Sup Expedition: Montana by Foot, Horseback, and Paddle Board
BY GABRIEL GRAY; PHOTOGRAPHY BY JACKSON BERGER, GABRIEL GRAY
I love helping paddlers break out of their normal routine and experience the extreme side of the sport.
The more they get out and enjoy the outdoors paddling on their local lakes and rivers, the more they will want to protect these waterways.
The South Fork Flathead River in Montana is designated a “wild and scenic river.” Congress created the National Wild and Scenic Rivers System in the U.S. to “preserve the natural, cultural, and recreational values in a free-flowing condition for the enjoyment of present and future generations.”
It also brings a unique adventure for fans and inspiration to explore and protect these wild places. My team for this trip included adventure photographer Jackson Berger and Casey Shedd with American Fish and Tackle Co.
As we left the warm temps of North Florida to fly north to Montana my heart raced with excitement. No matter how much you prepare for an expedition, you always pray you didn’t forget an important piece of equipment. We landed after a full day of flying, and our friends from Paddlefish, Sonny and Kim, picked us up and hosted us for the trip. We gathered up some last minute gear and food before we were dropped off at the trailhead where we would pack in on horseback. That next morning memories rushed through my mind while waking up to the sounds of horses snorting, the rustling of hooves, and gates clanging together as the packers prepared for our 30 mile horseback ride into the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area. That smell of stock and the soundtrack were calming and very familiar to me. I couldn’t say the same for photographer Jackson Berger and friend Casey Shedd. As we made our way up the dust-filled trail, I could tell this would be a long trip. Partly because my furry friend happened to be the laziest one of the bunch, we breathed in more dirt than fresh air. Once we climbed 15 miles up the pass and reached the downward trek of 15 miles toward the river, I noticed the smoldering remnants of the wildfires in the distance. My attention was brought immediately back with the sound of a mule stumbling. That would not have been that big of a deal, except for the 200+ foot drop off alongside the trail. After steep trails and smoldering grounds, we finally made camp 100 yards away from the river’s edge. The stars shined brighter than any I’ve ever seen and, as we roosted in our hammocks, an elk bugle filled the frozen night for a brief second. I laid there knowing how special this moment was, and I just prayed the other guys felt the same. This is what I dream of, being in the wild… I’m in heaven.
In the morning we were all a little slow getting up. The previous day took its toll and we were reluctant to leave the warmth of our hammocks. The flames of the morning fire gave us all new life as they thawed out our frozen water bladders and us. After breaking down camp and trekking to the river, we inflated our paddleboards and thought about what we had been told in town–that the fish might have moved out already this time of year. We packed our boards and shoved off. As we reached the first deep pool, our minds were blown away by the amount of fish swimming below us. Each pool we came to had more than 100 cutthroat trout and bull trout swimming in it. It was crazy. As much as we wanted to stop and fish, the water level was low, and we had to push on to keep on schedule. I knew we were going to have low water, but I didn’t realize the amount of time we would waste dragging over shallow braided areas. No matter how much you plan and prepare, you always have to roll with the punches, adapt and overcome on every expedition.
Throughout the next three days, it would be the same routine of dragging boards while stumbling along the rocky bottom. Every day the pain that ran through our muscles was subsided by the stunning beauty that surrounded us. We had amazing camp spots where we could fish in the evening and mornings before we left. Each day was a new challenge. This wilderness and river were beautiful, but we were always aware that it could take our lives in a second. We experienced some close calls firsthand as we made our way through the narrows and burned areas from wildfires that had raged through a few weeks before.
Approaching the middle section of the river, the terrain changed. The riverbanks steepened and the rapids roared louder with large boulders sitting strategically like a maze as the water rushed through. The signs on the pack bridge used for horses and hunters to cross the river and cardboard boxes placed by the forestry service along the river bank warned us of the dangerous narrow gorge and smoldering wild fires ahead of us. No matter who you are, this begins to play games with your mind, making you second-guess your decisions. When you are this deep in the wilderness, there is no cell service to call out. You have to trust your training and abilities and be vigilant because turning back, calling someone, or packing out is not an option. The wildfires that postponed our trip were still smoldering and the scorched mountainsides looked apocalyptic as we paddled by. This was a strong reminder of how powerful Mother Nature is, but also how important this cycle in life is. As we reached a narrow gap between two steep rock walls, a sign read “dangerous gorge take out here.” Everyone immediately became a little more serious.
Paddling down, the walls closed tighter and up ahead I could hear a loud roar. Rounding a small turn, I could see two sharp rocks sticking up between a small gap no wider than 4 feet. It was nature’s strainer making us realize how treacherous this gorge can be. After nine more portages, bruised knees, and tired backs, we finally reached the end of the gorge. We made it out with only one close call as one of the crew fell into the river after a portage. He was not wearing a vest and only wore an open dry suit. Luckily, I was close enough to grab him. This was probably the longest and most brutal day I’ve had in a long time, and I loved every second of it.
As we made our way out of the narrow gorge, the river returned back to being better navigable, and we could relax again. The smoke from the smoldering fires wavered by. It was mystical as we floated down. We had to be careful in choosing our campsites now because of trees being weakened by the fires. One morning a huge pine fell within 30 feet of our camp. Once we reached our final take out, it was a mixture of emotions knowing we would be leaving the river the next day. For the past six days, the river had nourished our bodies with food and hydration, it cleansed our bodies of stench and soothed us to sleep at night. We sat at the waterline talking, laughing and reminiscing about the week, doing everything we could not to leave. Before making our last portage up to the airstrip where, on the next day, a bush plane would come in to fly us out, we decided to fire off one of the bear spray cans. Jackson pulled the trigger expecting a 30-foot stream of pepper spray – he only got 4 feet. It made us laugh knowing that would’ve just been seasoning for a charging bear.
The next morning we had high winds and low clouds. It scared me a little, not knowing if the plane would fly in that day. All of a sudden out of the clouds we heard a faint whining of an engine, and then it appeared. It was a four-seat Cessna that was probably the smallest plane I’ve seen. I was more nervous about this plane than I was about bears. Once up off the ground, it was absolutely breathtaking seeing the river and surrounding area from a totally different perspective. Flying over everything, I thought about something Casey said earlier in the week. People see these trips, and they only see the pretty pictures and happy smiles. What they don’t see is the brutal rocky miles, long days, and dangerous scenarios we go through. I loved seeing the change in Casey and watching him grow in the outdoors. This is why I started this project, to bring people closer to the outdoors, create awareness, and share my passion for it.
Read more at: www.grayoutdoors.com
