Words: Carmen Kuntz

Photos: Rožle Bregar
& Rok Rozman

Soca guidebook
The Soča guidebook can be purchased at many local paddling shops and on the Balkan River Defence website: https://balkanriverdefence.org

From source to sea on the Soča
and everything inbetween – paddles, politics, and plovers

For paddlers, there exists a land of fairy tales. A magical world where a river begins as a trickle in the mountains, growing into white water that rushes through grey-white limestone canyons, whose walls were carved by centuries of flowing water. Through gravel bars, it flows, with vistas of mountains and sky before plunging into boulder gardens, flowing beneath ancient bridges, winding through fertile fields, old towns, and small villages before eventually mixing with the Adriatic Sea.

From Slovenia to Italy, it runs
Through war-scarred mountains and flatlands that still nourish thousands. From sharp mountain peaks to lowland marshes and into an exotic inland sea before finally meeting with the world’s waters.

A place where those who wield paddles can find a stretch of river for every ability and type of vessel. It’s a place where the put-ins and take-outs are spacious, and the shuttle is uncomplicated. Where the beer is cold, and the pizza is hot. Where campsites welcome old camper vans and where the showers are hot and the coffee fresh. Where you can meet like-minded, paddle-passionate people from around Europe and the world.

The Soča Valley
But an ominous shadow looms over the Soča, cast by a villainous, unjust decree. Paddlers face discrimination compared to swimmers and others, and they are charged steep fees for access and use of the river. The most supernatural section of the river has been forbidden for reasons that are not based in fact.

I am one of four friends who are on a six-day quest to paddle the Soča – from its hidden alpine source in the Julian Alps to where its waters turn salty, joining the Adriatic in Italy. Our mission: explore lesser-known stretches, paddling the entire river.  With me are three Slovenes who call any moving water of this river-rich country home. I’m the foreigner of this crew, but after calling this valley home for six years, I’m no stranger to the river, tributaries, mountains and forests that enchant this place.

Two of us had been on a similar journey before, paddling the Soča from source to sea to help protect the river and raise awareness of its threats. Rok Rozman, the leader of this trip and the founder of the river conservation movement Balkan River Defence led the trip, and I came along as the on-water journalist.

For five years, he organised Balkan Rivers Tours, where river lovers could join for the paddle, protest, press conference, and party formula that snowballed into Europe’s largest grassroots river conservation movement. That source to sea descent was rowdier.

This one is quieter and slower-paced, focused on exploration and camaraderie. It’s about having a good time discovering the most unknown stretches of one of the most famous rivers in Europe. About going slow, letting the river eddy us out and open our eyes to lessons.

For Branko and Bor, this was their first time using paddle power to get from source to sea, but we have been on many different rivers together, a crew that finds harmony in the differences in our personalities, paddling styles and abilities. A crew of good friends paddling down a good river.

A bear’s-eye view
We began the quest by filling our water bottles from the source of the Soča above the village of Trenta, where the impossibly clear blue water seeps from a limestone crack and tumbles through shallow cascades, sometimes disappearing under deep gravel deposits – rocks that fell from the mountains of Triglav National Park.

Paddling is forbidden on the first 20 kilometres of the river, which is too fragile and shallow for boats, so we hiked along it instead, watching it grow from a bear’s-eye view, an unusual perspective for kayakers. We crossed romantic hanging bridges, gaining yet another vantage: water birds skimming over the sunlit spray and shimmering whitewater. Though the path was easy, the 16 kilometres took us most of the day, providing a chance to stretch our legs and minds for the start of our source-to-sea mission.

Day two starts when we leave our van with our shuttle ‘hero’ and put in at Velika Korita, literally launching into the trip, sliding off the rock ledge and splashing into the river. We paddle down to the village of Čezsoča, mingling with other kayakers, enjoying the friendly May flows, warming up with rock splats and tight eddies turns, and greeting the Soča, our guide for the next five days. The river even provided some hydration as we found beers floating down the river, washed away from some poor souls upstream.

Then, the Soča spreads her fingers into small channels and deeper pools through braided gravel bars that could trick you into thinking you teleported to British Columbia. I alternate gazing up at the snow-dusted Kanin mountains and peering down at the flash of silver of a native marble trout under my boat. It’s early spring, so the sunbathers and swimmers haven’t yet arrived, and we have the river to ourselves. We encounter only one other vessel, a local raft guide, taking his daughter out in a mini raft. We alternate between either floating and chatting or paddling in silent contemplation. We pass the mighty Boka waterfall on our right and also meet the Učja stream, which flows from Italy into Slovenia.

A busy place in summer
The stretch of river from Serpenica 1 to Trnovo 1 is well-known and frequently paddled, offering varied lines based on the river’s flow and the paddler’s mood. It’s a place where skills can be honed and Eskimo rolls tested with minimal risks. But it’s a busy place in the summer months, with rafts from all over Europe bouncing and screaming their way down the river. We enjoy the lively whitewater but are happy to leave behind even the few rafts we encounter, ready to enjoy the volume of water and increased speed that the Moška section offers.

At the Trnovo II take-out, two of our four-person team take-out, and Rok and I continue on. This is the pinnacle of whitewater kayaking in a country known for creating solid whitewater paddlers. Although both local and foreign kayakers are inclined to lap the Katarakt, running the stretch from Trnovo II to Kobarid multiple times a day, this culture of speed and quantity doesn’t suit us, and the boys aren’t yet ready to venture into ‘the gorge.’ I let the first few splashes of whitewater wash away the controversial and arguably unlawful decree that forbids kayaking here.

Thoughts and worries beyond where I will place my paddle and boat dissolve as we get lost in the flow of linking moves, eddy hopping, boofing, and communicating through grins rather than words.

Branko and Bor meet us at the Otona pool, warmed up by their hike down the steep steps to the deep emerald pool. Every high water event changes the river slightly, and we pause to observe a new hole that formed last fall, Rok pointing out the moves needed to avoid it. This dynamic nature of rivers makes them ever interesting for kayakers. One might say you can’t paddle the same river twice.

Early morning sun and espresso mixes
After a night (and a few pints) at the paddler-owned Kamp Koren on the edge of the river in Kobaird, we are back on the water, letting the early morning sun and espresso mixes to bring us back to life. Drifting under the Napolean bridge, there is a stark difference in the beauty of the bridge that spans the box canyon – a human structure needed and built (or rebuilt) with taste and class – and the river engineering that used force to redesign the riverbed and banks below Kobarid.

Temporarily taming the river
I understand the need for order and management. If the river washed out the road, how would locals get to their homes? However, temporarily taming the river, which will naturally rearrange itself throughout the following few high-water events, seems wasteful and harmful.

When heavy rain batters the valley, the resulting high waters move as much as 73,000 cubic metres of gravel and 57,000 cubic metres of sand and sediment annually under the Napoleon Bridge. This gravel shapes the river downstream, but today, that gravel is a resource, and humans extract it, negatively impacting the river as the quality of gravel changes. This is important to fish who like this slower flow and shallow riverbed for spawning. This extraction has even caused the river to cut into the riverbed in places noticeable to the naked but observant eye.

This stretch can be enjoyed at a large range of water levels, and with the distinct cleft of Krn Mountain overhead, this section offers maximum ease and spectacular views with minimal risk and effort. We pass the town of Tolmin and the confluence with the Tolminka, where the clear water of this mountain stream mixes with the already milky blue of the Soča. Milky. Not gin-clear like upstream. Next comes another lesson in the never-ending and always controversial balance between human needs (energy production, resource extraction and irrigation for food production) and human stupidity. The Podselo dam is the first of seven reservoirs caused by seven large dams on the Soča.

Using nature to our advantage
Yesterday, I used electricity to charge my phone and headlight, which was possibly produced by this dam. I pitched my tent on gravel either deposited or extracted from the Soča. And the zucchini we grilled with our steaks last night were likely grown on the Friulian flatlands in Italy, irrigated with water from the Soča.

Modern comforts require that we use nature to our advantage. But it’s a question of balance. Of forethought and intelligence. Every type of energy production has an impact on the environment. And I use (and enjoy) the comforts it creates. But how many dams are too many? Is this the best way to produce energy here? Are large dams damaging water quality? Are they a smart idea in an area prone to earthquakes?

Mussolini
Back in 1939, when Mussolini built the first and second oldest of the seven dams that block the Soča, hydropower was arguably the only method of energy production possible for this region. But today, there are alternatives, and in times when weather events are becoming more extreme, tampering with the water supply is risky business. These are the kinds of conversations we have as we paddle. Some within my own head, some out loud, as we all digest what we are seeing and experiencing in our own way.

From now on, we don’t see any other kayakers or rafters as few paddlers frequent this part of the river that is so heavily managed by humans and blocked by dams. But to get to the sea and truly understand the river, we were going to paddle and see it all. The reservoir completely swallows the flow of the Soča here, visible in the slow movement of the waters of the Idrijca River as it visibly mixes with the Soča. The dam appears a couple of kilometres later, and our path is blocked. We studied water levels in advance to be sure it was safe to venture so close, and once we reached the sign hanging on a cable overhead, we turned our boats around and paddled back to Most Na Soči, where the van was waiting.

We sleep beside the Soča again at the campsite, rafting base, and restaurant upstream of Tolmin. This required the use of our van and friend/driver, but it’s possible to arrange the trip so that backtracking isn’t needed.

Podselo Dam
The next day, we drive below the Podselo Dam and climb down to the river, where we are forced at times to walk and push ourselves through the shallow water. Examining the boulders and canyon walls, it’s impossible not to imagine what this part of the river looked like when it was wild.

The gorge above and below the Podselo Dam would likely be today’s main rafting section and a stretch frequented by kayakers. It would have more volume than the upper Soča thanks to the box canyon and the increase of water provided by the Idrijca River and would be quite technical with boulder gardens and drops. It would be –  no, it once was – something incredible.

The Ajba Dam arrives too soon, but I enjoyed the tropical feel of paddling the flatwater past ivy-laden walls and an ancient arched railway bridge a few kilometres before the dam. We take out on the right and take to foot, walking around the dam in single file on the busy regional road. We are forced to miss about 1.5 km of the Soča here, as access to the river is scarce, and the water levels are not conducive to paddling. Below the petrol station, just before the town of Kanal ob Soči, we are back on the water, and the Mediterranean feeling is apparent, paddling under the high arching bridge with colourful houses leaning over the river.

Gravel bars, pools and shallow stretches alternate, and I start to get the feeling that the river is coming alive again after the dams when the scary silhouette of the tower and factory of the formerly socialist asbestos (currently capitalist cement) production facility comes into view. A few quick paddle strokes and the unsightly smear on the river and valley are behind us, but the reminder of what human greed and narrow-minded thinking can do to nature sticks with us.

About 10 km of flat water awaits us after the town of Deskle (where a short break for pizza or ice cream is perhaps warranted). The paddle is far from peaceful, with train tracks on one side and a road on the other, but we each find our flow pulling through the flat water. Branko passes the time whistling complex tunes while Bor scans for birds. Rok is far ahead, zooming along in his longboat. And I’m somewhere in the middle, daydreaming and enjoying the sun on my face and the burn in my forearms.

We take out and walk around the massive Solkan Hydropower Plant and walk around on the sidewalk to drop our boats back in the water upstream of the Solkan Bridge, an 85-metre stone arch and the largest stone arch railway bridge in the world.

The kayaking town of Solkan
We end the day in the kayaking town of Solkan, clumsily dodging gates in the whitewater of the slalom course, which hosts junior slalom races each year and even hosted the junior world championships in 2006. We leave our boats by the kayak club clubhouse and sleep indoors for a change at the local hostel, also owned by kayakers, who provide space in the bike storage cage to hang wet, stinky gear.

Italy-bound on day five, we put in at the kayak club and drifted across the border just a few hundred meters after the new pedestrian bridge that connects Slovenia with Italy. It’s hard to believe it’s the same river that we paddled yesterday, the flatwater and inundated shoreline replaced by a sense of remoteness with deeper water, rocky outcroppings and lush vegetation hanging over the water.

Here, the river changes names and is now called the Isonzo. We take out at the Puima Park well before the Piuma Dam and the hydropower plant in Straccis, which diverts huge amounts of water into irrigation canals on the left bank – which we want to be sure to stay far away from.

Piedmont Dam
In the next 2 km, there are three dams, each of which can be dangerous or tricky to bypass, so we choose to enjoy a coffee and some sweets before driving around to the put-in below the Piedmont Dam. We weave with the river amongst the gravel bar with high water shapes. A bit downstream, the deep green of the Vipava River flows in, and we paddle up the river, which originates in Slovenia, to see if we can catch a glimpse of the massive catfish or pike it is known for. We navigate over the Gradisca d’Isonzo and Sagrado Dams, which require significant knowledge of the area and the water levels to navigate safely.

The day was characterised by the challenges of navigating dams and barriers that were unfriendly (to both paddlers and wildlife). Without knowledge of the area and details on put-ins and take-outs, this section can potentially be more dangerous than the grade IV whitewater of the upper Soča. We take our time, stop for good food at locally-owned riverside trattorias and always maintain awareness. And yet, even between these dams, the scenery never disappoints. I enjoy resting my eyes on long stretches of green undergrowth, pretty parks and cute villages with ancient architecture, proving that humans and the river have coexisted here for a long time.

At the bottom of the last dam, the Sagrado Dam, the river grows more wild again. With no campsites around, we opt for the gravel bar rather than one of many apartments or bed and breakfasts nearby. We beach our kayaks on the pebbled riverbank, pop off our sprayskirts and stretch our legs on top of our boats, leaning back and surveying the pebbled bar, assessing the best locations to cook, sleep and hang out. To onlookers, we might appear lazy or even confused. But because it’s late May, meaning nesting season for many waterbirds, we quickly scan the gravel and wait patiently for one small resident to show itself.

Respect and care are needed
The little ringed plover (Charadrius Dubius) is one of many residents that call gravel bars home. They nest on bare ground, laying camouflaged eggs that can be mistaken for pebbles. With no sign of this cute little bird, we set up a camp, a couple of tents and a humble fire pit below the high water line. A paddle gives you access to places less visited by humans; thus, respect and care are needed. When we push off the next morning, it looks as if we have never been here.

On our final day, we let the Mediterranean pace catch up to us as we near the Adriatic Sea. Water levels are important during this segment, as the intensive use and re-direction of water from the Soča here, used for agriculture, means that the Soča can dry up completely during warm summer months – a tragic and unacceptable way to treat such a majestic river.

We rode the snowmelt wave and enjoyed the bird activity on the snow-white gravel bars, which were washed clean by high waters earlier in the spring. And digest the last five days spent on the Soča/Isonzo. This source to sea trip down the Soča deepened my reflections about the harmonious blur between humans and nature, an insight into how close humans and nature can live if we are smart. And how nature can recover if we give it a little space.

A six-day ecology, history, geology, and engineering lesson
Winding like a river – especially one as complex as the Soča – sure isn’t the shortest path to the sea, but I can say that it is the most enjoyable. It’s a six-day ecology, history, geology, and engineering lesson. It’s an excuse not to take life too seriously. It is a chance to show the villains that there is so much more to the Soča than those stretches they are holding hostage with fees and bans, and at the same time, it illustrates the incredible resilience of a river blocked by dams. Neither decrees nor dams can take the joy out of paddling because we can find joy anytime we are on the water.

For example, we get carried away when immersed in a good story or colourful fairytale. Bird watching, daydreaming and flowing with the outgoing tide is pure bliss. We test the water for salt content and chase the salt with sips of beer before we realise just how fast the tide is sucking us out to sea! The final paddle strokes of this mellow source-to-sea expedition were contradictory to the whole experience as we paddled against the flow back to the fishing hamlet of Villaggio Punta Sdobba. Over cold beers at the nearby hotel, we are already talking about doing it again because we know that each trip down this mystical river will be different because she is (mostly) wild and still (quite) healthy. Just like us.