Lochsa Kayaking

Checking the water levels as I exited my third and last exam of the week, I was jittery with anticipation, 5,000 CFS. Two weeks of exams in my final college semester had me caged and pacing as I studied indoors all day, but now... freedom! I bounced on my walk home from campus, getting home and throwing all my gear into my drybag between snatched bites of lunch. Boats loaded on top of the car, ramen and people inside, we were finally off to the Lochsa River for a few days of kayaking. We pulled up the The Ghetto, a patch of soggy, river-front land that the kayakers and rafters gather on every weekend that the river is running. Tired from a six hour drive post-work/school, we raised the teepee and crashed hard. Awake with the sun I fired up the jetboil for a morning cup of mate to watch the low wisps of clouds writhe upward through the dripping forests, so thrilled to be alive and outdoors. There's some vital part of my core, my existence, that only revels in being surrounded by stately forests, sleeping with the soft patter of rain on the teepee, being a little cold and wet and hungry because it reminds me that I'm alive. I was brimming with happiness as we put on the river directly from camp (along with a lone cat-boater/minor alcoholic we picked up along the way). The sun glinted off the riffles of that swift green river and turned each raindrop into a glittering prism falling through the sky. We hit rapid after rapid, dancing around roaring holes and smashing through huge waves. Piles of whitewater tossed us down each section as we braced from side to side with our paddles, there are very few consistent adrenaline rushes like whitewater kayaking. After the eleven-mile run, we hiked our boats up from the river with huge grins, chattering teeth (I guess it IS February still), and stiff muscles. After hitchiking back to camp that night we trekked through the snow to a nearby hot springs for a lengthly soak under alternating rain, stars, and snow. Sleeping hard again that night, warm socks on our feet, we again woke early to a low line of snow across the nearest hills, antsy to throw ourselves at the Lochsa River once more.

Again no photos. Lo siento.