Yangtze River Adventure

An account of the 1986 Sino-USA Upper Yangtze River Expedition, the first descent of the Yangtze, led by Ken and Jan Warren, from the source in Tibet to take-out near Batang in western China.

(Text only version, suitable for print-out. For photographic version: Yangtze

By Ancil Nance

A LOOK AHEAD

The water crashed over our four rafts with such force that two of the oarsmen, Chu and Zhang, were blasted into the river, a raging torrent thrashing about like a giant brown dragon trying to rid itself of pests. Our four 18-foot long rafts, lashed together in a 36-foot by 24-foot diamond, were headed for a gigantic wave curling above us. Chu and Zhang had to get back in before we hit it. The rafts seemed to pause on the up side of the next wave, Chu and Zhang scrambled aboard as the wave tilted our craft to a nearly vertical position and then dropped it over the downstream side of a deep hole of brown and white, churning wild water.

"HANG ON," Ken roared, as the river smashed against the canyon wall and twisted into angry reversing curls and boils. Again we were hurled about like corks. I was tossed into an opening between the lashed rafts. I paused in this watery cradle long enough to see another wall of water slam over us, and then I scrambled back to my place next to Ken at the left oar, only to see him get flipped off the seat, like a rag on a stick, toward the front of the raft, almost going over the bow. He hung on and I grabbed him as he pulled the oar back. Another wave hit, and Ken was ready, feet braced. The oar caught a powerful current, but the other end was held in an unbreakable grasp. With a loud crack the oar became Tibetan firewood. I unlashed the spare and Ken fitted it to the oarlock, ready for yet another crash of furious water. Would it ever end?

We didn't know. We didn't know if a giant waterfall was just around the corner, nor did we know if we would be able to stop before going over. That is what makes first descents different from any other type of river running.

The sequence described above was just one of the many unforgettable moments on the first descent of the Upper Yangtze River, the third longest river in the world and China's greatest. We will return to this part of the river, but first some background.

WHY FIRST DESCENTS ARE SPECIAL

Why would anyone do a trip like this? There was a time in human history when everywhere anyone went was unexplored, dangerous territory. Those who went first made it easier for all who followed. Explorers who returned let the rest know it could be done. Those who didn't return caused the next to be cautious, to be better prepared. Just knowing someone had climbed a mountain, run a river, or traversed a continent gave confidence to those who followed.

Being the first into the unknown is missing from our lives today. It is an urge most people never get to play against. The Yangtze River Expedition gave some of us a chance to get back to our roots and push against fear with confidence and courage. Attempting a first descent of a major river gave us a chance to see how deep were our roots. When the white water appeared, when scouting was impossible, when stopping was out of the question, that was when I saw the essence of living. There on the cusp of death was the peace of existence so deep, so exciting, that it could become addictive. Mountain climbers face it. Soldiers in battle are changed by it. It is the extreme edge of life.

DEATH ON THE YANGTZE

Before we left the United States, Ken asked us all if we could deal with the unknown. We all thought we could, but events proved differently. Stories of an all-Chinese river team ahead of us added fuel to the fires of fear. Three or four of the Chinese team had been killed in a waterfall somewhere ahead. Others were missing further down river. All this zinged in the back of our heads as our four rafts left Yushu. Left behind were those who questioned their ability to follow Ken into the unknown, and one at least, who blamed Ken for not saving Dave Shippee from death by some combination of asthma, altitude and pneumonia. Dave, the team photographer, became ill before we went to the Yangtze's source at 17,600 feet on the north side of Tanggula Mountain where it flows from the Jianggendiru Glacier at the foot of the Geladan-dong Peak. He had to return to Golmud, at 9,000', to recover while the expedition covered the first 200 miles of river from the source back to base camp, at 12,000'. Getting to the source from base camp was a truck, yak, horse and foot journey that took 3 or 4 days. The trucks were all-wheel drive rigs that got stuck in the mud, and pulled each other out. One time an engine got under water in a river crossing and the driver took it apart enough to get the water out of the oil pan and the cylinder heads. We camped in barren country one night, away from any river, and then followed the Tuo Tuo to the source glacier, passing a Chinese television crew that had driven to the source.

We began the descent by using inflatable kayaks put in at the source pool. The river was small and shallow enough that at times we had to walk our Sea Eagle kayaks across sandbars. We spent two weeks on this 200-mile section, running a bit low on food but not suffering at all except for the constant sun and wind. Arriving back at base camp was such a relief that no one wanted to hold still for the filming, and Ken had to bellow us into order, as the film record was important. We had to backtrack and find a finger of water that would lead to the banks near the base camp, and this extra effort, when so close to camp, food, and water, was enough to cause quite a lot of impatience. But it was great to be greeted by those that had not been on the upper portion of the trip.

Among the greeters was David Shippee. Dave was apparently well, after two weeks at lower elevation recovering from altitude sickness and Ken allowed him to join the expedition. The kayaks were put away and the large rafts, 18' long, were inflated and the frames welded, supplies loaded into coolers and other preparations made for the 550 mile section of river to Yushu. Two days out, Dave got ill and the doctor did all he could to bring him around. By the end of the fourth day he was dead. We were only 100 miles down river from base at Tuotuohoyen, but there was no way we could return. The river had been shallow in several sections, forcing us to drag the two-ton rafts over sandbars.

Earlier, while in his tent at base camp, Dave told me he was going on the river no matter what. Meaning that he was going to go, well or not. It was his choice. We all knew there would be no means of rescue. We were totally on our own until the city of Yushu, more than 500 miles down river. We had a radio but the support team would be far away, following the roads overland to Yushu. No one had expected any trouble on this section of the river above Yushu, and no one heard our calls. I remember telling myself to not even get a cut on this trip, staying healthy was that important.

DAVE'S LAST DAY

On Dave's last day we had to carry him off the raft. The doctor was trying to get him to take more liquids, because he seemed to be drying up. Dave shook his head and said, "It's not worth it," and slumped down, probably not regaining consciousness before he died around midnight.

Why had he taken the chance on an unknown river? He was a young photographer, and The National Geographic was interested in the expedition's story. This could have made his career. In the back of all our minds was the thought that successful completion of the exploration certainly couldn't hurt whatever else we wanted to do. On the expedition were a doctor, four river guides, two photographers, cinematographers, and newspersons. All could use the publicity, if it was good.

We buried Dave on a beautiful point of land where the Yangtze cuts through a mountain range, a place we called The River at the Top of the World, for that is how it felt. Past that range we came to another part of the plateau where the river cuts across rolling hills on the edge of the next vast mountain range.

Not until we had rafted nearly 300 miles did we see habitations and then people. The people were curious and friendly, running to view our seven rafts, bringing tea, carrying small children. They had seen other rafts when the all-Chinese team had floated by a month earlier. Whenever we pulled to shore for a lunch or photo break they gathered around, staring at us as we photographed them. Chu said many of them had not seen "roundeyes" before.

Greetings were exchanged, and I have forgotten the phrases, but not the many faces. We saw more people standing on the cliffs and running down to the riverbanks. Behind them were small villages, two and three story mud brick buildings. Lunch breaks were near a couple of these towns, which were about 20 miles apart. At one stop we were given tea, loaded with yak milk.

A small dam with a powerhouse crossed one tributary to the main river about 2 days above Yushu. About five men occupied the facility, and they had a green house to grow vegetables. They invited us into the living quarters to try making a phone call to the support team at Yushu, but the phone did not connect with Yushu. They gave us some dough buns, cooked, ready to eat. It was difficult to keep from scarfing them forthwith, as hungry as we were. Supplies had not run out, but food was getting low. At one stop we bought a sheep from a nomadic herder, trading a knife and about $15 worth of Chinese Yuan. The herder and his son and wife were intrigued with our walkie-talkies and the Frisbee.

YUSHU

About two kilometers above Yushu we saw a raft on the bank. Closer inspection revealed a sign, written by the support team telling us to let them know when we were arriving so they could roll the cameras. I got out and ran ahead, as our radios didn't reach anyone. I had to inform Jan of Dave Shippee's death, I thought. But I didn't, letting Ken break it to her instead as he walked up the beach, his arm around her. The joyous occasion of arrival was dampened considerably. Cameras rolling.

Officials treated us to a tour of the city of Yushu, until then closed to foreign visitors. Much work was being done to restore the old city and the monastery. The priests were practicing a ceremony to welcome the Pachen Lama, the official Chinese version of Tibet's Lama, not the Dalai Lama.

At night we attended a folk dance performance and were invited up on the stage and given a round of applause by the audience. Four members left the team at Yushu. On our second morning I was selected to ask Ken to a powwow so that the dissidents could ask him to turn over the leadership to Ron Mattson. They accused Ken of mismanagement and blamed him for Shippee's death, or at least for not calling in helicopters to rescue him. The matter was not up to a vote, Ken said. This was his expedition and if anyone wanted to leave they could. He was going down the river.

Later he told me that he saw me standing there, waiting to see which way the wind was blowing, ready to go with whoever was staying on the river. I agreed, saying I wanted to go on with the adventure, no matter who was the leader. The next day we broke camp, with the four leaving on a bus for Chengdu, and Ken leading the rest of the team on to Dege. This is the incident Outside magazine called a "mutiny." One could hardly call it a mutiny when four quit and the expedition continues, unless there was an ax to grind. The magazine never did publish a correct version of the events, preferring David McCrea's distorted view gleaned from interviews with the quitters. He spoke with me but discounted what I had to say. I was dismayed when I read his account in the magazine; it was as though he was talking about a totally different trip. A year later in a wrongful death suit brought by Shippee's kin, an Idaho court decided for the defendants, not believing the testimony of the quitters.

Before we arrived in Yushu I had mostly been riding in one raft, rowing every other hour, just for relief. Without me catching on, the oarsman was training me to row because he had made up his mind to quit after Shippee died. When we left Yushu for Dege I had my own 18-foot raft to row. By following Ken and Ron in the white water sections, I was able to row some intimidating rapids. Even when I didn't do everything correctly I stayed in the raft and kept it right side up. My overconfidence leaped ahead; I thought I was ready for anything.

ON TO DEGE

The first large rapid gave me a chance to get buried in water. We were able to pull over and scout the hole. Paul Sharpe paddling a kayak was out ahead radioing back that it was time to scout. From the cliff we looked down on 100 yards of standing waves that went right into a rock at a turn. The water piled up against the rock and the idea was to pull hard to the center of the river and stay off the rock. I rode through it first with Ken to get an idea of what could happen then he put me ashore and I went back for my raft. I wasn't able to stay off the rock and the water piled over me, filling the raft with another ton of water. A quarter-mile downstream I finally made it to quiet water and shore.

The scenery was stunning, with the surrounding mountains coming to a steep stop at the river, which wound around great projections of land like a snake, making the distance between two points stretch from a quarter mile into 5 miles. Small villages interrupted greenish brown slopes and fields planted in what could have been oats. The fields looked like brown 32-hole golf courses. The homes were made of mud brick, rocks, and small timbers, with racks for hay drying on the roofs.

The white water sections were plentiful but not impassable, so I never had to get out my climbing gear and climb the canyon walls. That is how I got to go on the expedition. When I first met Ken and Jan I was on a Sports Illustrated assignment to photograph them and all the equipment stacked in their driveway ready for shipment to China. I asked Ken if he needed anymore team members and he said the photographer position was filled, but he did need a climber. My heart raced, YES! "I climb," I told him.

The next day, after sending the film off to SI, I met with Ken for a couple of hours, going over my climbing history. After a while we shook hands, I was the team climber, ready to string ropes or climb out of a canyon should the water become impassable. As big as it did get, I never had to climb the cliffs for that reason. Instead, I helped the film crew tote tripods and gear to the cliff edges for shots that we were able to set up, looking down on rafts plunging through the cataracts. For instance, the one we called Three Boat Rapid.

THREE BOAT RAPID

This one stopped us. It was too big for single rafts and we thought we had better portage. My raft was picked for the attempt at an overland haul. We spent hours getting the gear out and then dragging, tugging, lifting the18-foot gray mass over the boulders. Strewn along the left shore, by an eddy below the stopper hole, were all manner of broken rafting and personal gear. It looked as though this was one place the all-Chinese team met disaster.

The effort at portage was so difficult that Ken and Ron reevaluated the situation. Ron suggested lashing the remaining three rafts together, to form a craft three boats wide. This they did, and were able to run the maelstrom. Ron rowed the left side, Chu Siming, in the middle raft with a movie camera, and Ken was on the right oar as the three rafts slid toward the center slick. The drop was about 15 feet, a slanting tongue licking a giant boulder in the center where the rafts disappeared momentarily. They emerged with a cascade of water pouring out of the boats and then crunched the left rock wall, where they were again inundated, scrunched onto another rock midstream, and then, clear. Ken radioed back that we should refit the portaged raft and catch up with the three-boat rig, which they would row to shore at a likely campsite. Easier said than done.

THE COLD WET NIGHT

The three rafts had gone ahead, carrying only three oarsmen. Left behind were two Chinese oarsmen, Zhang, and Xu; a Chinese news photographer and writer; the film crew and their gear, Paul Sharpe, the kayaking cinematographer, and myself. The idea was to load the remaining raft and float down to the camp that Ken, Ron, and Chu were establishing. It was late in the day, however, and our first attempts to drag the raft out of the eddy were not successful so we decided to wait until morning of the next day, having exhausted ourselves.

That night we found caves among the boulders where we huddled for warmth, as most of our personal gear had floated on with the three rafts. It began to rain and the temperature dropped, but we were able to stay dry. The next morning we loaded the raft with a little of the gear and Zhang and I took the oars, with John Glascock along for ballast. We pulled on the oars, trying to get into the current, but only got loads of water over the tubes, making it more difficult to get up speed to join the current. Then, as luck would have it we popped into the swift current, pivoted on a submerged boulder, and my oar snagged on my life jacket, dipped into the river at a steep angle, lifted me off my seat. John grabbed for me and the raft was levered over.

Upside down now, the raft a roof, I remarked to John that at least the raft was emptied of water. We ducked underwater, got on top, and spotted Zhang floating downstream. The current was still swift, but there was no whitewater in sight, so we were able to get the spare oars off and use them to row, sort of, until we came to where the other boats had pulled over. The three oarsmen were dismayed to see us, arriving upside down, knowing that the others were upstream without a paddle or raft.

Paul Shape filmed part of the capsizing, but our flip happened just as we went behind a boulder from his standpoint. So his film shows a raft, and then an upside down raft. He ferried film equipment from the eddy to camp several times; filling the small space his kayak afforded. Then it came time to tow and guide the others who had to jump into the river with only their lifejackets for aid. The river allowed them an uneventful float, and soon we were all drying off around a fire near an old stone hut, used by yak or sheepherders.

The raft flip had consequences we did not foresee. Our base radio was packed in a waterproof Pelican hard case. A thin rubber ring serves as a gasket and must be in place to keep the water out. The last person to pack the radio away neglected to put the gasket in place, and we did not know until too late that the radio no longer functioned. The next day we floated the rest of the distance to the Dege takeout.

DEGE

Dege isn't on the Yangtze, it is up a small tributary a few miles, so when we pulled over under a bridge across the Yangtze we didn't see a city, just a few small buildings, and trucks ready to take us to town. The town sits astride the smaller river, with homes and sewers right on the river's edge. Ron and Paul had to try a kayak run in this new stream, and when they returned to our guesthouse they were more than glad to take a hot, soapy shower.

Dege is a bustling community, still high in the mountains, but with roads that usually remain open east to Chengdu and west to Lhasa. It was here that we heard we had not seen anything yet, as to white water. Ahead lay the real white water. Impassable. The Chinese team skipped this section. That did it! If they skipped it, we were going to run it! We rested, walked around Dege, and enjoyed the good food provided by our Chinese hosts, a welcome change from the canned and packaged dinners of the previous two weeks. We visited the Buddhist monastery, watched preparations being made for the arrival of the Pachen Lama, due to arrive in a few days. The guest house we were in was getting full, with guests arriving expecting rooms previously booked, but taken by our team, arriving later than had been planned. We were able to rest a couple of days, however, and were anxious to get going again.

Upon leaving Dege we were back in single raft mode, the river was hidden behind twists and turns; the cliffs sometimes obscured in mists. About ten miles from Dege, on the opposite side of the river we noticed a small house and pulled over. A man greeted us, and showed us around. A woman was bent over some rocks, carving a phrase over and over on the stones. We were told it was "Om Mani Padme Hum." Roughly translated the prayer says, "The jewel is in the lotus." or "Good fortune to you."

TO THE RIVER OF DOOM

The filming slowed the trip as it would take hours to set up, film, stop the rafts, pick up the land based crew, and get going again. But the expedition had to be filmed since Mutual of Omaha had paid big bucks to have it appear on ABC's Spirit of Adventure. The first of the big efforts came when Paul radioed back that there was a large drop ahead and we should pull over to the China side if possible. We did, just in time. The hole would have given single rafts a bad time so all four were diamond-rigged together making a craft 36 feet long and 24 feet wide, controlled by two men on each outside oar and two steering in the rear raft.

It took three hours to lash the rafts so we had a late supper that night camped on rocky ledges. The next morning I set off early with Dan Dominy, Kevin O'Brien and Paul Sharpe to set the cameras on a rock near the main hole. They each had a full sized 35mm camera. On the rafts were a couple of fixed movie cameras in waterproof housings, and the soundman, John Glascock had a handheld. He had also rigged microphones to record the passage. It was fun to watch and I wished I had been on board. The four-boat rig disappeared twice from view, so large were the holes, but it emerged downstream, oarsmen yelling victory. Paul left his camera with me and went back to kayak the whitewater while Dan filmed. Paul disappeared from sight a couple of times, but mostly bobbed along on top, making it look easy. "A piece of pie," remarked Xu.

Two hours later Dan, Kevin, and I caught up with the beached rafts. The day was getting long but it was felt that we could go a few more miles, or "K," as we had begun to measure it in kilometers. The river moved swiftly, and a bend blocked our view. Paul Sharpe radioed for us to pull over because there was no way we could raft what he was seeing. The canyon here was high, steep, and twisting. We couldn't walk out. Ken thought he spotted a way to make the run. The diamond rig was still intact so we went for it, all big-eyed and hearts pounding. This is where the story began, with Chu and Zhang being swept overboard.

Normal whitewater is rated on a scale of difficulty from I to VI, but this monster water was off the scale according to Ken and Ron. How far off we had no inkling, "Try XII," Ron suggested afterwards. For over an hour we crashed forward, being tossed first up, then down, then left and right. The noise of the crashing water and the groaning rafts made it hard to hear even a yell, like being in a train tunnel with the train bearing down. And on it went. We had rafts full of water, but finally were able to pull ashore at a sandy beach with a cleft in the rocks that looked like it held a trail. We figured this was it, no more for the day, made camp, and assessed the damage to the rafts, two of which needed repairs.

BIGGER AND BETTER, AUGUST 29, 1986

The next day we went for another hour-long ride after filming what we called "Buddha's Hole." Named that by Paul as he told us to pull over or we would "see Buddha." We had been expecting the river to let up; thinking nothing could be bigger than what we ran the day before. Turns out we were wrong. From the shore we scouted this 75-foot wide, 30-foot deep "keeper hole" in the river which, if you hit it just wrong, would hold and re-circulate the raft. We filmed this run, and this time I got to ride, as the film crew didn't need any help. Chen photographed the stills from the bank for China News Service. His photo shows our four-boat rig on the right edge of a massive hole, leaning toward, but not going into, the maw. It was over in seconds, and it was the deepest water hole I had been able to look into without entering.

Ron had repaired some punctures the rafts had suffered the previous day, so we came through Buddha's Hole just fine. The water was smooth for about a half mile. Paul was again scouting ahead in his kayak. All of our Motorola walkie-talkies were tuned for his warnings, which we had come to expect, and while not exaggerations, were warnings, which we had gotten used to. The worst of the water we ran anyway when not able to pull over.

"Pull over! Ohmygod, it's unrunnable!" There he goes again. We had just finished bailing after the last big hole. Taking Paul's advice, Ken, Ron, Chu, and Zhang pulled toward left bank. Ahead was the smooth straight line of the drop. Beyond that, the dancing plumes of a fierce river ballet gave us a clue to what Paul saw from his rocky vantage point.

We were not able to pull over in time. Too late to stop.

The oarsmen pulled back toward the center. The left side of the four-boat rig plunged straight down a ten-foot-high rock, making a 12-foot long rip in the floor of the left raft; the one Ken and I were in. The other three rafts stayed in the main current, pulling the wounded raft with Ken and me at a twisted angle. I thought the rafts were going to tear their D-rings and snap the frames. The sounds of the twisting frames and rubber and the crashing water deafened us, again. I can still hear it in the back of my skull.

This water was bigger than the day before, and just as relentless. By now I have run out of superlatives. Monster, King Kong-sized water, no, Godzilla, waves bigger than a house. Somebody afterward said 30-foot waves. It was like being on the ocean. Halfway through, our raft disappeared. I reached for the adjoining raft and yelled at Ken, "What happened?"

"I don't know," he gurgled, as water by the ton crashed on us again.

We headed down a North Sea-sized trough with no raft beneath us, only hanging on to the ropes of the other rafts. The others were screaming for us to hang on, to get back in. Less then twenty feet away loomed a sheer rock wall, and the rafts were about to squash us against it. We lunged on with no time to spare.

AFTERMATH

What happened to the raft? It had folded under the other three. We rode this mutation the rest of the way over more monster water until we reached a flat section where we pulled over to check for other damage. We lost very little gear: a couple of tripods, a smashed hard case, a jacket and some food. My camera containers with exposed film were safe. We still had our base radio, or so we thought.

The most damage wasn't done to the rafts. Some of the team had had enough. The white water had been beyond expectation and belief. No one knew what lay ahead, and only a few were willing to find out. We had faced the unknown unwillingly in that last hour-long section, and survived. If we had scouted it would have been called unrunnable, and maybe we would have tried to hike out from the previous camp site, where we saw a trail, and where a Tibetan hunter had stood to see us off. As it was, we had run it, the river miles that the all-Chinese team said was unrunnable. We had survived the River of Doom.

(Map of Dege to Batang, large size: 12x18.5 inches, 45 sec. @28k)

FIVE DAY CAMP

What lay ahead? This was on all our minds. The film crew decided they wanted to hike out. The Chinese team was in favor of rafting a few more miles and landing on the Chinese side of the river. We were camped in Tibet. Ken, Ron, and I were for continuing on the river, thus an impasse. We tried to call out on the base radio, stringing the wire antenna between two low trees, and then we found that it had shorted out when it got soaked during the heavy white water. There was no way to tell the road support team, headed by Jan Warren, what our situation was. We found out later that since we were overdue they were worried also, preparing to send a search party. The Tibetan hunter, who had seen us at the campsite back in the "unrunnable" section after our first day of monster water, reported to Batang and the waiting support team that we were on the river below Baiyu.

For two days we discussed and cajoled. Finally, Paul decided that since he didn't want anymore days of white water like what we had experienced, he was going to paddle across to China and hike out. Ken didn't think that was a good idea, but couldn't stop him. He waved farewell, and we watched him leave his kayak on the rocky shore and he disappeared into the foliage, climbing. Days later, slogging through a snowdrift, a Tibetan villager found him and took him to his village and then to Batang, arriving before the rest of us.

(Map of approximate hike route. My guess is close, but can be adjusted with more information.)

Yes, the rest of us. We were still discussing. Ron Mattson and I had explored downstream, and returned with a report that for at least 7 miles it was runnable, despite the large set of rapids just below our camp. The Chinese team perked up. With the film crew still adamant about no more river running, and while Ron and I were scouting down river a second day, Ken decided there was nothing for it but to hike up to the nearest village and get horses to carry out the equipment. He didn't want to leave anything behind. He loaded his pack with more than any of us could have carried and began a week-long trek back to Batang, a story only he can tell, which I have heard a couple of times. It was a long hike, which Dan Dominy filmed the beginning of. He met barking mastiffs intent on taking off a leg or two. A kindly woman showed him a place to rest, and finally he got a truck ride back down to the Yangtze and across the bridge to Batang.

MEANWHILE

While Ken was hiking up the trails, Ron and I came back with a more favorable scouting report, the river was good for at least 15 K. On the fifth day in camp after the monster water days we got the film crew persuaded to get back on the river. One raft was not reparable, so we set it loose by itself as a test of the rapids. It did better than our subsequent manned efforts, not gaining even a pail of water.

We were back to three separate rafts, and still no one wanted to ride in my raft, being a newcomer to the sport. Ron and the Chu carried the film team, and so I was able to go ahead, experiencing the lead position for the first time. It was kind of a thrill, not knowing for sure, wondering about the next bend. Eventually all three boats got close and we noticed another obvious drop a quarter mile ahead. We pulled over to the Chinese side of the river. The rapids were full of large rocks, keeper holes and just looked dangerous. So we made camp again.

The next day Ron and I did some more scouting and unlike the previous scouts, this one was along a well-worn trail. That changed the picture. All were agreed now to hike out. After waiting one more day for me to recover from a bout of the runs we took off on a trail system that eventually led inland on the second day, away from the river. Just when we are trying to decide what to do, a Tibetan and his son arrived, hiking down the trail. With sign language and some help from a shared word or two, Chu was able to ascertain that we would not be able to hike to Batang. Bama, as he is called, said we should follow him first to his village, 5 miles into the mountains, and from there we could travel to Batang on horse back.

ADVENTURE'S END

After two days of hiking with fewer calories than a Jenny Craig diet, we were now in heaven, or at least Shangri-La. The village had about 50 mud brick homes, two to four stories high, with only a door on the first level. Bama cleared a space in his main room, above the animal stable on the first floor. Here is where his family lived, but they made room. We were given cloth pads and animal skins to sleep on. We offered to buy a sheep for our meals, which Bama agreed to.

Bama arranged for horses to be brought and on our third day in the village we set off, up the trail to the surrounding mountains, just as a rescue team, with more horses, arrived down the trail. After a palaver we united teams and continued to Batang.

It is rained most of the time, and I did my best to take photos and keep my cameras dry. This is a brand new adventure, going overland from the Yangtze to Batang.

OVERLAND TO BATANG AND CHENGDU

The trail to Batang crossed two passes that seemed to be around 15,000'. Snow and sleet formed at the rocky, highest points, and then the rain continued as we dropped back to the jungle-like foliage of the lower hills. We rode small ponies, with packsaddles, for much of the trip, but at times the way was so steep we had to get off so the ponies could be sure of their footing. By the end of the first day we arrived at a large cave in the limestone cliffs next to what looked like the end of the trail at a huge cliff.

Despite the rain, John Glascock was able to round up enough wood to make a fire whose flames leaped six feet into the air. We voted him the "Most Improved Camper." Food was chapati-like bread and yogurt, supplied by the rescue team. The second day began with a surprise. The trail continued up the cliff, accessed by a small crack that led to a steep valley, out of sight from the previous camp. This went up until we came to vast rolling hills of small plants and grass, which continued for several miles before dropping back down through a real forest, with many kinds of trees. Along the way we met a tradesman, bearing a great copper kettle, three feet in diameter, on his shoulders. His yaks were also loaded. We never did get his story, but, hunched over under his load, dressed only in loincloth and sandals, rain coming down, I'm sure he had one.

By late afternoon we came to a faint road which led to a logging camp and a truck, waiting to carry us about 20 K to Batang. In the courtyard of the camp we posed for a team picture, minus Ken and Paul. What a bedraggled bunch. We arrived at Batang before supper, about twenty minutes after Ken Warren arrived on his truck ride from Tibet. Two routes, different stories, same ending. Paul was there too, getting stronger by the day after having lost a few pounds on his trek. Ron had a package waiting for him, from his wife, Cheryl. He invited us to gather around as he tore off the brown wrapper. Inside were several layers of chocolate-chip cookies! We went nuts, eating almost all of them. Ron gave me a nudge and we left the cookie eaters. In the room we shared for our stay in Batang, Ron showed me what was under the cookies: about twenty Snickers and Milky Way bars! He shared these with me over the next few days as we waited for transportation to Chengdu and then Beijing.

During the whole river trip Ron and I shared a tent together. We had similar levels of dirtiness and fastidiousness, so made good tent mates. Imagine, living out of a tent for 53 days! Ron was a great oarsman and Mr. Fix-It. He had skills needed by any river expedition. Most important, however was his sharing.

Ron and I agreed that the trip was over. No fixing the rafts and getting back on the river. The rainy season was upon us as the expedition had taken longer than anticipated. When Ken asked us what we thought, we were ready with one answer: let's go home. Ken nodded his head, but I could tell he was disappointed. We had accomplished much, but had not made it to the flat water at Yibin, where steamboats stop going upriver. We had covered 1,200 continuous miles from the source, however, and that was enough.

The Chinese government provided us with transportation to Chengdu and a plane ride to Beijing. On the roads to Chengdu from Batang we went through country I can only dream of seeing again: high mountain passes, small villages stuck against the sides of mountains with rivers crashing down next to them. Mountain climbers had been through here, particularly Kanding, a jump off point for climbs to China's highest mountains. The children knew about Polaroid cameras, and were disappointed that our 35mm cameras didn't provide instant prints.

Before getting to Kanding, as our truck rounded a turn, a large boulder bounced across the road. We slowed and there, just beyond, was a massive landslide, seconds old, covering the road. We waited a few hours while the road was cleared, using an old bulldozer with a track that kept falling off. Ron helped the mechanics fix it. I took more pictures.

Chengdu, the western capital of China, is near a giant Buddha carved in stone on a tributary of the Yangtze, and near the Panda sanctuary, but we didn't visit these sites. We were worn out. As we waited to get a plane for Beijing all we could do was walk around the city and eat. The same was true in Beijing. We did not visit the Imperial Palace or the Great Wall. We just wanted to get home. Funny how once that sets in nothing can be enticing.

When we got home we began to get an inkling of the misinformation that had spread about what happened on the expedition. Stories in The Oregonian, especially those by Rolla Crick, were excellent, given that no one had been able to talk to us, but rumors of our deaths were greatly exaggerated.

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