Floating The John Day In The High Desert Country Of Eastern Oregon, A Historic River Blossoms With Beauty And Adventure

A crescent moon waxed in the twilight sky, and I wished on the first star: I want to sleep out on the ground like this every night forever, breathe the juniper-flavored air, listen to coyotes talk as daylight comes on and watch a sagebrush mariposa tulip open as the sun breaks over the hills of central Oregon.

On the banks of the John Day River, it only took a night to lose the stiff shoulders that are the legacy of city life. The river’s horseshoe bends - so many in 120 miles that it flows twice as far as the crow flies - established a slow rhythm for us as we rafted north, the dip of our oars reinforcing the slow pace.

If you have some river experience, you can travel the John Day on your own in a raft, driftboat or kayak, or you can hire a guide. Most rapids are Class I or II; only one is a scary Class IV.

For an extended vacation, combine a John Day float with exploring the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument or the ghost town of Shaniko, a major railhead for the sheep industry until the early l900s.

The most boatable part of the John Day, from Service Creek to Cottonwood Bridge, is slim on signs of current civilization and rife with remnants of failed ranches. In spots, flakes of obsidian show up where more ancient people worked arrowheads and blades from stone they carried in. Their petroglyphs and pictographs mark canyon walls along the river and its tributaries.

Native Americans called the river Mah-Hah. Lewis and Clark called it The Lepages. But the name that has stuck belonged to a fur trapper and hunter who came overland in 1811-1812 with the Astor-Hunt party.

John Day and Ramsay Crooks got separated from the main group and wintered with friendly Indians along the Snake River. But later, near the mouth of the Mah-Hah, hostile natives robbed them of everything, including their clothes. Their compatriots found them, but the hapless Day shortly went insane and died.

History books don’t explain, however, why the hapless explorer has both this big river and a smaller river east of Astoria named for him, as well as the town of John Day, the John Day Fossil Beds and the John Day Dam.

Our first night’s camp on the river was a mile or so below Clarno Rapids, the river’s worst hazard, filled with boat-bashing boulders and serious standing waves. On our run, we’d taken on a little water, over the starboard bow - not bad, I thought, for rapids where the John Day Queen had sunk her sternwheel in 1909 and other, smaller boats and canoes have since met their silty doom. My husband, David, for years a guide on this and other rivers, admitted taking a few splashes here from time to time.

We had parked for the night on a sandy beach beneath a berry-splatting mulberry tree, so we moved the sleeping bags and discovered a row of walnut, peach and plum trees on one side of us, old-man apple trees on the other. It was late June. Though the trees had gone untended for more than a century, fuzzy green peaches and rose-shouldered apples had set on.

We’d set down in Farquer McRay’s homestead - laid out in 1879, flooded out in 1894. McRay was described as a vile-tongued but honest sheepman with such an aversion to washing that his death in a creek was considered “under mysterious circumstances” because he’d never been that close to water.

Though the John Day Dam on the Columbia backs water 10 miles up the mouth of the John Day River, it still responds to the watery vagaries of nature, running high, fast and muddy early in the year, sometimes freezing over in spots in winter. From midsummer through fall it’s usually too shallow for boats. But in spring and early summer, it’s a water route through a desert blooming with life.

Below Mulberry Camp at the old McRay place, basalt walls rose first on one side of the river, then on the other, massive lava blocks piled squarely under a midday sun. Cliff swallows darted under overhangs, feeding baby beaks poking from houses that are architectural wonders of the avian world (imagine building a house with mouthfuls of mud, without using your hands).

Below the swallows, the cliff cracks formed rock gardens - blue-lavender narrowleaf penstemon and yellow monkeyflower clinging to tiny shelves where a little dirt had gathered.

Meadowlarks belted their gutsy tune - easy to see, because they perch to sing, often in the very top of a juniper. Killdeer called and redwing blackbirds twittered. Occasionally we heard the canyon wren, who seemed to forget his song in the middle.

Syringa - mock orange - blossomed white. Long ago its shoots were used for arrow shafts. Purple flowers pointed like fuzzy fingers. The desert garden was full of longstemmed yellow moth mullein, blue daisy-shaped chickory, dainty pale yellow mustard, balsam root resembling a black-eyed Susan.

Prickly pear, too, low to the ground and inconspicuous if not in bloom. The inconspicuous part is important - the prickles are as long as darning needles and at least that sharp. They go through a sneaker sole like a toothpick through a butterball. I know this for a fact.

In the 100-degree heat of Ferry Canyon, we pondered petroglyphs, then crossed the creek to the Owens Place. David carried a shovel against rattlesnakes he had seen here before. A ruined windmill stood as a sentry over a flattened board-and-batten cabin and a corral, big sage growing gray-green over its rock walls.

Charlie Owens and his two brothers came into the country shortly after the turn of the century, eeking out a living until sometime in the ‘30s. The bachelors were known for their “hooch” - a gallon for a sack of grain or $10 cash - and their casual sanitary habits. Seems Charlie once had a cautious dinner guest who asked before the meal if his plate was clean. “Clean as soap and water can get it,” Charlie replied.

After dinner, Charlie put his plate on the floor and called his hound to finish the scraps. The guest asked the dog’s name. Charlie replied, “Soap ‘n’ Water.”

The guest should have considered himself lucky. Other tales from the river and the side canyons feature shootings, poisonings and drownings, some entangled by unrequited love.

In the afternoon the legendary upstream wind picked up. It felt good in the sweltering heat, but it made for tough rowing, gusts catching us broadside to push us backwards.

On our fourth and last night, we consolidated garbage and ran out of ice. The first clouds we’d seen gathered in the southwest. David said, “There could be weather in them.” We put up the tent, and threw our duffel on the floor to keep the shelter from sailing away.

By bedtime the signs of weather looked less ominous. Once again, we slept out. Crickets fiddled, and a covey of partridges chuck-clucked across the river, hopping up a steep rock slide. Far above, a mule deer picked his way, pale rump flashing in the falling evening light. The meadowlarks still sang as the sky grew velvety, the smell of sage lingering in the long June evening.

From a side canyon coyotes barked, and the first star came out next to the quarter moon. I wished again. The same wish. More than ever.

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: IF YOU GO The two main sections of the John Day River to run are from Service Creek to Clarno Bridge (40 river miles, two or three days) or Clarno to Cottonwood Bridge (about 70 miles, three to five days). In good water years (like this one), the river is boatable from March into early July. If you are not hiring a guide, monitor river flow with the National Weather Forecast Service in Portland (503-249-0666). A recording will give cubic feet per second at Service Creek. The river is runnable between about 1,600 and 3,000 cfs and best between 2,100 and 2,500. Check the cfs rate a week before your start date and the day before you put in to judge how fast the river is changing.

Required reading An excellent book both before and during the trip is “The John Day River Drift and Historical Guide” by Arthur Campbell, a 1980 volume still available at $14.95. Campbell runs a table throughout the guide that gives river miles and estimated drift times for kayaks, driftboats, rafts and canoes (though he recommends against canoes). He suggests campsites, outlines geology and provides entertaining history. He gives explicit instructions for scouting Clarno Rapids before you run it. (It’s also possible to put in below this point and avoid this most dangerous spot.)

What you need Be sure to pack drinking/cooking water, allowing about 3 quarts per person per day. On the lower run, you likely will be able to replenish your supply in side canyons about halfway through the trip. Another must is sunscreen. Put-in points are without amenities except for toilets. Buy groceries in Madras or Wasco. Campsites along the river are undeveloped, so plan on being self-sufficient. The Bureau of Land Management asks boaters to practice no-trace camping and pack out all garbage, including human waste. If you want a guide, consult the Oregon Guides and Packers Association.

For more information Oregon Guides and Packers Association. Request a directory from P.O. Box 10841, Eugene, OR 97440; phone (503) 683-9552. John Day Fossil Beds National Monument Headquarters, 428 W. Main St., John Day, OR 97845; phone (503) 575-0721.

Car shuttle service This costs about $20 to $98, depending on distance. Nancy and Dale Thornton, Ashwood, OR 97711; phone (503) 489-3274. Shamrock Shuttles, P.O. Box 302, Fossil, OR; phone (503) 763-2236 (recorder) or (503) 763-4896. Service Creek Trading Post, Fossil, OR 97830; phone (503) 468-3331. Fossil Motel, 105 First St., Fossil, OR 97830; phone (503) 763-4075.

Lodging and camping Lightning A Ranch Bed and Breakfast, Fossil, OR 97830; phone (503) 489-3367. Architect-designed underground two-bedroom house. $50 per couple or $150 for the whole house (sleeps up to 10). Continental breakfast included; three meals daily, $25. About five miles east of Clarno Bridge. Shaniko Hotel, Shaniko, OR 97057; phone (503) 489-3441. Eighteen rooms in a recently restored turn-of-the century brick hotel. $55 per couple includes breakfast. Lunch and dinner available. Fossil Motel, 105 First St., Fossil, OR 97830; phone (503) 763-4075. Ten motel units at $22-35; 12 RV spaces with hookups at $8-12. Mule Shoe Campground (Bureau of Land Management) two miles upriver from Service Creek. Five drive-in and three walk-in sites: picnic tables, vault toilets, fire grates (bring firewood) but fire closures are likely in summer. No water. Boat launch. First come, first served. Further information: BLM, P.O.Box 550, Prineville, OR 97754; phone (503) 447-8717. Shelton State Park, 10 miles south of Fossil on Highway 19. 37 primitive sites: picnic tables, pit toilets, fire pits, water. Ranger on duty to answer questions. First come, first served. Further information: Oregon State Parks, P.O. Box 9, Canyon City, OR 97820; phone (503) 575-2773. A number of motels are available in Wasco, west of the lower river.

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