A day in a drift boat on the Deschutes

A drift boat on the Deschutes River is rowed bow-first, the rower facing downstream, so the boat gives itself to the current and the oars are there only to argue where it matters.

Rigging the boat

The day starts on the trailer at the ramp below the bridge at Maupin, where the Deschutes runs green out of the basalt canyon. The oars go into their locks and the pins are snugged until the blades hang an inch off the water. The anchor line is coiled on the deck at the bow and tied to a release cleat with a single wrap, so one pull on the rope drops the anchor the instant the boat stops moving. The stripping basket sits on the floorboards by the rower's seat, and the fly rods ride in the holders along the gunwale. Rigged right, the boat sits level on the trailer and every line lies clear of the oars' sweep — the oars clear the gunwales by the width of a hand.

The put-in

The trailer backs down the ramp until the stern floats, the tires hissing on wet concrete. Someone in waders takes the bow line and walks the boat off the bunks and into the shallows while the trailer pulls up and out of the way. The boat swings against the current, held nose-up by the line, the flat bottom rocking side to side. The angler steps in and sits low, and the boat settles onto its bottom with the current curling past the stern. When the rower pushes off the gravel, the stern swings into the current and the bow line comes tight.

Taking the oars

The rower faces downstream and rows what the river is already doing. A drift boat is not powered; the current moves it, and the oars steer and slow it. The first pulls are corrections — a back stroke to check the boat against a fast seam, a draw to push the bow off the shadow of a rock. The blades bend against the pull and feather on the return. The boat finds the tongue of fastest water that runs down the middle of the run, and settles into it.

Reading the run

The river is read in its surface. Smooth glass over deep water, a hump where a boulder sits just under the skin, broken riffle where gravel shallows. The rower keeps the boat in the seam between fast and slow water, where the boat has steerage and the trout hold. On the lower Deschutes the water runs clear and cold out of the dam upstream, so the bottom shows through in the shallows, every cobble a hazard and a landmark. The afternoon wind comes up off the canyon, and the rower rows it like another current.

Working the lies

Where a run holds fish, the boat is turned and anchored. The anchor is thrown out ahead, the line snubs on the cleat, and the boat comes around to hang bow-downstream, oars feathered, while the angler casts. The boat rides the current against the anchor line, steady through the length of the drift. When the water is worked through, the rower pulls the line — one clean pull off the cleat — and the anchor comes up dripping, gravel ringing on the floorboards. The boat is back in the current, drifting down toward the next bar.

The take-out

The take-out is picked before the drift ends: a ramp or a gravel bar on the inside of a bend, where the water slows and the canyon wall gives a place to stand. The rower pulls the boat out of the main current and lets it slide down the slack water. The bow grounds on gravel, and someone in waders steps out, holds the boat against the pull of the river while the angler climbs over the side. Lightened, the boat rides higher, lifting on the small waves that curl around the stern.

Draining and loading

The plug comes out while the boat still sits in the shallows. The trailer backs down, and the bow is floated onto the bunks or pulled the rest of the way by the winch. The line hooks to the bow eye, the handle turns, and the boat rides up out of the water with the river pouring from the bilge plug. The oars are unshipped and lashed to the frame, the anchor rope coiled and tied. The boat rides the trailer bunks with the plug out and the last of the Deschutes draining from the bilge.