{"id":35718,"date":"2025-03-31T08:00:35","date_gmt":"2025-03-31T15:00:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/?p=35718"},"modified":"2025-03-31T14:42:32","modified_gmt":"2025-03-31T21:42:32","slug":"salmon-river-sweep-boat","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2025\/03\/31\/salmon-river-sweep-boat\/","title":{"rendered":"Twenty-Three Feet of Terror and Tradition"},"content":{"rendered":"

Kerry\u2019s worn Converse were laced tight. He stood easily on the platform in the center of the boat, sweep arm handles held loosely in his hands. I shoved the aging 23-foot boat away from shore with all my might. Beached on the massive tube, I flopped and kicked. Finally, I managed to scramble to my pre-arranged seat atop a teetering stack of yellow dry bags. Kerry angled the boat left and we swung out wide to avoid a pile of exposed rocks river center. But the river makes a sharp turn to the right. Only 50 yards from the boat ramp, and just 50 yards into my very first trip on a sweep boat, I was certain we were going to crash.<\/span><\/p>\n

The left bank approached. I death-gripped the cowling and side-eyed Kerry. Stance wide, he made five or six short, aggressive pulls using his whole body. We pivoted. I let out the breath I\u2019d been holding.<\/span><\/p>\n

But as soon as the intended slot came into view, I was doubly certain<\/span> of catastrophe. There was no way this honking boat was fitting through a slot so narrow. As if I was at the apex of a rollercoaster, trying not to topple over the lip, I leaned away from the drop. I leaned so far back, I was parallel with the tubes. My stomach lurched as we dropped in. With an emphatic noise, the boat scraped rocks on both sides. The contact did nothing to deter our trajectory. Instead, we gained momentum. Kerry kicked back against the cowling, launching his bodyweight forward. The boat turned responsively, but the rate at which we were gaining speed was alarming.<\/span><\/p>\n