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Day 1
It was another one of Les’ hare-brained schemes. But then again, I went along with it so who is the crazy one? He had always wanted to take a boat down the Columbia River (and still does) from where it first becomes navigable just above Hanford Reach – the last free flowing section of that river.
But even with a very strong ‘crazy’ gene in our DNA, that was a bit more than we could take on. At least without a trial run. But what about the Willamette River? It’s shorter, closer to home, and could be a good test for the Columbia. Ok, why not?
It turns out Les’ dad had a boat. He was not particularly a boat person but had received it in lieu of rent for a rental property he had. He agreed to rent it to us, and without a security deposit (which might have been a mistake on his part in hindsight).
It was Les’ thought that the time to do this trip would be in the spring so the water would be high. At least that was the theory. It turns out it was high. And fast and full of debris, which was not part of the theory, but that became relevant later.
There was only one problem with the boat. It was not big enough to sleep on. It was a 17 foot ski boat. I suppose we could have slept on it in a pinch. But not comfortably. The size was good on the one hand since the Willamette is not nearly as big (or deep) as the Columbia. But not so good on the other hand because it meant we would have to find somewhere to sleep along the way. We were going to be traveling somewhere in the neighborhood of 150-180 miles. Not a trip we were going to make in a day. (It took 4 actually.)
But undeterred, we loaded up the boat with everything we thought we’d need – food, clothing, sleeping bags, tent, electronics, etc. We looked like a gypsy wagon when we set out since there wasn’t room for everything down below.
We had wanted to start in Eugene. That’s where the river comes out of the mountains to the east and seemed like a logical starting point. But the section that goes through Eugene consists of a series of rapids and small damlets. It’s navigable by canoe, raft and inner-tube, but not 17 foot ski boats (as is also the case for parts of the section between where we did put in and Corvallis, but we didn’t know that until after we launched).
Les had surveyed the river the weekend before by air, and had not seen any (obvious) reasons we could not get through what he considered the most dubious section from Corvallis to Eugene. (From 700 feet, the stumps, gravel bars, and downed trees in the channel are not quite as obvious as they are from a boat.)
Also, he had watched a good sized boat travel up a section of the river from Junction City to about where we were going to put in, so that increased our unjustified confidence. (He later discovered that it was a jet boat, which makes all the difference since there’s no motor hanging 2 feet beneath it.)
We ended up putting in at an offshoot of the Willamette – the McKenzie River. And only about 5 miles north of Eugene so in the end we were pretty close.
The trip got off to an inauspicious start though. The river was high and fast as I mentioned, which made it hard to find the channel. We cleared the boat ramp, waved goodbye to Les’ dad who had launched us and proceeded to scrape the prop into the river bed as we tried to head downstream in what turned out to be about a foot of water.
We managed to get the boat out of trouble and back into the channel, I think without looking like a couple of bumbling fools to Les’ dad. But we nicked the blades, which we determined by immediate inspection, and by the time we finished the various additional nicking incidents during the course of the trip, the prop was shaped more like a waffle cone, than a collection of blades. Actually it still worked quite well, allowing us to make 25 mph for our final run from the Columbia to the boat launch, where Les’ dad was waiting to take us out and express dismay about the shape of the prop.
We had to pay extra to have it repaired. We thought we would have to buy a new prop ($250.00 or so), but it turns out there are services which are not unfamiliar with the condition we left the prop in and were able to correct it for less than $50.00
We spent a very brief time on the McKenzie and were soon on our way downriver to Portland. I remember being somewhat surprised by how small the river was. My impression of the Willamette was based on viewing it from downtown Portland, at which point it’s pretty decent sized. Upstream, it was much smaller and more remote in that there wasn’t a lot besides trees and bushes along the banks.
Not to mention trees and bushes in the river itself. In fact, the current in the river was going like hell. According to the Wikipedia, “The gradient is slightly steeper from the source to Albany than it is from Albany ….” Somewhat of an understatement. It’s probably about 70 river miles from where we put in the first day to Albany to where we took out, and we made it in under 10 hours, with at least one stop on an island (about 30 to 45 minutes), so we were going somewhere around 7 to 8 mph just with the current, without any motor, which we only used at idle to allow steering.
Here is what the river keeper document has to say about the Willamette. “The upper stretch is typically dynamic, with fast, shallow currents rushing between small gravel islands covered by Pacific willow. The river retains this aspect in places as it moves northward and widens into the valley, but occasional pools of slower water also begin to appear. Soon towns and cities come into view”.
We spent most of the first day learning the ropes with the boat and understanding that we were going to have to be very careful to watch our depth. We’d have moments of panic where we had to cut the throttle and raise the motor to avoid running aground. There were also a lot of tree branches and tree trunks randomly littered around the river to keep us on our toes.
Actually, we had lots of moments like this. Most of the entire first day consisted of the ‘scramble drill’. Thankfully we had a working depth finder on board, and often, as the depth hit or dropped below 3 feet, we had to raise the outboard half-way out to avoid scraping the prop. Fortunately for us, the boat itself needed only about 20 inches to remain afloat, but the motor needed more, and there were some spots where we had the outdrive almost all the way out, only in enough to keep it running with water cooling.
Most of the first day alternated between ¼ mile stretches of reasonable depth and channel, followed by, large sweeping turns of shallow water about a football field wide with very little indication of where the channel might be, and about 30 seconds to decide, and if you made the wrong choice running the risk of being swept into one of those “small gravel islands covered by Pacific willow” described so picturesquely in the river keeper description, where the force of the current would have made our boat, and possibly us, a permanent resident.
Also, often, when we were able to correctly guess the channel location, there would be a large stump, or downed tree right in the middle of it, and being as how it (the channel) was often no more than 8 feet wide, with current flowing around 8 mph, the decision as to maneuver to the river side or the bank side of the obstruction had to be made quickly, with little margin for error.
We made the right decision almost all of the time. Except once. We went aground, but not too hard aground in about 1.5 feet of water. While not fully aground, we were stuck, in shallow, fast moving water. We first tried to get unstuck using the oars as poles, to no avail. So Les had to jump out and try and rock the boat across to deeper water, while I, with no actual experience in running the boat, or even actually starting the motor, remained on board to help pull him back in if we managed to get the boat afloat again. Which he did.
Actually, it worked like this. Les pulled the boat free, and while it started to accelerate away, he had to scramble back on board, lower the outdrive, start the engine, and maneuver us away from the small gravel bar covered with Pacific willow that the current was then sweeping us toward. Just a little something to keep the adrenaline pumping.
The other great fun as we were “learning the ropes” that first day consisted of guessing which of the two possible channels to choose as the river, running fast and high, would divide around an island, with very little clue as to which was the main channel, and which would only be there at high water.
Once the choice was made, there was no realistic chance to change it, the channel being too narrow to allow for turning around. So the decision was critical. No pressure. Just a relaxing day boating down the river. Only once, did we have the chance to turn around and try again at what would have been a wrong choice to go left when we needed to go right.
In fact, it was after successfully guessing at one of these islands channels that we decided to stop and take a break. It was about 3 hours into the trip, and the helmsman needed some R&R. It was on this island where Les coined the memorable phrase, “This trip is going to be more fun to talk about after it’s over, than while it is going on.” And he was right.
The island was covered in yellow and purple flowers that if I knew my botany a bit better I could tell you what they were. It was quite a display and if one was a Los Angeles Lakers fan, you would have felt right at home. (The Blazers were playing the Lakers in the 2000 Western Conference finals while we were on the trip. More on that later).
We wandered around the island for a while, taking lots of pictures. I think mostly because there hadn’t been much to take pictures of up to this point. And also to give Les time to recover.
We passed by Junction City first, going under a large bridge, and then Harrisburg, where while passing under the bridge, the water briefly registered a depth of over 60 feet for some reason. (Les particularly remembers that because he considered at the time, pulling out there, the first actual boat launch we had seen and calling it good. I was not aware of this.)
We passed through Corvallis, where for no discernable reason, as we were just entering the city limits, we briefly grounded the bow of the boat again, perhaps just the river’s idea of a little parting gift, and made our way to Albany, which was about 70 miles (at least by car) from where we had put in. (The stretch of river from Corvallis to Albany being the only portion either of us had any familiarity with; Les having floated it with inner-tube, brother, and beer one fall day, before returning to OSU).
Since Les’ dad lived in Albany, we called him up (fortunately cell phones had been invented by then) and he came and took the boat out of the water and back to his house. We spent the night sleeping on the floor in his basement. So the problem of where to sleep was solved pretty easily. At least the first night.
Day 2
The next day, after a hearty breakfast, we re-launched the boat and continued down river. I was actually surprised how many towns there were along on the river. It makes sense of course but I hadn’t thought about it. For most of the way down I-5, the river isn’t visible from the highway, so I tended to think of it as meandering through the countryside.
First, we came to where the Santiam River joins the Willamette. There were people salmon fishing there, in boats, smaller than ours. We passed the Buena Vista ferry, then through Independence and into Salem. Somewhere along this part we came across a rather elaborate cement structure that was basically a man-made waterfall or at least a man-made modification to an existing waterfall. We couldn’t really figure out its purpose but it was strange enough looking that it prompted us to stop, get out, and wander around on it.
As we headed into Salem we passed an old broken down sternwheeler that looked like it might have been the inspiration for the boat in the Disney animated film The Rescuers. It wasn’t stuck in the bayou but other than that, it could have worked. At least it seemed that way to me. Les thinks it may actually still have been functional. It’s possible. We saw it from a distance.
We contemplated trying to camp at Wallace Park, across the river from Salem, but Les remembers that overnight camping was not allowed there, and we didn’t want to deal with the complexities of being rousted out with nowhere to go but back on the boat. Plus there was still a few more hours of daylight left.
While we weren’t overly prepared, we did have a river book I’d found at the library that described the river mile by mile and gave indications where there were some places to camp. There was one such campground that seemed to be at about the right point where we’d want to stop for the night so we headed for that.
We pulled up to the river bank by the campground where we discovered that the campground had been taken over by the cast from Deliverance. There were a bunch of people and tents. Clearly they were all there together (and potentially had been inter-marrying for some time). And off to one side there was a huge (and I mean huge) pile of beer cans. It was maybe 3-4 feet high and maybe 6 feet across in diameter. These people were serious. You could practically hear the banjos.
We indicated we were planning to find a spot and stay the night. They indicated, in so many words, that it was likely we would be murdered in our sleep (or possibly sooner) and buried where no one would find us. Perhaps not those exact words but it was made clear we weren’t welcome. They came as a group on this particular weekend every year and took over the place and that was that. And despite the fact it was a public campground, we (mostly me) decided not to push the point and we continued on.
So where to stay? About a mile or two down the river from the campground we found a spot where up at the top of a small hill, there was a sandy embankment before the brush and trees started where we were able to excavate enough space to make a relatively level spot for sleeping. The camp site itself was mostly on a slope, but not too horrible. There didn’t seem to be anyone around or any obvious habitation, so we tied up the boat and made camp. It worked out quite well. And thanks to whatever farmer whose land it was.
It was at this site, during the night, that we heard sounds like someone throwing cannonballs into the river below us. We later determined that it was probably the sound of salmon jumping, although at the time, it was mysterious and a bit alarming, especially since we weren’t really sure whose property we were on.
Day 3
We headed out the next day. As I recall there wasn’t much to see north of Salem. Just the river meandering through farmland with trees lining the river. Almost like going through a tunnel in some places. We saw herons. I’m pretty sure a couple of them. But not much else in terms of wildlife.
At some point fairly early in the day, we were stopped and boarded by the State Police. It was Memorial Day weekend, a notorious drunken boating binge weekend (as evidenced by our encounter with the Deliverance family the night before). We had the right life jackets and safety gear but there was something about us they didn’t like. We can’t remember. The horn didn’t work or something like that. Anyway, the remained alongside us for some time as we headed down the river. But ultimately they let us go on our way.
There was still some unexpected debris-avoiding and channel maneuvering, but it was easy compared to that first day. When we got to Newberg we discovered they were having some sort of jet boat races. We weren’t allowed to pass through for a while, but we got a decent view of the boats as they sped around.
We were definitely heading into a more populated areas. We got to Wilsonville where the river crossed under I-5 for the first time. Just before it did, we stopped to get gas. That was another thing, besides camping spots that we hadn’t really worked out before hand, trusting to God and Les’ legendary trip karma that we would find something when needed. And we did. Although we had gassed up in Albany and were probably fine for the rest of the way. If you’re traveling I-5, it’s the marina you can see from the Boones Ferry Bridge.
From there, it was up through Wilsonville and the Charboneau area. At this point the houses started getting quite large, with private docks, boat houses, etc. A pretty impressive display which prompted Les, as usual when confronted with opulence of this type, to wish we had brought along some sort of missile system to fire at them. (Or a bazooka, or rocket propelled grenade would have been fine.)
As I recall, the hills around the river started getting higher and generally more interesting at this point. There were more dramatic cliffs and such than we’d seen for sure. It was my favorite stretch.
Somewhere during this stretch we began to notice the buoys. There really hadn’t been any until this point, probably because there was a lot less river traffic farther upriver. But clearly the buoys were trying to warn us where to go and not go. What we didn’t know, was which side we were supposed to go on. There were red buoys and green buoys. It seemed like red should mean danger and green should mean ok. But in either case, which side was the ok side?
Well, in true engineering fashion, we worked it out by experimentation. Not on purpose but that’s how these things go sometimes. We came up to an area where clearly there were some rocks. There was a green buoy and it seemed like the way to go was to the right of it. We were at least smart enough not to go racing through there, although we really didn’t go very fast at any point given how much dodging and weaving we’d been doing.
I went up front to see if I could spot anything. But before I got to the front, we rammed into a rock or stump or something and came to a complete stop. And as Newton will tell you, objects in motion tend to stay in motion. Well, I was in motion but the boat no longer was. If we had been going any faster, I would have remained in motion all the way into the river. As it was I went flying forward but luckily managed to just crash into something – probably our pile of gear. We didn’t puncture the hull, which was nice. In fact it didn’t even leave a mark, as it turned out. We never did figure out what it was. The depth finder at the rear of the boat showed many 10’s of feet, and probing the area with the oars found nothing. It was like we just bumped into a spire raising from the depths to just below the water line. Anyway, we backed away steered around without further event. Plus we learned something really important. Go left of the green ones and right of the red ones. After that, we didn’t hit anything else.
(Since them I’ve learned the saying that helps you remember this – “red right return”. Which means, if you’re headed up river (returning), keep the red buoys to your right – that is pass to the left of them. And stay right of the green ones. Going downriver, which we were, it’s the opposite).
So once again it was getting to be late in the day and we had no idea where to stay. There were no campgrounds nearby. Ultimately, we found a small island in the middle of the river. It was pretty much just a shallow part of the river covered in rocks and pebbles but I guess we managed to clear a relatively flat spot out to put the tent on. I don’t remember there being much foliage. Maybe a tree or two but I don’t think so. We were able to make a fire, but I think it was with wood we had brought with us. The site was just south of Oregon City, and well enough traveled that a water skier or two went by while we were setting up our homeless camp.
On one side of the river was a factory or some kind of industrial area. On the other were fancy river-front homes of West Linn. It was a bit surreal to be camping there. We set up the tent and had a campfire and I imagine startled the home owners a bit. There were probably not a lot of campers there before or since. But we weren’t bothered and come morning, we cooked some breakfast and headed out again.
Day 4
This day’s big adventure was passing through the lock at Oregon City. Les’ wife Sharon wanted to come along for that part of the ride, so we picked her up somewhere in the West Linn area. Maybe at Willamette Park.
The reason for the lock at Oregon City is because of Willamette Falls. To one side of the falls there was a paper mill. I assume at one point they used the falls for power although I’m not sure. One side of the paper mill faced the falls. On the other, there was a channel and in that channel a lock or possibly two or three. The mill workers were apparently responsible for letting anyone through the locks who happened to come along. You pretty much motor up and ring the doorbell as it were and someone has to come out and work the locks for you.
It seemed to me that the workers enjoyed the diversion (how exciting can paper mill work be anyway). We certainly did. Locks are cool for engineer nerds like us (and possibly others). In the direction we were going, we started high. The lock was closed, then the water emptied out, then opened again on the lower side. Very fun. Les remembers two or three stages to get through although I only remember the one. Probably because there is only a picture of one of them. But it seems likely given the height of the falls, it would have taken at least a few locks to get down.
Apparently, as of this writing (2014), the lock is no longer functional. The mill is closed and there’s some conflict over ownership. The Army Corps of Engineers also said the anchors that connect the gates to the lock wall are severely corroded and they are worried they are also rusted below the surface. But apparently repairing the locks is not high on their list. Which is too bad. Although I guess they still occasionally use them when something important has to get through.
We were now on the home stretch. Passing Oregon City we went under the I-205 Bridge and were faced with the attack of the fishermen. At this point in the river the Clackamas River joins the Willamette. And for whatever reason, this was the spot that every fisherman in the world needed to be at just this time. They were arrayed across the river and probably 8-10 deep. There were fishing lines and anchor lines everywhere. It took quite a bit of effort to navigate through. I think we saw one or two people catch something.
We continued down the river, heading into Portland. We stopped at Ross Island and got out and wandered on it a bit. But the brush was very thick and I don’t remember getting too far. I remember beating through the brush for a few minutes and deciding it wasn’t worth it and giving up. We attempted to go right around Ross Island, following some kayakers we saw, but the water got very shallow and we turned back before we ran aground again.
We headed into Portland, past the submarine at OMSI. We had been listening to the Blazers game on the radio. In fact, we had listened to a couple of games (at least one) already on the previous days. But I remember as we motored pass the Memorial Coliseum (no Rose Garden yet) thinking I could hear the cheering live as we listened to the game on the radio. As Les points out it seems highly unlikely that we could have heard any cheering from inside the Memorial Coliseum while in a boat in the river. And he’s right. But I still like to remember it this way. This was likely the May 28th game, which they lost. In fact, this was the year they lost in 7 to the Lakers, blowing a 15 point lead in the 4th quarter of game 7. Although ‘being robbed of’ is a better description since it turned out, years later, that the ref had taken money to throw the game. Bastard.
When we got downtown, we stopped at the public pier by Saturday Market and dropped off Sharon. That pier isn’t operational anymore either. It started (or had been) raining pretty hard. But we hadn’t come this far not to make it all the way. We plowed on through to the Columbia. Victory was ours! We turned around fairly quickly though (it was raining very hard at this point), and headed up the Columbia Slough on the other side of Sauvie Island where Les’ Dad came to get us. Then it was back down to Albany to retrieve our vehicle.
As I mentioned, Les’ dad wasn’t too happy about the prop but it turned out that he found someone who could repair it, so it ended up costing only about $50 more than the agreed upon rental, which considering the boat launch and retrieval service, was pretty reasonable
Certainly one of those “I wouldn’t do it again but glad I did it once” type things. As Les said on the first day, more fun to talk about than to do. Whenever we drive by the Willamette somewhere, I generally recognize the area, which is pretty cool. And maybe someday we’ll still make the Columbia River trip. Although we did already run the Columbia River from Portland to Astoria, but that’s a story for another time.
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