White Water

Not the political kind, but a real wet wave of a gallon or more in Diane’s lap as she braved bow woman’s position on her knees through the many rapids of the upper Kenai River. This is not a rafter's challenging category but about maximum for an 18 foot Old-Town lake canoe with full-length keel. It was water over the bow but not so much as to require a stop. John’s Landing is about twelve miles downstream from the Kenai Lake and the bridge where we put in, and if not all white water it is truly fast, cold and the cloudy green of a partial glacier stream. We stayed to the side to avoid a departing floatplane in the initial wide flat area where the lake funnels its expanse into the cataract below. We raced past cabins on the upper river, were spun around by a whirlpool passing Bishop’s Rock and through a gauntlet of fishermen as we stroked past the confluence of the Russian River.

What a beautiful trip it was, and how different the view from the one accustomed along the road. The Red Salmon crowded the water as they hung a right at the Russian River for their spawning run on up into clear lakes and the upper creeks of their origin. Guided flat bottom fishing boats with pointy bows with guide on the oars navigated fishing parties, and pontoon boats with one or two populated the river. Islands divided the stream and sweepers threatened the fast current under cut banks. A strong wind kept the insects away, and the mountains swept by nearly as fast as the clouds across the blue Smokey sky. The Fire Weed in full bloom decorated the shore with the pink magenta of an Alaska Summer, a good trip and a good day on the water.

By the time we reached the landing, we felt lucky to just crash against an inflated raft and hang on. The water proved much too fast for a beach landing. I use to lift the canoe with ease and portage it for miles but not today, I needed help.