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Undammed

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Kayaker, guide and writer Susan Hollingsworth reflects on how a free-flowing lifestyle led her to take up the cause for free-flowing rivers.

 

The White Salmon River starts as ice.  Tumbling from the Heights of Mount Adams, cold glacial runoff spills through some of the Northwest’s best whitewater rapids – Big Brother, Double Drop, BZ Falls, Husum Falls – before joining the mighty Columbia River. Once prime habitat for migrating salmon, the 1913 construction of Condit Dam rendered the White Salmon off limits to fish.

Until now.

After more than a decade of bureaucratic wrangling, the decision was made to breach Condit Dam. On October 26, 2011, a planned explosion ripped a gaping hole in its base.

The same features that make the White Salmon a haven for salmon and for whitewater boaters made it a prime target for 20th century energy entrepreneurs. But by 2011, the political and economical waters had shifted. Endangered salmon needed access to spawning grounds above Condit Dam, and profits from Condit’s energy production didn’t justify investment in a fish passage system. So dam owner PacifiCorp quite literally pulled the plug.

After more than a decade of bureaucratic wrangling, the decision was made to breach Condit Dam. On October 26, 2011, a planned explosion ripped a gaping hole in its base. Water roared downstream. The reservoir above the dam disappeared in a matter of hours. By August 2012, Condit Dam will be gone.
The memory of that October day draws an amazed grin to my face. I’m still unsure just how the stars aligned for me to end up living along the White Salmon River just in time to see Condit blow, especially when I consider the event’s profound significance.

My journey to the White Salmon began in 2007 when I left the confines of a research lab to spend the summer as a wandering kayaker. I thought that by exchanging the lab coat for a dry top, I was putting my career in ecology and conservation on hold, but that turned out not to be the case. Instead, I took a job inspiring others to seek a connection to the outdoors.

I taught people to kayak. More important, I taught people to appreciate rivers.

 

Migrating between river communities, I found myself gravitating toward projects dealing with the protection and preservation of the rivers I loved. I composed articles for blogs and magazines, organized festivals and symposiums, and gathered signatures for pro-salmon legislation. Landing in the White Salmon River valley nearly two year ago, I found myself at the epicenter of a landmark river conservation project. That project will eventually lead to the removal of Condit Dam and restoration of the river channel.

But that’s not why I chose the White Salmon River. I went there to kayak. 

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I first discovered the Northwest’s liquid treasure during the 2009 spring semester with World Class Academy, a progressive high school that combines rigorous academics with advanced kayaking instruction and community service.  In between teaching and coaching, I paddled new river stretches from the southwestern province of China to the High Sierras of California. Despite the breathtaking beauty of these regions, it was driving along route 14 from Portland, Oregon to White Salmon, Washington that really knocked the wind out of me. Arriving in the small town of BZ Corner, we crossed the White Salmon near the put-in for the middle section.  It was as if someone had cut a deep slit in the earth and peeled apart the layers just wide enough for a sparkling blue river to flow through far below.

It was as if someone had cut a deep slit in the earth and peeled apart the layers just wide enough for a sparkling blue river to flow through far below.

Walking down to the river that night after our classes, I felt the temperature drop at least ten degrees.  The river’s chill heightened my senses and snapped me into full awareness of my surroundings.  Thick mosses coated the rocks with every possible shade of green. Looking up, steep basalt columns pushed out the rest of the world as trees leaned over the edge high above. Water poured gracefully over boulders, revealing the riverbed through clear, deep pools. I hadn’t even paddled yet and I was already mesmerized.

Sadly, I wouldn’t actually get to paddle during that trip. Instead, an unfortunate shoulder injury forced me into the shuttle bunny role for a few weeks. I’m not sure what was worse, spending ten days in the Columbia River Gorge wanting desperately to paddle, or spending the rest of our semester hearing about what I’d missed. Either way, I knew I’d be back. Returning to the Northwest was inevitable; so, as it turned out, was working for Condit Dam removal.

As my time at World Class came to an end, I found another kayaking school that perfectly fit my professional goals. It also happened to be located on the White Salmon. So I loaded up the Subaru to begin my new job with Wet Planet Whitewater Center.

Wet Planet Whitewater Center does more than just take people down rivers. They hook you. Every guide’s goal is for every guest to fall in love with moving water. The company is also committed to helping people appreciate the importance of river conservation. Wet Planet was the perfect match for my brewing skill set.

I immediately adopted the company’s blog, The Eddy Line, and transformed it into a megaphone for river news in the Columbia Gorge.

That winter, I dove into the legal documents regarding the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission’s Surrender Order for the Condit Dam’s Decommission. I also began working with Thomas O’Keefe, American Whitewater’s Northwest Stewardship Director.  As a signatory to the settlement agreement, AW has long advocated removing the dam, often representing the river during complicated legal proceedings.

“Much of the dam removal and restoration work in this region is driven by fishery needs, but paddlers have a unique perspective on the benefits of restored rivers,” says O’Keefe.  “We can bring a human dimension to these projects and highlight the ways that people can enjoy rivers.”

What the Condit discussion was lacking, I discovered, was the direct input of the local paddling community. With Tom’s guidance, I happily fit the pieces together to fill the void. I knew that representing White Salmon kayakers and rafters would help ensure access to this spectacular whitewater resource. Living on the river’s banks (at the take-out for the legendary Green Truss section, to be specific) helped me coordinate local events such as the “Free the White Salmon River” party.  On blast day in October, paddlers and other river lovers gathered to celebrate the draining of Northwestern Lake and the reappearance of a lost river canyon.

But nothing I’ve done has helped the river’s cause more than running kayak courses and rafting trips on the Wild and Scenic stretch of the White Salmon, revealing the deep connection between people and moving water. While teaching kayaking courses, I cherish that definitive moment when a student falls in love with the sport. For some, it is the tranquility of floating on water, or the adrenaline spike of surfing a wave for the first time. For others, it is the freedom of moving through the most spectacular places and working with a powerful, natural force that sets their hearts on fire.  The connection between that moment and the importance of free-flowing rivers is unmistakable.

Sitting on the lake, they would look around, imagining the canyon walls that lurked beneath the boat and the presence of a river far below.

Before Condit was breached, I used our classic Middle White Salmon rafting trips as an opportunity to educate.  As the raft neared the reservoir and the river slowed, I would describe the area’s history, the cultural importance of salmon and the exciting prospect of revealing a new stretch of whitewater.  “They are going to drill a huge hole in this massive dam and let the whole lake drain in one big flood event,” I would exclaim.  “Imagine that!”

Best of all, the rafting guests got it.  Sitting on the lake, they would look around, imagining the canyon walls that lurked beneath the boat and the presence of a river far below.  They were hooked.

Although Condit Dam has been breached, work remains to be done. From helping restore the river to its natural state to ensuring the creation and management of boater access points along the new stretch of river, the White Salmon needs continued support and exposure.

“Those who paddle and explore rivers have an important role being able to tell the story of river restoration and recovery,” says O’Keefe. “With our writing, photography, and video, we can document rivers that are being restored.”

The liberation of the White Salmon River will go down in history, and I plan on being there to watch the whole thing happen. Had I not let my life flow freely in the same way – a prospect many find frightening or impossible – I may never have had this chance.

J