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Aaron Brunzell returns to his native Idaho to guide each summer. lenge than usual. Temperatures in the 50s and heavy rain made for a cool, slow effort. This was my first taste of the challenges of the river guide. We hoisted gear up the rocky beach like ants marching through a downpour until we had arranged the makings of a small city. The guests’ personal effects and sleeping bags were set out, name tags up, and on the beach below what would be the kitchen was set up. On the canyon’s shallow bench skirting the left side of the river, I assembled 10 blue Mountain Hardware Stargazer tents amidst remnants of trees burnt in recent forest fires. While Brunzell laid out the kitchen and found a peaceful setting for the groover—our camp toilet—I assembled the dining area: eight camp tables, folding chairs and waterproof plaid table cloths. Two hours later, we had established an impressive home for our guests on the banks of the river. Luckily, we had better weather conditions throughout the rest of the trip. Guests arrived shortly after we finished setting up. Hot coffee was the beverage of choice until the afternoon thunderstorms dissipated. The boats rolled in, one by one, and guests immediately grabbed their effects and made a run for their tents of choice. Some preferred to be closer to the dining area, others wanted to be near the soothing rumble of the river and some gravitated to the fringe, where they could have all the peace and quiet in the world. Boiled artichokes, Atlantic sockeye salmon, spinach salad, homemade cornbread, sundried tomato and alfredo pasta, and fresh-baked brownies for dinner were met with fanfare campwide. The crew was up at 6 a.m. the next morning, and I was thankful to have five extra sets of hands to help take down camp. While some of the guides cooked a gourmet breakfast, I was tearing down tents, tables and chairs and repacking the sweep for the day’s rapids. Just minutes after the sun peaked over the canyon rim, I shoved off with Marshall Minder, day-two sweep boat captain. Minder, 28, grew up in Council but lives in Boise. With more than five years of experience guiding, he remains the life of the party and his outgoing personality lends itself to working closely with the guests. Minder’s athletic posture and shaggy blond hair give WWW. B OISEWEEKLY.C O M
him the appearance of the quintessential river guide. We made quick time past the Indian Creek airstrip—one of only a handful of outlets to the civilized world along the Middle Fork—and through the infamous Pistol Creek rapid before arriving at Upper Jackass Camp. Everyone was in high spirits on the second night, thanks to the pleasant weather and incredible scenery. A golden eagle soared high above as we prepared a hearty feast of 40 Mile stew, buttermilk biscuits and raspberry-peach cobbler. The sky opened and the stars popped, dazzling the guests who had no idea how clear the Idaho starscape could be without urban light pollution. The dippers looked like headlights bearing down on us from afar. Better barometric offerings prompted both guests and guides alike to have a go at the Middle Fork’s cutthroat trout population, but the previous day’s rain muddied the waters just enough to make the catch modest. On day three I tackled the Tappan rapid series alongside Colin Hughes, the 21-yearold son of the company’s owners, Jerry Hughes and Carole Finely. Stout, with a shaggy mop that hadn’t seen a cut in many moons, Hughes projects wisdom well beyond his years. He has been on the river since he was eight months old and has been guiding on the Middle Fork for nearly five years. A University of Idaho senior, he spends his summers on the river, before returning to the rigors of his conservation social sciences curriculum each fall. Like the rest of the guides, Hughes finds solace in his occupation and enjoys being able to share his knowledge and experience with people who can’t do this sort of thing on their own. “I guide because I see a sort of need for the people we take down the rivers to reconnect with our natural world,” said Hughes. “We float through the fourth-largest batholith in the world, which is a large granite plume exposed on the surface. It’s a pretty cool thing to experience.” I began to realize why these guys do what they do. In 15 years of running Idaho’s rivers, this was my first commercial trip. By comparison, the ideology behind a
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