Chasing Air and Water

We call ourselves the Geezer Kayak Club. We are actually a small group of “sixty-something” river kayakers who have been paddling together for over thirty years – a minor miracle in a high attrition sport like whitewater kayaking.

By late August, the rivers around Vancouver shrink to a trickle, so we have to travel to find runnable rivers. Last summer, we headed for the Cariboo. The town of Likely, B.C. felt like a good destination; far enough north to escape the wildfire smoke that was plaguing southwestern B.C., and near enough to the confluence of two large and flowing rivers to make the trip worthwhile. The most important thing to a kayaker, after breathing, is an abundance of water!

Likely is a seven hour drive up-province from Vancouver. I start to doubt our plan when, passing through 100 Mile House, the sun was still a glowing red orb in a very smoky sky.

By the time I reach Likely, the veil of smoke is finally behind me. It is raining lightly now.

“Downtown” Likely is essentially The Likely Lodge Pub. I step inside, wondering how the town came by its odd name. A wall plaque says it is named for John “Plato” Likely, a local philosopher/prospector fond of quoting Plato and Socrates, and a beloved friend to the early settlers.

The ghost town of Quesnel Forks is a few kilometers down the road from Likely. It sits at the confluence of the Cariboo and the Quesnel Rivers. Our group is camping at the forestry rec site there.

The Forks have a deep history, originally as a First Nations gathering place and then as the fastest growing gold rush era colony. Today all that remains are a few log structures open to the public to explore, and a cemetery. Folks still pan for gold along the rivers here, but the real wealth is the region’s history and the characters, like John Likely, who once made it thrive.

That night, a string of thunderstorms and torrential rain hits us hard. I get little sleep, dodging the trickles of water dripping into my tent. Wherever I move my head, the water droplets conspire to find me. But I don’t mind because the river levels are low this year and all this water will surely bring them up. 

The skies clear the next day, and we consider our options. The Quesnel is the more exciting run, but we aren’t keen to paddle its scary “Devils Eyebrow” drop without our most experienced paddler, Ray, to guide us. He is still enroute. So, we opt to do a run down the kinder Cariboo River instead.

The Boo is easy to access, and it turns out to be a fun, yet serene, Class III (Intermediate) run on a remote stretch of water. We take-out right at the campsite.

River runners are nomads at heart. We break camp the next day and head 250 kms west to Taseko Junction, on the Chilko River. The drive west along Highway 20 from Williams Lake is ruggedly spectacular as it ascends into the Chilcotin Plateau. The land here is wide open and it feels different. I get a sense of leaving one world and entering another. We are now in Tsilhqot’in First Nations territory.

I perch my tent on a plateau overlooking the confluence of the Chilko and the Taseko rivers.  The Tsilhqot’in name for this area is “?Elhixidlin”, loosely meaning “where the rivers meet”. The Chilko’s clear blue water and the milky glacial Taseko mix in a slow-motion swirl of color. I am hypnotized by it.  Bald eagles soar overhead. This place is spiritual.

Trip organizer Ray likes to wake up late, so the next day the Chilko crew gets to sleep in. The crew, besides Ray, includes Colin, who excels at so many different adventure sports we nickname him “The Beast”, adventure-seeking Deanna, a recently empty-nester mom descending the Chilko for her first time, and Dan, the canoeist and wilderness gourmet chef. 

Colin, Dan and Deanna are too young to be fellow geezers. No matter, we welcome them to our group a few decades early.

The highlight of the Chilko is the White Mile. It’s an internationally renowned stretch of Class IV (Difficult) whitewater, notorious for its length and huge crashing wave trains. It is well outside my comfort zone, so I elect to sit this run out. Fellow paddlers Lloyd and Kathleen likewise. We help to support the group by running shuttle.

At this point, our adventure paths fork. The four kayakers set out on the river while Lloyd, Kathleen and I hike down toward the river’s edge, seeking to catch up with the boaters mid-run to get some action photos.

Lloyd cautions us that we are in prime grizzly bear terrain here. I volunteer that I have bear spray in my day pack.

“In that case, you go first,” they exclaim in unison.

Oops.

We aim for Bidwell Canyon, the entry rapid to the White Mile. The trail is non-existent, and we end up on a Class IV bushwack through a steep-sloped wildfire burn, choked by fallen trees. We finally emerge, scraped and soot-blackened, downstream of Bidwell, wondering if the river route would have been safer after all!

We do not spot any bears but we do see plenty of fresh scat. So maybe the bears are actually watching us.

Bidwell has huge haystack waves, and the cleanest route is guarded by semi-submerged boulders. Paddlers must execute well-timed moves to run through it safely. 

Bidwell was the site of a tragic rafting accident back in 1987 which claimed the lives of several prominent American businessmen. The story was made into a (forgettable) film called The White Mile, starring Alan Alda. That event remains very much part of the Chilko river lore.

We finally intersect with the boaters below Bidwell, just above the White Mile. All is well. There were no incidents in the tough water upstream. We get some photos and then the adventurers continue down into the White Mile and through to the take-out at our Taseko Junction campsite.

That evening, Dan cooks up a gourmet Pad Thai dinner using his three-burner camp stove and wok. Dan is an engineer, but in his camp kitchen he moves with the precision and skill of a professional chef. The result looks and smells delicious – especially compared to our lazy meals of pasta and canned heat-ups. We tease him endlessly of course, ruining our chance of getting an offer to share in his masterpiece. Later, Dan kindly cooks up a big batch of wok-popcorn for the whole crew to enjoy.

Our Taseko Junction time is too soon over and the group packs up for the return trip to the coast.

We return via Lytton for a final all-level group paddle down the lower Thompson River. At the take-out, we are back into the smoke. Breathing leaves a bad taste.  We are missing the North already.

I arrive back in Vancouver, energized by my time on the river.  We found air. We found water.  Mission accomplished!

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