WhiteWater Rafting the Tatshenshini

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 28/12/2006 (7024 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I paced nervously as our group gathered in Kluane Park Wilderness Camp, a rafting staging area carved from a wilderness of dense spruce backed by the rugged peaks of the St. Elias Mountains. My niece, who lives in the Yukon, had organized a whitewater rafting expedition for wedding guests brave enough to chance a dunking in cold glacial water. As Sam, the lead guide approached, I noticed with trepidation that I was probably the smallest of the few senior women in the group.

Sam introduced himself and outlined procedures. “Pick up your helmets and life-jackets at the old trailer,” he began. “Proceed down the dirt path to the shelter where wetsuits and booties will be issued. There’s a change room nearby. Visit the pit toilets on the hill. You won’t see any other toilets until we’re back here in six hours. We’ll meet on the gravel riverbank.” He gestured towards an opening in the trees where I glimpsed a blur of whitewater.

I followed the muddy trail to a rough lean-to where rows of wetsuits hung on racks. A young man looked me over, pulled a tunic from a hanger, held it in front of my body and announced, “That one will do.” He then added a long zippered over-jacket and pointed to booties scattered on the wet floor. “Pick your own,” he commanded. I searched for a dry pair, but soon gave up, pulling sodden booties over my heavy wool socks.

A rough sign pointed to the change room. It consisted of a floor and shoulder-high walls, no roof, no benches, only clouds of mosquitoes. I decided to retreat to my car. Sprawled inside, I tugged off my jeans and pulled the heavy wetsuit over thermal long underwear and a fleece. I added the helmet and life-jacket, then lumbered to the riverbank and waited for Sam to relate safety instructions.

“Sit on the edge of the raft,” he explained. “We expect you to paddle hard. You can’t paddle slumped in the middle of the boat! Place only your right foot under the floor strap. You’ll have a tough time freeing two strapped feet if the raft flips.” Was he insinuating that a swim in the river was inevitable?

Sam continued, “Each of these eight inflatable rafts will hold six passengers and a guide. I will man the grey raft with yellow oars. That’s the conservative boat. The other greys will be moderate. The blue inflatables are the fun boats.”

I moved as far as possible from the “fun boats” and grabbed the safety rope on the conservative raft. The raft was immediately mobbed by others, but I refused to budge.

Enveloped in a grey drizzle, we pushed our raft into the river. Once it floated, I climbed in and settled precariously on the edge. I gripped my paddle tightly as Sam launched our raft into the current. “Consider this river, the Blanchard, your practice run,” he remarked. “The current is calmer, and the water warmer than the class four Tatshenshini.” I tensed. I knew a class four river was a challenge.

As we glided along, Sam continued talking. “I’ll give two commands only, paddle forward, or paddle backward. If you don’t paddle as hard as you can, we’ll either end up in the river or smashed on the rocks.” Any vague feelings of security vanished.

White waves foamed over protruding boulders. Sam masterfully guided us around rocks, over swells and dips on a roller-coaster ride downstream. The shore rushed by, a blur of variegated green seen through a curtain of mist.

“Back-paddle! Back-paddle!” yelled Sam as we pulled into the shelter of a granite face. “We’ll eddy out here.” With relief, I realized that eddy out meant a rest in quiet water. Breathing heavily from exertion and fear, I turned to watch the other rafts shoot the rapids and pull in beside us. If the Blanchard was easy, I feared what the Tatshenshini had to offer.

Two hours passed quickly. I grew accustomed to the rolls and pitches of the raft and began to enjoy myself.

Ahead loomed a bleak, grey sand beach, our lunch stop. The rain intensified. I peered through the gloom spotting only a dilapidated plank table under a rough wooden roof and open fire pit. Sam piled damp wood within the stone-lined pit, poured used oil over it and tossed in a match. Miraculously, fire blazed forth.

Shivering, I glanced down at the glistening raindrops covering a rough log beside the fire and sat down anyway. Others joined me. Steam rose in clouds from our wetsuits.

We watched guides scurry up and down the riverbank setting out food, then ate quickly as rain poured down. When the call came to return to the rafts, I was happy to get back to paddling to warm up.

Soon, the clear Blanchard merged with the chalky waters of the Tatshenshini, encasing us in grey world of hissing foam. “Forward-paddle hard!” Sam screamed above the roar of wind and water. I stroked as hard as I could, but my paddle only skimmed the wave crests, in discordant rhythm with my fellow paddlers. Before I could catch my breath, we smashed into a towering wave, then sank into the trough beneath. Down the river we tore, bouncing up and down, each jolt sending my slight frame almost over the edge into the froth. Sweat from both exertion and anxiety beaded my forehead.

We swept around bubbling suds and headed for a whirlpool. “Lean inward!” Sam bellowed. “Hold on!” The raft spun around in tight circles until I felt dizzy. “Back-paddle,” came the command. I just hung on tight. Fortunately Sam was able to free us from the whirling spiral.

“We’re going to watch some fun,” Sam exclaimed as we narrowly missed a monster flat-topped rock. I turned to see a blue craft ferociously paddling towards the rock. Momentum carried it on top where the raft teetered precariously. Another blue raft reared against the first, knocking it from the rock, spilling passengers in all directions. I was thankful I wasn’t having that much “fun.”

We paddle to the rescue, collecting three rafters, four paddles, one bootie and one first aid kit. Now I realized why Sam insisted he could only take six passengers.

Now, we floated easily, gently rocked by light swells. The ear-shattering clamour hushed to a whisper. Exhausted, I relaxed to watch a bald eagle soar overhead. I spotted a young black bear on shore, standing motionless like a statue. As we approached, the bruin sprang to life and disappeared deep into the bush.

We beached on a gravel shoal. Through the trees I glimpsed a yellow school bus, our ride back to our cars. Into the icy water we spilled, wading to shore half-dragging, half-carrying the awkward craft up the slope and onto a flatbed behind the bus. No longer cold, I felt a rush of both excitement and relief. I had conquered the mighty Tatshenshini.

HONOURABLE MENTION

TOMORROW: LITTLE GIRL, LONG BRAIDS