Village Squire, 1978-06, Page 37Rafting:
a vacation
like no other
BY
TONY SLOAN
It was hotter than a dragon's esophagus
that July morning on the banks of the cool,
blue Thompson River near Savona in the
interior of British Columbia.
We had spent nearly two hours
assembling and loading the big pontoon
type inflatable rubber rafts and we were
now ready to push off for five days of river
travel.
The grandeur of the river canyons and
the excitement of the wild water runs were
postponed momentarily for a quick
refreshing dip in the sky blue Thompson;
then away all rafts.
This was a scheduled trip by Kumsheen
Raft Adventures of Vancouver and our
flotilla consisted of two large 12 -passenger,
motor -powered craft and a smaller
six -passenger raft operated with oars.
The passenger list included names from
Las Vegas, Nevada to Germany who were
here to log four days on the Thompson and
finish up, water levels permitting, running
famed Hell's Gate on the mighty Fraser
five days hence.
The Thompson is a big swift flowing,
powerful river , that winds through a
ruggedly beautiful river valley. We
experienced frequent dip -and -dive white
water runs but the really rough stuff was
still two days away. We logged about 16
km (10 miles) before camp at a spot called
Onion Beach the first night.
It was the site of a long abandoned farm
and the arid land had been totally
reclaimed by sagebrush and the occasional
clump of bunch grass. The only building
• still operational was the outhouse. a handy
facility indeed in this sparsely treed region.
Prickly pear cactus, a small but
belligerent growth with barbed spines,
quickly acquired a measure of respect from
the uninitiated when kneeling down to peg
theiretents.
Tents were erected strictly as a
precautionary measure, as almost every-
one laid their sleeping bags on the ground
and slept out under the stars. Wine and
steaks set the scene for our evening repast,
followed by a story -telling session by the
light of the fire.
A solitary dawn hike along the riverbank
revealed a carpet of animal tracks
including coyote, deer and a host of smaller
residents in the soft sands by the water's
edge. Higher up in the hills, two
nighthawks indulged in such low sweeping
flights that one almost landed on my
shoulder. Soaring predators, too far away
to be positively identified, appeared nearly
motionless at times in the rosy morning
sky. A whiff of campfire coffee and visions
of bacon and eggs being prepared by the
captain and crew prompted my return to
camp.
This is fascinating country. The
Thompson River valley was formed by t"
meltwater of a past ice age and the
stratified cliffs, towering hundreds of
metres above the river, are an intriguing
story when interpreted by the tour outdoor
lecturer and cinematographer, Chess
Lyons. Abandoned mines and cabins reveal
the more recent history of past residents of
this now deserted semi -desert hill country.
Sagebrush and bunch grass have reclaimed
the land.
It was almost an hour before we hit our
first rapids. This prolonged period of
tranquility prompted an outbreak of naval
warfare. A raft manned by a valiant crew of
Californians had the audacity to attack us
with nothing larger to splash with than
their hands and a few drinking mugs.
Our captain, a veteran of countless river
battles, had quietly commandeered all the
buckets in catnip and had every man jack
and woman jackette aboard trained as a
bucket -gunner. Hopelessly out -gunned,
the Californian privateers were driven off
to dry their eyes and review the situation.
"We have not seen the last of those
river -crazed buccaneers," cautioned Cap-
tain Jonas as he observed the pirate craft
through binoculars, "My guess is they'll
wait until we run the next rapids and attack
again on the flat water beyond."
The motor -powered rafts are driven full
tilt into the standing waves causing the
upturned pontoons to skip and dip over the
crests. The bucking action of the raft, the
drenching from flying spray and the yelling
and screaming is making river rafting one
of the most exciting outdoor vacation
activities in North America today.
"Stand by to repel boarders," bellowed
our skipper, "They're after our buckets."
The rafts bumped together allowing
attackers and defenders two seconds of
encounter while standing atop the tubes.
The rafts are pushed apart by the action
and the combatants are topple into the
river. The bulky life preservers, which
everyone is obliged to wear, render them
hors de combat until they are fished out by
the more sophisticated non-combatants
still aboard.
We camped the second night in a pretty
little box canyon just .8 km (half a mile)
down river from Spences Bridge.
A footpath led across a frisky brook and
wound up along the wooded canyon floor
before branching off to the foot of a 30 m
(100 foot) falls. It took your breath away to
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VILLAGE SQUIRE/JUNE 1978. PG. 35.