charlybldr
08-09-2005, 01:30 PM
Davis Creek part 2
As Rob and Dave retrieved and packaged the ropes we discussed our signals again and settled on the system we would use for the rest of the trip. One blast for “yes�, two for “no� and three for “heeellllp!!!!� From here on Davis never lets up. The canyon remains deep and narrow with no possible exits right to the very end. Short drops and down-climbs followed back to back and before long we came to a narrow chute full of water that exploded into a rooster tail over a strainer log jam filling the void just where the canyon began to open up. With a careful belay Ken worked his way down the chute and climbed out onto the logjam. As is often the case, the problem was not nearly as bad as it looked. The rope was prudent however, as a slip would suck you right into the strainer. No fun I’m sure. So I belayed everyone else down the chute and gladly took a belay myself from the stance at the next anchor on top of the logjam.
From the top of the strainer it is a nice twenty-foot rap into a waist deep pool. With the old sling replaced we all started down in turn. “Where’s Ken?� I asked, noticing the absence of his presence. “Down there somewhere.� replied Rob. Ken had decided to explore the bowels of the strainer. Looking carefully I could see his old scratched up, orange Joe Brown helmet bobbing around in the void below us. All I could think was “I hope this thing doesn’t collapse under us. That would be pretty bad for us, and sure death for Ken. Well, at least it would be quick. With Rob, John and Joe down Dave clipped in. Ken had not yet re-appeared but I figured he’d show up at some point. Down in the waist deep water Dave was in the process of unclipping from the rope when he heard a huge splash right behind him. He thought a big piece of the logjam had come loose and just missed him. But no, it was just Ken. Ken had climbed down through the strainer to a point where climbing was no longer an option and so just jumped. No warning to Dave or nothing. “Scared the shit out of me.� was Dave’s only comment.
I can’t tell you how uniquely beautiful this canyon is. You know how when you are deep in a sandstone slot and the light filtering down from above bathes everything in a pinkish glow? It’s kinda like that only things seemed a little darker and the colors were myriad shades of green. Ferns and mosses all reflect what little light makes it through the pine forest above then down into this deep, narrow cleft. The water is crystal clear but forms in dark blue pools that appear to be bottomless. In one such place Davis presents a pothole problem quite different than those normally encountered in the desert. The pothole in question is maybe twenty feet across, not dissimilar in size to the ice cream cone keeper in Neon. Only the creek runs into it down a steep waterfall that churns the otherwise dark blue water in the hole into a frothy white. Once down the falls and out of the boil Dave had to swim hard in the current to avoid eddying out. This set him up nicely for the proper approach to the next challenge, which avoids being swept down a steep chute that channels the entire creek down into the next deep pool. Nicely executed Dave set himself up at a small stance just above the final pool so he could apply tension to the rope to assist the rest of us past the eddy in the pothole. Of course when I got into the pothole I pulled a huge armful of slack through my rap device (to enable me to swim easier, or so I thought) and got sucked right into the eddy. After swimming the long route around the back-side of the pothole in the current of the eddy I managed to mount the edge of the next waterfall like sitting on a horse, one leg over the waterfall, one leg in the pothole. Descending the chute wasn’t as difficult as it looked and soon I had joined Dave at his stance to take a turn at holding the rope, freeing Dave up to take some photo’s.
During the next swim I paddled up behind a large toad attempting to beat me to dry land. He had me, hands down until the water got shallow enough for me to stand, at which point I reached down scooped him up won the race. I guess it was actually a tie as we both arrived at the finish line together. Another watery rappel and we came around the corner to the last big drop. From this drop you look directly up at the bottom of the bridge spanning Davis Creek. As you might expect, underneath the bridge we found all manner of evidence of human habitation. The remnants of an old car, steel cables from the mining and logging days and numerous plastic bottles and aluminum cans. I think it must be in our nature to throw things off bridges. Humans seem to be compelled to this action whenever standing on a span.
The last rap, another 100+ footer, dropped us into the last verdant cathedral the canyon had to offer. A short bit of stream hiking brought us to the last drop over a jam of huge boulders, a rather grungy and insignificant finish to the canyon except for the cool scramble and swim (if you dare) underneath. Leaving the creek we were literally only feet from Ken’s truck where we dropped packs, grabbed snacks and started changing out of our wetsuits. A few minutes break and informative conversation with a local driving by in his pickup truck (what else?) about other possibilities in the area and we would call it a day. Last year I compared Davis Creek to Pine Creek in that it is about the same length, level of difficulty and commitment. In addition, access is so easy that like Pine Creek, Davis Creek is destined to become a Northwest classic. And I do honestly believe, if given the choice between the two Davis wins hands down. I’ll probably never do Pine Creek again.
As Rob and Dave retrieved and packaged the ropes we discussed our signals again and settled on the system we would use for the rest of the trip. One blast for “yes�, two for “no� and three for “heeellllp!!!!� From here on Davis never lets up. The canyon remains deep and narrow with no possible exits right to the very end. Short drops and down-climbs followed back to back and before long we came to a narrow chute full of water that exploded into a rooster tail over a strainer log jam filling the void just where the canyon began to open up. With a careful belay Ken worked his way down the chute and climbed out onto the logjam. As is often the case, the problem was not nearly as bad as it looked. The rope was prudent however, as a slip would suck you right into the strainer. No fun I’m sure. So I belayed everyone else down the chute and gladly took a belay myself from the stance at the next anchor on top of the logjam.
From the top of the strainer it is a nice twenty-foot rap into a waist deep pool. With the old sling replaced we all started down in turn. “Where’s Ken?� I asked, noticing the absence of his presence. “Down there somewhere.� replied Rob. Ken had decided to explore the bowels of the strainer. Looking carefully I could see his old scratched up, orange Joe Brown helmet bobbing around in the void below us. All I could think was “I hope this thing doesn’t collapse under us. That would be pretty bad for us, and sure death for Ken. Well, at least it would be quick. With Rob, John and Joe down Dave clipped in. Ken had not yet re-appeared but I figured he’d show up at some point. Down in the waist deep water Dave was in the process of unclipping from the rope when he heard a huge splash right behind him. He thought a big piece of the logjam had come loose and just missed him. But no, it was just Ken. Ken had climbed down through the strainer to a point where climbing was no longer an option and so just jumped. No warning to Dave or nothing. “Scared the shit out of me.� was Dave’s only comment.
I can’t tell you how uniquely beautiful this canyon is. You know how when you are deep in a sandstone slot and the light filtering down from above bathes everything in a pinkish glow? It’s kinda like that only things seemed a little darker and the colors were myriad shades of green. Ferns and mosses all reflect what little light makes it through the pine forest above then down into this deep, narrow cleft. The water is crystal clear but forms in dark blue pools that appear to be bottomless. In one such place Davis presents a pothole problem quite different than those normally encountered in the desert. The pothole in question is maybe twenty feet across, not dissimilar in size to the ice cream cone keeper in Neon. Only the creek runs into it down a steep waterfall that churns the otherwise dark blue water in the hole into a frothy white. Once down the falls and out of the boil Dave had to swim hard in the current to avoid eddying out. This set him up nicely for the proper approach to the next challenge, which avoids being swept down a steep chute that channels the entire creek down into the next deep pool. Nicely executed Dave set himself up at a small stance just above the final pool so he could apply tension to the rope to assist the rest of us past the eddy in the pothole. Of course when I got into the pothole I pulled a huge armful of slack through my rap device (to enable me to swim easier, or so I thought) and got sucked right into the eddy. After swimming the long route around the back-side of the pothole in the current of the eddy I managed to mount the edge of the next waterfall like sitting on a horse, one leg over the waterfall, one leg in the pothole. Descending the chute wasn’t as difficult as it looked and soon I had joined Dave at his stance to take a turn at holding the rope, freeing Dave up to take some photo’s.
During the next swim I paddled up behind a large toad attempting to beat me to dry land. He had me, hands down until the water got shallow enough for me to stand, at which point I reached down scooped him up won the race. I guess it was actually a tie as we both arrived at the finish line together. Another watery rappel and we came around the corner to the last big drop. From this drop you look directly up at the bottom of the bridge spanning Davis Creek. As you might expect, underneath the bridge we found all manner of evidence of human habitation. The remnants of an old car, steel cables from the mining and logging days and numerous plastic bottles and aluminum cans. I think it must be in our nature to throw things off bridges. Humans seem to be compelled to this action whenever standing on a span.
The last rap, another 100+ footer, dropped us into the last verdant cathedral the canyon had to offer. A short bit of stream hiking brought us to the last drop over a jam of huge boulders, a rather grungy and insignificant finish to the canyon except for the cool scramble and swim (if you dare) underneath. Leaving the creek we were literally only feet from Ken’s truck where we dropped packs, grabbed snacks and started changing out of our wetsuits. A few minutes break and informative conversation with a local driving by in his pickup truck (what else?) about other possibilities in the area and we would call it a day. Last year I compared Davis Creek to Pine Creek in that it is about the same length, level of difficulty and commitment. In addition, access is so easy that like Pine Creek, Davis Creek is destined to become a Northwest classic. And I do honestly believe, if given the choice between the two Davis wins hands down. I’ll probably never do Pine Creek again.