Kayaking the Yangtze.
Photo by Dunbar Hardy.

Every journey starts at the end. Vastness, beauty, delirious, head-turning stimuli of time spent somewhere remarkable and the recurring images that we are left with. Images that are presented gradually, like an unfolding lotus blossom, only to be fully appreciated after being safely delivered home. Such was the case after the first commercial kayak descent of the Great Bend of the Yangtze River. There is an echo in the voices of those that were there. A similar whisper of bittersweet return. A resignation that we will never be quite the same again. It is common in the world of kayak travel today, especially in China, that we may have also said farewell to a friend. But no regrets. In the end, the experience well outweighs the loss.

I speak of loss because the one thing we did not expect of our10 days on one of the last great remote stretches of river in the world, was witnessing daily its death. We came expecting 3,000 foot sheer gorges, huge water rapids amidst Tibetan prayer flags and sandy beaches beyond our wildest dreams: Shangri-la. We saw these things, indeed. But the specter of China, and its rapid expansion into prosperity, hung over the river. Dam preparations were everywhere. Roads were being blasted into existence out of pristine hillsides. The daily sightings of apocalyptic dredgers stripping away at the riverbed in a futile attempt at wealth foretold the loss of this environment. Futile because it is said that the average revenue of a single dredger in one year with 10 Chinese workers rotating 24 hour shifts is a humble $1,500 (USD). All of this comes at the expense of the river and her surroundings.

"Two years ago," well known international paddler and trip leader Willie Kern remarked, "I saw perhaps five or six dredgers along this entire 120 mile stretch of river." On this trip, in January 2005, nearly 80 of these rusted steel monstrosities revealed themselves in some of the most unlikely places. Far more dangerous than the giant rapids we encountered were the steel cables that ran from each dredger to hold it in place in the moving current. A kayak would amble along when suddenly cables would begin to dance in the water in a tango of slack and pull.

Tarkio Kayak Adventures group of 25 clients was comprised of an unlikely mix of world-class expedition boaters like Willie Kern, myself, Land Heflin, Polk Deters and Jed Weingarten, along with more average souls who ply the common grounds of America's whitewater. They came for big water (over 20,000 cfs at its lowest flows) on this, the world's third largest river—the Yangtze. For those more accustomed to creeks, the volume was jaw-dropping. Certainly it was not a dangerous river in the classic sense as most rapids were drop pool with little in the way of hazards, but the boiling eddies, giant crashing waves and length of many drops made for a gut check as your boat would come onto the entry tongue. Whispers between Willie and Polk revealed to those close enough that the river was higher than the original exploratory trip two years before. But I could hardly imagine a few thousand extra cfs making all that much difference in something already so huge.

The rapids were interspersed with spectacular stretches of gently moving water that luckily came at precisely the point where the narrowest walled-in gorges appear. It would be horrific to imagine any serious rapids in these stretches and would, perhaps, make the river un-navigable as the canyon walls rose thousands of feet steeply uphill with no exit points. I reflected on some of the original trips down here, as they encountered blind turns into canyoned out gorges that must have been met with intense anxiety.

Each night brought us relief at the most spectacular sandy beaches one could imagine. At times they appeared to be from another planet. Strange rock formations and caves gathered in a playground of tent sites and vantage points to view the darkening sky. It was during the night that the Yangtze was most beautiful. Sepia-toned silhouettes of mountains and ridges edged along the horizon below a dizzying display of stars and sky. The Yangtze is, no-doubt, a night child and I stole constant glimpses of her splendor. She never turned away. Neither did I. Each night I bid farewell with one last look before sleep. And then another. And another. Until I finally gave in to exhaustion.

Villages and people were few. While the river is certainly not remote, contact with the outside world was minimal. Yet, at the halfway point of this multi-day adventure stood the most fantastic village I had ever seen. From the river the stone architecture of the humble homes that lined the hillside beckoned our weary bodies up the 2,000-foot climb to the old walled entrance. The hike alone was magnificent as terraced rice fields and nearby waterfalls created a valley scene verging on paradise. And just when you think it can't get any better, you enter the village and realize that you have found "The Place."

"The Place" is what every traveler dreams of. A perfect village with undiscovered cobbled streets harboring millennia of history. No cars, movie theatres or tour buses to distract. This town of Baoshan was by far one of the most pristine I had ever found in my years of traveling. The village square was beautifully poised upon a cliffside overlooking rice fields below. Here children played and old men smoked.

Baoshan is most likely the last front on the development trail of China's Yunnan Province. This southwestern corner of the country had for centuries largely been ignored by the countless Han upheavals that centered in the far away eastern cities. Even under the Mao regime, which seemingly stripped away much of Chinese heritage elsewhere, the area was ultimately left to itself. The ethnic minorities scattered throughout the province quietly thrived and continued their customs unimpeded. What is surprising is that only now is it all being threatened. Tyranny was largely a friend of the region in the area of preservation. Western style capitalism has, in fact, brought greater wealth and perhaps a better standard of living, healthcare and communication, but has also solidified the juxtaposition of old and new as young local Naxi girls—beautifully garbed in provincial clothing, slip by revealing Nike sneakers under flowing robes.

It is a constant battle to not judge what is better in these cases. As we enjoy our own trappings of luxury in the West, who are we to decide what is best for these people in the question of maintaining heritage? It is their right to decide. And certainly, the struggle of this selfishness extends to the river. While we carry the burden of having made so many mistakes in our own "civilized" countries, destroying free-flowing rivers, we now wave the banner of righteousness to a country that desperately needs to harness this power in the form of dams. There is no doubt that dams will begin to appear. And soon. As the Yangtze Three Gorges project foretold some thousand miles downstream, little can be done to stop it. History is always doomed to repeat itself and the only hope is that like us, the Chinese will realize this mistake and quickly back paddle to preserve what's left.

Melancholy filled the air as the group ran the last day of rapids. Like a shiny new bike on Christmas morning, the river lifted up to hand us the finest set of rapids thus far. Days of travel had brought us to this point. Wave train after wave train beckoned us forward. We went reluctantly knowing that it was one step closer to the take out along with the sound of diesel and the smell of fumes. Though my body was tired and I craved the welcome reprieve of a shower and good meal, I would have gladly gone on. Turning my kayak around I looked upstream; the water glistened and the sky flirted with crimson winks. I savored this last breath of beauty. I bode farewell to a friend. And resigned myself to the end.

But it need not be the end. It is really just the beginning. And in the beginning I am a child growing up in the south of Louisiana. In a field of marsh grasses behind my house is a fort I constructed. Next to my fort is a hole. Each day I would dig a little deeper in a futile attempt to reach the other side. I had heard, and believed, as every 5 year old does, that a hole dug through the earth will lead you to China on the other side of the planet. Winter, spring, summer, and fall the shovel flew as I thought the exit must be near. Eventually I gave up, resigned to the idea that the light of China would never shine.

It was here at the start of this great journey, standing above Tiger Leaping Gorge, just a few miles upstream of our put-in, that I realized that I had indeed made it—to the other side of the planet. It came to me as I strolled from the riverbank through a small village of farmers and saw a young boy. His shovel moved swiftly as he lifted mounds of dirt and began to fill a hole that looked remarkably like mine. Yes, it was my hole. I had indeed dug through. It was here I took notice: the flute playing in the background, the swallow above my head, and the smell of exotic food in a rustic kitchen. And as the final tinge of dusk swept the valley into moonlight, the boy looked up and smiled as if to say, "I have been waiting…what took you so long?"

Facts:

Where: The Great Bend of the Yangtze River is located in the Yunnan Province of Southwestern China. The closest airport is in the pleasant town of Lijiang (a World Heritage site).

The River:The Great Bend of the Yangtze is over 120 miles in length and can take 7-9 days to run. Rapids are big volume class III-IV+ and pool-drop in character.

When: This trip is best done from January-March, which is after the coldest weather but before monsoons start.

Outfitter:Tarkio Kayak Adventures offers a 9-day raft supported kayak instructional trip down the Great Bend of the Yangtze. For more information on Tarkio and all of the trips they offer go to www.teamtarkio.com .

Additional Information: The Nature Conservancy is working to help the Yunnan Province develop an eco-tourism infrastructure that benefits the remarkably diverse and wild nature of its environs. For more information on their Yunnan Great Rivers Project go to www.nature.org .

Dunbar Hardy is a freelance photographer/writer based out of Durango, Colorado. He is also the Senior Editor for Kayak Session Magazine. He has traveled the world searching for water. To view more of his work, go to www.dunbarhardy.com.