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| Rectilean at Flood |
Names changed to protect the innocent.
Picking up last minute supplies in Old Town, I watch as orange clad men pull three geese carcasses out
the back of their Jeep Cherokee. Is it huntin’ season already? Gold leaves on every tree confirm the suspicion.
Must be rainin’ season down in Durango then too I reckin’. The weather man was callin’ for cold rain and cold temps.
Maybe enough to produce some run-off I hoped, but the weather man generally doesn’t ever predict that kind of
useful information. Skinny ass Tim was optimistic and so was Billy Bob Haagen Dazen. ‘Course they just wanted
us to drive down there whether the weather was gonna cooperate or not.
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| Morning at the West Fork San Juan |
We awake in the morning to the sound of rushing water and the West Fork San Juan definitely flowing,
at what’s looking to be a perfect level. The fall season announces itself with vibrant yellow and orange
vistas curving up and down the river corridor. I get out to Pagosa to make some calls and rally the posse.
Nobody wants to hike off the couch in October. I cuss furiously, take ten deep breathes and hop in my truck for
Durango. Mexi-stash Rodriguez’s kids, the Swedish Fox and Uncle skinny ass Tim are all on the Silverton to
Durango Train, but Mexi-stash himself meets up with us at Cascade Creek. It doesn’t really appear to running.
And it’s snowing off on.
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| Swollen Member |
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| Fall colors on Old Lime Creek Road keeps the women happy |
Some schlicken on Lime Creek and a good night’s rest later we are staring Billy Bob Haagen Dazen in the face,
venturing the question, is it running? It is. The look on Mexi-stash’s face is like the two faced Gemeni he is.
It says, yes it’s running, oh, it’s running and shit it’s running, all at the same time. He’s scared, but so am I,
and though Haagen Dazen is comfortable with the run he still looks kind of scared too. Maybe he knows something
I don’t know. Then I remember it’s huntin’ season. Then I remember the 30 minute commando jog across private
property. Then we load our own special breed of weaponry and head for the Rockwood Depot.
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| Drop 4 |
We hop out the buggy and unload quickly near the tracks. Nobody even drives by while we unload,
but I keep looking into the hills for eyes. Sometimes you can just feel the sketch coming on.
I start to drag my boat down the tracks but a couple of hundred yards in Billy Bob HD gives me the silent finger.
I pick my boat up just as we duck off the tracks and charge past the proverbial “no trespassing” sign, ‘cept this
one reads “violators will be shot, survivors will be shot again.” Ha ha, I think, and then I remember, it is huntin’
season.
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| Huh. |
Down the normally vacant road we silently march. Haagen Dazen, head down, whispers something about
keeping quiet until we are well of the road and man these tracks look fresh, but I’m already seeing it 20
yards in front of us. I tap Haagen Dazen and with a group nod we blast up the hill off the road and into the
forest. We run a few hundred yards and stop to re-assess. Billy Bob explains that he’s never seen a car on the
drive, much less an intimidating Dodge diesel truck and we debate continuing on or going back. Neither one sounds
that appealing cause either way we’re carrying florescent colored kayaks across private property. And it’s huntin’
season. The legend is that some other paddlers had to go full on commando and take a huge detour to avoid some
hunters on this very same property and they didn’t doubt that the words on the sign would be upheld.
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| Haagen Dazen makin the move at Swollen Member |
My vote was for moving forward with the mission. At least there was a kayak run if we successfully executed
the crossing. Going back could only end in failure, getting busted or making it back to Rockwood with no vehicle
and no kayaking. Before we could formally express ourselves in the democratic fashion, a loud bark was echoing
across the forest. Within seconds a dog comes onto us and is making a hell of a lot of noise at about 50 yards.
Then a car door slamming and the sound of a diesel engine rumbling to a start. Then another dog frothing and
barking and threatening to approach much closer then the first dog. Shit. Haagen Dazen says something about,
dang we’re caught. We better just wait here for… but I just reach for my boat, sling it over my shoulder and
start sprinting towards the gorge. I don’t look back for awhile, but when I stop hearing the barking I slow
down and see that everyone is right on my heels. We drop down below a rock band in a crater holding a small
lake to take a breather.
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| Good action in the middle of Pandoras |
We keep up a merciless pace around the lake, stomp up over the small ridgeline and
lower our boats down to the river. We put in, run the first two blind drops and the look on
Mexi-stash’s face is priceless. He looks trapped above an intimidating horizon line. He is.
Giving directions in a carved out eddy above Swollen Member is a
spiritual experience, usually for the ones receiving the directions and we’ve already long forgotten
about huntin’ season. The run goes smooth and we paddle to the bridge refreshed from a long dry start to
fall on the Front Range. The aspen are magnificent and the women love that kind of thing. We spend our
last few hours in Durango soaking at Trimble Hot Springs. Paddling in Durango is rad. In the off-season
they tend to get way more opportunities to paddle than on the Front Range. I mean Pandoras basically runs
year round, but you gots to be careful because as described above, this run can require some ultra stealth
movements and good knowledge of the area. Git some, but go with a local and do not get caught, under any
circumstance, no matter what Haagen Dazen says.
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| The walls eventually receding nearing the exit to Pandas |
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