Upper Disaster Falls Lives Up To Its Name

The river company I was working for had run a trip with a large church group around the first week in July of 1983. The river was running at approximately 12,500 cfs, higher than it had flowed since Flaming Gorge Dam, located 40 miles upstream, had choked off the normal seasonal spring run-off. This was the first time in twenty years that river flows where this high, so very few people had ever seen anything like it. I was not present on this particular trip, having just completed a trip on the Yampa River a few days earlier. So the story I’m about to tell was garnered from conversations with a number of the participants.

When this group of about forty passengers and crew arrived at Upper Disaster Falls, they found a private group that when they attempted to run the rapid had wrapped their 14’ Avon raft on a logjam at the top of the island. The people were on the island trying, in vain, to free their raft and gear. The trip leader decided to run a couple boats down the left channel to increase the chance of landing on the island and aiding in their efforts. The first boat made it, but the second, an old 15’ Yampa boat hit the logjam just above where the Avon had wrapped and suffered the same fate. After hours of effort, neither boat would budge, even after deflating the tubes and cutting out the floors. Some cargo was salvaged, but most was lost including food rations, personal packs, cooking equipment and some medication for one of the passengers.

Finally giving up, they loaded everyone, including the members of the private group into the remaining rafts and continued downstream. The boats were severely overloaded and the boatmen, aware of the rapids to come, were very concerned. This was not a good first day!

This was supposed to be a four-day trip with their first camp at Pot Creek. Upon their arrival, they found the camp completely underwater. Although not a designated campsite, a suitable area was found just downstream. The next morning, the group ran Harp and Triplet Rapids without much concern; Hells Half Mile Rapid was a different story. The water was so high that the normally dry house-size boulders on either side of the rapid were completely covered with water creating Cataract Canyon size waves and holes. A big lateral wave in the center pushed rafts to the left and up on what’s left of an island just downstream. Considering their overloaded condition and apprehensive passengers, the trip leader decided to portage the rafts around the rapid. In typical fashion, gear was unloaded and hauled around and then the boats carried or lined to a point just below the initial drop. This done, the boats were then reloaded and the group continued on its way. The rest of their trip was uneventful, although the survivors of the private trip who had lost their raft and gear, as well as some of the unhappy commercial members, opted to hitch a ride out with a National Park Service Ranger at Echo Park.

My first experience in Lodore

This is where my first personal experience in the canyon starts. The following week the water flow had dropped somewhat and after conversations with the Park Service about the conditions it was decided a salvage trip was in order. Our job was to see if any of the wreckage from the previous weeks adventure could be recovered.

The Rangers at the launch were very specific as to the dangers that lie ahead and took extra care in checking our all of our equipment. There were five of us in a twenty-foot Salmon Boat. For those who have never seen one of these ungainly craft, they are a standard inflatable raft that was manufactured in the late 60s to early 70s—20 feet long 8 ½ feet wide with 32”  diameter tubes, rigged out with a 2 x 6 wood frame and 12’ ash oars. This particular boat had as many patches as original material and at least 5 layers of silver hypalon paint, but was a very sound and safe craft. Although it was a real pain in the ass to row, on this day we were all thinking maybe it wasn't big enough.

We knew the salvage might take some time so we got an early start and launched about 8:00 in the morning. An hour later we were beached, river left, at the top of Upper Disaster Falls, site the previous weeks mishaps. We walked down to a place across from the logjam and waded across the narrow, but swift, left channel to the island. The boats were gone. All we were able to find were scraps of material, one broken wooden oar and an air valve. The river Gods had exacted their toll. Our primary job accomplished, it was time for us to checkout the rest of the canyon.

Our plan was to camp just below Hells Half Mile the first night, so we headed on down stream. Running Upper and Lower Disaster Falls was fairly straight forward, no rocks to speak of, just big rolling waves and holes. Harp Falls, I remember, had a series of huge waves—at least 12 feet in height (this could be an exaggeration). Triplet Falls was just big waves at the top with a hard pull to the left at the bottom. On the right were some big nasty holes that you absolutely didn't want to go into. We did get the opportunity to watch another group run Triplet, and one of their rafts (17’ Campways Havasu) did exactly that. They got over to the right at the bottom and hit the holes. They made it, but were beaten pretty bad.

As soon as we cleared Triplet Fall, Hells Half Mile made itself known with a horrendous roar. Being only a short distance downstream we were there within minutes. Scouting from river left, I had never seen anything like it. Even two weeks earlier on the Yampa, which was running 20,000 cfs, wasn't’t as intimidating. We sat and watched for at least 2 hours. Another group, already there, was in the process of giving each other last rites and preparing for the worst. The big lateral wave was still in the middle of the rapid pushing rafts to the left and onto the island. On the far right the run looked pretty straightforward, although there was a nasty pour-over, that, if entered wrong, would flip any sized raft. The other group decided to run it directly down the center, and as predicted, were pushed to the left and got hung-up on the island. It was the right hand run for us. We all got back in the boat, strapped everything down tight and kicked off the beach. The lineup was easy but after we went over the first initial drop, everything happened very quickly. The boat hit the first wave and was immediately thrown like a piece of driftwood straight into the air. It hung there for what seemed an eternity before finally righted itself. The next wave was like being hit by a freight train. By this juncture, no amount of rowing was going to make the least bit of difference, all we could do was hang-on and pray. Somehow though, the river Gods were in a good mood and let us pass unharmed and upright.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, although fun and fast. Most camps were completely inundated so we just camped were we could find room. A Ranger at Echo Park said almost every trip that had launched during this high water period had experienced some type of trouble and many were just canceling their permits.

This first trip made a lasting impression on me. I was mesmerized, not only by the raw power of the river, but also by the canyon itself. As I compare that trip with others, especially at lower water, it amazes me that you can have such a variety of experiences in the same place. Each trip is unique and has its own special qualities.

I was able to run Lodore Canyon four more times that year, all at decreasing water levels. It proved to be one of the most exciting seasons I ever spent on the river.