"Dynamite in the Wilderness"
Draft 3.0 of entire chapter
October 1, 2025  (still needed Jim's comments and maybe Jeff's comments

 

“The fishing has gone to hell,” yelled my friend from the front of the raft. “And what’s with all these green bushes under the water?”

 

It was Day two of our highly anticipated late July float trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

We had made decent time on that first day, dodging most of the exposed rocks and many of the ones just beneath the surface.

 The technical puzzle of the first 20 miles at low flow often causes outfitters to fly their customers to Indian Creek airstrip, to avoid the difficult part of the river. 

But our ragtag group – none of whom were professional river guides – found rigorous challenge in the hauling of boats through shallow channels and vaulting from side to side – high-siding in river parlance – when rafts got pinned on large boulders.

 

There had been some urgency to our rowing that day. A major storm was bearing down on us, and we wanted to be off the river and safely in camp before the rain started pummeling us.  

 

The summertime storms along the Middle Fork are almost as legendary as the river itself, which courses through the middle of the Frank Church River of No Return wilderness.

In the past two decades, longer, hotter fire seasons had taken a toll on the primitive beauty of the largest forested wilderness in the lower 48.

Annual lightning-caused wildfires had reduced large swaths of ponderosa and lodge pole pine to charred, hollowed-out remnants.  Burned trees typically remain upright for seven years after a fire, before falling over each other and becoming a potential menace.  

 

But for the 16 of us on this late July raft trip, we knew what we were getting into – or so we thought. Part of the “Frank” may have burned, but we were on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, one of the best week-long vacation destinations in the world, and one that can challenge even the most experienced outdoors person.

“This is a place of surprises,” said Jim Acee.  “I’ve rafted the Middle Fork probably 20 times over 40 years, and each time it has shown me something new.”

 

Jim is not a licensed river guide, but his experiences have made him the natural choice for organizing and leading his friends down most of the raft-able rivers in the West, like the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, the Salmon and Selway rivers in Idaho, the Rogue in Oregon, and the Green and San Juan rivers in Utah.

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Recently, several of the group gathered to recount the events of July 23, 2006, when a powerful thunderstorm blocked popular Pistol Creek rapid with logs and debris, bringing river travel to a complete standstill. 

“The thunderstorm that hit us on the evening of our first day on the river was the most savage I’d experienced,” said Jim. “Nearly an inch of rain in the first hour. Tent-rattling winds accompanied the torrential rain, and the lightning and thunder added an element of excitement to the evening.

“At first it was fun. We huddled under a large flapping tarp, and the noise had a certain rhythm to it. But eventually everything and everybody was soaked. After a couple hours, the storm moved on, and we all headed to our soggy tents.”

    

 The rain continued intermittently throughout the night, but blue skies greeted us in the morning as we surveyed the damage. During the night a stream of rainwater had penetrated my tent from below. The sleeping bag and camera would need a large dose of sunshine. Luckily, the 95-degree weather was only hours away.

 

My wet clothing wasn’t the only reason I wanted to get into my river gear and onto the raft. My passenger Dennis Udlinek was a consummate fly fisherman, and he was eager to match his dry fly skills with the plentiful cutthroat. 

 

The two of us were the first ones from our camp to hit the water that morning, and it was while we were fishing along the far bank that we realized something was not normal.  Perhaps it was a rockslide or a mud dam further downstream that was backing up the water. We knew something wasn't quite normal, but we were in no hurry to find out. We had some fishin’ to do.

 

Besides, we would soon be approaching Pistol Creek Rapid, one of the trickier rapids on the Middle Fork. Jim had already warned the group what to expect at the low flows we were experiencing. 

 

“It’s a classic S-turn rapid situated between granite vertical walls. The run at this very low flow is left of center, but it will be tight,” he warned us. “You have to stay close to the rock wall on the left side, but whatever you do, don’t bump into it. That could push you into the razor sharp rock in the middle of the narrow run.  That rock has been known to rip the floor out of rafts, so whatever you do, don't hit that, either. But I’m sure you’ll all do just fine.”

 

Something else didn’t seem normal. “Once all our boats were in the water and floating along pretty close to each other, I was struck by the change in sound,” recalled fellow rafter Jeff Beaman. “It was oddly quiet for a river that drops 40 feet per mile in the first 25 miles.  I could easily hear voices from the other boats, which is often not the case. Then looking down the river, I noticed the water was well up the banks with the tops of the bushes sticking out.”

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What sets the Middle Fork apart from other rivers is the hundred named rapids in the 104 mile stretch of runnable river, the crystal-clear water, the abundance of large catchable cutthroat trout, magical hot springs, good hiking trails, and an historically important collection of 8,000-year-old Shoshone rock art.

No wonder the Middle Fork of the Salmon River rivals the Grand Canyon as the most coveted river trip in the nation.

 

The problem is that it’s almost impossible to snag a permit.

But in 2006 friends Kathy and Kim Heintzman drew one of the rare Middle Fork permits required and issued by the Forest Service, through a competitive lottery that occurs in January.

The odds of drawing such a permit in the peak rafting season of June, July, and August hover around one or two percent.

The Forest Service allows only seven group launches per day on the Middle Fork, which translates to about 100 people on the river daily during the busy season.

 

The Middle Fork of the Salmon was one of the original eight rivers protected under the 1968 Wild & Scenic Rivers Act.

So what exactly does it mean to be a “wild” river? Can a river really be considered “wild” when 10,000 people float the river each year?

And more importantly, just what is allowed and not allowed in a Congressionally designated Wild river?  Our rafting group was soon to find out.   

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I still remember Dennis and me coming around the bend in the river that morning and seeing a sweep boat oarsman frantically motioning for us to pull hard to river left.

A ranch hand from nearby Pistol Creek Ranch was running up the trail, yelling at people to get off the river if they wanted to survive.

Maybe you know the feeling, when you come upon something that you know is definitely going to change your plans. That’s the excitement the men and women in our private rafting group felt after racing down to Pistol Creek rapid, half a mile away.

 

The flashflood we had experienced hours earlier had washed out dead trees, root balls, rocks and tons of sand and earth, transporting the debris field toward the wide, fan-shaped mouth of Lake Creek, located a mile(?) upstream from Pistol Creek. From there, the logs and debris flowed easily into the river and headed straight for the constricted S turn of Pistol Creek Rapid.

 

We knew immediately that the 100 jammed logs would not escape the rock shelf in the middle of the rapid or the narrow granite walls -- in one place pinched to a mere 30 feet apart. It was Nature’s giant game of pick-up sticks, a game I had loved as a child.

 

“This won’t solve itself til next spring,” I commented to Jim. “We better prepare for a long, hard shuttle.”  

Jim agreed. "Portaging seven rafts up an incline and around the blockage would be a herculean effort. Outfitters use 600 pounds per person when they calculate the weight of their river trips." (rewrite, Jim)

 

 

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I sometimes wonder about the fate of our group and the other boaters if pilot Jeff Overton, who flew for SP Air, had not spotted the logjam from the air early Monday morning. He quickly radioed Pistol Creek Ranch, 1.5 miles from below the rapid, as well as Forest Service officials in Challis. This could be a life-threatening experience, especially for the elderly and physically challenged. 

I guess it’s possible that our raft, barreling toward the logs, could have hit the logjam hard enough to push our raft over the first few logs, allowing us to scurry to safety.

Or the raft could just as easily havedived under the 50 by 30 foot blockage, perhaps staying there until spring runoff.

 

A Forest Service official told us later that it was the largest logjam anyone had seen or read about on this famous tributary of the Salmon River.  

Soon, tough choices would have to be made. 
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It wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. But the blowout in 2006 was certainly the most exciting -- and the biggest -- logjam to have occurred on the Middle Fork in Forest Service memory.

 

Several hundred rafters, stuck, unable to move forward or backward. Some were definitely anxious and frustrated. Some of us were excited. How often do you get to watch high level officials of a federal agency decide which rules and regulations to emphasize and which to ignore?

 

Doing anything to a federally protected Wild and Scenic River that runs through a federally protected Wilderness usually involves weeks of administrative time and effort, not to mention the time of lawyers and district rangers and outfitters.

Some of the rafting groups who hadn’t heard about the logjam and who had proceeded downstream were beginning to pile up at what some were calling “Camp Driftwood.” Located in a large meadow half a mile(?) upstream from the blowout, the accommodations were pleasant enough, and most of the people arriving seemed to be taking things in stride.

After all, this was Mother Nature, and it’s part of the excitement of spending a week in a Wilderness.

 

Others may complain, but to our 16 member group, this was fascinating stuff. How often do you get a front row seat to one of Nature’s dramatic displays of power? 

 

In fact, some of us were already plotting how to take advantage of the situation. Two friends, John and Janette Crancer, had television experience. Both had worked on Outdoor Idaho, and John was a key producer for the show.

 

 

We realized we didn’t have the required permit needed to shoot video in an official wilderness. We didn’t even have a TV camera. Besides, John and I figured the Forest Service would soon tell us to put on our big-boy pants and haul the thousands of pounds of gear around the blowout and hike ten miles to the public Indian Creek airstrip.

 

But the more I listened to the Forest Service discussions about the logjam, the more I became convinced that we might have us a story, after all, if we could only find solutions to our two problems.

 

Getting a permit to shoot in the Wilderness turned out to be a manageable matter. Without much hesitation, the public information officer who had rafted downstream with other FS officials informed us that the logjam was truly an historical event and an important news item. Thus, no need to apply for that permit.

 

We were good to go. But we still needed to get a TV camera deep into the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness, where there are no roads.

 

 

On every other trip, our group had never ponied up the dollars to rent a satellite phone. But, for whatever reason, this time we had. I climbed 800 feet with the phone, to the top of the nearest mountain, and attempted to call Idaho Public Television.

 

After a few misses, the receptionist at the station caught just enough of my words to transfer the phone to General Manager Peter Morrill. Peter quickly realized the possibilities of the story and approached Jeff Tucker, a young, enterprising staffer who had worked with both Peter and me on major stories.

 

To hear Jeff tell it, the connection was so patchy that he could barely understand what I was saying.

“I heard every third word,” Jeff said afterword. “ Food... plane... logjam... stuck... big story... Pistol Creek... Zimo. It was 100 degrees in Boise that day. I do enjoy the Frank, and so I said, ‘You Bet!’ even though I knew I’d be flying back to Boise later that day after dropping off the camera.”

 

Jeff gathered together the camera gear and some chicken wings and called Pete Zimowsky of the Idaho Statesman. A few hours earlier, Zimo had heard about the logjam. Pete jumped at the chance for a first-hand look at what was unfolding in the Frank.

 

Jeff hired a commercial pilot with his Cessna 206. As he told me afterwards, he didn’t exactly have permission to use the airstrip at nearby Pistol Creek Ranch, but figured if they landed there, things would eventually work out.

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Meanwhile, back at the blowout and the fast-growing “Camp Hopeful.”

 

Most people who have had experience with the Forest Service believe the federal agency does not know how to do anything fast. One outfitter at the camp wasn’t willing to express his views on statewide television, but off the record, he remarked that our logjam problem was no doubt a source of great amusement in Washington, D.C., another place where nothing happens fast. “It will be days before any decision is made, and chances are you won’t like the decision, anyway.”

 

But unbeknownst to any of us, a Forest Service contingent, with some Washington, D.C., folks onboard, was heading downstream toward Pistol Creek. The officials had left the same day we did, with four oar boats and two kayaks. Among those on board were the Region 4 Special Areas Manager for Wilderness and Wild & Scenic Rivers, and the Wilderness Coordinator for the Frank.

 

Also in the group was John Haugh, Wilderness & Rivers Program Manager for the Salmon-Challis National Forest. More importantly for us, he was also a certified blaster for the U.S. Forest Service.

 

They had been notified about the log jam while on the river and were a few miles behind us. What had started out as a show-and-tell for some big-wigs quickly turned into much more. They would have to decide what to do about the obstruction that had trapped several hundred rafters and vacationers.

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Upon arriving at the scene, dynamite expert John Haugh surveyed the logjam. He told us he had never seen anything that massive before. He was our first interview.

 

“We have two basic options,” he told us. “We can either try to deal with this issue, or we can leave it alone.”

 

John was a no-nonsense kind of guy, happy to push the value of dynamite to anyone who would listen. “One of the questions that came up is blasting. Is the use of explosives appropriate in the wilderness? The answer is yes. Blasting is a traditional tool. It’s been around for thousands of years.”

 

John also informed us that, coincidentally, the Forest Service rafting party included all the right players needed to make a quick decision. “Having this mix of qualified personnel on-site at the logjam was an incredibly lucky situation,” he told us.

Like most dynamiters, John wasn’t used to throwing around the word “serendipity” like I was. 

 

Middle Fork district ranger Tom Montoya had flown into Pistol Creek Ranch from Challis that morning. He had been kept up to speed on the blow-out at Lake Creek and was excited to see for himself what the river looked like. Since it was “his” forest, we also set him in front of the logjam to get his opinion.

 

“We had the fire of 2000 that caused some of the soils to be unstable and we had a torrential rainfall. At one point the river gauge downriver at the Middle Fork Lodge showed no flow. I wish I had been on-site to see it. It’s an impressive event. It’s Nature at its best.”

 

Ranger Tom knew his concern had to be for the 300 plus rafters stuck behind the blockage, and he was considering all his options. “I’ve got folks in Salmon who are looking at provisions we would need to support folks back of the logjam. They probably don’t have enough food for more than a couple of days.”

 

“Which is the greater risk?” he asked, somewhat rhetorically, “trying to evacuate 300 folks, or blasting the logjam and hoping things flush down and don’t get hung up?” He also pointed out that late July is wildfire season, “so we’re trying to support the fires first. It’s not an easy task as this point at the end of July.”

 

He and the others quickly came up with three alternatives that they shared with us. 

Alternative One was to leave the logjam in place and let natural processes remove it, possibly in the Spring.

Alternative Two was to remove the logjam, using explosives.

Alternative Three was to remove the logjam using helicopters and cables with chokers to lift the logs out of the way.


Given the circumstances, it was perhaps inevitable what the decision would be.

The high-level officials had already begun debating the legality and the appropriateness of blowing up a natural logjam in a wilderness setting.

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One could argue that there is no right way or wrong way to solve a log jam problem. As one former Idaho Fish & Game employee wrote about using dynamite, “The wilderness is just doing what Mother Nature decides. Fire and washouts have been happening for millennia. Get over it, wrote Gary Gadwa, from nearby Stanley, Idaho. "You are not in control and neither should the USFS. Blasting is the stupidest thing to consider. Floating the M.F. Salmon is a privilege, not a guaranteed right. It will all be different next year. Was not the first or the last washout.”

 

Of course, those stuck behind the washout had a decidedly different opinion.

 

After much discussion, the folks from Washington, D.C., and the ones from Idaho agreed that there was no language in the 1964 Wilderness Act, the 1981 Central Idaho Wilderness Act, or the 1968 National Wild & Scenic Rivers Act that forbade using explosives to solve a problem.

 

Blaster John Haugh hid his gleefulness well. As he told us, “I’ve never tried to blast anything as huge as this blockage. It’s going to be a learning experience for all of us.”

 

The key to explosives, John told us, is the right amount at the right spot, just enough to nudge the logs. “We don’t anticipate this is going to be a major 200-foot gusher of water going into the air.”

Some of us were slightly disappointed to hear that. Still, we all wished him well.

 

A handful of young FS employees were already down on the river, on top of the wood, walking around like pros, trying to break logs free using mechanical devices like peaveys, winches, tongs and hooks. Rescue harnesses and kayakers with rope throw bags kept the men safe. But little was budging except some debris and small logs on the downstream side.  I remember thinking that the men seemed so tiny compared to the large 60’ logs that straddled the river. 

 

This went on for hours. At least the Forest Service would be able to say they had tried every means possible to break up the obstruction before resorting to dynamite.
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Upriver, in “Camp Hopeless,” the natives were starting to get restless. “What kind of vacation is this?” a New Yorker demanded. “This is not what we signed up for,” complained another.

 

The negative comments got even louder when it became apparent everyone would be camping for at least one more night in “Misery Meadows.”

 

Some of the outfitters were watching their profits evaporate before their eyes. The next day one outfitter procured pack horses from Pistol Creek Ranch to begin the arduous task of hauling tons of equipment, rafts, food and people up to the trail and then on to Indian Creek airstrip, 10(?) miles away.

 

“People are anxious to move on,” acknowledged John Haugh. “They want to go down the river. They are very anxious and want to know why we can’t move faster. And I think we are moving pretty fast on this.”

I had to agree.

 

Early in the morning of July 26 John and two other blasters flown in for the occasion began building the explosive charges. They would attempt one blast instead of several smaller blasts. Thirty-nine pounds of dynamite, strategically placed on the longest and largest logs, should do the job, said John.

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One of the nice touches when floating the Middle Fork is that, before embarking on the weeklong journey, a native Shoshone elder talks to everyone about what the River means to his people. It means a lot to the Shoshone-Bannock Tuka-Deka, and there are pictographs all along the corridor, dating back 8,000 years, to prove the point.

 

When it became clear that Mother Nature would be dealt a dynamite blow, a group of us gathered below the logjam, more than 500 feet away. We wanted to be closer, but we also didn’t want part of a log landing on our expensive camera.

 

It's always interesting what people remember.  "He was a very slight man and must have been issued the smallest Forest Service uniform available," commented Ruth Merrill, a member of our group. "I remember he was also sporting a very large wristwatch, or it just seemed huge on his narrow wrist."

They never exchanged names but Ruth knew that he was a Shoshone elder who had just walked downriver with his niece to witness the spectacle at Pistol Creek.

"Probably since I was sitting alone off the trail, he stopped to pass the time," she said. "He noted that the FS said no firecrackers in the wilderness. But he heard they were going to use one big firecracker."

 

He startled me when he declared, “Why don’t you all go back to where you came from?” I told him that we would, either after we could continue our float or if there was no other option, pack out.

“No, go back to where your people came from," he declared.

"I felt like bantering with him," said Ruth, "so I asked him if I should move to France where my people came from. He nodded enthusiastically. 'Yes!'

"Then we sat a while longer together, watching the antics of the FS, setting up the big firecracker, waiting for the show."  

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When the dynamite went off, at 12:50 p.m., we had the TV camera rolling. We caught the blast. Since we were back so far from the logjam, the noise from the crowd was louder than the dynamite blast.

 

At first the blast didn’t seem to have made a difference.  My heart sank. And then ever so slowly, we saw debris floating past the curve in the rapid. Certainly not enough to make a difference. But then the debris kept flowing, and then small logs followed. Our group kept urging them on. “Come on, come on, you can do it!” some of us urged excitedly. It was working. The logs were getting bigger. 

 

“The blast went great!” exclaimed an exuberant John Haugh. “We were worried that we didn’t have enough explosives. It was the largest log jam any of us had seen. We drilled the biggest logs out there and we stuck sticks of dynamite in them to break them in half.”

Their back-up plan -- to fly in more explosives in the morning – wasn’t necessary.

 

(maybe Jim’s quote here about the outfitter on the trail as we passed him in rafts and how he must have felt. Maybe here or elsewhere. A couple sentences. Feel free to go long; we can always cut).

The concern -- that we would be fighting a moving series of log jams further downstream –  did not materialize. The logs went to the sides of the river, making it relatively easy for a decent rafter to avoid hitting them.

 

We were home free. And we owed it all to toe-nail painting.

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River guide Erin Ridle grew up on the river when her parents purchased Middle Fork River Expeditions.

“When I first saw the logs, I was in complete awe. I had no idea it meant we would be camping there for three days. I love when the river is totally in charge, and we just get to be pawns.”

 

“I told my group they needed to paint their toenails,” she told us. “This is how I get people through rapids. If we painted our toenails, it would be good luck, I told them,and we’d all be able to get down the river. Well, it worked!”

 

At first, Erin wasn’t sure what to think about the efforts of the Forest Service. “We didn’t know if the Forest Service was going to be blowing it up the day before yesterday. Then it was yesterday. We were in this holding pattern where each time we would get this ray of hope and think it was going to happen right away, and then it wouldn’t.”

 

But she wanted us to know when we interviewed her after the blast, that she was mightily impressed. “I think they did a fabulous job. I’m really pleased with them. They really got here quick and really did their work quick, and we still get to have two days on the water.”

 

Kathleen Fahey, one of our group, was also impressed. “This has been a great adventure," she said. "This is to some degree what a lot of us look forward to, where we have to see how we perform and how we adapt."

But it’s not over yet she said. "Now we have to run below the logjam and dodge all those logs!"

And that was not going to be easy. A huge tree root ball was blocking the entry on river right. Outfitters were concerned for their passengers' safety, and rightly so.

 

But not for long. A great cheer went up from the dozens on the bank when one of our group handled the problem for the hundreds behind us. (rewrite or work into what Jim says or Jim says it)

 

(Jim talks about Minch, hitting root ball and taking out the root ball)

 

(I think the conclusion will be hearing how they will handle logjams in the future, with maybe Jeff talking about what his group experienced just last year. I’ll ask a FS Manager if they intend to use dynamite on future logjams... it's hard to believe the FS will do that.)