Low-water Run of the Yampa River, Part 8: The Green River Ending

Dear Reader, The next morning we woke up, sad to leave Box Elder camp and even sadder to leave the Yampa River. In a few miles, the muddy-colored Yampa River would be flowing into the green-colored Green River and our solitude would be behind us. We’d made it through the Yampa’s shallows, only a day behind schedule. But we knew we could make up our time on the faster-moving Green. There was still Echo Park to visit and Jones Hole with its crystal clear stream. Whirlpool Canyon and the meandering braids of Island Park. And more fun whitewater right before …

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Low Water Run of the Yampa River, Part 7: Running Warm Springs Rapid

Dear Reader, Warm Springs is the biggest rapid on the river; a jumble of house-sized rocks that’d tumbled down off the rock walls, leaving fresh scars up above. At high water, the Class 4 rapid is scary with big holes and waves. The river races and crashes and turns back on itself as it gets constricted between the huge boulders. But at low water, the danger is different: It’s getting pinned on a rock without enough water to wash you and your boat over it. Arriving at Warm Springs On Day 4 we arrived at Warm Springs Rapid. We’d been …

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Low-water Run of the Yampa River, Part 5: The Art of Floating

Dear Reader, Once we got on the water (John and I each in an inflatable kayak and Cliff and Chayse running the raft) everything changed; the morning’s chaos washed away. The joy of floating The Joy of Floating We were floating. Self-contained. At one with the river and the currents and the breeze. Rocks and boulders slid beneath the shimmering water. Grasses swayed along the bank. We heard the smack of a beaver tail. Saw the flight of a heron. We moved slowly, and yet kept our eyes flashing left to right, up river and down, scanning for the shallows, …

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Low-water Run of the Yampa River, Part 4: Running Low Water

Dear Reader, The river gauge on the Yampa would have read between 1000 and 2000 cfs (cubic feet per second moving past the gauge) on a normal late-June day. On this particular day, though, it read half that much, at 600 cfs. And it was dropping. The Only Ones on the River We were the only group at the put-in. Everyone else, who we normally would’ve had to share the river with, had canceled or been scared away. Even the shuttle company we’d hired to drive our vehicles from the put-in, in Colorado, to the take-out in Utah, had told …

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