After a frustrating couple of weeks of trying to coordinate a trip on the Arkansas river, I finally decide to go it solo. The plan; paddle from Florence CO to the North Shore Marina at the Pueblo Reservoir, perhaps 15 miles of class I or II river followed by 6 or 8 flatwater miles on the reservoir.
Wenesday, I'm at the put-in just east of Florence by 8:30AM and on the river by 9AM. The river is only flowing about 600CFS today, and is a bit shallow, especially where it splits into multiple channels. After bumping and grinding through a couple of rocky spots I begin to make a more deliberate effort to stay in the fastest channel I can find. This serves me well until just before Portland CO where the channel I have chosen ends in a huge tree toppled into the river by last months epic rains. The river isn't being bothered too much by the trees roots, but I'm unable to line my canoe up on the 3ft wide clear space left between the roots and a gravel bar. I try to boof off of the minimal pillow offered by what little water isn't flowing thru the strainer, but, alas, up on the root and over she goes. I grab for a gunwale and coax the current into pinning the flooded boat against an outside bank in chest deep water. To my vast surprise I'm not freezing my butt off; the water is chilly but not horribly cold. I fish my bailing jug out and spend a profitable 10 minutes emptying my boat, and then swim down and across to a gravel beach with the canoe in tow. It's a lovely warm morning, so I strip, wring most of the water from my garments, and hang my laundry over a conveniently placed dead tree to dry in the sun while I enjoy a nice little brunch. I empty the last couple of gallons from my boat, tie everything back in place, don my slightly less wet clothes, and push off.
Past Portland the river flattens a bit and flows through Swallows Canyon; a narrow swath of bottom land flush with early spring greenery, nestled between limestone and shale cliffs. The toll of the recent high water is becoming apparent, as nearly every sharp bend has cottonwoods tipped into the river, and I'm having to work hard to keep the current from carrying me into them. Unfortunately, the current is mostly flowing along the undercut banks which shed the trees, so it becomes a game of=20 picking a line between too shallow and too bad. After a few miles of this, and more than a few narrow misses, I round a bend and find a large tree down across the entire channel. I back paddle frantically and manage to come alongside of the trunk where it is about a foot off of the water. Unable to slide under without risking having my head ripped off, I carefully work my way toward the shore where it looks as if I might squeeze between the tree and the bank. Alas, once there I see two smaller trees just below the surface. Things are getting kind of weird about now, as the current is real strong and I am barely able to hold the canoe away from the tree. I decide to jump ship and seize a fair sized branch. This is all the excuse that the river gods need, and in less time than it takes to say it my poor ol' boat is flooded, sunk, and pinned against the trees. Darn! I climb up onto the roots and survey the situation while I tie a line around a bit of root still embedded in dirt. All I can see of my boat is about a foot of the stern sticking out of the water, with the current pushing it forcefully up and into the maze of roots. Textbook Bad. An experimental tug or two fails to do more than cause some distressing sounds to emanate from the gunwales, and I'm thinking about what a long walk it's gonna be when a light comes on. The current is TRYING to push the canoe out of the water, it's just hung up on those roots. I unload everything I can reach, and chop/bend/break tree roots until with a surge that nearly precipitates me into the river the stern half of the boat majestically rises up onto the root mass. The kevlar groans and I can see that the boat is being stressed pretty badly, so I hasten up onto the bank and with a mighty heave drag the canoe out of the clutches of the river. Yahoo!
The bank here is about 6ft high, and there are numerous strainers on down river, so the canoe gets to ride me for several hundred yards to the next break in the bank. This episode has left me wet (again), and muddy, hot, and sweaty, plus its lunchtime, so I plop down in the shallows for a bit of grooming and toss my wet garments over a bush to dry. I drag my little cooler out of the dufflebag and chug a quart of ice water, choke down most of a MRE, and swill a cold beer. Ahhh! The day has grown hot, and by the time I have everything ready to go my duds are mostly dry.
Now, the cliffs on either side have receded into rolling hills, but the gradient seems a bit steeper, as the river is staying pretty much in one channel now, and flowing fast. With the railroad grade on the left, and stony banks on the right there are few strainers or log jams, just a series of bends with small drops and barely submerged rocks to dodge. This is the funnest (that a word d'ya suppose?) part of the run so far; I just keep my boat in the swiftest water and enjoy the ride.
As a result of the heavy rainfall mentioned earlier, the reservoir is very full. So much so, that the last mile or so of river is pretty flat, and spread out into what is normally a willow and cattail bog. The storm that has been cooking behind me decides to let loose, but plays its self out after 20 minutes of huffing and spitting, and besides, the wind is at my back and I'm content to let it blow me along with only an occasional swat at the water to keep away from the partially submerged willows. Out on the reservoir proper, I skirt the edge of the willows heading for the north shore and the long paddle to the takeout. The west end of Pueblo reservoir has a pretty good collection of large dead trees standing in the shallow water, and each tree sports numerous ball shaped nests occupied by herons or cranes (big birds with long legs and necks, the Ms. would know). In addition, there are swans, pelicans, cormorants, seagulls, and ducks too numerous to count. The swans and pelicans swim away as I approach, but the cormorants, ducks, and especially the gulls just bitch at me as I glide past. It's getting on into the afternoon, and I'm getting tired, so after a short break to stretch my legs I paddle on east, more or less hugging the shoreline in my usual timid manner.
After the storm, the wind died down to practically nothing, but now it is beginning to pick up again, and this time from the east (sigh). I decide to give up on the marina, and pull ashore at a primitive boat ramp on the wildlife preserve west of the Pueblo Reservoir State Park proper. I fish out my 2way radio and a long range antenna and contact amateur radio operator N0MIK in Colorado Springs who calls the Ms. for me. I stash the canoe in some trees, bungie cord my paddles together, shoulder my (now quite damp) dry bag, and set out for the main road. After walking for 2 1/2 or 3 miles, I secure a ride out to the highway, and from there a ride with a madman in an open jeep, who takes every turn on two wheels but delivers me safe and sound to my car. Back to the reservoir (now where DID I stash that boat), load, and homeward, arriving about 9PM. What a day!
After hearing my only slightly embellished tale, M'lady is again eager to make the trip; if the flows don't drop any more, or better yet come up a bit, we'll be going Sunday or Monday of Memorial Day weekend. Anyone wanna come?
ByeBye! S.
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