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I've no focus today and I figure that I might as well be doing nothing in my canoe as well as at home. I portage east to the big lake and when I get the canoe loaded, I continue east to the far shore. Halfway across I notice that a bee has landed on my camera case. I don't paddle across the lake that often, but this is the second time that a bee had landed on my canoe. A mile from land seems a long way for a small insect. It is tired and not interested in leaving. I set it on the center thwart so that I can use my camera, but it prefers my backpack, black and warm by what little sun there is.
I follow the far shore north until I pass under the big bridge, then I head back west. It is calm and not quite warm, but almost. It is a day that saps ambition. I head over to the big beaver lodge and drop the bee off on a beaver chewed log. I imagine the bee is not long for the world and lost from its hive, but this seems like good place.
Sun has returned to the NW for the day. I portage up and over the hill to Lake Union passing through a schoolyard during its pre-class-recess-energy-burn-off session. Kids are usually fascinated by the canoe and sometimes, adults become kids when theysee the canoe.There is more wind than I expected, a stiff one out of the NW that I paddle into while I am on the east shore. When I get even to Gasworks Park, I cross over to it and get in the wind shadow of the west shoreline. Then just a hazy minded paddle east through Portage Bay and the Crossing Under Place.Today is taking on the feeling of a deep-soak, a day when I use my eyes and ears and let everything come and let everything go. 
I've noticed that after being away for a few days, it takes me a few more to bring my head back into the rhythm of the marsh. The new cattails are now as tall or taller than last years dried and matted pods. I sit in the east marsh, near where several marsh wren nests are, and soak. The nests are too hard to spot with the new growth, too hard for today.Before I leave, I paddle into a beaver canal in the little island that lies in the arboretum. It goes 3/4 of the way through, but there is a tiny open pond in the center. I hear a loud, almost barking bird call that comes with the sound of air being sucked through teeth. I lay back looking for the source. It is a small hummingbird.
S and I portage down to the big lake. She laughs and calls me a curmudgeon when I make disparaging remarks at one of the Can People, until one of the Can People guns her motor needlessly to squeeze between her and two bicycles. It is warm and calm, overcast with light rain, and sleepy, but with the freshest of air. 
S relaxes in this stuff, her paddling gets a little too slow and she loses her focus, which is alright by me...it is good for her. She asks if we can go someplace quieter - a confusing question... yes we can go wherever we want as far as we want, but only at 3 miles/hour. When we get to Union Bay, we cross NW to the north point and then slip a ways up into Ravenna Creek. We see several cinnamon teal - the male a beautiful shiny red-brown. They summer here while the other varieties of teal are found in these waters during the winter. We pass through the crossing under place, which is unusually calm for a summer Sunday. The clouds and rain have so many thinking that there is something wrong with the day.
After a few days of paddling in a river to the east, a trip where I was constantly on my alert and ever watching for something ahead, I return to my marsh.
I set out from Portage Bay, but only because I seem to think that I should earn my trip today by paddling an extra mile. I pause in the west islands and note that last years cattails are only visible in the new growth by their shaggy heads that for some reason still stand. I hear a marsh wren and locate it low in the cattails just in time to see it snatch a large flying insect from the air.The goslings have grown so much in the last two weeks. They are nearly the size of adult geese. The irises are still in bloom, the cool and rain that people here have complained about has extended their yellow blooms longer than normal.I head across the north marsh and spot a pied billed grebe with two or three young. They are diving so often it is difficult to count, but the young are the smallest water birds that I have seen. They are the size of small sparrows except for their longer necks. They seem too small to be here.As I near the NE lagoon, the big female bald eagle from the north nest wheels in the air in front of me before setting up in a tall tree. I pause in the lagoon right under the her for a few minutes and then head south across the bay.As I cross the east marsh, a raccoon appears in the shadows to my right. It ambles away into disappearance, all at its own pace.I am enveloped by the calmness of it all.
It rains all night. This is one of the driest places in the state... except now. It just doesn't matter to us anymore since we have been wet, at least to our knees, for most of the last 4 days. I cook up coffee and oatmeal in the rain and then we walk down to the Horn Rapids Diversion Dam. Maps show irrigation canals on both sides, so we have no idea of where and how far we will have to go to get back into the river. We are pleased to find a foot bridge just below the dam on river-left, an access to Native American fishing platforms.
We return to camp and portage down to the river. Then, a short paddle to the warning sign a hundred yards above the dam. From here, we do an easy portage to a spot below the dam.The day goes easy with no scouting, no lining, and no more portages. Nothing more than some ripples in the water comes our way. Birdlife is pretty good with pelicans, a couple types of herons, and some egrets. It rains several times and once, it rains very hard for over 40 minutes. It is a midwest rain and I tell Mike that I think it is a two inch per hour dumping.
At the mouth of the Yakima, the river broadens some. Mike tells me that we can call for a lift if I'd like... and I look at him and say, "don't you think it would be rather cool if we paddle right to your folk's house - they live just 3 miles up the Columbia? I mean, I've just paddled 148 miles, I think I can handle another 3." Well, that's what he was thinking too, he was just being nice. The mouth has cattails and tules and all of the other marsh stuff that it should. The Columbia, a big river, is calm today and we have to paddle out about a 1/2 mile to Bateman Island to get around the shallow sandbar of the Yakima. My favorite birds, the terns, greet us from driftwood by spreading their wings and screeching at us. A bird, the size of a small crow with the attitude of an eagle.
So, it is 4-1/2 miles upstream, easy with no wind and hugging the shore where the current is lightest, to the house.We shake hands.It has been a fine trip, an unexpected adventure on a multivaried waterway that is seldom paddled and in parts, seldom visited. We approached it as explorers and got a real wilderness experience from a place that is never far from civilization. And we bonded and worked as a team, not just traveling together, but relying on each others strengths and abilities.25 miles for the day.Kiona flow rate - 3000 to 4000 cfs
Must portage Horn Rapids Dam.
I cook bannock for breakfast and my signature cowboy coffee - recipe - boiling water, dump enough grounds in to make it strong, when the grounds sink, it is ready.
We set out and pass Mabton in about 2 miles. The river remains smooth with a moderate current and we can take in sights and watch birds for the next 15 miles. There is only one short stretch of fast ripples to pass through.Nearing Prosser, the current slows as it backs up behind the Prosser Diversion Dam. We take out at the city park and boat ramp. This is our longest portage, a bit over 3/4 of a mile. It is a difficult route finding problem because we don't have a good map of town. It takes 3 loads to move our packs and canoe, but people stop on the main thoroughfare when the guy with a canoe on his head walks into the street. I'm busy with a canoe over my head, so I forget to photograph any of it. Mike is leap frogging back and forth moving packs. His camera is still something more like a canteen, so he doesn't take any photos either.The river changes below Prosser. We have entered the channel scablands, an area that was scoured clear of soil by a massive flood at the end of the last Ice Age. The riverbottom is no longer cobble sized river rock, but instead, a scattering of large basalt boulders. We seem to be at an ideal river level where most of them just dance 4 or 6 inches below the surface. It is not beginner water anymore.
Each time the river turns south towards the big hillside, it seems to slide down at a surprisingly steep angle before finally bending around a blind corner. We scout and line some of these. I can only imagine us going 30 miles an hour by the time we hit the bottom. It's not that bad, but it is an easy wade/line/walk each time. One of these stretches does actually prove me right when it becomes class III waves just around the bend - not dangerous, but it would've filled up the canoe for no good reason. We do a short portage there. Several of the rapids are class II and we make good use of backferrying several times to move side to side in the current. It is not dangerous, but it is good technical fun and Mike is a solid bowman and reads problems and calls them out before I can see them. The Chandler Diversion Dam turns out to be a line of boulders in the water, but we portage over it since we had to paddle up to it on the right bank to scout it. It could be safely paddled if one knew where to put the canoe ahead of time. 
We see hundreds of white pelicans during the day. Once, a single file line of 75 flew over and we found ourselves sliding over a boulder with our eyes stuck in the sky.We finish the day at Horn Rapids County Park at mile 18.5. We have paddled about 44 miles today. It is a 1/2 mile portage to the campground (rules, rules, rules) and our camp with a canoe, tent and no car confuses the campground attendant. We're tired and it is raining, so I cook up polenta and tomato sauce and we drink hot butterscotch pudding for desert.
Prosser flow rate - 1500 rising to 2000 cfs
several class I and II rapids and one very short section that was a III - very dependent on river level.
Must portage Prosser Diversion Dam. Might just as well be safe and drag over the Chandler Dam.
We break camp and get on the river by 8:30. We are both hoping for more paddling and less lining and wading and scouting around logjams and debris. Yesterdays spill pissed me off more than anything; it was a bad error on my part and I intend not to have a repeat performance.
But, it is more scouting, lining and wading. We are safe except on one sharp bend where we get crossed up with a powerful eddy on one end of the canoe and a powerful current on the other. We swap ends, tip just enough to add an inch of water to the inside of the canoe, and then squirt out upright into a calm spot where we can catch a breath. We see hundreds of white pelicans.
As we approach the town of Granger, we get to paddle longer between scouting - sometimes even a half mile! The northerly meanders in the river run us up against beautiful 30 foot tall mud cliffs dotted with swallow nests. The cliffs are a good sign because there never seem to be any log debris below them. At Granger (river mile 83), we pull out at the town park and go looking for drinking water. From now one, there is inflow to the river from irrigation, so we need to find potable water. We ask the first person we see and we get access to a faucet... love small towns. Below Granger, we find that we only have to scout a few more bends and the river slows and opens up into safe flat water paddling. 
The sun comes out.We paddle out into open land in a meandering river.A mink runs along shore next to us. Stopping to glare at us. The size of a kitten, it imagines itself to be a wolverine.
We make camp at 6pm across the river from the Sunnyside Refuge. We can legally camp over there, but this side, where cows have been grazing, is nicer. We just stay out of sight of the nearby farm house and leave a clean camp. Mike sees a mammal in the water. I throw a cow chip at it and the beaver slaps his tail. We laugh.Coyotes sing in the distance.Mike watches three beaver while I write my notes in the tent.We figure to be at mile 62. I do have a GPS, but I do not really enjoy knowing exactly where I am in a global sense - I know where I am and that is good enough.32 miles for the day. From about mile 80 it has been beginner level water, but with almost no obvious road access. I don't know which river gauge would apply to this section - you'll have to figure that out on your own if you want to paddle here.
Upstream of Granger, the warnings from Day 2 apply. Downstream from Granger, there are still had a few bends that required scouting and some lining and wading. It was flat water with some current from that point on.
I follow the far shore north until I pass under the big bridge, then I head back west. It is calm and not quite warm, but almost. It is a day that saps ambition. I head over to the big beaver lodge and drop the bee off on a beaver chewed log. I imagine the bee is not long for the world and lost from its hive, but this seems like good place.
I've noticed that after being away for a few days, it takes me a few more to bring my head back into the rhythm of the marsh. The new cattails are now as tall or taller than last years dried and matted pods. I sit in the east marsh, near where several marsh wren nests are, and soak. The nests are too hard to spot with the new growth, too hard for today.
S relaxes in this stuff, her paddling gets a little too slow and she loses her focus, which is alright by me...it is good for her. She asks if we can go someplace quieter - a confusing question... yes we can go wherever we want as far as we want, but only at 3 miles/hour. When we get to Union Bay, we cross NW to the north point and then slip a ways up into Ravenna Creek. We see several cinnamon teal - the male a beautiful shiny red-brown. They summer here while the other varieties of teal are found in these waters during the winter. We pass through the crossing under place, which is unusually calm for a summer Sunday. The clouds and rain have so many thinking that there is something wrong with the day.
I set out from Portage Bay, but only because I seem to think that I should earn my trip today by paddling an extra mile. I pause in the west islands and note that last years cattails are only visible in the new growth by their shaggy heads that for some reason still stand. I hear a marsh wren and locate it low in the cattails just in time to see it snatch a large flying insect from the air.
We return to camp and portage down to the river. Then, a short paddle to the warning sign a hundred yards above the dam. From here, we do an easy portage to a spot below the dam.
At the mouth of the Yakima, the river broadens some. Mike tells me that we can call for a lift if I'd like... and I look at him and say, "don't you think it would be rather cool if we paddle right to your folk's house - they live just 3 miles up the Columbia? I mean, I've just paddled 148 miles, I think I can handle another 3." Well, that's what he was thinking too, he was just being nice. The mouth has cattails and tules and all of the other marsh stuff that it should. The Columbia, a big river, is calm today and we have to paddle out about a 1/2 mile to Bateman Island to get around the shallow sandbar of the Yakima. My favorite birds, the terns, greet us from driftwood by spreading their wings and screeching at us. A bird, the size of a small crow with the attitude of an eagle.
So, it is 4-1/2 miles upstream, easy with no wind and hugging the shore where the current is lightest, to the house.
We set out and pass Mabton in about 2 miles. The river remains smooth with a moderate current and we can take in sights and watch birds for the next 15 miles. There is only one short stretch of fast ripples to pass through.
Each time the river turns south towards the big hillside, it seems to slide down at a surprisingly steep angle before finally bending around a blind corner. We scout and line some of these. I can only imagine us going 30 miles an hour by the time we hit the bottom. It's not that bad, but it is an easy wade/line/walk each time. One of these stretches does actually prove me right when it becomes class III waves just around the bend - not dangerous, but it would've filled up the canoe for no good reason. We do a short portage there. Several of the rapids are class II and we make good use of backferrying several times to move side to side in the current. It is not dangerous, but it is good technical fun and Mike is a solid bowman and reads problems and calls them out before I can see them. The Chandler Diversion Dam turns out to be a line of boulders in the water, but we portage over it since we had to paddle up to it on the right bank to scout it. It could be safely paddled if one knew where to put the canoe ahead of time. 
We see hundreds of white pelicans during the day. Once, a single file line of 75 flew over and we found ourselves sliding over a boulder with our eyes stuck in the sky.
But, it is more scouting, lining and wading. We are safe except on one sharp bend where we get crossed up with a powerful eddy on one end of the canoe and a powerful current on the other. We swap ends, tip just enough to add an inch of water to the inside of the canoe, and then squirt out upright into a calm spot where we can catch a breath. We see hundreds of white pelicans.
As we approach the town of Granger, we get to paddle longer between scouting - sometimes even a half mile! The northerly meanders in the river run us up against beautiful 30 foot tall mud cliffs dotted with swallow nests. The cliffs are a good sign because there never seem to be any log debris below them. At Granger (river mile 83), we pull out at the town park and go looking for drinking water. From now one, there is inflow to the river from irrigation, so we need to find potable water. We ask the first person we see and we get access to a faucet... love small towns. Below Granger, we find that we only have to scout a few more bends and the river slows and opens up into safe flat water paddling. 
The sun comes out.
We make camp at 6pm across the river from the Sunnyside Refuge. We can legally camp over there, but this side, where cows have been grazing, is nicer. We just stay out of sight of the nearby farm house and leave a clean camp. Mike sees a mammal in the water. I throw a cow chip at it and the beaver slaps his tail. We laugh.
