The Indeterminacy of Translation

“…in point of epistemological footing, the physical objects and the gods differ only in degree and not in kind.”

-W.V. Quine

Sandy and Larry descending to the river.

This past weekend, with three others solicited from, I paddled what might be the premier 2-3 (or more) day packrafting trip in the lower 48. In Montana’s Great Bear Wilderness we hiked Morrison Creek in to a point just west of Schaeffer Meadows, then packrafted out to Essex. The first day was spent hiking, with a little floating. The next two days involved 8+ hours of paddling each. River levels dropped from 1300 to around 1100 cfs over the course of the trip, at the West Glacier gauge.

The weather was consistently extraordinary.  It was nice to not worry about being too cold.

I call it perhaps the premier trip because it offers tremendous scenery, extraordinary, varied floating, world class trout fishing, and relative solitude, all with modest effort and fairly simple logistics. The drive from the Essex boat ramp to the TH is 30-40 minutes, on highway and good dirt roads. The hike in is a good horse trail, and almost entirely a gentle downhill.

I caught some trout.

The initial few miles below Schaeffer are meandering and flat, with good campsites and fishing holes. When the river turns north and the Three Forks section begins life is about to become more interesting. It took us around 3 hours to paddle the ~4-5 miles from camp to Lodgepole Creek. There are some honest rapids in those miles, which involved technical boulder dodging and slot threading at our water level. Everything was runnable, and while the crux rapids involved (for us) scouting and direct attention, the current was gentle and forgiving. More noteworthy is the steep gradient of the whole section, which when combined with the low water explains our extremely slow progress. We stayed in our boats the whole time, save one or two occasions which mandated dragging, but the steep rock dodging, pirouetting, and scooting were impressively sustained and continuous. These sections weren’t gravel bar riffles in the classic MT river fashion, but straight line, river wide steep and shallow rock (rather than boulder) gardens. While our slow pace was worrisome, I enjoyed the unique, strenuous and entertaining paddling.

Larry in the crux rapid of Three Forks.

Justin combat-boating the same.  The fisher and his partner were loaded for bear (coolers, bows, etc), and had quite the struggle in this section.

Below Lodgepole Creek the flow increased and became more consistently channeled, and this combined with a slacker gradient and a more classic pool and drop character provided much faster floating (2.5 – 3 mph). The scenery was stunning, with 90 degree bends, big limestone cliffs, hanging gardens, deep pools, crystalline water, huge fish, and a tight canyon being the rule of the day. For me, the stretch from Lodgepole to Granite Creek might have been the best of all, and worthy of a shorter loop all its own. Good gravel bar camping abounds.

The second crux rapid near the end of Three Forks.  Note human on right.

Larry in said rapid.  Sandy got pinned and flipped a few rocks higher.

Sandy in a typical pool drop riffle.

The rest of the river to Essex maintains much the same character, with plenty of burly riffles between gentle stretches to capture your attention. The exception is the Spruce Park section, which forms the second and in most respects harder crux of the run. The section begins with a short, steep boulder rapid, with the water being concentrated enough to look pushy and demanding. We all portaged this save Justin, who made a very clean and stylish run. For the next ~1 mile the river stays in an intermittent, narrow bedrock canyon, with numerous pool drop rapids. The channel is quite narrow throughout, and the contrast in style between this section and Three Forks is at low water quite drastic. Several of the rapids were worthy of careful attention, and we found one pushy boulder slot with enough barely covered toothy conglomerate rocks that we all portaged. Our pace through Spruce slowed at the 1 mph range or slower, due to frequent scouting.

Entry rapid in Spruce Park.

It should be noted that the river rocks all appear to be coated in trout slime, and that scouting and portaging might be just as hazardous as running the harder rapids.

Spruce Park ends rather obviously as the immediate banks widen, and soon thereafter we began to see day-tripping fly fishers on the bank. The rest of the run down to Essex is an excellent winding down for a superlative trip.

Justin in a lesser rapid in Spruce Park.  He did borrow Sandy’s helmet to run the immediately above.

So what does it all mean?  Or, why packrafting?  The transition from the three days of the weekend to work today was, with the trips embeddedness in the landscape and the new school-year’s stress (for my clients and their parents), particularly heightened.  How is it that these two worlds exist, 50 miles apart as the osprey flies?

Sunday morning.  I caught that fat fish in the foggy pool the evening before.

I packraft, and recommend that more do the same, because you see things differently.  It eschews the cumbersome gaudiness of “float trips” for the lean intimacy of backpacking, but unlike so much walking on trails, takes the landscape at its own pace and on its own terms.  The epistemic footing of the gods, for those inclined to see things like Thoreau.

Trout on a stick.  Slower than poaching, but better flavor.  Use a green stick so it doesn’t char.

Insofar as translating that experience back into the civilized world (or, writing a blog post) is concerned, this not categorically more futile than ordering an espresso, or telling someone you love them.  And being in Big Wilderness does give a good sense of scale, which might help keep those other bits of intersubjectivity (or, living as such) in proper perspective and in so doing make them easier.

Larry and Sandy, last rapid before camp on Sunday.

So, I am in summary exceedingly pleased with the weekend.  In a year of excellent trips in holds up very well.  Go do it, you.

Fore to aft: 2011 Yak, 2010 Yak, 2009 Yak, 2009 Llama.


11 responses to “The Indeterminacy of Translation”

  1. Really, really nice trip. I wish there would ne also such great locations near me
    Did you also make a video???

    1. No vid. Still disenchanted with the medium at the moment.

  2. Thanks for the great trip report, I can only dream of doing a pack rafting trip like that.

    Nice fish too, what Tenkara do you have.


    1. The Amago. It’s beef was very useful on this trip.

  3. Nice post and great looking pictures! Makes me want to do some packrafting. Luckily, some is scheduled for the next week. No wilderness but still white water:)

  4. […] individuality is a lie, or at least phantasmagoric, than solo backpacking must be suicidal.  Right?  In spite of, and because of this, I enjoy it […]

  5. […] individuality is a lie, or at least phantasmagoric, than solo backpacking must be suicidal.  Right?  In spite of, and because of this, I enjoy it […]

  6. […] Yardsale!  Justin will remember this as the end, at last, of the slow scrapping that was Three Forks. […]

  7. […] end.  And no, volume of experience is not a more simple way to separate one from the other.  As I said when I first did this trip two years ago:  “…in point of epistemological footing, the physical […]

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