Day One - Camp Sherman to Lower Bridge
Michelle had finally returned to Oregon after a long summer away at an internship in
North Carolina and we were eager to get out on a river trip before the fall storms began.
The three day weekend provided by Labor Day would give us the opportunity to get away
for a two day trip while not hindering Michelle’s schoolwork. I was looking for a river that
would combine fun yet easy whitewater and allow for a somewhat remote two day trip
suitable for our new raft with the dog Middie as a passenger. After looking at flows and
weighing options the decision came down to either the Klickitat in Washington at very low
flows, or the Metolius. In the end the Metolius won out owing to the shorter drive and the
fact that the Klickitat was supposedly way more fun at higher flows. We decided to float
just about the entire thirty mile length of the river from its source at a meadow full of
springs to its mouth at Lake Bill Chinook, a large reservoir created by the damming of the
Dechutes River for irrigation purposes.
I managed to get out of work an hour early on Friday which was helpful for the packing
process. One of the most frustrating things about weekend trips is that they require just
about as much gear as month long trips, something that makes preparing for and
cleaning up after these short runs a bit of a chore. By the time my truck was loaded up
and ready to go it looked like we were heading off for a move across the country, but at
least we were only using one vehicle. We still weren’t sure about how difficult it would be
to mountain bike the shuttle, but I was more than willing to give it a shot.
We took our time heading out of town, stopping to buy a few last minute frivolities for our
end of the summer Labor Day trip. It was quite hot out in Eugene and after driving for a
half hour up the McKenzie River we stopped to let the dog out to grab a drink at a
popular boat launch. It was notably cooler here and by the time we stopped for a bite to
North Carolina and we were eager to get out on a river trip before the fall storms began.
The three day weekend provided by Labor Day would give us the opportunity to get away
for a two day trip while not hindering Michelle’s schoolwork. I was looking for a river that
would combine fun yet easy whitewater and allow for a somewhat remote two day trip
suitable for our new raft with the dog Middie as a passenger. After looking at flows and
weighing options the decision came down to either the Klickitat in Washington at very low
flows, or the Metolius. In the end the Metolius won out owing to the shorter drive and the
fact that the Klickitat was supposedly way more fun at higher flows. We decided to float
just about the entire thirty mile length of the river from its source at a meadow full of
springs to its mouth at Lake Bill Chinook, a large reservoir created by the damming of the
Dechutes River for irrigation purposes.
I managed to get out of work an hour early on Friday which was helpful for the packing
process. One of the most frustrating things about weekend trips is that they require just
about as much gear as month long trips, something that makes preparing for and
cleaning up after these short runs a bit of a chore. By the time my truck was loaded up
and ready to go it looked like we were heading off for a move across the country, but at
least we were only using one vehicle. We still weren’t sure about how difficult it would be
to mountain bike the shuttle, but I was more than willing to give it a shot.
We took our time heading out of town, stopping to buy a few last minute frivolities for our
end of the summer Labor Day trip. It was quite hot out in Eugene and after driving for a
half hour up the McKenzie River we stopped to let the dog out to grab a drink at a
popular boat launch. It was notably cooler here and by the time we stopped for a bite to
eat in McKenzie Bridge the temperature had dropped enough so leaving Middie in the truck
while we enjoyed some sandwiches was no big deal. The forecast was calling for unseasonably
cool temperatures and a chance of showers in the Willamette Valley so we were happy to be
heading into one of the strongest rain shadows in the country just to the east of the Cascade
crest and in particular, behind the looming summit of Mt Jefferson, the state’s second tallest
peak. If it were to rain on us while paddling the Metolius we could rest assured that it was
probably raining everywhere else in the state.
It was dark by the time we finished dinner and completed the drive over Santiam Pass and
gradually dropped into the dry forests on the eastern slope of the Cascades. Michelle and I had
camped at a site near the head of Metolius last year in the spring, but this spot was completely
full of Labor Day campers. It was late enough so we didn’t feel like driving around to other
established campgrounds to find an opening that would cost us ten or fifteen dollars for a night’
s sleep. We went back out to the main road and started looking for side roads. I located a nice
seldom traveled double track in less than a mile and we drove up it for a few hundred yards
until a suitable pull off was found. This would be home for the night and we unloaded the back
of the truck before setting up our sleeping bags in the back.
Before heading to sleep for the night we each had a beer and spent a half hour or so looking at
thousands of stars that stood out brilliantly against the deep dark black sky. Eventually we were
tired enough to sleep and Middie was more than happy to crawl between us in the back of the
truck for a night of snuggling. Although the dog smelled pretty bad she did add enough extra
warmth to make it worth dealing with the bad breath.
After a great night of sleep we thought we woke up early and were surprised to see that it was
already 8:30. Since our less than ambitious schedule had us covering only ten miles today this
was fine. We lingered and made a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage that
made for nice sandwiches. The day was still quite cool and I hoped to be on the water by
eleven so we even took some extra time to play fetch with Middie before loading up the truck
and driving less than a mile to the head of the Metolius.
The head of the Metolius is a large meadow full of springs that quickly give rise to the full blown
river within a few hundred yards. The source of the springs is reportedly high in the Cascades,
but the upper reaches of the river were buried by pumice and ash that erupted from the almost
perfectly symmetrical cinder cone that is Black Butte. Now the river surfaces here at these
springs in an idyllic spot with distant views of the glacier clad Cascades and vast meadows.
While there was plenty of water to launch a raft here, access is restricted since the actual
springs are privately owned tribal land. We would be heading downstream for two mile to our
put in at Camp Sherman, a resort area complete with a general store and vacation cabins
under the Ponderosa.
while we enjoyed some sandwiches was no big deal. The forecast was calling for unseasonably
cool temperatures and a chance of showers in the Willamette Valley so we were happy to be
heading into one of the strongest rain shadows in the country just to the east of the Cascade
crest and in particular, behind the looming summit of Mt Jefferson, the state’s second tallest
peak. If it were to rain on us while paddling the Metolius we could rest assured that it was
probably raining everywhere else in the state.
It was dark by the time we finished dinner and completed the drive over Santiam Pass and
gradually dropped into the dry forests on the eastern slope of the Cascades. Michelle and I had
camped at a site near the head of Metolius last year in the spring, but this spot was completely
full of Labor Day campers. It was late enough so we didn’t feel like driving around to other
established campgrounds to find an opening that would cost us ten or fifteen dollars for a night’
s sleep. We went back out to the main road and started looking for side roads. I located a nice
seldom traveled double track in less than a mile and we drove up it for a few hundred yards
until a suitable pull off was found. This would be home for the night and we unloaded the back
of the truck before setting up our sleeping bags in the back.
Before heading to sleep for the night we each had a beer and spent a half hour or so looking at
thousands of stars that stood out brilliantly against the deep dark black sky. Eventually we were
tired enough to sleep and Middie was more than happy to crawl between us in the back of the
truck for a night of snuggling. Although the dog smelled pretty bad she did add enough extra
warmth to make it worth dealing with the bad breath.
After a great night of sleep we thought we woke up early and were surprised to see that it was
already 8:30. Since our less than ambitious schedule had us covering only ten miles today this
was fine. We lingered and made a leisurely breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage that
made for nice sandwiches. The day was still quite cool and I hoped to be on the water by
eleven so we even took some extra time to play fetch with Middie before loading up the truck
and driving less than a mile to the head of the Metolius.
The head of the Metolius is a large meadow full of springs that quickly give rise to the full blown
river within a few hundred yards. The source of the springs is reportedly high in the Cascades,
but the upper reaches of the river were buried by pumice and ash that erupted from the almost
perfectly symmetrical cinder cone that is Black Butte. Now the river surfaces here at these
springs in an idyllic spot with distant views of the glacier clad Cascades and vast meadows.
While there was plenty of water to launch a raft here, access is restricted since the actual
springs are privately owned tribal land. We would be heading downstream for two mile to our
put in at Camp Sherman, a resort area complete with a general store and vacation cabins
under the Ponderosa.
While we aren’t necessarily fans of developments and resorts, the general store did
let Michelle grab a cup of morning coffee in addition to giving me some useful
information about the shuttle roads I would be using tomorrow afternoon. No good put
in was found for the raft at the store, but a nice pull out not marked with restrictions
was found a few hundred yards upstream. There was plenty of room here and easy
access to the water. I unrolled the raft and we pumped it up with the Carlson, removed
a rear thwart, and carried it down to the water. Michelle and I would be paddling the
boat side by side which gave us plenty of room for our gear, the cooler, and my
mountain bike, which would be the shuttle vehicle. I’ll be the first to admit that carrying
the bike in the raft was a little ridiculous, but doing this let us avoid driving the 50 mile
round trip shuttle twice.
By quarter of eleven we were all ready to go and pushing off into the current with a
small group of families looking on from a riverside path. I knew from hiking in the area
and other trip reports that the first few miles would be shallow and have several low
bridges that may or may not block passage. The first bridge came in a hundred yards
at Camp Sherman and by laying down we were able to float underneath without any
problems. Still, much lower and we would not have fit. We both agreed to be careful
when going around blind corners, since coming up on one of these in a fast current
had the potential to be quite dangerous. The last thing I wanted to do was dump and
pin my raft in three feet of water on a bridge to a summer resort in the middle of some
class I rapid. Likewise, we would also have to be very alert for strainers on this run
since the uniform flow means there are no floods to blow out trees that may fall in the
water. Still, the river was small enough at this point that it lacked much real power and
we were confident we could stop just about anywhere we wanted to.
Below the first bridge the river snaked its way through open stands of Ponderosa and
past a fair number of cottages, but remained scenic and quite nice. In most places the
river was fairly shallow, but the current was quick and we moved right along. Paths
lined the river through this stretch and it was not unusual to have families waving or
fishermen fly-casting into some of the deeper pools. Surprisingly, all of the fishermen
were very friendly and more than willing to return our waves and accept our apologies
for floating over their fishing holes.
This upper section of the river was also part of the first phase of a fish habitat project
initiated by the Forest Service that was designed to intentionally place wood in the
river to provide slack water for trout. When first announced, this plan came under fire
from concerned boaters, and productive negotiation produced a result that appeared
to be safe for paddlers and beneficial for fish. Far more hazardous than any wood
placed in the river the Forest Service on this particular river were the numerous low
bridges found scattered throughout the upper reaches of the Metolius.
After successfully squeezing under a few more bridges with inches to spare we came
to one that was very suspect. The current was quick, but looked to be slow enough to
let us float up to the structure to see if we could fit under. We approached the bridge
and when it was obvious we would not fit we eddied out and ferried across the river to
a short path where we could carry around the obstruction. Just as I was about to
unload this really nice family came by and offered to help us carry the loaded raft
around the bridge. I felt bad about them straining to help us at first, but they were
adamant so we accepted their generosity and in less than two minutes the bridge was
by passed.
It was at this point that we encountered our only negative feedback from anyone we
met along the way on that first day. An older man in a pick up truck stopped as we
were putting the raft back on the water and yelled down asking us how far down we
were going. I looked up, smiled and said “We’re were going all of the way down to
the reservoir.”
let Michelle grab a cup of morning coffee in addition to giving me some useful
information about the shuttle roads I would be using tomorrow afternoon. No good put
in was found for the raft at the store, but a nice pull out not marked with restrictions
was found a few hundred yards upstream. There was plenty of room here and easy
access to the water. I unrolled the raft and we pumped it up with the Carlson, removed
a rear thwart, and carried it down to the water. Michelle and I would be paddling the
boat side by side which gave us plenty of room for our gear, the cooler, and my
mountain bike, which would be the shuttle vehicle. I’ll be the first to admit that carrying
the bike in the raft was a little ridiculous, but doing this let us avoid driving the 50 mile
round trip shuttle twice.
By quarter of eleven we were all ready to go and pushing off into the current with a
small group of families looking on from a riverside path. I knew from hiking in the area
and other trip reports that the first few miles would be shallow and have several low
bridges that may or may not block passage. The first bridge came in a hundred yards
at Camp Sherman and by laying down we were able to float underneath without any
problems. Still, much lower and we would not have fit. We both agreed to be careful
when going around blind corners, since coming up on one of these in a fast current
had the potential to be quite dangerous. The last thing I wanted to do was dump and
pin my raft in three feet of water on a bridge to a summer resort in the middle of some
class I rapid. Likewise, we would also have to be very alert for strainers on this run
since the uniform flow means there are no floods to blow out trees that may fall in the
water. Still, the river was small enough at this point that it lacked much real power and
we were confident we could stop just about anywhere we wanted to.
Below the first bridge the river snaked its way through open stands of Ponderosa and
past a fair number of cottages, but remained scenic and quite nice. In most places the
river was fairly shallow, but the current was quick and we moved right along. Paths
lined the river through this stretch and it was not unusual to have families waving or
fishermen fly-casting into some of the deeper pools. Surprisingly, all of the fishermen
were very friendly and more than willing to return our waves and accept our apologies
for floating over their fishing holes.
This upper section of the river was also part of the first phase of a fish habitat project
initiated by the Forest Service that was designed to intentionally place wood in the
river to provide slack water for trout. When first announced, this plan came under fire
from concerned boaters, and productive negotiation produced a result that appeared
to be safe for paddlers and beneficial for fish. Far more hazardous than any wood
placed in the river the Forest Service on this particular river were the numerous low
bridges found scattered throughout the upper reaches of the Metolius.
After successfully squeezing under a few more bridges with inches to spare we came
to one that was very suspect. The current was quick, but looked to be slow enough to
let us float up to the structure to see if we could fit under. We approached the bridge
and when it was obvious we would not fit we eddied out and ferried across the river to
a short path where we could carry around the obstruction. Just as I was about to
unload this really nice family came by and offered to help us carry the loaded raft
around the bridge. I felt bad about them straining to help us at first, but they were
adamant so we accepted their generosity and in less than two minutes the bridge was
by passed.
It was at this point that we encountered our only negative feedback from anyone we
met along the way on that first day. An older man in a pick up truck stopped as we
were putting the raft back on the water and yelled down asking us how far down we
were going. I looked up, smiled and said “We’re were going all of the way down to
the reservoir.”
To which he responded “Through the gorge? Are you going down through the gorge? There
are rapids down there you know.”
“Yup, we’re going all of the way to Lake Billy Chinook.” I said.
“Have you done the river before? Do you know about the gorge? Do you know how many
people die in there? No one really goes down there.” He shouted in a concerned and angry
voice, although upset that we were not bowing down to him and taking off of the river because
of his warning.”
“Well, I know people that have done the river before and it will be fine. I’ve seen the gorge and
its no problem. The fun rapids are the ones farther down anyways. You shouldn’t worry, I
mean people die driving around all of the time and you seem to have no problem using your
truck. Thanks but don’t worry about us.” I replied, not really wanting to explain my
“credentials” to this stranger.
He wouldn’t give up and as we floated away I could hear him yelling “The gorge! The gorge!”
again and again. We shrugged our shoulders and laughed it off, assuming he was well
meaning and just trying to inform us of what the river was like. Still, his ignorance of
whitewater was clear. I wasn’t really annoyed until we saw him parked around the next corner.
When we floated by he kept yelling warnings and muttering about “The gorge!” and “There
are trees in the river down below.”
At this point I had to dig deep to show self control and I managed a parting wave as we
continued down the river. We weren’t nervous about the river as it is mostly class II with a few
class III rapids, but now there was the added pressure of not messing since there was no
doubt the joker in the truck would have caught wind of us flipping or wrapping somewhere had
it happened.
Oddly, within a quarter of a mile we came up on another low bridge that was barely passable.
Just as we reached it I realized it would be very very close so I stood up and managed to put
my hands out and stop us upstream of the bridge by grabbing on to its guardrail. The water
was moving quickly and we had to act quick so I pressed down the handlebars on my bike and
laid flat in the bottom of the boat which let us slip under the wooden bridge. Unfortunately,
Michelle was not ready for the boat to start moving so quickly and her and Middie ended up
getting peeled off of the raft and dumped into the icy river. Luckily she had a wetsuit on and
got back in the boat before she got really wet. Middie’s life jacket worked great and we had
everyone back in the boat in under ten seconds. It was more funny than anything else,
especially because I had visions of what the concerned guy in the truck would have been
saying had he seen us wiggle under the bridge!
are rapids down there you know.”
“Yup, we’re going all of the way to Lake Billy Chinook.” I said.
“Have you done the river before? Do you know about the gorge? Do you know how many
people die in there? No one really goes down there.” He shouted in a concerned and angry
voice, although upset that we were not bowing down to him and taking off of the river because
of his warning.”
“Well, I know people that have done the river before and it will be fine. I’ve seen the gorge and
its no problem. The fun rapids are the ones farther down anyways. You shouldn’t worry, I
mean people die driving around all of the time and you seem to have no problem using your
truck. Thanks but don’t worry about us.” I replied, not really wanting to explain my
“credentials” to this stranger.
He wouldn’t give up and as we floated away I could hear him yelling “The gorge! The gorge!”
again and again. We shrugged our shoulders and laughed it off, assuming he was well
meaning and just trying to inform us of what the river was like. Still, his ignorance of
whitewater was clear. I wasn’t really annoyed until we saw him parked around the next corner.
When we floated by he kept yelling warnings and muttering about “The gorge!” and “There
are trees in the river down below.”
At this point I had to dig deep to show self control and I managed a parting wave as we
continued down the river. We weren’t nervous about the river as it is mostly class II with a few
class III rapids, but now there was the added pressure of not messing since there was no
doubt the joker in the truck would have caught wind of us flipping or wrapping somewhere had
it happened.
Oddly, within a quarter of a mile we came up on another low bridge that was barely passable.
Just as we reached it I realized it would be very very close so I stood up and managed to put
my hands out and stop us upstream of the bridge by grabbing on to its guardrail. The water
was moving quickly and we had to act quick so I pressed down the handlebars on my bike and
laid flat in the bottom of the boat which let us slip under the wooden bridge. Unfortunately,
Michelle was not ready for the boat to start moving so quickly and her and Middie ended up
getting peeled off of the raft and dumped into the icy river. Luckily she had a wetsuit on and
got back in the boat before she got really wet. Middie’s life jacket worked great and we had
everyone back in the boat in under ten seconds. It was more funny than anything else,
especially because I had visions of what the concerned guy in the truck would have been
saying had he seen us wiggle under the bridge!
Several more corners followed and soon we found ourselves floating into what is
probably the single most spectacular spot on the Metolius. The trees pulled back and
the river entered a wide meadow full of tall grasses with dramatic views of the Cascades
and Mt Jefferson with its white glaciers rising up thousands of feet to the west. We snuck
under yet another low bridge marked with signs telling boaters not to stop here since
both banks were private property. We legally parked the raft on a mid stream rock and
enjoyed the sunshine and the views for a while before continuing on. This meadow must
have also contained more spring since by the time we exited and returned back to the
forest the volume of water in the stream had noticeably increased, making the current
faster and the river easier to navigate in general.
Below the meadow the Metolius entered the only stretch in its thirty mile course that I
would even consider calling a gorge. Basalt walls rose up on both sides to a height of
ten to fifteen feet, and the river bed narrowed, with a single deep channel no more than
six feet wide that cut through the otherwise flat lava rock riverbed. A few drops were
found in this section, but nothing was more than very easy class III. The trickiest part of
this quarter mile stretch was following the cobalt blue deep channel to keep from hitting
the raft against sharp lava rock. A strainer in any part of the miniature canyon would
have been a pain, but probably not particularly dangerous. Private property on both
sides of the river would have made portaging potentially problematic, but I’ll risk
trespassing over death any day of the week. Regardless, we passed without incident.
Very shortly after this small gorge like section we reached the confluence with Canyon
Creek and the volume of the Metolius increased by perhaps a third and we were now on
a full blown river. This confluence marks the entrance to the mile long section of river
that is commonly referred to as “the gorge”. We had hiked through the area in the past
and the several class III rapids that we saw all looked very manageable, even for
canoes. I was not concerned about the whitewater and we were looking forward to
having some fun.
Very near the start of this stretch a series of powerful springs pour from the river right
hillside adding perhaps a hundred cfs or so of icy cold blue water. The volume of water
issues from the hillside here is truly remarkable, and someone would be hard pressed to
find a better example of a spring. Shortly below the first class III of the trip is
encountered, with an easy line down the center through a few big waves and holes. We
easily boat scouted a line and were splashed with the frigid water of the Metolius, happy
that the day was warm. Several more class III rapids followed, with a few trees to avoid
but again, nothing particularly challenging. The heaviest rapid of the stretch comes in a
left turn where the river left bank rises high above the river. The bottom of this rapid is
hard to see from above and a few big holes make it interesting. We came out the bottom
smiling and in control, eager to find a nice place to stop for lunch before reaching the
fish hatchery which we were fast approaching.
Since much of the Metolius has brushy banks that make landing difficult I was expecting
it to take some time to find a place to pull over. Luckily a small clearing with a little eddy
and a nearly perfect shelf of lava rock for unloading was found on the outside of the
very next bend. The sun was out and we unloaded the cooler and lounged around on
the grass enjoying the warmth and playing with Middie before making lunch. For a
change I had bought adequate food for the trip and we enjoyed roast beef sandwiches
piled high with tomatoes and avocado. Of course I finished eating before Michelle and
used the time to take some pictures.
After relaxing for a while and warming up we continued downstream and soon entered
an area where there were several islands and the stream bed widened. Again, most
places were far to shallow for a boat, but a single deep channel cut into the basalt
bedrock wove back and forth and we tried our best to keep the raft in the narrow crack
of deep water. We made good progress until the fish hatchery bridge came into sight at
the base of a steeper section where the narrow crack led down through a class III rapid
to the low bridge. We considered just running the rapid, but thought better of it and got
out to scout to make sure we would fit under the bridge. From shore it looked like it
might just be possible to sneak under the center part of the bridge, but it would be very
probably the single most spectacular spot on the Metolius. The trees pulled back and
the river entered a wide meadow full of tall grasses with dramatic views of the Cascades
and Mt Jefferson with its white glaciers rising up thousands of feet to the west. We snuck
under yet another low bridge marked with signs telling boaters not to stop here since
both banks were private property. We legally parked the raft on a mid stream rock and
enjoyed the sunshine and the views for a while before continuing on. This meadow must
have also contained more spring since by the time we exited and returned back to the
forest the volume of water in the stream had noticeably increased, making the current
faster and the river easier to navigate in general.
Below the meadow the Metolius entered the only stretch in its thirty mile course that I
would even consider calling a gorge. Basalt walls rose up on both sides to a height of
ten to fifteen feet, and the river bed narrowed, with a single deep channel no more than
six feet wide that cut through the otherwise flat lava rock riverbed. A few drops were
found in this section, but nothing was more than very easy class III. The trickiest part of
this quarter mile stretch was following the cobalt blue deep channel to keep from hitting
the raft against sharp lava rock. A strainer in any part of the miniature canyon would
have been a pain, but probably not particularly dangerous. Private property on both
sides of the river would have made portaging potentially problematic, but I’ll risk
trespassing over death any day of the week. Regardless, we passed without incident.
Very shortly after this small gorge like section we reached the confluence with Canyon
Creek and the volume of the Metolius increased by perhaps a third and we were now on
a full blown river. This confluence marks the entrance to the mile long section of river
that is commonly referred to as “the gorge”. We had hiked through the area in the past
and the several class III rapids that we saw all looked very manageable, even for
canoes. I was not concerned about the whitewater and we were looking forward to
having some fun.
Very near the start of this stretch a series of powerful springs pour from the river right
hillside adding perhaps a hundred cfs or so of icy cold blue water. The volume of water
issues from the hillside here is truly remarkable, and someone would be hard pressed to
find a better example of a spring. Shortly below the first class III of the trip is
encountered, with an easy line down the center through a few big waves and holes. We
easily boat scouted a line and were splashed with the frigid water of the Metolius, happy
that the day was warm. Several more class III rapids followed, with a few trees to avoid
but again, nothing particularly challenging. The heaviest rapid of the stretch comes in a
left turn where the river left bank rises high above the river. The bottom of this rapid is
hard to see from above and a few big holes make it interesting. We came out the bottom
smiling and in control, eager to find a nice place to stop for lunch before reaching the
fish hatchery which we were fast approaching.
Since much of the Metolius has brushy banks that make landing difficult I was expecting
it to take some time to find a place to pull over. Luckily a small clearing with a little eddy
and a nearly perfect shelf of lava rock for unloading was found on the outside of the
very next bend. The sun was out and we unloaded the cooler and lounged around on
the grass enjoying the warmth and playing with Middie before making lunch. For a
change I had bought adequate food for the trip and we enjoyed roast beef sandwiches
piled high with tomatoes and avocado. Of course I finished eating before Michelle and
used the time to take some pictures.
After relaxing for a while and warming up we continued downstream and soon entered
an area where there were several islands and the stream bed widened. Again, most
places were far to shallow for a boat, but a single deep channel cut into the basalt
bedrock wove back and forth and we tried our best to keep the raft in the narrow crack
of deep water. We made good progress until the fish hatchery bridge came into sight at
the base of a steeper section where the narrow crack led down through a class III rapid
to the low bridge. We considered just running the rapid, but thought better of it and got
out to scout to make sure we would fit under the bridge. From shore it looked like it
might just be possible to sneak under the center part of the bridge, but it would be very
close and the current was fast enough that guessing wrong would have the potential to lead
to injury or damage to equipment. We did the prudent thing and Michelle walked Middie
down while I brought to the raft to an a calm spot just above the bridge. We unloaded a few
of the barrels and moved the raft up and over the road and back to water level pretty
quickly. The fish hatchery here is always a popular stop for visitors to the area and our boat
attracted quite a crowd of gapers on the bridge. By the time we loaded the boat again and
paddled away twenty to thirty people were standing on the bridge watching us and waving at
us.
Within a hundred yards the crowd was out of site and we were alone on the water once
again. For the next three miles the Metolius flows lazily through more majestic Ponderosa
forests and meadows, passing several old abandoned sporting camps from a bygone era.
After three miles of leisurely floating we passed the last large campground on the river and
paddled under the lower bridge. The next seventeen miles of river would run through nearly
continuous class II-III rapids with a few heavier pitches thrown in for good measure. I had
initially planned on running about ten miles down this stretch before setting up camp, but we
saw such an inviting spot on river right about a mile below the bridge that we couldn’t pass it
up.
An easy landing, large wide open ground clear of underbrush beneath gorgeous Ponderosa
Pines, a fire ring, and a sunny riverside view made stopping here an easy choice. It had
been an easy and short day, but this trip was about relaxing and not about pushing
ourselves. We unloaded the boat and set up the tent, hammock, and laid out wet gear to dry
before cracking open some cans of fine northwest IPA and taking a seat in our full blown
camp chairs. This was clubby style camping at its best and I felt no guilt.
to injury or damage to equipment. We did the prudent thing and Michelle walked Middie
down while I brought to the raft to an a calm spot just above the bridge. We unloaded a few
of the barrels and moved the raft up and over the road and back to water level pretty
quickly. The fish hatchery here is always a popular stop for visitors to the area and our boat
attracted quite a crowd of gapers on the bridge. By the time we loaded the boat again and
paddled away twenty to thirty people were standing on the bridge watching us and waving at
us.
Within a hundred yards the crowd was out of site and we were alone on the water once
again. For the next three miles the Metolius flows lazily through more majestic Ponderosa
forests and meadows, passing several old abandoned sporting camps from a bygone era.
After three miles of leisurely floating we passed the last large campground on the river and
paddled under the lower bridge. The next seventeen miles of river would run through nearly
continuous class II-III rapids with a few heavier pitches thrown in for good measure. I had
initially planned on running about ten miles down this stretch before setting up camp, but we
saw such an inviting spot on river right about a mile below the bridge that we couldn’t pass it
up.
An easy landing, large wide open ground clear of underbrush beneath gorgeous Ponderosa
Pines, a fire ring, and a sunny riverside view made stopping here an easy choice. It had
been an easy and short day, but this trip was about relaxing and not about pushing
ourselves. We unloaded the boat and set up the tent, hammock, and laid out wet gear to dry
before cracking open some cans of fine northwest IPA and taking a seat in our full blown
camp chairs. This was clubby style camping at its best and I felt no guilt.
After gathering fire wood and playing Frisbee with Middie for a few hours we decided it
was time to get ready for dinner. I started a small fire and used our aluminum turkey pan
to block the breeze and reflect heat. Once a nice bed of coals was established we
wrapped up onions, peppers, corn, potatoes, and salmon in foil and buried it in the fire to
bake for varying times. The potatoes took the longest and the salmon the shortest
amount of time, but managed to coordinate things well and we had a great dinner laid out
by seven or seven thirty.
Darkness fell, the temperature dropped, and we were so full from dinner that each of us
could only manage two smores. Besides, Middie kept barking and growling towards the
edge of camp and marking her territory again and again. We walked around for a while
and shined our headlamps, but did not notice any eyes lit up. We’ll never know if she was
growling at a bear, a mountain lion, a little chipmunk, or nothing at all.
was time to get ready for dinner. I started a small fire and used our aluminum turkey pan
to block the breeze and reflect heat. Once a nice bed of coals was established we
wrapped up onions, peppers, corn, potatoes, and salmon in foil and buried it in the fire to
bake for varying times. The potatoes took the longest and the salmon the shortest
amount of time, but managed to coordinate things well and we had a great dinner laid out
by seven or seven thirty.
Darkness fell, the temperature dropped, and we were so full from dinner that each of us
could only manage two smores. Besides, Middie kept barking and growling towards the
edge of camp and marking her territory again and again. We walked around for a while
and shined our headlamps, but did not notice any eyes lit up. We’ll never know if she was
growling at a bear, a mountain lion, a little chipmunk, or nothing at all.
Our home on Friday night was this nice unmaintained side road leading away from the Metolius River
somewhere near Camp Sherman.
somewhere near Camp Sherman.
It takes about twenty minutes to inflate our raft with the small hand pump that came with it. Luckily the
day was not hot since working the pump can be quite tiring.
day was not hot since working the pump can be quite tiring.
Michelle enjoys the views of Mt Jefferson where the Metolius wound its way through a large medow surrounded
by stands of Ponderosa Pines.
by stands of Ponderosa Pines.
Most of the rapids on the first day where found in a mile long stretch locally referred to as "The Gorge". This
section turned out to be a fun stretch of continuous class III full of waves, holes, and aqua marine blue water.
section turned out to be a fun stretch of continuous class III full of waves, holes, and aqua marine blue water.
Middie looks ahead as we get ready to paddle through an easy rapid typical of what we
encountered on day one.
encountered on day one.
Michelle and Middie load up the raft after our long and relaxing lunch stop in the sun just upstream of the fish
hatchery at Wizard Falls.
hatchery at Wizard Falls.
Below the hatchery the Metolius runs lazily for approximately three miles to Lower Bridge, the last official
campground on the river and the end of the road that parallels it.
campground on the river and the end of the road that parallels it.
Our unofficial campsite appeared to be quite well used and we enjoyed it spaciousness and the afternoon
sun that warmed us up for a few hours before dropping below trees on the opposite shore.
sun that warmed us up for a few hours before dropping below trees on the opposite shore.
We had just about the perfect place to set up our tent with level ground and firm soil that
made staking it out really simple.
made staking it out really simple.
With many hours before nightfall we had plenty of daylight to set up this timed shot that included both
Michelle and I .
Michelle and I .
We cooked over coals from the campfire and sat up for a few hours after dark enjoying the light and the warmth.