{"id":11609,"date":"2017-03-29T10:00:46","date_gmt":"2017-03-29T17:00:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/community.nrs.com\/?p=11609"},"modified":"2017-04-06T11:16:59","modified_gmt":"2017-04-06T18:16:59","slug":"a-day-in-the-life-of-a-sweep-boat-captain","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2017\/03\/29\/a-day-in-the-life-of-a-sweep-boat-captain\/","title":{"rendered":"A Day in the Life of a Sweep Boat Captain"},"content":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s a meditative job, driving the sweep boat. Without any passengers vying for your attention, dubious questions unasked, unanswered. With a departure time way before the breakfast dishes have been dunked into the fourth bucket, before the last call for the Groover, before the sun has breached the protective walls of the canyon, the sweep boat floats away from camp. The current, the breeze, and the technical maneuvers needed to pass through narrow canyons and class IV rapids are the only things to ponder.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a quiet routine. One I would envy had I not been a guest\u2014a silent passenger aboard the sweep. Even in all his goofiness and outgoing personality, I could tell Ned Perry<\/a> cherished these secluded moments on his sweep. I tried to keep my questions to a minimum and just appreciate the moment, this moment: the only two people on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. Or so it felt.<\/p>\n

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Nestled in the 2.3 million acre Frank Church Wilderness Area\u2014the \u201cChurch\u201d as many locals refer to it\u2014the Salmon River is one of the longest free-flowing rivers in the Lower 48. Flowing from its beginnings in the Sawtooth Mountain range (over 9,200 feet), the Salmon drastically drops in elevation until it\u2019s confluence with the Snake River north of Hells Canyon, more than 7,000 feet lower in elevation. It\u2019s the constant gradient of the Middle Fork of the Salmon that allows outfitters, and the occasional private boaters, to use sweep boats to carry gear to camp ahead of the rest of the party.<\/p>\n

Sweep boats are massive inflatable crafts, ranging from 22-26 feet long with tubes reaching 30 inches in diameter. Unlike other oar-rigged boats, the sweep\u2019s oars\u2014called sweeps\u2014are positioned at the bow and stern. Because of the sweeps\u2019 positions, they don\u2019t propel the boat through the water, but instead only turn the boat from side-to-side, changing its angle to skirt obstacles, depending on the river\u2019s flow to move it downstream.<\/p>\n

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The sweep boat isn\u2019t a modern invention. In the 1870s and 80s flat-bottomed, wooden boats, called scows, were built to transfer mining equipment and lumber down river. It began with a 39-mile trip from Salmon, Idaho, to the mines in Shoup, Idaho. Once the scow reached Shoup, the entire boat was dismantled and sold as lumber. Returning the scow to Salmon to be re-used was impossible. This is where the Salmon River\u2019s moniker, \u201cThe River of No Return,\u201d originated.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not from Idaho. Having relocated five years ago from a small town in North Carolina, I was fascinated by the history of the massive boat I was riding on. Accustomed to the local lore of my childhood, which included the infamous pirate, Black Beard, and the numerous calamities early settlers faced in the New World, when I had heard the term The River of No Return, my mind had turned to the macabre.<\/p>\n

\u201cA trip down the River of No Return was a one-way ticket,\u201d said Ned. At least for the scow.<\/p>\n

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Captain H. Guleke is one of the most famous scow drivers from the 19th<\/sup> and 20th<\/sup> centuries. His first trip in 1896 is claimed to be the first documented passage between Salmon\u2014known then as Salmon City\u2014and Riggins in a scow, a trip totaling more than 150 miles. Before Guleke, the route had been deemed impossible. For the next 37 years, Guleke continued to navigate the Salmon by scow, floating his original route at first, but eventually pushing on to Lewiston (a total of 305 miles), dismantling the scow there, and using the lumber profits to buy a horse (and eventually hop a train) and return to Salmon to do it again. At this point in history, settlers began staking claims along the river and the earliest mining towns and homesteads were established from recycled scows.<\/p>\n

Sweep boat drivers on the Middle Fork today are far from famous. But I think it\u2019s safe to say Ned is a hometown favorite. Ned and other sweep boatmen have it easy compared to the scow drivers of the 1800s. But it doesn\u2019t come without risk, and taking those risks every single day of a multi-day trip doesn\u2019t come without serious consequences. From losing a camp\u2019s worth of gear (potentially ruining a few family vacations) to losing your life, the consequences can be brutal.<\/p>\n

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Ned has been driving sweep for eight years. In the few moments I pried into the history of the boats, I also pried into Ned\u2019s on-the-water history. He spent two years training before he unexpectedly became the only sweep boat driver. One boatman suffered a rather violent accident when he was dragged behind the sweep; he eventually took a promotion. The other driver slowed down to the occasional trip. So, for the past six years, Ned has found himself day-in-and-day-out, trip after trip, spending his days in the quiet atmosphere of the sweep.<\/p>\n

\u201cTuck your feet in, hold on and be prepared to hit the rock wall on river left,\u201d Ned said as we neared Pistol Creek, a rapid confined by a narrow canyon. All guides and oarsmen prepare in advance for a rapid, successfully styling one (seemingly) without effort, while their mind is on the next rapid far beyond the average guest\u2019s gaze. Ned takes that planning and preparation one step further. Moving a sweep boat by a slight angle takes time. With his feet firmly planted, we entered Pistol Creek. I was too focused on not falling out of the boat, not smashing a body part against rock and attempting to take pictures to watch Ned, but I imagined his face growing more red, his eyes focusing on the line to take\u2014not the obstacles to miss\u2014and using his entire body to move the poles attached to the sweep.<\/p>\n

I heard a thwack. Something hit rock, hard. In the end, Ned did his job too well. He overcompensated the angle to miss the wall, but came too close to a boulder, smashing his front sweep. Like a compound fracture, the sweep hung at an odd angle. We stopped at Indian Creek Ranger Station to assess the damage and salvage discarded wood for the sweep\u2019s repair. Ned decided we could make it to camp with the broken sweep where he could take the time to patch it.<\/p>\n