The River Goes That Way

By Eric Buersmeyer

The canoeing adventures of two lifelong friends spanning over three decades and numerous river's throughout the Rocky Mountain region.  Written with a unique humorous style that will be sure to put a smile on your on your face! 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Buersmeyer
• Release date: May 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201079376

Book preview

Preface  

The River goes that way are the beginnings of adventures shared by best friends Eric Wolfe and Eric Buersmeyer. They met and became friends in 1981 on St. Patrick’s day.  An easy date to remember because the second Eric had just purchased his first sports car.  A 1972 Datsun 240 Z. Along with shared jobs, and the  love of the outdoors led to the inevitable, a desire to pursue camping, fishing, and drinking...but not necessarily in that order.  The backpacking trips alone were well worth writing about; however this book is what transpired while deciding on one of those backpack trips to find an easier way to transport the elixirs of life, that unfortunately were not worth their weight in;  but heavy as gold. On one such backpacking trip into what at the time was known as The Black canyon of the Gunnison National monument, which justifiably was upgraded to a  National park, a decision was made to carry the heavy weight of the beer and fine foods and coolers that we needed, on a canoe. While the two backpacking trips into the canyon over a 3 year period were spectacular in beauty  and fishing, it was not accessible via canoe. The  heavy weight of a case of beer was brutal while heading into the canyon.

It is fitting to note that these two trips were truly remarkable experiences though.

The first canoe purchased was without a lot of knowledge of canoes or having river skills.  This first one was more of a lake canoe and was lined with wooden ribs, had a keel, and was made of fiberglass.  Not knowing about the effects a keel had in a fast moving river,  led to the purchase of a Dagger 17 Expedition canoe a few years later.  This canoe was made for rapids and long river trips.

So all of the canoe trips were taken in September sans one. The odd one out was in July 1997.

The dates and order of the floats spanning over three decades and the fantastic memories are what we share with you the readers in the following pages and hopefully you will appreciate them like we did!

The River Goes That Way.....

E. and E.

Yampa River -September 1990

Craig to Maybell Colorado 

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From Maybell to Murder the first float for the Two E’s was an exciting time to embark on a new adventure. There were two or perhaps I should say three floaters as a homicide body was found in the same river along similar times that we launched into canoe history. The body was something that we will talk about later.

Ignorance is bliss as we started the first float. However I get ahead of myself. The drive was the first concern for us as one realizes the need for a launch site as well as a terminus site. In subsequent trips we utilised a scooter and hid it at the terminus of the river float . However in the beginning we used two cars and left one at the terminus and then we would hop back in the truck that would drive us to the launch point. In the case of two vehicles one loses the joking comradery that two friends need, so we borrowed a couple of walkie talkies to yammer back and forth during the drive.

The gear as it was known to us would start out with the usual list for camping, however we had the luxury now of weight not being a backpacking type concern. So with up to 5 coolers and only good food and booze we started the process of loading up the canoe. One cooler was filled with dry ice. Into it were the foods that we did not need for the first two nights or so. The beer was one cooler and ice completely filled another to reload the cocktail glasses as well as the coolers that needed topping up. One thing we learned is dry ice should be mixed with zip lock bags of real ice to create a synergistic cooling effect and prevent all the dry ice eventually disappearing to the vapor gods. A small 6 pack type cooler was for the float itself as it’s a very thirsty thing rowing an all. Usually E. W. took the rear of the canoe. The main reason was E. W. was married and had to return for the good of his clan, and E. B. wasn’t and was expendable. This however worked out well; for not having to steer the canoe enabled E. B. to pursue the fine art of fly fishing from the bow.

A quick mode of avoiding rivers problems was solved by yelling panic pump right or left. The bow man always sees the water differently than the stern man. The front man sees imminent danger more readily. The stern man has the view of the entire boat while approaching dangerous type currents and can adjust the boat easily as he sees the entire length of the canoe and can see the turn more precisely. Front man may see a rock and yell paddle pump right or left. This process of panic is minimized when a large cold Ale is passed along with the paddle acting as a service tray. There is an enormous mound of gear between the two. One fella watched us loading the canoe on a future float and sat back wondering how in the hell are these two twits gonna load all that gear in the boat. And so began the float on the water, with an ale and ass on the seat of the canoe.

Autumn was always the time of the year we looked forward to. Rivers tend to be low and seeing class 3 rapids in the summer is totally different come autumn. The decision about limiting ourselves to class three rapids happened later on after learning the hard way, that inside the canoe, is always better than floating alongside it. The first time we flipped over will have to be added later on in the book  because at the moment I can’t remember it. Mainly because it happened more than a few times.  However a subsequent float to the Green river in Utah confirmed to us to try and not play pasquanelle or some other previous crazy man explorer that had to run rapids as it was his only choice. The fact his camping equipment weighed far less than ours was certainly helpful in those regards. I do however at this moment want to state for the record that during one trip and having received a lot of paddle- handed ales, I stood up in the canoe and fell over. This of course had to be repeated to fellow co-workers at some point in the future where shits and giggles ensued.  The sobering effect of Autumn river temperatures also wakes one up rapidly.. Probably where the word rapids comes from anyway. So in the name of Neal Young's song Rust never sleeps, I emptied the clip into the river to dry out my piece. That being a Browning .22 auto loading pistol. I can say that the technique works just fine, but of course recommend oiling your pistol later on that same day.

So as all future trips started in our minds at some point all of them originated at my fathers’ house as that was where our beloved canoe slept. My dad was an early riser anyway but always made the welcome effort to watch us and smile along with us as we packed up E. W’s Pickup truck. The routine of packing and loading the gear on the truck was always fun, as anticipation is one of the best parts of any trip. My dad of course also could not believe like the fellow I mentioned earlier that all that crap could fit in the boat along  with the two of us.

I  was famous for my breakfast burritos at least as far as the two E’s were concerned. I think all of our future trips had them. They were individually wrapped in foil and warmed ahead of the meet up at dad’s. Some potatoes along with eggs and fresh roasted  chilies and Chorizo sausage among other ingredients which I won’t share as I figure along with this first book, may need to supplement my future retirement with money for my up and coming cookbook. Now with that grain of salt I’ll proceed with the good stuff.

After tying every knot learned years earlier in Webelos ( sorta boy scouts but not the same rank) We would take off after our farewell to my dad, and off we went. At the time E. B. would have picked up some brewpub ale that was founded by the future governor Of Colorado named Hickenlooper. I’m not entirely sure if he still has his hands in the still; at the Wynkoop Brewery there in Denver, but politics aside we did love the bitter ale  there. So a large plastic square refillable container with a pour spout was always a mainstay on future floats as well, and I personally got a discount after maybe 8 or 10 refills being a free one. Not too sure if E.W. knew of this but no matter, he does now.

The funny thing about rivers is they are all different and similar at the same time; as each river has turns and different rocks as well as bugs. A lot of the bugs are the kind that trout love eg. Caddis flies or mayflies etc. The kind that trout love for dinner and breakfast and lunch are cool kinda flies, in that they don’t bite humans. Someone once said that trout don’t live in ugly places. This is very true and while I said the above thing about differences and similarities, On the Yampa river a fish that must have caveman origins lives. Case in point is the Squaw fish or chub as the pc crowd prefer it to be called. I find most if not all pc to fit into the category of bullshit. If the fish was named after Indians of America ( yes I know Native Americans is the new term, ) but the naming of the fish could very well be in deference to the female nickname that was used when the damn things were named. I don’t feel any pc- oriented person has a right to change that. But I digress.

The rivers that have these types of fish are generally slow moving waters like the Yampa as well as the second float we did on the Gunnison. The slower rivers lack the inherent dangers of rapids at least as Autumn rolls around. The first thing you learn is they are very peaceful as one floats along with or without the need to paddle frequently. The only time you have to rapidly paddle is when the wind starts blowing you back up stream, which has happened to us. The ever changing scenery naturally is slower to arrive but who’s in a hurry eh?

So at some point along these canoe trips E. B. usually had the opportunity to catch the first fish (Truth be told most of 'em too). Sorry E.W. but the keyboard is in my hands and you know it's true. A little competition never hurt anyone anyway. Having caught my first squawfish, and as it  was landed, I can honestly say it was not known to this  flyfisher. I had never caught one before.