Rafting

Middle Fork of the Salmon: Paradise Revisited

By Gina Knudson, 7-21-11

	Taking a break on the Salmon. Photo by Gina Knudson.

The Middle Fork of the Salmon is a legendary river. From put-in at Boundary Creek near Stanley, Idaho, to the confluence of the Main and Middle Fork near North Fork, the river flows for about 100 miles through the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness.

I hadn’t been back to the Middle Fork since my husband and I first floated it in 1995. More than anything else, I recalled how midway through our eight-day trip, time ceased to exist. When we drew one of the limited permits this year, I was thrilled at the prospect of introducing our 12- and 14-year-old children to this place where time stops.

Our launch date of July 7 should have been ideal, but this year’s runoff proved to be formidable. Just weeks before our put-in date, a private boater died shortly after the Boundary Creek put-in with the river gauge measuring flows at about 6.5 feet—about the same level we were facing. But by July 7, the river had dropped to about 5 feet—guaranteeing fast, fun rapids without subjecting our family to jaw-locking terror.

After our party slid our four rubber rafts down the steep ramp at Boundary Creek, I noticed two things.

First, the fresh snowmelt from the Sawtooths made for some really cold water.

Second, the series of rapids we faced right out of the gates didn’t exactly qualify as a practice lap. As my husband Jeff worked the oars to set us up for one rapid after another—with names like Hells Half Mile, Velvet Falls and Powerhouse—I wondered if there was a reason why he put our son Ty, the last of the male Knudsons, in the boat of our good friend and veteran oarsman.

By Day 2, I could start to concentrate on scenery. Now that waves were not engulfing my face ever two seconds, I found myself staring at the blackened trees.

As a resident of Salmon, I’d seen the columns of smoke that billowed to the west of us over the years. Since that first trip in 1995, dozens of fires had burned along the river corridor. The 2007 fires were the most extensive. Although the landscape had undergone changes, my staring at the charcoal skeletons left standing on the hillsides was not in disgust. The canyon is still gorgeous, and I know that wildfire plays an extremely important role in nature.

Maybe because the Middle Fork had suspended time for me on my first venture, I expected the canyon to remain the same. Tourists like me are prone to wanting to preserve idyllic images of special places and moments, bemoaning any change—good or bad.

By Day 6, fat on Dutch Oven cooking and reinvigorated with a new day of “busy water,” I let go of my anxiety over the altered scenery. I realized that my son and daughter had not been bothered by the fire scars at all. They didn’t know any different. This canyon was their canyon, and with any luck, they’ll return before 16 years pass, and will observe the beginnings of a new forest.

So, on my second voyage down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, I did not so much experience a suspension of time, but I did realize the grace of letting time slip by without protest.

Like this story? Get more! Sign up for our free newsletters.