{"id":22962,"date":"2020-05-22T16:53:04","date_gmt":"2020-05-22T23:53:04","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/community.nrs.com\/?p=22962"},"modified":"2022-01-06T09:30:01","modified_gmt":"2022-01-06T17:30:01","slug":"hitting-rock-bottom-on-the-cheyenne-river","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2020\/05\/22\/hitting-rock-bottom-on-the-cheyenne-river\/","title":{"rendered":"Hitting Rock Bottom on the Cheyenne River"},"content":{"rendered":"

Like most river-runners, I have a love-hate relationship with rocks. In the river, rocks are usually dangerous objects to be avoided. But they also create the rapids that give rivers their personalities; and they are the art that frames the canyons. In camp, they are essential tools to pound in tent stakes, secure rafts to shore, and win rock-skipping contests. You can\u2019t be a river runner without getting at least a little curious about the billion-year-old layers of rock you float past and the billion-year-old histories they encapsulate.<\/p>\n

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I have, at various times, threatened to go back to school for a geology degree. My wife laughs each time I do.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt your age?\u201d
\nThen, I threaten to start dating a geologist.
\n\u201cAt your age?\u201d<\/p>\n

I suppose I could remind her that geologists like \u2018em old, but I don\u2019t bother. My interest in geology is not really scientific. I don\u2019t need to know anything about \u201clinear seismic inversion.\u201d\u00a0 I just want the basics: What kind of rock is that?\u00a0 Why does it look like that? How was it made? How old is it?\u00a0\u00a0To this end, I\u2019ve dabbled. I\u2019ve read a few things (mostly just the geology section) of already thin river guidebooks). Any time I have delved deeper, however, the magic always slips into math, which is where I stop. For me any sort of education requires a carrot or a stick or, as I found out this spring, an agate.<\/p>\n

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In February, our usual rafting crew celebrated the unexpected good fortune of securing four prime season permits on western rivers. But, as the pandemic began to unfold over the coming months, our celebration turned to lamentation. For weeks, the anticipation of an April 25th Montana Smith River launch was a beacon of hope at the end of a long, hard winter. We pulled rafts from storage and inflated. Organized kitchen boxes. Propane tanks were filled and trailer tires topped off. For a while, the\u00a0trip seemed likely. Then possible. Then pretty unlikely. Then canceled. There is no\u00a0heartbreak quite like that of anticipation dashed.<\/p>\n

So, all dressed up and nowhere to go, our South Dakota crew\u2014all taking\u00a0quarantining and self-isolation very seriously, decided to stay closer to home and take\u00a0advantage of spring flows and float the Cheyenne River.<\/p>\n

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We finally arrived at a bridge over the Cheyenne on Friday afternoon and set up to launch. The day was breezy and in the high 50s, the cottonwoods and willows along the river had yet to sprout leaves, and last year\u2019s dried grass still buried the fresh green grass of spring. But, the meadowlarks sang loudly, and migrating waterfowl littered the river, and for all this, it felt like spring, which is more of an attitude than a season anyway.<\/p>\n

Eric had an inflatable kayak, Andy and Sarah were in a 16\u2019 canoe, and I was in an Aire Wave Destroyer cataraft<\/a>. Perhaps overkill for water that doesn\u2019t exceed Class II, but it sure can haul a lot of gear. The flows were a little on the low side, which meant we had to choose our channels carefully or risk running aground. The low water also meant that the river shore was miles of sand, gravel, and cobble, a fact that would become fortuitous later in the trip.<\/p>\n

After a few hours of floating on Friday afternoon and a brief spat of rain, we set up camp at the confluence of the Cheyenne and several draws that drain the Southern Unit of Badlands National Park<\/a>. We built a fire, cooked dinner, pitched tents and told stories before slowly growing hushed to watch the stars come out amidst the songs of distant coyotes and wild turkeys. If you\u2019ve never seen the milky way on a clear night on the South Dakota prairie, you\u2019re missing out.<\/p>\n