Cruising in Rubber Duckies

River Rafting by Rubber Kayak

A RESTFUL WAY TO CRUISE THE GILA AND ENJOY THE WILDLIFE TEXT BY ROSEANN HANSON PHOTOGRAPHS BY PATRICK FISCHER I am not an adrenaline junkie. I ski cross-country, not downhill. I hike instead of climb. And I kayak on oceans, not in the rushing, cold white water of rivers. So when a friend asked if I wanted to join her on a day's adventure kayaking the frothy upper Salt River, I politely declined.

But when Patrick Fischer invited me to join a group taking inflatable kayaks down the Gila River near Safford, during low water, I hesitated.

The September weather would be warm. And the possibility of late summer floods would be over. Low water would mean riffles, not rapids. And the (PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 38 AND 39) Author Roseann Hanson leads her group of rafters on the Gila River through remote Gila Box Canyon. Behind her are Darrell Ramsey, Jon Collins, and Tom Terry. (ABOVE) A boulder covered with petroglyphs marks a view of the Gila as it exits the Gila Box, one mile downstream from Bonito Creek.

Gila River would provide a chance to visit the fabled Gila Box, a stunning desert canyon accessible almost exclusively by river.

I may not be a thrill seeker, but I am a Nature Nerd of the first order. The Gila Box and the 23 miles of river within the Gila Box Riparian National Conservation Area offer shelter to more than 200 species of birds, many of them rare. And bighorn sheep. And beavers. "Count me in," I said.

Then I called another friend to find out about these "rubber duckies," as inflatable kayaks were dubbed by hardshell kayak purists. He had recently been converted to the joys of duckies and had already christened his on the upper and lower Salt as well as the Gila near Safford.

"Duckies are great," he enthused when I expressed my doubts about bobbing along a wild river in something akin to a bathtub toy. "They're very forgiving of beginners; you can take them through nearly any kind of water from real wild to just a few inches deep. And because they're small and easy to use, they've opened river running to many more people."

He explained that there are two types of rubber duckies: cheap and expensive. The bright yellow Sevylor Tahiti, introduced in the U.S. in 1963, is the original ducky, so dubbed because of its shape, bright yellow color, and the way it's turned up on the ends. They are made from thick PVC. About $250 will outfit you with a Tahiti, paddle, life jacket, and special bags to keep your gear dry. The tradeoff for inexpensive is a thinner-skinned kayak that does not get along well with sharp sticks or rocks. On the other hand, for slightly more than $1,000 you can get a much more rugged inflatable kayak.

And so there I was, bobbing down a melted-milk-chocolate-colored Gila River in a rubber ducky. The hot air felt as thick as the sluggish river looked when we launched at 9 A.M. under the old bridge about 40 miles east of Safford. Floating next to me in his blue "cataraft," an inflatable-pontoon catamaran for one, was Jon Collins, the mastermind of the trip, and the only one of the five of us who had ever paddled rubber duckies.

Collins is one of those lucky ducks who combined his work with his passion: He is one of four recreation planners for the Safford district of the Bureau of Land Management. His job includes overseeing the recreation portion of the new management plan for the Gila Box Riparian National Conservation Area, a 21,000-acre watershed preserve created by Congress in 1992. Collins has to float the river by ducky or raft at least once a month to conduct surveys and monitor the box. His job also is to convince more of us that the Gila Box is the perfect place to enjoy day or overnight float trips.

River Kayaking

"People thought I was crazy when I got into this," Collins told me, indicating the inflatable kayaks Fischer, Darrel Ramsey, Tom Terry, and I were lamely attempting to navigate around rocks and tree snags. I looked behind us and watched someone shoot backward down a small rapid. Well, Collins told us it would take a while before we got the hang of it. "Before I started running the box in inflatable kayaks, most people came here only in high water in the spring in fouror six-person paddle or oared rafts. But I've been down this river every month of the year," he said. "And each time it's different and just as special."

Collins' enthusiasm for floating the Gila Box in duckies at low water was understandable immediately. Within an hour of launching, we four novices had the general knack of guiding the fat little boats downriver (mostly bowfirst) and were able to let the soporific effects of the water flow, the warm sun, and the intense quiet lower our blood pressures until we drifted into silence and daydreaming. An inflatable kayak moves in the water like a leaf in a current, bobbing over waves and into eddies. Our senses were tuned to things that would be missed on a wild white water ride: the rusty calls of great blue herons as they lifted ponderously from riverside reeds, the lazy circles of ravens in the blue bowl of the sky, the buzz of cicadas, the darting movement of wolf spiders hunting on the canyon wall just above the waterline. High up one of the cliff walls, baby raptors called hungrily. Blooming tree tobacco, willows, and cottonwoods sheltered vermilion flycatchers, yellow warblers, phainopeplas, and phoebes. The Gila, only a few inches to a couple of feet deep, was coursing along at We dropped down the “hardest” rapid – the mini-thrills of fast water were beginning to appeal to me. About 150 cubic feet per second where we put in, which translates to about two miles an hour. When we stopped for lunch under a grove of cottonwoods, we had covered about four miles and had another six to go to reach our campsite at the confluence of the Gila and Eagle Creek. Along the way, we would pass through the steep-walled canyon that is the “box” and then join the San Francisco River. Eagle Creek and the San Francisco drain the high country of the Mogollon Rim into the Gila, more than doubling our river speed. We would be able to cover the final 10 miles to our take-out in half a day.

Three hundred fifty cfs is considered a trickle by most hotshot river runners (many say don't do it if it's under 1,500 cfs). Collins said peak early spring snowmelt swells the river to 5,000 or as much as 20,000 cfs, while during one winter flood, it raged at over 90,000 cfs.

My mind was trying to wrap itself around these tidbits when my ducky came to an abrupt halt atop a sandbar, one of dozens we were trying to avoid. At first, freeing the boats either by bouncing and scooting them along with our rear ends or by getting out in the ankle-deep water and walking them provided a novel experience. By the end of the first day, however, the novelty wore off, and I imagined the snickering of white water purists if they could see our antics. As I dragged my boat off the sandbar, I scanned the cliffs and spotted driftwood lodged in cracks 30 feet up. I was once again thankful for low flow, silly antics and all. We camped that evening atop a

River Kayaking

(OPPOSITE PAGE) A towering cliff dwarfs Terry, left, and Ramsey passing below.

(OPPOSITE PAGE) A towering cliff dwarfs Terry, left, and Ramsey passing below. huge sand and gravel bar that blocks part of the confluence, forming a fivefoot-deep pool the size of a large spa. Several of us jumped in and luxuriated in the cool water. We enjoyed a grenadine sunset painted on the sandstone walls of the box, followed by an aerial ballet of bats dancing in the light of Venus, Jupiter, and a crescent moon suspended together in the western sky. The next morning, we awoke at dawn and returned to the river a short time later. As we drifted silently around lazy bends, our faces were splashed with unexpected pockets of cold night air, helping wake us. Suddenly I was alarmed by the sound of a rockslide. I called out to the others, and we all turned in time to see a dozen bighorn sheep adult males and females and half a dozen calves - walking on what appeared to us a 90-degree slope. Unimpressed with us, they continued grazing as we drifted on. I was elated. Our slow, silent approach had allowed us to observe them going about their daily business without alarming them. I was becoming more of a fan of these rubber duckies by the minute. A few river miles later, we dropped down the "hardest" rapid - a two-foot Adrenaline-producing sports have their fans, but a slow and attentive speed can change any trip into a journey where discovery lies around every corner. waterfall-without serious mishap. In fact, the mini-thrills of swooshing down the fast water were beginning to appeal to me. Maybe I could learn to be an adrenaline junkie after all. Maybe I would try a kayak on the upper Salt River next spring?... Collins interrupted my reverie to tell me that our take-out point, where the truck waited to return us to Safford, was about a mile away. Just then a small black head surfaced next to the boat ahead of me. Terry was startled, and it took us a minute to realize it was a beaver, but by then it had vanished, leaving a shadow of rippling rings in the water.

I hung back, paddling against the current, while the rest continued. Finally I found the beaver's lodge tucked into the bank between two boulders. I waited to see if the beaver would resurface, but it did not. Still, the moment was special. Beavers were plentiful animals until early white trappers like James O. Pattie scoured the Southwest's rivers for them in the early 1800s. Today they are secretive and rare, and seeing one was the highlight of my trip. Again I realized the slow, contemplative mode of travel had a lot to do with it.

Adrenaline-producing sports have their fans, but a slow and attentive speed can change any trip into a journey where discovery lies around every corner, whether it be the fiery flash of a vermilion flycatcher, the soft brown fuzz of a wolf spider, or the fleeting presence of a beaver.

I forgot all about white water thrills and lay back on my ducky, watching the world of the Gila River pass by.

WHEN YOU GO

Any wilderness trip includes elements of risk; add kayaking or rafting and those risks increase dramatically. If you've never kayaked, canoed, or rafted a river (on your own, not with a guide), see if there are any local clubs offering trips. Call your local outdoor specialty retailer or small boat stores for club phone numbers. Also contact Gila Outdoor in Safford, (520) 348-0710, about their Gila Box river trips and shuttle service. Always call a river recreation specialist at the BLM, (520) 428-4040, before you go to check flows and to let them know when you're launching and taking out. Wear life jackets, carry a full first aid kit, and have a rescue plan.

When you go through the Gila Box, don't forget your bird and plant field guides, and maybe a pair of waterproof or inexpensive binoculars.