Deerfield River -
Fife Brook Section
Fife Brook Section
Location - Florida, MA
Difficulty - Class II (III) Length - 17 miles
Level - various
Date - 1994 and on
Difficulty - Class II (III) Length - 17 miles
Level - various
Date - 1994 and on
The Deerfield River in western Massachusetts provides one
of the greatest recreational resources in the entire state.
While Massachusetts is best known for Boston, pilgrims,
baked beans, and bad drivers, the western reaches of the
state contain rugged mountains and pristine rivers. The
Deerfield, originating in Vermont and flowing for seventy
some miles through Massachusetts and into the Connecticut
River, holds some of the cleanest water in New England and
draws thousands of paddlers, fishermen, and other
recreationists.
The ample gradient and plentiful flows that make the
Deerfield so attractive outdoor enthusiasts also caught the
eye of utility companies. The Deerfield has worked hard for
humans over the last several hundred years, and the river is
currently dammed no less than 10 times. The longest free
flowing section runs from the Fife Brook Dam for seventeen
miles to the next impoundment just upstream of Shelbourne
Falls. Through this stretch the river flows through numerous
class II rapids as it transitions from the sparsely inhabited
mountains to a wider, more rural valley.
While this section of the Deerfield has long been popular
with whitewater enthusiasts its flows were notoriously hard to
predict as the utility released water into the streambed only
when it needed to generate electricity. Generally this
occurred every afternoon in the summer when peak demand
was reached, but it was not unheard of to drive over to the
river and find it almost completely dewatered.
Luckily, in the mid nineties, the dams along the Deerfield
came up for reliscencing from the FERC, and negotiations
from multiple users groups ensued. Fishermen and paddlers
acted together in the best interest of the river and a
schedule of whitewater releases was obtained along with
minimum flow requirements and other environmental
considerations.
This reliscencing process has allowed several profitable
whitewater rafting and outdoor adventure based companies
to spring up on the river, all of which provide vital economic
stimulus to the sleepy river communities, in particular,
Charlemont, Massachusetts.
of the greatest recreational resources in the entire state.
While Massachusetts is best known for Boston, pilgrims,
baked beans, and bad drivers, the western reaches of the
state contain rugged mountains and pristine rivers. The
Deerfield, originating in Vermont and flowing for seventy
some miles through Massachusetts and into the Connecticut
River, holds some of the cleanest water in New England and
draws thousands of paddlers, fishermen, and other
recreationists.
The ample gradient and plentiful flows that make the
Deerfield so attractive outdoor enthusiasts also caught the
eye of utility companies. The Deerfield has worked hard for
humans over the last several hundred years, and the river is
currently dammed no less than 10 times. The longest free
flowing section runs from the Fife Brook Dam for seventeen
miles to the next impoundment just upstream of Shelbourne
Falls. Through this stretch the river flows through numerous
class II rapids as it transitions from the sparsely inhabited
mountains to a wider, more rural valley.
While this section of the Deerfield has long been popular
with whitewater enthusiasts its flows were notoriously hard to
predict as the utility released water into the streambed only
when it needed to generate electricity. Generally this
occurred every afternoon in the summer when peak demand
was reached, but it was not unheard of to drive over to the
river and find it almost completely dewatered.
Luckily, in the mid nineties, the dams along the Deerfield
came up for reliscencing from the FERC, and negotiations
from multiple users groups ensued. Fishermen and paddlers
acted together in the best interest of the river and a
schedule of whitewater releases was obtained along with
minimum flow requirements and other environmental
considerations.
This reliscencing process has allowed several profitable
whitewater rafting and outdoor adventure based companies
to spring up on the river, all of which provide vital economic
stimulus to the sleepy river communities, in particular,
Charlemont, Massachusetts.
The Deerfield River is also where I first started whitewater
paddling, first in a canoe with my dad, and later in a kayak. I
remember that my first experience with whitewater came
when we headed over to the Deerfield River in 1990 or 1991
when I was eleven or twelve, to watch a slalom race being
held in Zoar Gap. I remember watching the boaters make
their way down through the gates, thinking that these people
were heroes or gods of some sort. At that point, I never
could have imagined myself in one of those boats.
Later that same year or perhaps the next my family bought a
bright red tandem canoe, a 17 foot Penobscott, that came
complete with an instructional video showing paddle strokes
and even a primer on whitewater. This was by far the most
exciting stuff I had ever seen and I knew we had to get onto
the water soon. This is the same year that I bought my first
whitewater guidebook, a publication by the AMC focusing on
the rivers of Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island.
I remember reading the description for each run time and
time again, being swept away to these different rivers
through words. Just reading about the tougher runs was
exciting, what would it be like to paddle them?
In the spring of 1993, after taking a few practice runs on
Plainfield Pond, dad and I thought we were ready to tackle
the lower section of the Deerfield River, a 7 mile stretch
rated as class I-II and called perfect training water for
novices. Novices we were, worrying about bumping rocks
and often paddling on the same side of the boat. Regardless
of our technique, we made it through the run and I left
hooked. The sights and smells of the river were addictive.
Looking down at the rocks flying by below us as we made our
way through the choppy rapids, and hearing the splashing of
the whitewater was all I could think about.
We revisited this stretch of river several times before
deeming ourselves the following year as ready to tackle the
"tough" rapids upstream below Zoar Gap. This trip was the
most exciting to date, and also saw our first flip. We
underestimated the power of the run and dumped on a mid
stream rock, retrieving our boat after a swim through the
boulder garden about a half mile below the put in at Zoar
Gap. Instead of being discouraged, we went out and bought
an airbag for the canoe and our enthusiasm was renewed.
By the winter of 1994 / 1995 I was ready to break away from
the confines of the tandem canoe and learn to kayak. I was
fifteen years old and not exactly full of self confidence, but I
knew that I wanted to learn to kayak. I remember talking to
the folks at Berkshire Outfitters and called Charlie Zuber, a
C1 paddlers that was involved with teaching rolling clinics at
the YMCA in Pittsfield, Masschusetts. They had gear that I
could borrow so I headed over with my folks one December
evening on a Sunday night and went into the pool.
I remember working on wet exits and going through the
awkward process of paddling the kayak, a gray Perception
Dancer, around the pool. Then we worked on bracing and
even tried a few rolls. I had read a lot about kayaking and
rolling and by the end of the first night I managed to pull off a
few rolls. I couldn't wait to get back to the pool to learn more.
Kayaking was all I could talk about.
At the next session I learned to roll and I all I wanted to do
was practice. I must have done 50 rolls that night and I also
met Steve Eddy, the person that would, along with my
parents, be instrumental in taking the time and the chance to
get me out onto the river again and again that first year.
By the end of the winter I was confident in my roll, I could
hand roll, and I really wanted to get out onto the river. There
would be no waiting for the warm and lazy days of summer.
My first river trip in a kayak was sometime in March of 1995.
It was a chilly but sunny day and I remember loving every
minute of it, from the distinctive neoprene smell of the wetsuit
to the feel of the icy water on my face, to the chest crushing
cold from my first,and only, swim of the year down in Pinball
Rapid. I even ran class III Zoar Gap that first day, taking a
river left line, and thinking that those waves must be the
biggest in the world.
From that point on I was addicted, and I found myself going
back to the river every chance I had that summer. The
feeling of learning to surf and catch eddies, my first combat
roll, just about everything I did that summer on the river was
new and exciting. I literally spent hours on the water
practicing and playing and getting more and more
comfortable. It was a hot summer and I remember often
paddling in just a poly pro top and life jacket. I also got my
first boat, a Dagger Crossfire, which I thought was the
greatest design in the world. Little did I know that the next
five years would see one of the fastest progression of
change in boat designs in ever, a metamorphosis that
changed the face of paddling.
After that first years of kayaking the rapids and turns on Fife
Brook were never quite as exciting as they were during that
first summer of paddling, but the Deerfield would remain a
significant part of my life, and, for at least a few months of
the year, my daily routine.
The summer of 1997 was my first year working as a raft
guide at Zoar Outdoor. I spent most of that first year working
on Fife Brook, learning how to coordinate crews and manage
a raft down the river. While I would eventually work on harder
rivers during the weekends, floating the Fife Brook section of
the Deerfield would be a midweek staple for the next eight
years. What the river lacked in huge whitewater, it made up
for it by being family accessible, which might that I could
share the river with a wide range of people.
paddling, first in a canoe with my dad, and later in a kayak. I
remember that my first experience with whitewater came
when we headed over to the Deerfield River in 1990 or 1991
when I was eleven or twelve, to watch a slalom race being
held in Zoar Gap. I remember watching the boaters make
their way down through the gates, thinking that these people
were heroes or gods of some sort. At that point, I never
could have imagined myself in one of those boats.
Later that same year or perhaps the next my family bought a
bright red tandem canoe, a 17 foot Penobscott, that came
complete with an instructional video showing paddle strokes
and even a primer on whitewater. This was by far the most
exciting stuff I had ever seen and I knew we had to get onto
the water soon. This is the same year that I bought my first
whitewater guidebook, a publication by the AMC focusing on
the rivers of Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island.
I remember reading the description for each run time and
time again, being swept away to these different rivers
through words. Just reading about the tougher runs was
exciting, what would it be like to paddle them?
In the spring of 1993, after taking a few practice runs on
Plainfield Pond, dad and I thought we were ready to tackle
the lower section of the Deerfield River, a 7 mile stretch
rated as class I-II and called perfect training water for
novices. Novices we were, worrying about bumping rocks
and often paddling on the same side of the boat. Regardless
of our technique, we made it through the run and I left
hooked. The sights and smells of the river were addictive.
Looking down at the rocks flying by below us as we made our
way through the choppy rapids, and hearing the splashing of
the whitewater was all I could think about.
We revisited this stretch of river several times before
deeming ourselves the following year as ready to tackle the
"tough" rapids upstream below Zoar Gap. This trip was the
most exciting to date, and also saw our first flip. We
underestimated the power of the run and dumped on a mid
stream rock, retrieving our boat after a swim through the
boulder garden about a half mile below the put in at Zoar
Gap. Instead of being discouraged, we went out and bought
an airbag for the canoe and our enthusiasm was renewed.
By the winter of 1994 / 1995 I was ready to break away from
the confines of the tandem canoe and learn to kayak. I was
fifteen years old and not exactly full of self confidence, but I
knew that I wanted to learn to kayak. I remember talking to
the folks at Berkshire Outfitters and called Charlie Zuber, a
C1 paddlers that was involved with teaching rolling clinics at
the YMCA in Pittsfield, Masschusetts. They had gear that I
could borrow so I headed over with my folks one December
evening on a Sunday night and went into the pool.
I remember working on wet exits and going through the
awkward process of paddling the kayak, a gray Perception
Dancer, around the pool. Then we worked on bracing and
even tried a few rolls. I had read a lot about kayaking and
rolling and by the end of the first night I managed to pull off a
few rolls. I couldn't wait to get back to the pool to learn more.
Kayaking was all I could talk about.
At the next session I learned to roll and I all I wanted to do
was practice. I must have done 50 rolls that night and I also
met Steve Eddy, the person that would, along with my
parents, be instrumental in taking the time and the chance to
get me out onto the river again and again that first year.
By the end of the winter I was confident in my roll, I could
hand roll, and I really wanted to get out onto the river. There
would be no waiting for the warm and lazy days of summer.
My first river trip in a kayak was sometime in March of 1995.
It was a chilly but sunny day and I remember loving every
minute of it, from the distinctive neoprene smell of the wetsuit
to the feel of the icy water on my face, to the chest crushing
cold from my first,and only, swim of the year down in Pinball
Rapid. I even ran class III Zoar Gap that first day, taking a
river left line, and thinking that those waves must be the
biggest in the world.
From that point on I was addicted, and I found myself going
back to the river every chance I had that summer. The
feeling of learning to surf and catch eddies, my first combat
roll, just about everything I did that summer on the river was
new and exciting. I literally spent hours on the water
practicing and playing and getting more and more
comfortable. It was a hot summer and I remember often
paddling in just a poly pro top and life jacket. I also got my
first boat, a Dagger Crossfire, which I thought was the
greatest design in the world. Little did I know that the next
five years would see one of the fastest progression of
change in boat designs in ever, a metamorphosis that
changed the face of paddling.
After that first years of kayaking the rapids and turns on Fife
Brook were never quite as exciting as they were during that
first summer of paddling, but the Deerfield would remain a
significant part of my life, and, for at least a few months of
the year, my daily routine.
The summer of 1997 was my first year working as a raft
guide at Zoar Outdoor. I spent most of that first year working
on Fife Brook, learning how to coordinate crews and manage
a raft down the river. While I would eventually work on harder
rivers during the weekends, floating the Fife Brook section of
the Deerfield would be a midweek staple for the next eight
years. What the river lacked in huge whitewater, it made up
for it by being family accessible, which might that I could
share the river with a wide range of people.
The author running Zoar Gap on a cold March day sometime during his second year of paddling in 1996.
Tackling Zoar Gap at high water in our canoe looks like a good idea here, but the giant waves just below
quickly flipped us and sent our boat a ways downstream before it was retrieved.
quickly flipped us and sent our boat a ways downstream before it was retrieved.
My dad and I sometime on an early season high water run of the Fife Brook section of the Deerfield.
Warm weather and consistent flows make the Deerfield River fun even when other runs completely dry up.
The highlight of guiding trips down Fife Brook was often not the whitewater, but Zoar Gap always made for
some entertaining moments.
some entertaining moments.
At flows over 750 cfs Zoar Gap is simple to run in a raft, but any lower and some tricky rocks get in on the act.
Sometimes I miss my Necky Jive, the first real short boat that I owned. It surfed great and was able to carry lots of hull speed.
A good old fashioned busy day on the river, looking downstream from the rocks above Zoar Gap.
Summer days on the river are always a treat and before the rocks shifted in the Gap and boats got super short a fun wave could be
found below the main part of the drop.
found below the main part of the drop.
My folks (in the back) on a commercial trip down the Deerfield with me guiding.
We finished that first trip with smiles on our faces and a better knowledge of what we would need to enjoy paddling.
My dad and I pushing off into the start of what would become a lifestyle.