Finally getting to meet Bert after all these years

Meeting Bert for the first time took time, nearly 25 years.

But getting to know Bert is something you’re not sure you even want to do at all because one never knows if he’ll be meek and calm or wild and angry.

To be precise, Bert is not a person, but “Bert’s Drop” the final rapid on the Salmo River in British Columbia. He’s akin to the fairy tale troll guarding the bridge. Every river runner who exits Shenango Canyon must pass, hoping he’s napping.

But Bert is treated, perhaps out of respect, as if he were a revered resident. “Bert’s in today,” was the word from a group of local kayakers prior to the seven-mile run to the reservoir on the Pend Oreille River.

With those three words, my mind started to race and the questions and visions shot through my head.

How “in” was in? If I chickened out, was there a portage? And if I met Bert and he closed the door in my face, meaning I flipped in his froth and had to swim, what was that going to be like?

Was the decision to run my small 10-foot cataraft versus a bigger 14-footer wrong? Too late, the more forgiving craft I used to run my only other Class V rapid — Stonechest on Montana’s Yaak River — was 100 miles away.

Add to matters, we also learned about Ernie, Bert’s new neighbor who was there if Bert didn’t do enough. In a dozen or so runs on the Salmo, I’d never heard of Ernie.

According to author Betty Pratt-Johnson, Bert’s was named after kayaker Bert Peters who once lived alongside the Salmo. He reportedly “saw God” when he ran and swam the rapid.

As we drove the 10 miles back to the mouth of the Salmo to leave our shuttle rig, I was confident Seven Mile Reservoir would be on the way to full pool. The lake behind the dam of the same name can rise as fast as it falls depending on power demand. It’s what determines if Bert is awake or asleep.

Views of the barren muddy shoreline said it all. For the first time since my maiden voyage on the Salmo in 1993, I was going to meet Bert.

But Bert isn’t the only thing of concern as the Salmo is hardly a one trick pony. The “Boulder Garden” and “Fish Weir” all demand one’s attention.

After successfully getting to where we could scout Berts — its approach signaled in the distance by the triangular pyramid rock at the entrance — next came the dicey walk to take a peek and chart our course. Some statistics say about 95 percent of river injuries come on shore, making the moss-covered boulders that much more of a challenge.

The route was clear, hug the right shore and follow the flow, but make sure you punch the foamy aerated water at the top. Slipping into the hole was a for-sure flip.

Hanging to watch my boating companions, each on pair of bigger 12-foot cats, would help confirm the run — or not. And taking pics could capture possible carnage that the boat pilots would savor.

Boat No. 1 made it just fine, but did catch some air and began to launch skyward in what was likely Ernie. He later confided that this was just his second meeting with Bert in two-dozen years.

The buddy at the controls of boat No. 2 was a first timer on the Salmo. He also had the ideal run. Or so it seemed until the craft pivoted sideways for an instant and he flew into the water. His only previous swim came on Lava Falls on the Grand Canyon. Apparently he only swims in legendary water?

Good thing is a swim here is within a couple hundred feet of the reservoir.

It was my turn now and I carefully followed the same track, punching through the first hole. I touched the edge of the hole, however, and was thinking I was going swimming.

But locking my right leg under a bar on the aluminum frame I engaged in a desperate tug-of-war — man versus Mother Nature, with help I’m sure from Bert.

I was bound and determined not to let Bert win and after a high-side that had to last nearly a minute — an eternity at a time like this — the hole lost its grip and I floated downstream, hoarsely whooping and hollering for no one to hear.

Bert, it was a pleasure to have finally met you.

Paul Delaney can be reached at pdelaney@cheneyfreepress.com.