Returning ‘Home’.
The Middle Fork of the Salmon River has stolen my heart.
Fifteen seasons of river guiding in various places has allowed me the time and space to know this river is my home. I love how she changes after we leave her alone all winter. The smell of burned soil, purple lupine and fresh rain churn together; butterflies in our stomachs at Boundary Creek. It’s time to return home.
I often wonder, why is “The Church” our home? Is it because of the community, my chosen family? Yes. It is where bloodlines and lineage have new meaning – where gnarled Ponderosa roots dig in and clear, freshwater veins run deep.
Where your fly is tugged by a beautiful cutthroat as you feel warm water massage your shoulders.
Where we get to share our bedroom with thousands of good people, showing them the magic. This is where we grow up, fall in love, and heal our wounds. We are the lucky ones.
Yet sometimes home can become stagnant. How do we find a fresh outlook in a familiar place? How can we keep that magic alive? To feel rejuvenated, to grow, to fall in love with her again...
In August of 2019, I was invited on a Middle Fork trip with a group of Shoshone-Bannock families. Jessica and Sammy Matsaw are cultivating a culture of authentic connection where their Sheepeater ancestors come from. Their children are forming a personal relationship to their roots, by returning to their land, while experiencing the river through traditional ways of knowing.
My responsibility on this trip was on-water safety and running first, and humbly, I felt comfortable in that role. But what took me by surprise was letting go of time. I don’t wear a watch, but guides don’t need one to be able to tell what “time” it is: time to load up, time to take down the groover, time to stop for a snack or lunch, swim or hike. We have this idea of a river time schedule – gotta feed the people every six hours, get to camp by 4:30 for happy hour, then change into cotton and start cooking dinner “on time.” The truth is we have always pulled it off.
The irony is guides say they “go with the flow,” but do we really?
What if we as guides let go of time out there, and completely rethought our connection to the river and each other? How much do we actually cultivate and model that mentality? What if we encouraged guests to play as these Shoshone kids – in and out of the river as long as the sun was up. Sand in every crevice, shivering from being wet all day, grabbing a sandwich for dinner in the dark with the biggest grin.
As we overlooked Underwater Canyon one morning, one of the parents said: “This place is always here for you. Just like medicine, this river is just that for us. Whenever you need to come home, you can.” So, the next time we are able to return, we must remember how, indeed, the river is our medicine.
What will we give back to her, as she gives us so much?
Essay and photos by Tess McEnroe