Moore has a grin plastered across his face, white teeth flashing beneath his mirrored sunglasses. He descends the last of the steep canyon slope into camp; we watch from the riverbank, where Steve and I had turned from teasing smallies to glance up-slope at the sound of rolling rock.
His shotgun is strapped across his back, and he has something in each hand that dragged along the ground.
“What the hell… ?”
Steve is equally confused: “Firewood… ?”
“They look like giant rabbits…”
“Jacks… Dude, they’re jackrabbits. What the hell do we do with them?”
Moore stops in front of us, lifting his bounty with a piratical grin: “Look what daddy brought home!”
***
Moore, our kayak ninja and neophyte hunter, knew we were looking for dinner when we sent him off earlier in the day. He later told us he’d climbed to the canyon rim and found these two hopping through the wheat fields up top.
But jacks… really? Rumored to be stringy dark meat and not at all cottontail-like, we were nevertheless honor bound to cook them up. Fortunately, by this time, Callie, our cook-cum-masseuse, had joined us. “Yum!” she said, smiling big. “Slow cook, with rosemary and red potatoes, a salad… bon appetit!”
Eating locally and living off the land (to some degree, at least) when we float a canyon is an integral part of our adventure. A chance to cut loose our inner predator and live a little like old-time explorers. Lewis and company, for example, having to live off what they could catch, shoot, barter or gather. It puts a daily imperative into our camp routine.
Sure, we’ve brought the freeze-dried along in the event we draw a blank, but if you’re anything like us, it’s the same half-dozen shelf-worn Mylar bags we’ve packed for the last couple decades. Why not leave that plastic-enshrined meat from the market at home and draw from the bounty of a healthy riverine ecosystem?
A Floating Deli
Classic floats on big rafts are essentially a floating deli, but a very low-water float in the summer heat can put the perish in perishables.
Pack your veggies—eating locally in the canyon is mostly a carnivorous proposition. Still, desert canyons in the southwest have a few options in addition to wild game: yucca and a couple types of cacti, even the mesquite trees have some high-protein pods. A little miner’s lettuce or blackberries is about all I’ve come across here in the northwest.
Forage with caution and a good guidebook: I recall the deaths of several in a rafting party on the Deschutes after mistaking water hemlock for wild asparagus. Alfalfa sprouts are a creative thought, if handled carefully. Our cook brought a batch on the Owyhee once but forgot to bring them into her tent and they froze overnight. Apart from the staples we bring, typically rice and pasta, wild game heads up the menu.
Do You Like Fish?
Unquestionably, the easiest harvest from river canyons is fish. There are different species and regs for different states and rivers, but all rivers are home to one finny critter or another. Unless you’re an experienced fisherman, bass are probably the easiest fish to catch. They’re present on most rivers, including the Deschutes as of recent years. Regs notwithstanding, you can catch them on spin or fly tackle, possibly live bait.
Both largemouth and smallmouth bass are present in most northwest river canyons. They’re commonly in the 8” to 10” range and make for a good meal. Best cooked filleted to avoid bones, or they can be field dressed for expediency. Pan fried, salt and peppered to taste, even the skins when cooked crispy (scaled) are delicious. When possible, I like to cook fish whole on a hot rock taken from the fire.
Other than bass, for anglers not savvy with steelhead or salmon tactics, I would suggest either catfish or whitefish. There are trout in most of the river canyons, but we leave them be. Whitefish meat is firm and similar to trout. They have small, pin-like bones along their spines, so filleting requires a slightly altered technique to that of other game fish. They have small mouths requiring a small hook and you’ll find them near river bottom.
Catfish are not the draw they are in the south but they’re at home in many river canyons in the northwest. Fishing for them is not as active a proposition as most game fish—a line with a baited hook is all you need. Even the rod and reel can be dispensed with if necessary.
The Green River in Utah has a fine population of channel cats. I bring along a little jar of stink bait and some size #2 bait hooks, two- to four-ounce weights and 50 feet of heavy monofilament. I chuck this in a back eddy and before long, dinner is ready.
Steelhead and salmon that visit northwest waters to spawn are generally a sophisticated angling quarry. Except for narrow hatchery windows, fishing is entirely catch-and-release as most native stocks are threatened. Like the native trout, we typically leave the salmonid family alone (in fresh water, at least).
The only memory I have of eating steelhead in the field in thirty years of fishing was early on. A buddy and I made a guerrilla-style overnight strike, hiking up the Deschutes from river mouth in a 100° swelter to catch the evening sesh, then sleep under the stars to catch the 5 a.m. sesh and hike out to get back to Portland by noon. Anyway, we landed a steelhead that we could not revive (I don’t recall whether it was wild or not). We decided to pay homage to its life by eating it. We found a rusty old shovel blade some rancher had discarded and heated it in a campfire until it was red hot. I laid the fish down, sizzling like crazy, flipped it not much later—it was absolutely the finest fish dinner ever.
Before we leave the water, I will mention mussels. Freshwater mussels are present in most river canyons. Native peoples ate them regularly, when the world was a different place. Being a fan of steamed mussels, and with no threat of PSP, I gave them a try. They were as chewy as rubber. Word to the wise: mussels are filter feeders and absorb pollutants in the river system. Furthermore, on some rivers they’re endangered or threatened. In all cases but the most extreme, they’re not a desirable option.
A Feathered Feast
Once we step out of the water and saunter through the sagebrush, we have another set of options, none of which you’re going to bring back to camp without a firearm of some kind.
Game birds make for a fantastic field menu. They’re a tougher nut to crack than fish, however. First, it has to be open season and that doesn’t typically kick in until October. Some of the best windows for floating these canyons occur then, however, with fewer people and the chance of some fine summer-like weather. Upland birds will be your best bet. Quail and chukar and possibly Hungarian partridge. This is the realm of the shotgun.
Bird sound is the most common way you’ll become aware of your quarry’s presence. Chukar have a distinctive repeated chuck, chuck, chuck call that intensifies in series. There are chukar in all our deep river canyons and they’re a worthy prey. About the size of a JV football, they’re delicious. Try them pan-fried with salt and pepper in butter, perhaps a few mushrooms and a clove of garlic.
The only caveat is that they’re the sporting challenge equivalent of a fly-caught steelhead, meaning best of luck, even if you know what you’re about. Steep canyon walls are their zone. And by the time you climb close enough to get a shot, they’re off in a flurry of wings to rimrock half a mile downriver.
Quail are often your best bet for game. If there are birds around, you’ll likely hear their familiar chip, chip, chip as you float past. Quail are delicious, if small, but one per person will do the trick—they are precious gifts. The occasional pheasant may cross your path. We’ve found them on both the John Day and the Deschutes, but they’re generally happier in the hay and alfalfa fields (along with those jackrabbits) stretching out in all directions from the canyon rim.
Waterfowl will often land on the water at certain times of year on their annual migration. If you’re licensed for waterfowl and appropriately armed, a meal of duck or goose can feel like an early Christmas feast.
Finally, and defying game bird classification, are rock dove. All the canyons in the northwest have populations of pigeon, another name for rock dove, and they’re quite tasty—think mature squab. These are open year-round in most states. However, there may be restrictions disallowing the discharge of firearms within a certain distance of campsites. Again, check the regs before you go. Otherwise, the drill is to find the roost on a cliff, ideally low enough to reach them with a ball of shot.
Know the Risks: Mercury Exposure
Not to put a damper on the idea of eating local, but I would be remiss if I did not mention mercury. Mercury exposure is prevalent throughout the nation. A naturally occurring element, mercury can be released into the environment from natural sources and human activities like coal-fired power plants, industrial processes and mining. Both fish and game birds are prone to having mercury in their system in the northwest. The ODFW recommends limited consumption: six meals per month (fish) last I checked, with no data on chukar/quail. Again, read those regs. Most rivers will have individual advisories as well.
Other Desert Denizens
And in the spirit of being thorough, there are other desert denizens such as rattlesnakes, raccoon, desert cottontail rabbit and porcupine, none of which we hunt for. They might be tastier than the aforementioned Jacks, but I have never seen the desert cottontail in sufficient numbers to justify harvest. There are larger game animals around, of course: deer, antelope and sheep, but they’re much larger quarry than fits into this equation.
They Who Make it Happen
Cornerstone to moveable feasting is your cook. We’ve had half a dozen cooks over the years, but more often than not, Dawn Rachel, our Dutch Oven Diva, would grab the gig as soon as she got wind of it on the grapevine.
Years ago, on the John Day River, a group of us found ourselves tucked under the broad skirt of an ancient juniper. Like the wayward pines of hobbit tales, these magnificent trees—we found one elder giant unfailingly in every camp—sheltered our entire party at night from the late season winds and wet that swept down the canyon. In our cozy understory we hung lanterns and stashed gear, ate like kings and sipped our scotches and beer. I puffed on my pipe and listened to the mbira, the melodic Gamelan rhythms blending with the purl of riversong and the whistle of the first winter wind in the junies. After the last bone was tossed on the fire, Dawn (or D, as I call her) brought over the Dutchie.
We‘d finished supper an hour ago, a savory chukar cacciatore—this must be dessert. D took off the lid, shone her headlamp inside, turned to us and cracked a smile. “Huckleberry Dump Cake,” she said, laughing. “Say that three times fast.”
Damn. How much better could it get?
Hot, delicious dessert eaten in such conditions is a thing of near-embarrassing pleasure. We all tucked into our bowls and said no more than mumbling accolades in D’s direction.
Final Note
That’s the nuts and bolts of what’s involved. If it sounds like an intriguing idea but you’re just not a hunter, one of your boating mates likely is. And if you’re like me and enjoy adding a little spice to your adventure, consider scoping out the local scene for some fresh eats. Skip the Mylar bags, cut loose the inner predator and source your meal from the land. Trust me—it’s worth the effort.