I’m drawn to a place by the spirit of the land or the water. I look to the history, the geology (which is of course the ultimate history.) The native story of a place. The early explorers’ stories. Mountain men. My own history of my early travels, to share with my kids. Owyhee kept on losing out to other choices.

I became aware of an opportunity to travel with a rafting outfit, one that I have had great experience with, OARS. Still the idea of making my way east on I84 in early Spring was not my hypothesis of a good plan.

On one of my walks to the pond, where I trespass in a neighborhood where there is a sign that reads “Welcome to Mill Pond, this is a private property” or something similarly ridiculous. Before I got to the pond, I was passing through a more welcoming neighborhood and stopped to chat with a guy I run into from time to time. I have no idea how we got on the subject of rafting the Owyhee Canyon, maybe he had just gotten back from an adventure of the sort. I told him of my reluctance to count on the gorge drive and he quelled all my anxieties with the information that you fly to Boise and the company transports you to the put in. Barrier down!

My kids were unable to get on board with the trip, so I put in my bid as a solo traveler. I knew it had been a tough weather year for the river. I picked the middle of three dates and there was indeed a slot for me. And then there was the wait.

I have a talent for seeing patterns. Our winter this year was nothing related to the Pacific Northwest. Because of the lack of rain which by nature should be fairly steady from Halloween to Fourth of July, accompanied by strangely mild if not warm temperatures, I have changed the name of where I live from Portland to Los Angeles North. Basically, I’m waiting for the Big One so I can have my beach front property. Add to that, the particulate in the air, making the sunsets very much like those we had in Los Angeles of the early seventies, what I called Campbel’s Tomato Soup Sunsets and, well I’m waiting for my property values to swell.

What I was seeing from my back porch combined with the ski slopes struggling with the entire season, I called it before the company gave into the evidence. There would surely be a deficit of water in the Owyhee. Not enough river to navigate. We would have to shift. We would be riding The Snake into Hell. The Snake River through Hell’s Canyon.

Same gathering point, Boise, Idaho. Same number of days out, five nights, six days. Pretty much the same temperature expectation, so the same packing elements. OK. I’ll shift my dreams. The Snake it is. The bonus being, a dory for this route. Ever since reading The Emerald Mile I’ve been craving a ride on a dory.

My breaking down body is such that, with the number of medical appointments, I spent scant time researching my new destination. I started my packing list, checking it twice, checked against my Grand Canyon list that I found in my packing staging area. Made my plane reservations and hotel reservations, then waited out the days.

Next stop, the Portland Airport to begin the adventure that was vs the one that I was trying to fulfill.

Next week, the adventure begins.

Thanks for stopping by.

Mary E Joyce