Rafting

Tumbleweed Rapid came up fast, a distinct horizon line where the river dropped over a sharp ledge and funneled into a punchy wave train below. From the raft, we could see the smooth tongue of water sliding toward a sudden curl of whitewater. We squared up and dug in, the bow dropping cleanly over the edge before slamming into the first standing wave. Water exploded over the front, soaking the crew and setting off a round of cheers and shouts. The current pushed hard but steady as we rode out the rest of the waves, grinning and wide-eyed as we regrouped in the calmer water below.

We spotted our first black bear from the raft, a dark shape moving confidently along the shoreline. It paused to sniff the air, completely unfazed by our presence as we floated by in quiet awe. The question, half-joking and half-wishful, made its way around the boat: “Can we pet them?” The answer, of course, is a clear no. As curious and calm as they might seem from a distance, black bears are wild animals with instincts that deserve respect. Watching it move effortlessly along the riverbank was a reminder of how wild and untouched this stretch of the Salmon really is.

There’s something special about a family that floats together. On the Salmon River, every rapid becomes an opportunity for bonding, every wave a chance to share in the adventure. From the quiet moments of paddling through calm stretches to the chaos of navigating bigger rapids, each twist and turn brought us closer. We leaned on each other’s experience and laughter, learning to read the river as one. The shared splashes, the collective cheers, and even the screams in the rougher water became part of the family story we were creating.

The air was filled with the echoes of screams and shrills as we plunged into the next set of rapids. The boat bounced through the waves, sending water crashing over the sides, and the excitement was contagious. Every dip and turn through the fast-moving water seemed to amplify the shrieks of exhilaration from everyone on board. Some were caught off guard by the sheer force of the current, while others let out triumphant cheers as we powered through each wave.

The Class 2 rapids were a playful introduction to the river's energy, and we quickly found ourselves sharing the splashes as the raft bounced through the waves. The water was cool and refreshing, sending sprays over the sides as we paddled hard to keep our rhythm. Each wave hit us with a burst of cold, catching everyone off guard in the best way — laughter echoed across the raft as we dodged rocks and maneuvered through the swift water. It was the kind of rapid that had us working together, yet still feeling lighthearted, with just enough challenge to make every splash feel like a victory.

Black Creek Rapids hit with a surge of power as the river squeezed through a narrow passage between towering rocks. The raft plunged into the main current, pushing us toward a series of jagged boulders and steep, breaking waves. The boat bucked and swayed, dipping through the first set of waves as the cold water crashed over the sides. We paddled hard to keep our line, avoiding the dangerous rocks that lurked just beneath the surface. Each stroke brought us through another wild wave, the raft lifting and falling with the rhythm of the river.

We set off from the put-in, the crisp morning air filling our lungs as we pushed off into the Main Fork of the Salmon River. The water was clear and cold, flowing smoothly at first, as we made our way through the calm stretches of the river. But it didn’t take long before the river's power became undeniable. The first set of rapids approached quickly, the roar of the water growing louder as the current picked up. We paddled into the rush, the boat lifting and plunging with the waves as the first few rapids tested our coordination and nerve.

Bridge Canyon Rapid came at us fast and direct, a powerful tongue driving straight into a series of big, crashing waves stacked down the middle. The current accelerated quickly, funneling us into steep haystacks that rose high and broke hard over the bow. The first hit sent a cold wall of water straight into the front of the dory, soaking everyone up front. We kept a clean, straight line through the heart of the wave train, the boat flexing with each impact but holding its course.

232 Mile Rapid stretched wide across the river, a boulder-strewn maze where the current split and rejoined around scattered rocks. We entered on a clean center line, slipping between exposed boulders as the current surged and dropped through small ledges. A set of tight standing waves met us mid-rapid, slapping the bow and sending cold spray across the deck. The dory flexed and responded well as we picked our way through, adjusting angles quickly to stay clear of lurking rocks just beneath the surface.

212 Mile Rapid hit fast and sharp, with a narrow tongue that dropped quickly into a cluster of standing waves and chaotic boils. The main current funneled toward the center, where a series of laterals crashed hard from the right, threatening to shove the dory off line. We drove straight down the middle, punching through a steep wave that sent a cold sheet of water over the bow. Quick, controlled strokes held our angle as we threaded past submerged rocks and swirling eddies.