Bulletin E-Edition:
Deschutes River beckons paddlers
Kayaking above Benham Falls satisfies spring urge
By David Jasper / The Bulletin
Published: March 11. 2010 4:00AM PST
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The footbridge at Benham Falls can be seen in the distance, downstream from the Benham Falls boat ramp.
David Jasper / The Bulletin
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Sunshine and warmish temperatures in early March?
Yes, please.
Whether you believe global warming is a figment of our thermometers’ collective imaginations, the price of doing business on a wimpy planet or alarmingly real, I think we can all agree that a warm day in Central Oregon in early March is a gift from the divine meteorologists.
Last Friday dawned clear, with the weather predicted to warm up into the 50s by the forecasters, who giveth and taketh away. So, while they were being warm and generous with the degrees, I decided to head to Benham Falls, about a 20-minute drive from my house. My intention was to paddle upstream on the Deschutes River, which sounded surprisingly inviting after all these months away from it.
Besides, I figured, there’ll be no one around to razz me about my bathtub boat, it being noon on a weekday in early March.
Let me explain. The first time I used my sit-on-top kayak 10 years ago, some landlubber watched me paddle by and said, unprovoked, that it looked like I was paddling in a bathtub.
It’s been kayak insecurity ever since. I was happy to get it that Christmas, although its dimensions did give me pause once I realized the other half of the kayak was not being obscured by the tree.
First time I used it, I thought to myself. “I can’t fully extend my legs, but that’s OK.” I also noticed it was a little wobbly, but then it’s a pretty good core workout just trying to stay balanced in that thing.
And it didn’t track very well, meaning that it didn’t go straight, its tendency being to turn with each stroke. One strong push on the paddle you can do a 360, which comes in handy whenever you want to pretend you’re stuck in a whirlpool.
Six or seven years ago, a friend wanted to borrow it to use in that year’s Pole Pedal Paddle. He took one look at the kayak, and headed to the now-defunct G.I. Joe’s to buy a real kayak.
Still, I’ve kept it all these years because it’s a nice way to get out on the water alone without having to lug my heavy aluminum canoe, which usually means taking someone else along. Other people are great, but they have a way of wrecking solitude. (For proof, visit the Sparks Lake boat launch at noon on a Saturday in July.)
Back to the mission: paddling on a more or less secluded stretch of the Deschutes, which I figured would be deserted this time of year.
I soon found out how wrong I could be when I pulled in to see three gentlemen hanging out on the boat ramp. They appeared to be eating lunch while their large-breed dogs romped around the bank off-leash.
Was I really going to launch the bathtub with this audience?
Of course I was. I tried waiting them out for a few minutes, but they apparently had nowhere they needed to be, and I needed to be on that river.
When I approached, carrying my boat and paddle in one hand (not really), one of them pointed a few yards upstream of the ramp and recommended I put in there to avoid the mud.
As I neared, I saw what he meant. The river was 2 or 3 feet below the usual waterline, with exposed mud for banks. I stepped into the muck and almost lost one of my sandals. I didn’t, thanks to whoever invented Velcro.
It was slow progress in that boat against the current. Eventually, I rounded the bend and came upon the ruins of an old bridge or dock that I planned to check out on the best part of my outing: the part where I let the current carry me back.
I gingerly took photos during paddle breaks, not wanting to upset the balance of nature, or at least my balance in my kayak tub. A flock of ducks kept flying upstream every time I neared within snapping distance, and I would drift back downstream several yards anytime I stopped paddling.
There were several boulder-strewn patches along the way, and one underwater boulder about the size of a Volkswagen. It just barely protruded above the surface. Trees lined the high banks on the north side of the river along the stretch I explored, and I promised myself I’d return come summer, by canoe or kayak.
Though the foliage on the banks was by no means lush this time of year, there was a hint of spring, mainly due to the sun peeking from behind clouds. That effect wouldn’t last the afternoon, as clouds increased and the wind picked up.
After about an hour of paddling, I let the boat spin and the river carry me downstream back to the old pilings, which I learned from a nearby plaque were part of an old railroad dock built in the 1930s as part of the Wickiup Reservoir clearing project. Logs were floated downstream, then loaded on trains and taken to Bend for milling.
The next stop was the boat ramp. You don’t want to make the mistake of missing that and accidentally going over the Class 5 rapids downstream.
By the time I got there, the sun was obscured by clouds and my left foot was starting to ache from the cold.
Maybe I’d jumped the gun, like my wakeboarding neighbor, who I’ve seen load up his boat and head out as early as April.
I understand the urge. This time of year, living this far north and at this elevation, you really have to grab the sunshine with both hands when the sun is out: Make hay, paddle a toy kayak, or just turn your face skyward while you walk through a parking lot.
If you have no idea what I mean, well, I’m sure there’s a “Twilight” sequel in production that could use a pasty extra such as yourself.
David Jasper can be reached at 541-383-0349 or at djasper@bendbulletin.com.
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