We Float on Water
The decades-old cinematic question, “What floats in water?” brings up classic responses. “Small rocks.” That’s a no go. “A duck.” Now we’re getting somewhere. Other correct answers include geese, pelicans, flotsam, and wood. For us river people, the most truthful answer is, “We do, on our boats”.
Today, winter still covers the valley floor. We gaze upon the Snake River from one of the roadside overlooks and notice that it seems to be scarcely moving. It is flowing, but only at a trickle, with just enough water to sustain resident flora and fauna.
This stillness will remain until late March, when the snow starts melting and gives a boost to the water level. The river begins to speed up and we see the first returning migratory birds.
It may be officially spring, but lingering snow on the river’s access roads keeps us from floating until early May. Once we have access to the launch, we are out on the water and exploring. The mighty Snake River, roaring with cold alpine water descending from the Yellowstone high country, flows fast and deep. We take note of every movement around us as we steer our rafts through this ribbon of life inside Grand Teton National Park. The cottonwood trees are greening, the river is brown with silt, and the sky is a vibrant blue. The mountains tower overhead, jagged and capped with snow.
In June, the Snake River runs high and fast. The river rearranges itself into new channels each season. We explore (and sometimes name) new channels as we scout the river for our season. High water is due early, thanks to a combination of Yellowstone snowmelt and managed release of water from Jackson Lake. This water travels to our agricultural neighbors in Idaho, winding its way over 1000 miles to the Pacific Ocean. This high water period ends in early July, and with the lessened flow, the silt settles, leaving the Snake so clear fish are easily seen swimming along the rocky bottom. These days are filled with riparian coexistence, as we share the river with locals, fishermen, and global visitors.
When autumn arrives in Jackson Hole, the influx of visitors slows. The trees change to yellowish-red hues, and the migratory birds begin the southerly wing of their timeless cycle. We float as late into September as possible, to share this natural bounty with as many as we can.
The inevitable end to our season arrives when the water allocation from Jackson Lake is reduced to a minimal winter flow, meant to save water for both healthy animal populations and agriculture. We put our boats away and take to our skis and snowmachines for outdoor fun.
Here at Barker-Ewing, we measure passing time by changes in the river. Tree branches in the water speak of storms and wind. Fresh tracks and lost feathers reveal passing creatures. Leaves floating by tell us about slow release and decay as they drift away downstreaming. The Snake doesn’t hold these tokens forever. It receives them, cradles them, and passes them downriver.
Season after season, the river changes, but the perpetual motion remains the same. Everything that floats is temporary, whether it be a cottonwood leaf, an aspen branch, or an insect on the water. Live by a river long enough and you will see in its flow the changing seasonal patterns of our own lives, from young to old and back again.
