Abiding & Enduring
A First Timer's Trip On The River Of No Return
This past June, my fiancé, Sam, and I were invited to join an OARS rafting trip on behalf of the outdoor apparel brand Chums. We committed immediately to the 6-day trip, but I had never been on a multi-day rafting trip so I really didn’t know what to expect. Our route was to take us approximately 84 miles along Idaho’s Wild & Scenic Main Salmon River, fondly called the “River of No Return” by early prospectors. Sam was over the moon excited about it, but as the trip drew nearer, I began to reconsider my early excitement.
If I’m being honest, I’m not quite an outdoorswoman. Quite frankly, I don’t like being cold, I don’t like being wet, and I don’t like feeling dirty, especially at night. (I’m still trying to figure out how I ended up with my eat-sleep-breathe outdoors fanatic fiancé). While I knew that I’d have a lot of fun meeting new people and experiencing the beauty of the great outdoors, I had my fair share of reservations. Not to mention, I’d never really thought much about Idaho outside of the realm of potatoes. Growing up in the Midwest, I’d grown to admire the slow, stable form of the land. The rolling waves of wheat, cottonwood seeds softly floating in the breeze, cicada calls lingering into the night. Abiding and enduring. From a young age, it established in me a desire for habit and consistency. A 6-day-5-night-no-shower kind of trip on the river started to sound less and less appealing. As we drove toward the meeting point of McCall, ID, I wondered how I let Sam talk me into this.
Our first day on the water was cold and windy. The forecast for the week was low 60’s and cloudy, and I was nervous. I think the other families were nervous too, as we bundled ourselves in base layers and splash jackets. I was thankful the kids wanted to splash around in the paddle boats first. As we started drifting down the river, I tightened my hood as the wind whipped my hair. After a few hours, we stopped at a sandy gravel bar to set up camp for the day. I was chilly, wet, and irritated by all of the sand. It was everywhere – in my tent, my shoes, even my camp mug. As I sat in the doorway of my tent, I took a deep breath and surveyed my surroundings. We had set up camp at Lantz Bar, a secluded swatch of land nestled in a valley created by the river long ago. In 1925, Forest Service employee Frank Lantz settled there, and although he passed away in 1971, the land is still dotted with the fruit-bearing cherry and apple trees he planted throughout his lifetime. I relaxed a bit as Sam and I walked among the orchards, laughing as marmots arose from their hidey-holes to whistle at us.
Upon returning to the campsite, I was expecting a good ole’ camp meal of slightly blackened hotdogs but was shocked to find we’d be eating seared salmon with pesto pasta and fresh greens. Not bad for “camp food!” As the sun drifted beyond the valley, we caught a glimpse of three deer pausing to take a dip in the river, swimming several feet downstream. As I lay down in my tent that evening, I closed my heavy eyes, expectant for the next day.
After the first day, we all fell into the flow of the river. Wake up, disassemble camp, float downstream, reassemble camp, devour dinner. Eat. Float. Sleep. Repeat. Each day we would arrive at a different, seemingly untouched campsite, and each night we would make it our own. We began to tell stories around campfires, play games with one another, and lend a helping hand when the rain fly just wouldn’t stay on the right way. There was quite a big age difference on our trip, but whether you were 77 or 12, we all enjoyed listening to a guitar strummed by a fire and watching the kids throw frisbees around the tents. Everyone was so kind. Our guides were excellent hosts, teaching us about how Ponderosa Pines have evolved to have an almost symbiotic relationship with wildfires, and how the Nez Perce people used to roam the land on their Appaloosa horses. The river carried us around steep canyons, rolling forests, sharp crags, and grassy bluffs.
I began to feel more comfortable in my skin. It didn’t even bother me that I couldn’t get the sand out from between my toes.
The days seemed to last forever, but the week went by so quickly. Before I knew it, it was our last evening on the Main Salmon. We dined on steaks and local wine, laughed over inside jokes, and agreed that the only reason we’d even consider heading home the next day was at the promise of a hot shower. We reminisced on our week of delicious meals, breath-taking scenery, and even better company. As the sky darkened, the stars began to twinkle, seemingly much brighter than they do back home. Things were so much simpler on the river.
On the river, I found peace. No cell service to distract you, no work or commitments or worries. On the Salmon it was just you and nature and the ever-flowing water. I savored the silence and solitude that only the outdoors can provide.
On the river, I found confidence. I flipped an inflatable kayak in a Class III rapid and I didn’t drown – I pulled myself back in! I worked as a team to steer our paddle boat out of rapids that wanted to swallow us up. I ran and jumped and hiked and didn’t even mind that my hair was greasy and my feet were dirty.
On the river, I found joy! I watched a group of river otters flick their tails as they dove beneath the waves. I grinned from ear to ear as butterflies perched on my fingers, lapping at the droplets of watermelon juice still clinging to my skin. I made family out of strangers.
I realized that I didn’t want to go home, to return to civilization, noise, and structure. I just wanted to keep floating the Salmon, abiding and enduring.
We want to say a huge thank you to our friends at OARS and Chums for helping to get out on the Main Salmon River and make this trip a reality. Please stop by their sites and send them some love by clicking below:
