{"id":35300,"date":"2025-02-14T08:00:19","date_gmt":"2025-02-14T16:00:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/?p=35300"},"modified":"2025-02-24T14:40:20","modified_gmt":"2025-02-24T22:40:20","slug":"when-hell-flooded","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2025\/02\/14\/when-hell-flooded\/","title":{"rendered":"When Hell Flooded"},"content":{"rendered":"

We pushed our boats through the lower reaches of Hells Canyon, dragging our sopping, sleep-deprived selves towards the confluence with the Lower Salmon. As we made our way into the land of jet boats, we readied to make big miles down to whatever scrappy little camp we could get. Drearily rounding the corner past the confluence, I stared downstream, where, to my utter shock, the huge beach at Confluence Camp was wide open. Overwhelmed by relief and frankly, a bit of awe, I started whooping hysterically.<\/p>\n

Hells Canyon is, at its best, austere, grand\u2014breathtaking. At its worst, it is harsh, aggravating, and exhausting. It felt every bit the latter in Spring of \u201921 as we pushed off on one of the dreaded \u201cFour-day Snake trips.\u201d Our outfitter runs a few of these every year, instead of the traditional five-day trip, with the thought that high water should make it an easy 80-odd miles.<\/p>\n

The catch, this year, was that instead of the historical 30-50,000 cfs, we were running on 6,000-9,000. The low water level was comically absurd. But as they say, the show must go on. We woke up early, pushed all day, and barely got to camp by dark. Ulli, the trip leader, determinedly ploughed through the wind and rain, followed by Jack, Kale, myself, and first-year guides Aron and Ethan. By day two, we were completely delirious.<\/p>\n