The Incomappleux Expedition: Part 2 - “There’s only one way out.”

One of several freshly formed rapids after recent rain storms hammered the region.

~A candlelit, smoke-hazed scene unfolds inside the bowel’s of ‘Buster,’ a 79′ Blue-Bird school bus, turned humble eco-abode belonging to part-time Revelstoke resident Sean Boz. An October rain has been falling hard and continues to do so into the night. Trading positions between a wood stove and laptop screen, a small lot of us are watching the premier of an animated flyover I just plotted out on Google Earth. The destination: the Incomappleux River. The moment is then climaxed by the pixellated visual of soaring up and over a low-lying mountain pass, a challenging yet realistic route presenting as the most likely access. A round of nods are then granted along with a characteristic “Oh yeeaahh baby” emanates from Boz, thus certifying the potential for a future expedition.~

Sam Butler trying to make sense of yet another messy washout on the Upper Incomappleux.

When I first pitched the idea of hiking 13km of back-country with loaded kayaks into the Upper Incomappleux Valley, I wouldn’t have guessed how many paddlers would initially sign on. However, of the many wanting to take part, few had considered what a portage of this nature would actually entail. Wearing river booties vs hiking boots, the ability to use a kayak cart, healing from recent knee surgery vs carrying 100 lbs of gear over a mountain was only some of what made up our pre-trip discussion. But as our launch date approached, a reality check needed to enter in. The risk of injury while portaging with such heavy loads still remained. And once into our steep, remote descent on Slick Creek, a certain specific became very prominent. From this point on, “there’s only one way out.”

The final stretch of woods shortly before reaching the river.

Day 3, Sept. 5th: Reaching the river & testing the waters.

An early morning start is sabotaged as huckleberries of enormous quantities continue to break our pace. A shimmering glimpse of our river is soon spotted as we steeply descend through trees of ever-increasing size. One slip and your tethered kayak would likely torpedo straight to the bottom, never to be seen again.

By 1 pm we reach the banks of the Incomappleux, which looks to be running slightly higher than we hoped for. This in turn will further press Steve to keep a good pace in an effort to catch us at some downstream points. Meanwhile, the thought of never seeing Steve alive again certainly teases our minds. Assuring us that he’s prepared to make this next distance alone, we timidly bid Steve farewell before pushing off into the river’s flow. By the end of the day, we are no more than 3 km apart. Not bad for following a group of kayakers down a remote BC river valley on foot. Regardless, the trailing pace leaves our photographer alone in the woods while we celebrate Sven’s birthday and our introduction to the Incomappleux.

Preparing for a long crazy portage after seeing what is around the next corner. 

Day 4, Sept. 6th: Big rain = Big water & BIG portages.

Scouting out the entrance to the death zone.

In anticipation of some serious whitewater to come we sleep in, which allows Steve to catch up. We begin immediately below our camp with a boulder garden salad for breakfast. During moments of drift the sight of towering old-growth swaths lining the river are fully absorbed. Narrowing into a long rapid of sorts, we approach an ominous corner that gets us out of our boats to have a scout. Looking like the start of where all hell breaks loose, a series of steep drops littered with wood sends us back to our boats to begin a portage. Just then a loud thunderclap summons a deluge of rain.

Freeze Creek confluence camp site.

Once above the river, a relentless search for lines of passage through a near impenetrable terrain ensues. Barbed devil’s club entwined with stunted spruce, complimented by alders amidst a pitch of large jagged boulders… and the heavy rain is not letting up. A partial view of the river below shows a savage wash of silver and brown, lifting wood off the banks and churning it into a cauldron of flooded features… yet the rain is not letting go. Falling into line on a primeval bear trail, we slither into a grove of giant cedar trees. A silence is then cast as we succumb to our present surroundings. The beauty of this place momentarily abducts our consciousness, projecting it high into the canopy and spreading out like mist. This symbiotic sensation is regrettably cut short when the reality of being very cold and wet begins to set in. Once on suitable ground, camp is struck with half the group choosing to warm up by slashing out trail through an upcoming patch of slide alders. The warmer half of us are left with the challenge of building a sizeable fire. Sourcing dry fuel from an ancient fallen cedar, Steve trudges in just as the day’s record rain tapers to an end. During the night, some of us claim to hear what sound like distant shouts coming up from the swollen river below. Passing them off as mere illusions, we can’t help remembering that three lives were taken near to our location. Their last living moments, now immortalized and left wandering through the dense forest, looking for a way home.

Part 3, the conclusion – To be continued…

Photos by Carl Jacks, Randy Speers, Sven Perschmann.

Sam Ewing smiling after our first visual of the Incomappleux in the background.

Carl takes a moment after making the put-in to the Upper Incomappleux. 

Sven enjoying the view during a break in the whitewater.

Stephan making his line into the approach to the death zone.

Foster and Stephan slithering through devil's club amidst the old growth. Shortly after this photo was taken we entered into a magnificent grove of massive 1000+ year old trees.