The Way of the River: Packrafting in Eastern Oregon
I fiercely dip my paddle into the glassy waters, scanning for a line through the minefield of rocks ahead.
All other thoughts are pushed out of my mind; the river has taken over, and I am at its mercy.
I only have a quick second to react, dodging jutting boulders while keeping my raft parallel to the river’s current. One moment of inattention and I’d be “in the drink,” as Dan Sizer, guide and owner of Go Wild Adventures, likes to say. The waters of the Minam River are low this time of year, flowing at a mere 400 CFS (cubic feet per second), exposing a bounty of rocks beneath.
Only a couple days earlier, I had dipped a paddle into the waters of the Minam River in Eastern Oregon’s rugged wilderness for the first time. In awe of the pristine landscape, it didn’t take long for me to see that this place is special. Deemed the second most ecologically important river in the state due to its water quality, habitat for rare species and recreation value, I got the sense that both fortitude and fragility marked the area.
The Minam’s headwaters lie at Blue Lake, where it runs until its confluence with the Wallowa River at the Minam Store—this would be our takeout point.
On assignment as Explore’s editorial intern, it was only a day ago that I’d arrived in La Grande and met the crew of four guides and four other journalists who would be my paddling companions for the days ahead.
An early morning at the La Grande airport, about four hours east of Portland, had our team awaiting our charter flights into the Minam River Lodge—about a 15-minute plane ride east, over the Wallowa Mountains.
Our pilot, Karl, arrived in his red and white striped Cessna. We piled in three at a time. Safety orientation began midair, consisting of “should you feel queasy, here are some bags. If you use it, it’s yours.”
A few minutes later, and I thought I might need that bag. I had never been in a small aircraft like this, and the sharp turns had my head suddenly spinning. Just as the dizziness cleared, we were already dropping down into a grassy clearing that served as the “airstrip” for our landing.
“Minam International Airport” read the rusted metal sign hanging from the equipment shed as I stepped out of the plane, feeling a little unbalanced still. This is my kinda “airport,” I thought as I took in the sudden change in landscape and a deep breath of fresh air. Ponderosa pines stood tall around me; craggy bluffs welcomed us.
The clinking of glasses and soft laughter filled my ears as we approached the Minam River Lodge. Dreamy log cabins were tucked between the trees, and mules grazed in the grassy clearing next to a quaint greenhouse. This was no ordinary backcountry lodge. The kind of backcountry lodge I‘ve experienced back home is the “bring your own dehydrated meal and everyone shares a pit toilet” kind.
Starting out as a little hunting outpost back in 1950, as owners came and went, the lodge was eventually left in disrepair, and it wasn’t until 2011 when a Portland local purchased the land in an auction with plans to restore it into a remarkable wilderness getaway. He certainly succeeded. Every part of the lodge has been thoughtfully designed with work from local artists and craftsmen.
A pancake breakfast and fresh coffee in hand-made mugs awaited us. The lodge would be our basecamp for the night, and today would be our chance to get familiar with the ways of packrafting. We wandered down to the Minam River to find a spot to put in and learn the skills we’d need over the next couple days.
The Minam glistened in the midday sun; flecks of fools gold sparkled beneath its silvery waters. I couldn’t believe how clear the river was.
Outfitted in our helmets and drysuits, we looked like we were about to embark on a space mission to Mars. Our guides went over some essential river lingo and river hazards such as strainers. Fallen trees stretching the length of a river can entrap a paddler in seconds. Even low waters are enough to get you pinned. We’d have to get out of our rafts and “walk the dog” to avoid these hazardous river features.
One by one we practiced our defensive swimming position—laying back with our feet out in front of us. Then it was time to deliberately tip our rafts; that way, an accidental spill wouldn’t be quite so unnerving. When it was my turn to go, I realized just how hard it is to tip those things (for which I was grateful). I yanked on one side until I flopped into the cool waters.
I managed to flail my way back into my raft, but not without hitting myself square in the face with my paddle first.
Before long, Dan and the Go Wild team had deemed us river-ready. The adventure began the following morning with a 13-kilometre hike out of Minam River Lodge along a sinuous river-grade trail. Jeff, a local mule packer, went ahead of us with his team of mules, hauling our camping gear and bulky items, making the trek significantly easier. Dan shared with us his wealth of knowledge about the area and the many stories that make up the Minam’s rich history.
We made a pitstop to find a tree a few metres from the trail bearing a 200-300 year old tree scar left from the Nez Perce tribe, who originally inhabited the land. It was incredible to think these people from so long ago had laid eyes on the very same river I paddled today. Another tree farther up the trail bore a ringed scar. This was a marking left by wire used in the early 1900s when the Minam was splash dammed as a way of transporting logs to the sawmill downstream. The pair of markings indicated two very different relationships to the land.
From 1918 to 1924, the Minam River was used for splash damming, causing massive damage to river habitat, especially that of the salmon and steelhead population, which are abundant in the area. This is why Dan ends his Go Wild trips early in mid-July, to protect and preserve the returning salmon and steelhead runs. Over the next couple days, it became clear that Dan’s heart for the river runs deep. As the first permitted packraft guide on the Minam, the ethos of Go Wild rings loud and clear—Leave No Trace is a non-negotiable.
The land bears markings of the past that seem to be found around every bend in the river. Today, the Eagle Cap Wilderness, in which the Minam River is situated, is part of the National Wilderness Preservation System, meaning it receives a high level of government protection.
Back on the water, I began gaining confidence navigating the ways of the river. Reading its movements started to feel more natural. Green tongues of water were highlighted to me, as if pointing which way to go. Bubbling clouds of ivory waters meant a rock likely lurked just beneath the surface.
Entering the river is like “entering a constant avalanche,” said Dan. Once you’re in it, you move with the current. The river doesn’t wait for you. At first, I felt like I was fighting against every bend and obstacle, frantically paddling this way and that as I bumped over boulders (and into my fellow rafters).
Our paddling efforts were rewarded with five-star meals. We ate like kings and queens on our camp chair thrones. Pisco sours and mint mojitos quenched our thirst, and we were treated with tastes of Peru and Columbia as we ate masterfully made dishes inspired by Dan’s travels. This restaurant-quality food was the furthest thing from my typical backcountry meal.
Evenings brought the chance to try our hand at fly-fishing, one of the primary recreation opportunities in the area. Gus, one of the Go Wild guides, showed me the basic motion of casting and reeling, like the stroke of a paintbrush. I couldn’t keep a smile from my face as I started to get the feel of the back-and-forth rhythm. Although, when I took it to the water, it seemed every second cast I’d catch my line on the weeds behind me. Patience certainly is a virtue of the fly-fishing game.
Our last morning on the river had snuck up all too quickly. In the last 14 kilometres of our paddle, the landscape suddenly began to shift. Granitic cliffs turned to basalt canyonlands, and I began to feel like I was a member of the fellowship of the ring, floating the Anduin River with a purpose far greater than simply “not tipping.” But that was the thing—I realized I wasn’t so afraid of capsizing my neon-coloured raft anymore. As kingfishers and western tanagers swooped low across the waters, showing off their vibrant colours, my gaze strayed to the landscape around me.
We turned a bend, and a herd of elk graced us with their gloriously fleeting presence. Bounding across the waters in front of us, their bugling rose up from the sweet-smelling pines as they called to each other.
A line from a poem I read back at the lodge titled “The Big Minam” by Emile Blevins recited in my mind as I stepped to shore at our takeout point: “If I could paint a picture of the wonders of this land, I’d paint it of a certain stream. The joy of every fishing man.”
How glorious it was to have partaken in the wonders of this land, the land of the mighty Minam.
Disclaimer: The author was hosted by Travel Oregon
