Trip Report: Rafting the Selway to Heaven
5 days whitewater rafting one of Idaho's most remote rivers
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In July, my brothers, dad, and brother-in-law spent five days rafting and kayaking a remote and immaculately preserved stretch of river in Central Idaho called the Selway.
It is an old tradition, paddling, as old as Ulysses, the Vikings, and Polynesian explorers. In this continent, no longer driven by the unexplored vastness of the sea, men of great ambition and rife with manifest destiny took to the rivers, and by descending these great waterways, helped to uncover the American West.
Though our guides were mostly doctors and small business owners from Boise (thanks to Steve, Andrew, Randy, Thomas, and Charles for guiding us!), led by my Uncle Tyler who arranged the trip, I sensed in them a similar urge to confront the unknowns of nature, albeit with modern crafts and creature comforts foreign to their predecessors. I too felt engaged in a tradition much older than me.
The Selway is a storied river to whitewater enthusiasts, though not many have floated it due to the limited access the US Forest Service allows. The water is only high enough for rafts to embark confidently in late May through early August, and because it’s such a coveted river with a National Wild and Scenic River distinction attached, only one group can launch per day. Obtaining a permit is among the most difficult in the Forest Service system; entry into the yearly lottery yields odds of under 1% as over 10,000 people seek around 60 spots.
It’s not an easy river to get to. After crossing the mountain pass between Salmon, Idaho and Darby, Montana, we cut into the mountains, up another mountain pass, this time the Nez Perce back into Idaho, and then followed a dirt road for several hours to the Paradise Campground where the road stopped. This area is the most remote, unpopulated part of the country (see Δ 1 in the map below), and marked the beginning of our trip.
Day 1: The River is in Charge
After breaking down camp, we loaded our gear in dry bags, lowered the rafts down a steep ramp onto the riverbed, and inflated the kayaks. The Selway River actually starts many miles before but is little more than a creek until this point.
Somewhat trepidatiously, I climbed aboard an inflatable tandem kayak and set off. The water was cold, shallow, and fast. Immediately we hit a series of class II and class III rapids.
Rocks would appear out of nowhere, sharp and invisible, and should one catch the side of the kayak, the pace of the river would push the boat beyond your ability to control and flip you into the water.
My first spill happened about three miles in, and then a half mile later, I tipped again and got bumped and bruised as we rushed down the shallow rapid. A few minutes later, two of my brothers flipped their kayak, trapping one of them underwater for a few seconds until the other could punch it off. I opted for a seat on the raft after lunch.
All of the big rafts got stuck on a rock that first day. I figured it was a bad omen, but I learned a valuable lesson. The river was in control, not me. I could flow with it and maneuver within reason, but ultimately, I was in its power.
Day 2: Redemption in the Kayak
I woke up in the morning with a deep desire not to kayak. My hip hurt all night, and I was still a little shaken from falling. After consulting the map, I knew we had a slow morning without many rapids, so I volunteered to go back in and ended up doing the entire 12 miles that day in the kayak, ultimately restoring my confidence.
Along the way, we passed several airstrips. Since the land surrounding the river is a designated wilderness area, it’s only by plane that you can access the middle of the river (unless you paddle or hike).
As the day pressed on, between the rapids, we entertained ourselves by jumping off wooden bridges and swimming in the deep, slow-moving pockets of water, spotting fish and enormous boulders beneath the surface.
Others in our party fished, both on the banks and from the rafts. Everything was catch-and-release. The Westslope Cutthroat Trout, native to these waters, see only a few fishermen a year and ignorantly snapped at every decoy fly and grasshopper offered their way. In the five days, I’d say our group pulled up over 100 fish.
Day 3: Bring on the Moose Juice
Just after the halfway point on the river, we hit Moose Creek, affectionately known as Moose Juice. Little streams enter the river every couple of miles, but this was the biggest addition to the water flow, nearly as big as the Selway had been back at the Paradise Campground.
It was a much different experience on the river after adding the Moose Juice. The volume of water was almost astonishing, and what had been a 3-4 foot deep river turned into 8-10 feet deep in some spots. This made things easier, in some ways, because the pace and depth of the river meant rocks were more obvious and, at least in a kayak, easier to roll over.
However, in the rafts, on class III and class IV rapids, life became a bit harder. The difficulty of the whitewater was not due to the size of the drops but simply the placement of the rocks. Sometimes there was only one path through the mayhem. If you happened to lose your line, the river would suck you into dangerous water that would almost guarantee you get stuck or flip.
Take a look at this video of a class IV rapid called Ladel to see what I mean. Ladel is a long boulder garden with a single navigable route. After a decent drop, the water wants to suck you into a treacherous path. The boat has to back up, navigate around a rock to the correct route, and avoid several partially submerged boulders that could flip the boat.
In the video, the blue raft, manned by Charles, nearly gets tipped a few times and manages to “spin-it-to-win-it” around some of the rocks near the bottom (the beginning is a little slow—skip to the one-minute mark if you’re feeling impatient).
Day 4: Kayaking, Fast and Slow
At this point, we had been averaging about 12 miles per day, meaning we had around 9-10 miles left. Not wanting to rush, we determined to split the rest over the next two days.
After breakfast, we immediately encountered Wolf Creek, a IV+ rapid with a swift current directly into a large rock. Six riders got dumped, though all the boats stayed upright.
The second class IV, called Jim’s Creek, was one of the most fun. After getting through cleanly on the kayak on my first run, together with my brother Parker, I walked the kayak back up the rocks for another go. As the video below shows, we didn’t quite nail the line and got sucked right of a big rock instead of hitting the rapid at the ideal spot three yards to the left. I was in the front this time, and dropping into the hole, I completely submerged within the rapid before popping back up without getting flipped.
Between these rapids, we experienced a rather languid river. Sometimes the granite walls enclosed us on either side, and we floated gently in the emerald water. As each day went on, the scenery became more sublime, changing from course, rocky cliffs to steeper, pine-covered mountains that shot up hundreds of feet from the river.
Curiously, each side of the river had a different ecology. The east side, facing west, was drier, more sparsely treed, reminiscent of the typical landscape of Idaho and Montana. The west side, facing east, was bushier, covered in ferns and cedar, many of which were draped in a type of dangling moss that made it feel like we were in the Pacific Northwest.
Day 5: A Rainy Exit
A bit of rain fell on our uncovered tents at about 1 AM, and though it had stopped by the morning, as we made our swift exit on the last four miles, the entire mood of the river was acceptably dark and swollen with clouds, a sharp contrast from the heat of the last four days.
It was the kind of weather that made it pleasant to sit with my Uncle in his raft and talk about Grandpa Larry and movies and any place the conversation led. One unfortunate part of growing up has been less time with my uncles and aunts, who, when I was little, I thought were the coolest people in the world. So it was nice to get to feel that way again and have some time alone with Tyler.
Once we got to the exit point at Race Creek, everyone dashed to fold up the rafts and pack away the gear. There had been a similar frenetic energy at the start of the trip, and both served as odd bookends to the mostly unhurried manner in which we had traversed the river. It was as if we wished to savor every moment on the river, and then when it was over, for the time to pass doubly fast so as not to ruin anything.
In a few weeks, my brother Tate will leave to serve as a Latter-day Saint missionary in Ireland and Scotland. He’s the last of five sons to take up the badge. This trip was a final hurrah, of sorts, and once again, it will be a couple of years before the Farnsworth men will all be together.
We joked in the days following the trip about how the river clarified aspects of our lives. One brother came off ready to explore a Ph.D. Another broke up with his girlfriend a few days later.
I left with a renewed appreciation for the mountains and clear water, landscapes I’d come to undervalue living on the Eastern seaboard. More than that, I was reminded, as I always am, just how much I love my family. There is simply no replacement sweet enough for the pure fulfillment of their presence, and there is an increasing urge to be closer to them.
There’s not some tight bow to wrap around this trip or this recap. While I didn’t think about it much on the river, I suppose what I’ll think about most is the time with Tate and all the brothers together. In short, I’m going to miss Tate like crazy.
Your words paint a beautiful picture of your trip. But I think I’d rather read about the Selway than ride it!
I always love reading your essays. You are so talented at articulating your thoughts. It is a bonus when you are able to capture a memory for the family!