Far North Friday #83: Barrel of Fun

River travel can be fun, even exciting, if you use the proper water craft.

As a summer student, I worked two summers in an unusual place, just south of Yukon, in northern British Columbia. The town’s name was Cassiar. It was a rare company town, owned, built, and operated by Cassiar Asbestos Corporation. It was a mining company town.

The Cassiar Mountains were amazing. They afforded spectacular hiking and supported healthy numbers of caribou, grizzly bear, mountain sheep and mountain goats. Camping was our weekend activity. We would hitch a ride to reach more distant destinations or hike west from town towards the Atlin area. It was a fabulous place to be a summer student. It was where I decided to become a geologist.

Jim Hoover was another summer student. We often camped together. One adventure was especially memorable. We hitched a ride to the east, hiked to a river, and came across a cabin where the river widened into a small lake. On the shore in front of the cabin was a barrel raft (Photo). Without thinking, we threw our packs onto the raft, climbed on, and pushed it away from shore. The raft floated lazily toward the narrow end of the lake. It steadily picked up speed. It passed quickly from the lake into the narrow river. We picked up even more speed. We flowed over small standing waves. The riverside alders were a blur. Two teenage boys “yee-hawing” down a river on a barrel raft yelling with naive joy.

You might be thinking. They had maps, knew where the river flowed, ensured there were no rapids or waterfalls, and had paddles to guide the raft. Nope - none of that. We had absolutely no idea where the river was taking us or what dangers lay ahead. Did I mention we were two teenaged boys? Suddenly, the raft came to an abrupt halt against a river rock. The raft shuddered against the roaring river. We had to get to shore before the raft broke up. We had to wade across the roaring, glacier-fed river.

Plan A: wade to the right shore. The main road lay about a kilometre away. Jim was taller and stronger, so he forged out first. Halfway across, the river deepened. He signalled me to follow. As soon as I put both feet on the cobble river bottom, I knew I was in trouble. The river was fast, very cold, and was close to waste deep. I would be washed away. Plan B: Try to wade to the other shore. We made it, but it was frightening.

We walked back towards the lake, alders and river on one side and mountains and scree on the other. At one scree field, Jim said “sing”. Excuse me? “Sing or make noise”. We made noise. Jim sang “grizzly warning” - a new unwanted song.

After 2 hours, we sat by the edge of the lake, contemplating how we would get across the lake. Salvation! There was a fisher person on the lake - in a boat - a real boat. We waved and yelled. He motored over. He asked why we were on the wrong side of the river. We explained. He frowned and quietly said “you are lucky to be alive”. He was right.

River travel can be fun, even exciting, but only if you are in the proper water craft - and weigh the risks.

April 15/22 (Facebook April 15/22)