{"id":28685,"date":"2023-03-24T12:00:55","date_gmt":"2023-03-24T19:00:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/community.nrs.com\/?p=28685"},"modified":"2023-04-21T11:00:26","modified_gmt":"2023-04-21T18:00:26","slug":"the-grand-salmon-journals-from-blizzards-to-log-jams-bluegrass-to-the-main","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2023\/03\/24\/the-grand-salmon-journals-from-blizzards-to-log-jams-bluegrass-to-the-main\/","title":{"rendered":"The Grand Salmon Journals: From Blizzards to Log Jams, Bluegrass to the Main"},"content":{"rendered":"

Over the course of the spring and summer in 2022, The Grand Salmon team skied, whitewater kayaked and sea kayaked from the headwaters of the Salmon River in central Idaho to the Pacific Ocean. The women completed this 1,000+ mile source-to-sea expedition as a conservation project, promoting the removal of the four lower Snake River dams and a moratorium on the Stibnite Gold Project, in order to save the rapidly dwindling Snake River Basin salmon populations from extinction.<\/em><\/p>\n

Following the natural migration of chinook and sockeye salmon, the team launched on April 29, around the same time the salmon were hatching from their spawning grounds at the headwaters of the Salmon River. The team followed the salmon smolts\u2019 migration path for the following 79 days, reaching the Pacific Ocean around the same time the salmon reached the ocean.<\/em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

The following is a collaboration of journal entries, art, and reflection by the three core paddlers of The Grand Salmon team: Hailey Thompson, Libby Tobey, and Brooke Hess<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n

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Photo: Trent Holenbeck<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Day 1 \u2013 Day 8: Skiing the Headwaters and Hopscotching Log Jams on the Middle Fork
\n<\/strong>From the journals and thoughts of Libby Tobey<\/em><\/p>\n

Intentionally shoving myself sideways through a logjam (in a longboat, during a blizzard) wasn\u2019t quite as romantic a beginning to the Grand Salmon as I\u2019d expected. We were only a few miles into the paddle down Marsh Creek, but Brooke Hess, Dave Gardner and I were already questioning the decisions that landed us there. In many ways, though, this scenario illustrates the reality of the project. The Grand Salmon was a massive effort, and a pretty sexy one in the grand scheme of conservation advocacy\u2014looking at you, Benny Marr\u2014but it certainly wasn\u2019t always a walk in the park.<\/p>\n

The first lines in the journal I kept during the expedition read: \u201cHow are we already here\u2026? After so many months of planning, agonizing, and dreaming about what this project could be\u2013it feels impossible to be standing at the starting line.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

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Libby Tobey, photo: Dave Gardner<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The actual starting line, which preceded the log jam fiesta of Marsh Creek by a day, graced us with a window of sunshine before the storm clouds rolled in. We had decided, in our pre-expedition enthusiasm, to ski tour the headwaters of each fork of the Salmon before<\/em> launching on the river. And so, on the morning of our first day, we toured up the headwaters of Cape Horn Creek, with stunning views over Banner Summit and the tiny stream in the valley below us.<\/p>\n

We even, after a slushy but glorious ski back to the valley floor, sloshed into the creek in our ski boots and scooped up handfuls of snowmelt to drink. In that moment, I remember being overwhelmed by the sheer sense of scale, gazing at the creek and thinking about the hundreds of miles of travel awaiting us. Those thoughts came with a huge sense of impostor syndrome: who were we to be wading into this decades-long fight? What could three kayakers really hope to accomplish in a challenge this big\u2026?<\/p>\n

The next morning did nothing to improve the sense of Impostor syndrome. Our planned launch on Marsh Creek coincided with one of the biggest winter storms to hit the Sawtooths all season. Dave, Brooke and I packed our Green Boats along the side of the highway in driving snow and launched from four-foot snowbanks into the creek, which was two-four inches deep at best. That first day was a portage-filled slog. The past season\u2019s fires had primed the headwaters for downfall, and it felt at times like half the forest had ended up in the creek.<\/p>\n