Get-away on Oregon's Illinois River with Four Wheel Camper

Every now and then PK and I look at each other, nod at our modest, but deluxe-to-us, little camping unit, and, without saying much,  agree. Let's go. Even for one night. It's so easy, after all those years of tent and river camping, to just throw a little food into the Four Wheel camper's refrigerator, fill the propane and water tanks, and hit the road. Someday we hope to do this for months at a time. For now, we must be content with a few days here and there. Most recently, it was to Southern Oregon's Illinois River, a clear rushing stream near (and in) the Kalmiopsis Wilderness. 

Here's what I love about our Four Wheel camper atop our Toyota Tundra: It's light and portable and easily handles narrow and awkward backroads full of potholes and rocks. It has a sink, running water, a refrigerator, a queen-sized bed, a CD/radio/iPod player, a heater, a two-burner propane stove, and battery powered electricity. Lights! Heat! What luxury! We can camp in unofficial campsites such as this. Not a single vehicle passed by because, well, the road sucks. We were a stone's throw from the turquoise splendor of the Illinois River. This spot is about 90 minutes from home. In case you're wondering about the obvious, we carry a portable toilet inside the camper, but use it only for number one. For the other, we have a shovel and good knees.

The Illinois River Falls. I recently learned that son Quinn came here often as a high school student, navigating a terrible road, to walk over the rough basalt, radiating heat waves, to reach the falls and the amazing swimming hole below. What a great teenage playground. I had no idea. Parents, of course, are often clueless. I grew up in North Dakota. We could not imagine such a wonder within easy striking distance. We did have the Mouse River, though. Aptly named.

This sign greeted us at the entry to one of our old stomping grounds, the road over the Chetco Pass leading to a trail to the beautiful Chetco River deep in the Kalmiopsis Wilderness. The Biscuit Fire in 2002 destroyed 500,000 acres and was the primary reason we haven't been back for so long.

Brush is coming back strong from the 2002 fire, but it doesn't replace

the forest that used to be here. Wait another 100 years or so.

For many years we backpacked to the clear and beautiful Chetco River on Memorial Day weekends, including in 1987 when Chris was not quite one and Quinn was not quite 10. I still can't believe we packed a baby in diapers into the wilderness! Rattlesnakes abounded and all Chris wanted to do was eat rocks and throw himself into the river. (This part has not changed.) It wasn't that much fun, to tell the truth. But on this day we went no further on the road to Chetco Pass, but instead hiked a short trail to the Illinois River Falls. 

Creek crossing on one of many short hikes along the Illinois River.

Parking lot at the trailhead to the Illinois River Falls.

The Illinois River rages big time during the winter but in late June 2013, swimming holes are placid and inviting.

Forty (!!!!) years ago friend Grace and I spent four or five days camping on this beach on the Illinois River as I was handling a major transition (build up to divorce) and she was building up to her own tumult. Then, this spot was a mining claim. Today it is hiking destination for an official trail. No more mining claim, and still a gorgeous swimming hole. When Grace and I camped here, we tried to oust a thick rattlesnake by dropping a boulder from a tree (which I somehow climbed with the rock) The boulder missed the snake. The snake looked bored. Amused, maybe? We moved our operations closer to the river. But then....there were the baby rattlers. 

Rare carnivorous pitcher plants native to the Kalmiopsis. 

There's a lot to be said for getting outta Dodge, even for a day or two. Not that I don't love home and garden and friends and every day ordinary life. But somehow, those get-aways trump just about everything. What's next? A quick trip to the Oregon coast coming soon. Damn, we're lucky to live in Southern Oregon.

Change is Strange

Dear Readers,

And I do mean dear. Thank you for sticking with me and my Ordinary Life blog, which I have been posting on Google's free Blogger platform sporadically since my first entry on June 2, 2009.*

 

Lost in techie wilderness!

The freaking tech giant (Google) announced a couple months ago that it would be discontinuing emailing posts to blog subscribers as of July 1, 2021. They suggested bloggers find some other way to get their posts to subscribers. 

What was a techie dunce to do?  The answer arrived in a timely email targeting bloggers left in the lurch. A company called follow.it offered to take on the subscription task and extended technical help to install a new subscription "gadget" on blogs and to import existing email subscribers at no charge. I did end up paying someone to help me, but I appreciated follow.it for their gesture. 

Perhaps you'll notice on this post the new email subscription form on the right, which is larger than before. If you got this post via email, no need to reenter your email address. (If you have a minute, though, I'd appreciate knowing that this post arrived in your mailbox, even if you're reading it on Facebook.)

How and why you subscribed to my blog (thank you again!) is a mystery. Except for family and friends, drawing new readers is a challenge. You might notice in coming posts invitations to "share."  Please consider doing that. 

*That first post in 2009 was titled Another Day, Another Storm.  I accidentally discovered much later that Blogger tracks readership stats for every post. NO ONE READ IT.  Here's a screenshot of my first attempt at blogging 🤪. Probably best it wasn't seen.

There you have it - the mighty Rogue!

This is the Rogue at Horseshoe Bend, just around the corner from where PK and I camped earlier this month on the first night of a three-day trip down the Wild & Scenic section. The Rogue is known as a "family river" because it has just two Class 4 rapids but the rest of it is easy Class 2 and a little tougher Class 3, and much of its 33 miles looks a lot like this - flat, green, and gorgeous. Isn't it weird and terrible that I'm bored with it?

Because it was just the two of us, as opposed to the group thing we've done on approximately 150 other Lower Rogue trips over the past 30 years (Is that why it no longer thrills?), we tucked in behind a shade rock on a patch of sand not previously considered camp-able beneath a wide bench that's the popular Horseshoe Bend camp. On this afternoon, it was swarmed by a diverse commercial group, by which I mean that there were black people! The first I've seen on the Rogue ever!

One sorry thing about Southern Oregon is that we're racially/culturally homogeneous. We do have a growing Hispanic population, but our gradations are more along the lines of white trash, whiter trash, Rushbots, and right-wingnut conservative NRA "we don't like them other news organizations" types, in addition to all of all us other really big, cool, and excited white people.

We waved at our neighbors en route to the potty, which is on the far side of their camp and a major benefit in hunkering down within walking distance (but not earshot) of another group. Without the potty, we're honor-bound to pack out our crap. And we have what we need to do it, thanks to the "checkers" at the Rand permit check-in office.

I remember the pre-permit and pre-regulation days—the late 1970s— when i was rowing an old yellow Maravia raft while PK kayaked his blue Perception Dancer, and we always went with groups of 6-16. We dug fire pits and toilet holes. We cleaned up after ourselves in those days without BLM regulators, but we were greeted at numerous camps by stinky toilet paper gardens and firepits studded with trash.

Because anybody could go on the river at any time and do anything (we heard gunshots, saw fireworks), we jockeyed for camps and once ended up settling after 8 p.m. for a patch of sand stinking of dead salmon and with the warning "BEARS!!" scratched into the sand. We heard them all night—we all slept together around the fire for protection—and in the morning a mama and two cubs rambled through our breakfast en route to the salmon. We clanged pots and pans and yelled to no avail, and finally settled on rock-top observation posts and enjoyed the wildlife show. It was one of my best river trips. But that was then.....

Even through I abandoned an 18-year tradition of annual women-only raft trips and have somewhat grudgingly agreed to go with PK at least once a year, here's what I still love about the Lower Rogue.

• The color of the water and the diamond-y sparkle of it in early morning, late afternoon.
  
• The way the river smells - rich & musty, yet fresh, especially going through rapids.
• The osprey, eagles, bears, fish, and even the rattlesnakes. I don't really LIKE seeing the snakes, but when I do, it is always a big surprise and it doesn't hurt to scream like that every now and then.
  
• Camping. I like camping almost no matter where. I like cooking outside and I don't even care if it's windy or raining, so long as there's a kitchen tarp.
• Being in the wilderness. The Rogue is designated as such, even though you'll see people, including huge commercial boatloads of them below Blossom Bar jetting up from the coast.
  
• It's mostly quiet, though, except for the wind and the water and the birds.
• It's familiar. It's our backyard. Our sons grew up here. Well, one grew up. The other is still either on a river somewhere or thinking about it.
  

What I don't like and why I gave it up, much to the consternation of my former women's trip raft passengers, Laurie & Jeanne, and PK:

• Sitting for five or six hours a day, even if I'm rowing. So it isn't just the Rogue that's off my list, but almost any river. This is the most important reason, and why I now hike much of the Rogue River trail while the rest of my group is rafting.
  
• The sun and excessive heat. I don't like it anymore and never was a sun worshipper.
  
• Schlepping heavy coolers and gear over rocks and up steep banks, and the bruises and dings I invariably get doing so.

Ok. I'm done whining. Here's a look at the two class 4 rapids.
This is the entry to the mile-long Mule Creek Canyon. Those rocks are ominously named The Jaws, and the upper part of the rapid is The White Snake.






This is where you don't want to swim. Bad as it looks, it's pretty easy rafting and the only people who've drowned here are idiots without lifejackets who, incidentally, are often drunk.
More of the narrows.

Here's a boil in the infamous, at least to Rogue rafters, Coffee Pot, a surging piece of water that can suck down a raft tube and gives driftboaters a thrill. And some dents. Years ago Paul flipped his kayak here and when he tried to pull off the spray skirt while upside down, the ball came off in his hand. He was underwater a long time prying off the skirt, and I was sitting in an eddy with my heart in my throat, wondering how I'd raise Quinn alone. (pre-Chris days)



This is the top of Blossom Bar, the second Class 4 of the trip and about one mile downstream from Mule Creek. When entering Blossom at lower flows (around 2,000 CFS), this is what you see. Those rocks where the water is piling up are called the Pickett Fence. They're not terribly difficult to avoid, especially at this water level, but this is the exact spot that most people drown on the Lower Rogue. Don't freak out. A tiny percentage has any problem whatsoever. But sometimes boats flip or get pinned on the Pickett Fence, and people can get trapped in the rocks. For safe passage, you head straight for the unseen-in-this-photo narrow passage on the right, although the route can change at higher water.
Looking back upstream in Blossom, there's the Pickett Fence with the pour-off on the left that you want to get a boat through. Sure looks easy, huh? According to my son the extreme and crazy kayaker, this is SO nothing. But to most rafters, driftboaters, and kayakers, Blossom Bar is a significant challenge. It scared me every time I rowed it—at least 100 times—but now that I've given up the river except for maybe once a year as a special favor to PK, I can enjoy it for the adrenalin boost.
And finally, here's a salmon gulping cool fresh water where Rum Creek flows into the Rogue. It's a hot August day, the river is low, and even though fish are jumping, there are a lot of belly-up salmon. They don't go to waste. We saw a bear taking a huge fish up the bank into the woods across from Horseshoe Bend, and a bald eagle carrying one high above the river. I can't argue with the wonder of such sights.

Nova Scotia's Musical Cape Breton - Wish I'd been born there!

September 12 - 17, 2016

It isn't correct to say I wish I could live on Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. That would mean I'd have to relocate and be an outsider, an elderly one at that. I'd be an old wannabe.

What I wish is that I'd been born there.  I wish I'd grown up immersed in Celtic music and dance, as it seems a good percentage of the natives are, to one degree or another. And, at the same time, lived close to the land and the sea depending not too much on the outside world for entertainment. Living close to nature but never far from robust music that permeates the culture, makes dancing irresistible, and is my idea of heaven.

On top of everything else, Nova Scotia offers one year of free university education for welfare recipients! http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/nova-scotia/welfare-assistance-university-community-college-books-tuition-aid-community-services-1.3825959

 I've traveled far and wide during the past decade, experienced many countries and a few continents, and I've never felt such a visceral response to a place.
Well, except for Africa. But I never saw myself living there.

I'm embarrassed to admit that it only took a few days on Cape Breton for me to achieve a state of longing and regret, longing for the simple, beautiful music and dance-centric life I believe exists there, and regret that I discovered too late this model of living. My assessment is based entirely on my subjective responses to the island's largely unblemished beauty and a pervasive musical presence that does not depend upon going to a bar or a concert.

These symbols, which were part of a campground's signage, pretty much sum up the island's priorities: music first, then hiking, camping, boating, and, oh ya, connectivity.  Although Cape Breton seems to be a place unto itself. 

What's the deal? Nova Scotia is beautiful, but I live in southern Oregon, and several places within a couple hours of home rival anything I've seen anywhere.

On September 17 we woke up on a pristine beach a few miles outside the village of Mabou, Cape Breton, along the Ceilidhs (sounds like Keelee) Trail in Nova Scotia. The night before, we'd feasted and fested in an unassuming restaurant/bar in Mabou called The Red Shoe. We were thinking about "camping" in the big parking lot of the community center across the street.

A young couple from Montreal, who we'd been hopscotching with along the Cabot Trail, said, OH NO! Don't stay there. Then told us about the beach, part of a provincial park. No campground per se, but a Canadian provincial park

It had been a big day, really.

When we'd entered Cape Breton about a week earlier, a Visitors' Center employee got all worked up when we expressed an interest in the island's music scene and circled a half dozen specific restaurants, bars, or clubs on the map where we'd be sure to hear live music

I stretched and smiled at the sunrise and said, as Paul is my witness, I wish I'd been born here.

Not on the beach, but one of the magical places on earth where music and dancing, family and community, create a universe. I know there must be many cultural pockets like this around the world, but I am happy to have encountered this one.

New Orleans, which we've visited numerous times, is another music culture but has some serious problems, like one of the highest murder rates in the nation. We were made aware of that one night walking, with another couple, from the popular French Quarter to our hotel a couple miles away. It was about 2 a.m. We took a shortcut, remarking that "this is really a dead neighborhood." Not a person or vehicle was to be seen until a compact car drove slowly by, then backed up, and through a crack in the window, a young (white) woman said, "Run! Don't walk! You're in a kill zone!"

What? We're rural Oregon hicks. We don't know about "kill zones."

I was born in Iowa and grew up in Minnesota and North Dakota.  And then lived in the Midwest until my mid-twenties, when I ended up on the Oregon coast. I know that Iowa, the Midwest, and Oregon have changed immensely in 70(!) years. But what about the Kayla coast of Cape Breton? How long has music been central to its culture? I recall polkas and square dances in towns where we lived, but my family wasn't part of that. 

Beatty sisters
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cs2j8f7H2WY

Near drowning at the Picket Fence - and a back story

PK and I returned yesterday from a three-day 35-mile rafting trip on Oregon's Wild and Scenic Rogue River. Our group of six included two novice river runners in inflatable kayaks (IK),—a recent high school graduate, and his 16-year-old sister.  Our trip was fun, successful, and safe. The young man debated about running Blossom Bar, a class 4 rapid, that he'd never been through. The adults made the decision for him: get a good sense of the rapid's power and the path through it, and run it next time. If you choose. My sense was that he was relieved.

It got me thinking about a 2015 trip when I witnessed another young man almost succumb to Blossom Bar's  Picket Fence, the row of rocks in the rapid that have given rafters and IKers serious trouble through the decades.  Rafts get stuck, drift boats bend around the rocks, and paddlers in IKs go over the fence and can't get out. That's what happened to the young man. 

The Rogue River's 35-mile Wild and Scenic section is touted as a "family" trip with all but three rapids falling into class one, two, or three difficulty level meaning that with reasonable safety measures, including wearing life jackets and staying sober, people who get dumped into the river won't drown.

But a young man on a recent Rogue trip nearly did drown at Blossom Bar, one of two class four rapids. Although pinned underwater at the rapid's Picket Fence, he survived. That's good. What isn't good is when we fail to take a lesson from near-disasters, which is why I'm writing this post. I invited the near-drowning victim to tell his story, which follows. I also have a personal tale about running Blossom and the Rogue in general.

A paddleboat crew stares down the Picket Fence in Blossom Bar during a 2014 mid-June trip. The "fence" comprises a line of boulders, some submerged, some not, that present a significant danger at all water levels. To miss the "fence" boaters, must navigate right, duck into an eddy behind the large rock, then spill over a narrow pour-off not visible in this photo. 

But first, let's clear up the idea that Blossom Bar is invariably deadly. It is not. Many reports state that 99.9 percent of everybody who runs the rapid does so without significant trouble.

Check out these two excellent articles:
Blossom Bar is a dangerous rapid, a column by outdoor writer Zach Urness, formerly of the Grants Pass Daily Courier.
Recent history of drownings on the Rogue River by Daily Courier's Jeff Duewel.

A 2013 rundown that starts with how Telfer's Rock in Mule Creek Canyon got its name. 

I have personally navigated Blossom Bar more than 100 times over the years, most often rowing a raft, and have never had trouble with the Picket Fence, although I've hit plenty of rocks below and almost flipped once. PK has run it successfully even more times. We have, however, witnessed numerous accidents at the "fence", serious inconveniences that have resulted in rafters abandoning their crafts, jumping into the rapid, and in one case, stabbing the raft to deflate a tube and thus send it spiraling into the current.

(Interestingly, son Chris Korbulic rowed a trip that ended July 27, 2015, just a few days after our trip. When he went through Blossom on July 26, a bunch of rafting gear was on the Picket Fence. In a rafting accident the day before, a large boat got wrapped there and all four adults aboard an abandoned ship. Before they left the scene, they planned for the raft to be rescued and emptied a lot of the gear onto the fence. Apparently, two men jumped into passing rafts but the two women were too scared to do so and spent the night on the rock! When Chris went through, the boat was still stuck on a rock in mid-rapid, and attempts to rescue it were underway. Chris didn't know exactly how the women escaped.)

That said, the majority of drownings in the Rogue's Wild and Scenic section do occur at Blossom Bar, and the victims are invariably sober, wearing life jackets, and most get "pinned" in powerful hydraulics created by the horizontal line of rocks dubbed the Picket Fence.

This mid-July trip was the first I've been on in 30+ years when someone in my group got snagged by the fence.

The potential drowning victim is an athletic 25-year-old from the East Coast who has lived in Oregon for a year. He asked to remain anonymous, citing the Internet's power to store information forever and nefarious people's capacity to misuse it.

He plays water polo and is a strong swimmer but has scant whitewater experience. On our trip, he paddled an IK (inflatable kayak). Our group included an experienced hardshell kayaker and a skilled canoeist, who coached the novice boater. He had capsized his IK a few times on Day 1 of our 3-day trip, but successfully negotiated the Day 2 rapids, including the Class 4 Mule Creek Canyon. He says:

Midway through the second day, we pulled out of Mule Creek Canyon and I was feeling confident after easily navigating the "White Snake" and "Coffeepot" rapids after they had been talked up a fair amount. Approaching Blossom Bar, we pulled off the river to scout the rapid for at least 15 minutes. I was told exactly what I needed to do and given the option to walk around if I wasn't feeling up to it. 

We had practiced my "right hand eddy turns" several times throughout the morning. We watched a few rafts go through, navigating the Picket Fence and the area below, and making it look pretty straightforward. I don't think we saw any smaller crafts go through while we were scouting. 

Note: That's because most commercial outfitters no longer allow passengers to take IKs through the tricky and potentially lethal upper section of Blossom Bar. Instead, clients walk around the rapid. MK

Eventually, I got in behind the experienced kayaker and followed close. The plan was to start left, then paddle hard to get into the eddy to buy time before navigating a narrow slot at the right end of the Picket Fence.

A screengrab* of IKs on a different trip negotiating the entrance to Blossom Bar and past the Picket Fence. This photo was taken at a higher water level than we had. But in any case, from the top of the rapid, the eddy (green relatively quiet water) that must be reached is not visible. The current on the left is extremely powerful.

It was made clear to me how dangerous the Picket Fence could be and how important it was to get into that eddy. I saw it approaching, but I was out of position and was sucked directly between the last two boulders where a post of sorts sticks up, to form a V. I tried to push off,  but my boat climbed the rocks, tipping me out.

What followed was a fight for my life, and it was instantly apparent that was what it was. I was sucked under my boat between the V-shaped boulders. I struggled to get to the surface, clinging to my boat with one hand, instinctively grasping at the floating thing above me to pull myself up. It didn't work. 

I fought for air four or five times in what seemed like a minute but was more like 20 seconds. I couldn't get my head above the water. The sensation of being sucked down, and fighting repeatedly to get air, was terrifying. I could hear my kayaker companion screaming to let go of the IK, so I did, and quickly caught a breath and found myself out of the water crouching on a rock. Keep in mind, all of this is happening incredibly quickly and was overwhelming. 

Whew! He had escaped the Picket Fence but still had a little problem. 

Anyways, when I stood on the rock at the end of the Picket Fence, I was in a bit of a shock about what had just happened. A whitewater canoeist in our group was near, and I could hear him yelling directions. But my kayaker companion was too far away to be heard.

I understood that swimming was the only way out. Getting back into the water was the last thing I wanted to do, especially as I was unsure about whether I would get sucked down again. The prospect of the swim after the near drowning was much scarier than the swim itself. I slipped into the river, floated through a couple of turbulent areas, then swam hard into the eddy on the left bank where my kayaker companion was waiting. 

I hadn't witnessed when the IK capsized and the young man disappeared beneath the "fence." But I was among those who watched first with trepidation and then amazement, at what happened next. Most people in his situation, when forced to "swim" the surly rapid, actually float with their feet in front of them to ward off rocks, working their way to one side of the river or the other. Not this guy.

His first adrenalin-fueled swim was to river left, maybe a third of the river's width, to reach his kayaking buddy. Then, after they discussed his options, he turned around and swam from one side of Blossom Bar to the other, power stroking the extreme and erratic current in between eddies. I held my breath the whole time. Especially when a commercial raft cut in front of him as he rested behind a rock. The canoeist waited on the other side with a throw rope and the kayaker stayed close to him during his heroic swim. He says:

Fortunately, frequent eddies broke up the current and provided rest stops, which allowed me to make it almost straight across to a raft waiting for me, and I didn't need the throw rope there either. In retrospect, it may have been possible to bushwhack/hike down on the left side, but we didn't consider that in the moment, and I felt ok about the swim.

A raft of rubberneckers blocked me on the last leg of my swim across, which was frustrating and got me extremely upset. If you see someone in the water, either offer to help or get the hell out of the way! Finally I made it to the far shore to one of our rafts and I climbed aboard.

I knew the person rowing the commercial raft. She didn't see him. It is uncommon to see someone swimming across the rapid.  She was fixated on the people in her group who'd walked around and were waiting to be picked up by her.  

The swimmer's brother and I were anxiously waiting in a raft for him to hop into if his swim was successful. I cringed when the hapless guide cut him off. But I got a front row seat to one of the most remarkable athletic feats I've ever seen. I rowed the two down the remainder of the boulder-strewn rapid where our relieved group 

This paddler has successfully steered around the Picket Fence and is navigating the boulder field that comprises the rest of the rapid. Photo taken in June 2014, a trip that sent four inexperienced boaters in IKs through the rapid without incident. The water level at that time was higher than on our recent trip. The red IK is just above where our heroic swimmer powered across the rapid.

 

Overall, it was a true near-death experience that I survived due to good luck, strong lungs/legs, and good advice at a timely moment from my experienced kayaker companion. I also got excellent support from the rest of the group to allow me to return to normalcy the next day and enjoy paddling the tamer rapids on the way out.

                                                     THE LESSON

If I return to Blossom Bar in an IK I would have a 90% chance of navigating it successfully. On the other hand, I have a lot of fun things I like to do not involving rivers, and I would like to continue doing them. It's not worth it to prove to myself, or anyone else, that I can do it.

Next time I would absolutely walk around or ride in a raft, and would recommend others do so until they have lots more experience and practice than I did that day. There are a lot of fun things to do and see on the Wild and Scenic trip, and skipping Blossom Bar would not take away from that at all. I also want to reiterate that it was my informed choice to try it and my mistake(s) that put me in that position.

In other words, next time he doesn't need to prove to himself or anybody else that he's man enough to take it on again. Amen!

Ok. My puny little story. 
How was it that I was rowing a raft in Blossom Bar after giving up rowing about 8 years ago? My difficult decision then had an impact on an annual women's river trip that had continued for 18 years during which I was one of four women rowers. I attempted to sort through my conflicting emotions in this August 2009 blog post and I still stand behind the major reason, which was that I just got sick of river trips of all sorts.

I now go once a year, maybe, as a passenger. I have no regrets, except that I lost my identity as a stud-woman. You’d be surprised at the people who marvel when women can do things done most often by men. You'd also be surprised at how cool it is to be a stud woman if only pretend. I knew it was only pretending because every trip I was sick with anxiety before running that damn rapid. Seriously. I did run it more than 100 times, most often without a hitch, but I never got over the anxiety. And I hate anxiety.

On day two of our recent trip, a novice rower was hurt in an incident unrelated to river running. I was the only person who could jump in and take the oars. In the meantime, he replaced me as a passenger in the raft piloted by PK. Several hours later, he recovered and was ready to row the mostly flatwater to camp.

In the meantime, I was navigating relatively easy class two and three rapids, but I knew class 4 Mule Creek and Blossom Bar were coming. I'd rowed Mule Creek last summer when the novice rower, in whose raft I was a passenger, got pitched out. I had to take the oars, get the boat into position to pick her up, then row the rapid. I was surprised and relieved to learn that I could still do it.

And so on the recent trip I found myself dipping the oars alone on the long flat mile between Mule Creek and Blossom Bar, deliberating whether or not to row Blossom. Actually, I knew I didn't want to. But my not rowing meant that  PK would have to row our raft, "park" it ASAP after passing the Picket Fence, then walk over the hot steep rocks to where I was in a holding pattern.  What is a good husband for if he can't hot steep rocks to rescue his wife?

He said he was good with it, and when I saw his face on the rocks above me, I knew it was time to boogie down the right bank to where our raft was parked about a quarter of the way through the rapid. But PK handled the hardest part.

Last words about this: I'm 70 years old. I will likely not row Blossom Bar again. Unless I really must. If I do, somebody will probably video it, and, depending upon the outcome, I will either be the "amazing elderly woman who rowed Blossom Bar" or the "the poor elderly woman stuck on the Picket Fence" or wrapped around a rock below. Or worse.

                        I think I'll settle for no amazement and go on my ordinary way.

I love river camping but not river running. Took me about 
20 years to figure that out.

SOMETHING FUN TO WATCH

                                                
           A video of another trip at Blossom Bar at the same water level we experienced.  

Check out the next video in this link above, too, the one entitled "Blunder at Blossom Bar."  No terrible outcomes, but lots of laughs. This will alert you to the rapid's danger and how hapless rowers can run amok. Or even non-hapless ones. Shit happens, even when you're experienced. Especially at Blossom Bar.

Previous  Ordinary Life posts about the Rogue

Camp cooking on the river

Korbulic family history regarding the Rogue

Bears on the river

Second thoughts about running the Rogue

Salmon of Grace and Ginger

My favorite salmon recipe! I've been trying for decades to find or create one this good. Credit goes to Grace McGran.

                         If you just want the recipe, scroll a bit. I'm not going to BS for too long.

But keep reading if you're curious about how I finally found THE best salmon recipe that will be my go-to choice for entertaining as well as dinner for two and relieving my angst about what to do with boxes of fish, mostly salmon, from PK's Alaskan fishing trips.

It's all about Grace. She lives in Canada. One reason I like (ha ha) Facebook is that it was the conduit for reuniting us a few years back. We had a 90-minute phone conversation last week. She and I met on the Oregon coast in the 1970s at roughly the same time that I met PK. It was a time of great change and upheaval. In our own ways, both Grace and I made choices during the few months we were neighbors that have reverberated through the decades. Think about it young people, when you reach a crossroads, what you do matters forever. 

Grace (she was then called Diane) and I made an instant connection back in the day. She lived next door. She was a gardener, a pie maker, and a cook. Oh, and she sang just like Joni Mitchell. No kidding. She was also a beauty, inside and out. 

I remember her making us a stir fry Asian dinner, during which I learned basic tricks such as; don't saute the veggies all at the same time. Duh. But I didn't know. 

We had fishermen friends and what seemed like an endless supply of salmon. I watched her tuck salmon parts into holes where she planted corn seeds. She made things grow and rejoiced in the results. I am trying to remember that we ever had a salmon meal together. Salmon excess was just so common in those days. I was fresh from North Dakota. I fed a lot of cooked salmon to our dog.

During our chat last week, however,  I asked for her favorite salmon recipe. 

She said something dismissive like, "Oh, it's just so simple. I don't have anything special." But then she provided general directions. Like me, she often wings it when cooking, using what's on hand and making recipe changes at her whim. Only a few things were mentioned as ideal for success: a cast-iron pan, fresh diced ginger, lemon juice or some other acidic ingredient, sesame oil, and maple syrup. Got it. Did it. (twice, to make sure.)

Salmon of Grace and Ginger, recipe

Perfect for two. 

INGREDIENTS

• skin-on salmon fillet, about a pound
• knob of fresh ginger, minced (I tried grating it but it was too fine)
• salt and pepper 
• avocado oil, or other high-heat oil, enough to coat the pan
• butter to taste, optional
• sesame salad dressing,  1/3 cup to 1/2 cup (recipe follows)
• scant maple syrup (optional)

DIRECTIONS

Use a cast iron pan or another heavy-duty pan. Mince a thumb or two of ginger. (I grated it my first try, and that didn't work as well as mincing.) Apply salt and pepper and chopped ginger to the skinless side of a skin-on salmon filet, about one pound. I understand from Grace, that this recipe can be baked after the initial skinless-side-down frying operation. 

NOTE: If you double or triple the recipe and do not own a huge cast-iron pan, you'll need to pre heat the oven to 375, fry your salmon in two or three batches, and bake in a preheated oven for 10-12 minutes following the frying step, checking halfway for doneness.

Heat the pan to medium-high and add avocado or other oil. When oil is sizzling, carefully place the fillet skinless side in the hot oil and fry for about four minutes. Use a wide spatula to turn the fillet to the skin side down. Cover and cook for about five minutes. Check for doneness after four minutes. Add butter to the top, if desired, and poke holes for butter to soak into the fish. Remove the fillet to a plate at the point of the desired doneness. I like it moist in the thickest area, barely done.  

To the pan, add the salad dressing and reduce for a few minutes. It doesn't take much time with salad dressing, which is more than half oil. 

You may adapt the dressing and/or use purchased Asian types. But you may want to try the recipe provided because it is delicious! I should call it Laurie's Glory Sesame Dressing as it was provided by that longtime friend about 20 years ago and is my favorite dressing and marinade, and now, salmon glaze.  See bottom of the post, following photos.

I've fried the skinless side of the fillet, turned it over and cooked it skin side down,  and fork-tested for doneness. In the meantime, I've applied a little butter to the top, as everything is better with butter. Correct?

I used this gourmet salt in place of regular salt the
second time I made this recipe. It cost a lot of $$ and
I couldn't tell the difference. Either way, tastes great.

The peeled ginger was how much I used to cover a
one-pound salmon fillet.

After salt, pepper, and ginger are applied, it's OK to let it sit for 10 minutes.

Avocado oil is a healthy oil which withstands high-heat frying. 

Start by frying, for a few minutes,  the skinless gingered, salted and peppered side
 at medium high heat in a cast-iron pan. Take care not to burn the ginger.

Flip it over (carefully) to fry the skin-side down. Cover and cook 4-5 minutes.
Test for doneness after 4 minutes or less. 

Pour about 1/3 to 1/2 cup of salad dressing into the hot pan and reduce for a few minutes, stirring to capture the browned bits at the bottom.  Then pour the reduction onto the cooked salmon and serve ASAP.  Heavenly!

Laurie's Glory Sesame Dressing, recipe

INGREDIENTS

• 6-8 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 1/3 cup sesame oil
• 1/3 cup good quality soy sauce
• 1/3 cup Worcestershire sauce
• 1/3 cup rice vinegar (or balsamic), or fresh lemon juice
• 1 T Dijon mustard
• 2 T maple syrup, honey or balsamic glaze (my fave)

Use a food processor.

Process the garlic until finely minced. Add the other ingredients and whirr until emulsified. The mustard helps with emulsifying, I'm told. This dressing keeps in the refrigerator for up to a month.