Kayak Boat Riding

A new year.

2011-12-22T09:28:00.000-08:00

We accept no responsibility for diminished career opportunities, and the inevitable chronic relationship problems which accompany the slow but undeviating downward spiral into the dark underworld of professional whitewater trash - you wouldn't be the first one to have whatever contribution you could have made to society stymied by whitewater addiction.

-From the information sheet of a Nepalese whitewater outfitter

Marginal

2011-12-10T20:12:00.000-08:00

Perspectives.

2011-11-06T23:47:00.000-08:00

It's been six months since I've paddled difficult whitewater. Today marked a return to the water.

The only thing I noticed is how genuinely happy people are when they're paddling on a river.

White Salmon Beer Slalom

2011-10-26T09:49:00.001-07:00

Homer Simpson once stated, "Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder." Here in the Columbia River Gorge, some of us couldn't agree more.

Drew Eastman, co-founder of the beer slalom, takes a practice lap.

The rules were simple. Three laps, three beers per lap, one rapid, one un-scored practice run, two scored runs, and one of the timed runs had to be completed in a boat that was made before 1999.

The Post Party.

Louis Geltman, the other co-founder, about to complete the final gate.

The beers add up.

The multi-tasking Perception Phat.

Louis Geltman had an advantage. He'd raced slalom before, and probably inebriated.

Adam Elliot digs deep for his second lap.

On a happiness scale of 1 to 10, Drew's facial expression brings in a 18.

Ethan Smith looking too comfortable is his Tornado.

Melissa DeCarlo perfectly described this one as, "Please don't puke. Please don't puke."

The podium, coincidently placed directly in front of the shitter.

Will "Jam Boy" Griffith, a recent migrate to the Gorge and currently kicking ass.

Jamming.

Niko Peha and Mike Gottlieb pondering, or lurking, or ?

Erik Johnson in full form.

Squirt boat? Of Course.

Preston Brown chugged milk instead of beer, ultimately winning the MVP award for probably being the most intestinally uncomfortable. His face says it all.

Almost six month post surgery celebratory, and third lap beer.

Kadunce

2011-09-26T23:14:00.001-07:00

This rarely running gem is one of my favorite runs in the Midwest. Footage from the spring 2011 season.

The Darkness

2011-06-26T16:07:00.000-07:00

Earlier this spring, I mentioned diving into a little more into the deeper side of whitewater kayaking. Already knowing that my words are often laced with emotion, I still maintain the assumption that there exists a need to express the deeper side of whitewater. With that in mind, this post touches not only on the deeper faucets of the sport, but the darker side of it.

Mark Twight, a well known outspoken and brash American alpinist calls it the darkness. A state of despair, resulting in negatively connotated outcomes and obsessive emotional states of not be allowed to pursue what one loves. He writes, "But the threat still lingers like a steel trap. Though obsession rests, I know it will attack without warning. Possession will come back to disrupt the quiet. I know that sharp and dripping teeth wait calmly behind seductive lips; wait to crush, wait to tear with viscous, hungry breath. I know that sensitve eyes rest quietly behind fiercely made-up lashes, behind a calculated mask. Capable of opening without consent, they are neither placid nor meanacing. I bow my head once more, and while ambition sleeps inside of me. I content myself with memories of glitter and despair."

My illusions of a year to remember abruptly ended on the second day of paddling back in the Midwest. The first rapid on the classic Cascade river, Hidden Falls, is a very long and serious slide. The flow was high, but in the past I'd run the falls higher and with mixed results. After a calculated scout, I entered and was exactly where I'd intended, performing the strokes at the specific features, just as I had done many years before. Entering the final pitch of the rapid, my boat was thrust upward, my angle thrown off, and I entered the large hydrualic at the bottom sideways, subluxing my right shoulder upon impact.

After a battle to be released, I entered the eddy below unable to power my right arm. While my friends finished the run, I drug my boat back to the vehicles, angry, upset, and telling myself the pain was only temporary.

POV footage of Hidden Falls, Cascade River, Minnesota.

Finishing out the rest of my ten day Midwest season was painful, yet necessary as the fear of not being able to kayak for a very long time loomed over my consciousness like a dark cloud.

It's almost comical how fast life can change. For the past two years I have trained immensely for a upcoming fall expedition in Alaska and Northern British Columbia. I altered my life, putting kayaking first, moving to places where I could paddle difficult rivers year round, taking specific terms off of school to coincide with ideal river flows, facing every challenge head on, to mentally prepare myself for anything. It was my goal to stay healthy and train as hard as I could, jettisoning anything that would remotely deter me of such future goals. It was a river trip that would undoubtedly defy not only my kayaking career, but my life. An obsession on the home stretch, with only four months to go, and in the matter of a few mere seconds, it was gone.

The MRI scan spoke of torn tendons and bone fractures. With it came anger, frustration, and depression. The hardest part wasn't the physical pain, but telling my best friend that I wouldn't be able to physically join him on our adventure. A man, who'd also altered his life and put all his energy into the trip. The message left on his voicemail was laced with tears.

This is my sixth surgery and after such frustrating events one often ponders the grand question whether or not it's worth it. Where do we find sense in it all? With the immense joy also comes pain, and perhaps this is the grand balance. People die, accidents happen, and as a result, will such balancing acts supersede our desire to run rivers?

Ultimately, if one maintains the desire to kayak difficult rivers, inexplicable things happen. There exists no logic as to why. Unfortunately it's part of the unofficial rule book, concepts we as paddlers accept as we stare into the horizon line.

Doug Ammons in Whitewater Philosophy writes, "Add up a river of such things and you have the treasures of the planet spread before you. The river is the essence of creativity and change, creating rapids and features of boundless variety. But among those changes and slight unpredictabilities - the very things that create our pleasure - lie features that can injure and kill us. Challenge and fun, as well as danger and death, all come from the same place."

My pain is trivial compared to most, a repairable problem, that will take time, patience, and healing. While this pain is temporary, some is not. Just last week, a good friend of mine attempted to save a life on a river that's very dear to us both. I can't begin to fathom what that pain is like. How can a sport that gives us so much one instant, tear us down to nothing the next? These unfortunate things will never be explained and ultimately, it's up to us to interpret what lay in the darkness.

The Stomping Grounds - POV Video.

2011-06-26T08:27:00.000-07:00

This point-of-view footage derives from the ten days kayaking on the North and South shores of Lake Superior this past spring, 2011.

Specific rivers include: Baptism, Kadunce, Presque Isle, Devil Track, Cascade, and the Lester.

Many thanks to Burgess Norrgard, Joel Decker, and Scott White for additional footage.

Red Bull "Northern Exposure" Trailer

2011-06-22T19:40:00.000-07:00

A short segment from the filming done this spring with Fisher, McConville, myself, and the rest of the Red Bull crew. Cascade and Black Rivers, Lake Superior region.

The Stomping Grounds - A Return Home.

2011-06-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

Once again, I found myself packing up gear for a return to my stomping grounds, the Lake Superior region of the United States.

This season back home was bittersweet. In ten days I was able to kayak every classic river I'd returned for, in addition to one that's alluded me for five years.

No regrets to be had, the Midwest still proves to have great whitewater in close concentration. A little Mecca for the locals, although this particular Mecca usually means really cold weather, off the couch paddling, and unpredictable flows.

To preface, in my youth, my grandparents would take trips all over the world. Upon their return, I distinctly remember a gathering of the entire family, sitting through a grand slideshow of photos, accompanied by their significant side-story or post thoughts on the experience. In lieu of such presentations, here is my own experience this season, a few words accompanied by a photo.

Photos: Courtesy of Red Bull

Before venturing back, I was hired by Red Bull energy drink as a guide to the local whitewater of the region. A various crew of cameramen, Steve Fisher, and a few others intended to film a short high definition three dimensional commercial, highlighting their sponsored athlete Steve and the sport. During the experience I was able to meet some really interesting people and actually had a great time filming with the crew. Steve Fisher and the others, by my accounts, are all pretty solid, on and off the water.

Most memorable this season was my experience on Michigan's Black River. With a hefty flow of 700 cfs, and my first time, John McConville showed me one of his gems of the South shore. Fisher was hurt and taking the day off which meant it was up to John and I do all of the filmed paddling for the day.

It was perhaps the finest I've witnessed the two of us paddle any river. As we floated in the greatest of lakes honoring those before us, the emotions ran deep knowing that we represented our home honorably. It couldn't have had more meaning, as it was a beautiful run, with a dear friend, and would ultimately be some of the last hard whitewater I would be granted for a long time.

Now a full fledged family physician, Burgess Norgarrd works on his boof stroke as opposed to his last four years of studying. He succeeds. In addition to being a talented kayaker and doctor, he's also an avid skier, biker, and climber. His ventures can be found by clicking the link on his name above. Photo: St. Louis River, near Duluth, Minnesota.

Tony Nigon probably fist pumped so hard from excitement at the base of this drop that he flipped. He's young; part of the next generation of shore boaters, and is currently chasing whitewater and working this summer in Montana.

Tony, the Beast (Joel Decker's dog) and Brian O'Neill head back across the famous swinging bridge back to the aforementioned boof. Again, these boaters wait for months through a very cold winter to get their fix, once is never enough.

This is one the first boofs that most area paddlers get to attempt. A paltry ten feet, it still feels as good as the first time. St. Louis River, Minnesota.

Burgess finds his line on Ilgen Falls. This drop, next to Maruia Falls in New Zealand, is one of the cleanest thirty foot waterfalls I've ever paddled. For us, it's usually the first big drop paddled and serves as a baptism, if you will, into waterfall kayaking. Only on the aptly named Baptism River, Minnesota.

Joerg Steinbach face first into Nokomis rapid, Presque Isle river, Michigan. Nokomis, for those outside of the region, reminds me much of BZ rapid on the Green Truss section of the White Salmon river in Washington. Like BZ, it's very intimidating, includes a nasty looking hole, but eventually flushes.

Paddle out, face first, burning man style, pretty much sums up how I first ran this drop five years ago. It seems my technique has slightly improved. Ilgen Falls, Baptism River, MN.

Paradise Beach. A traditional locale unmatched in kayak/dirtbag camping spots. It was eighteen degrees and the end of April when I took this photo.

Kiffy against the "Widowmaker." He won.

Last year I watched John Kiffmeyer break his leg in Boise, Idaho, his second fracture in six weeks. Our plans ruined, he didn't kayak many months. This year, I witness him nail fine lines through Double Drop, the first and fairly consequential rapid on the Devil Track River. First tier.

Kiffy. Second Tier. To fail here or swim without safety is considerably bad, as the river then pitches through a wood choked slot, then over a forty foot waterfall called the Admiral, which has been run twice with mixed results. Devil Track River, MN.

Burgess dropping into the second tier of Double Drop. Devil Track.

An honest portage past the Admiral. Paying homage and dropping into the depths of the Devil Track. One of my personal favorites on the North Shore runs.

This picture does justice to Anthony Balsiger enthusiasm towards the sport. Joerg Steinbach, in the foreground, is probably not listening.

One of my best friends and early paddling mentor. Happy to be home and back on the river.

Joerg Steinbach crowning Kiffmeyer with the annual Rada Race trophy. Tradition rich, a low key event is hosted each year at the Presque Isle River in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, one that honors Jim Rada, one of the forefathers of kayaking in the region.

John McConville firing through number three on the Lower Cascades. At lower flows, this section is a summer time classic, as the Cascade river plunges over five plus almost continuous cataracts into Lake Superior.

Post number three, John had to overcome this log jammed in the gorge walls. He succeed and stated that this section was one of his favorites this past season. Boof or die.

Neck Beard.

A bottom view of Double Drop on the Devil Track River. John Kiffmeyer on an early May run with four inches of fresh snow on the ground.

Burgess blasting through a well known rapid called, "Portage Down the Middle." Devil Track river, Minnesota.

In the darkness, Joel Decker charges for the exit hydraulic on "Discretion Drop," Cascade River, Minnesota.

Bow mounts, friends, and the Kadunce river. Doesn't get any better. I ran the rarely flowing or clean of wood Kadunce four years ago in the fall and have waited very patiently to get back on ever since. It was as good as I remember, a unique gem to the area.

Fresh snow, cold temps, and an icy day of paddling on the Devil Track. Nothing more could remind one of home. Double Drop, Devil Track River.

A Year in Photos: Hood River

2011-06-11T12:16:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Hood River, Oregon, last September with $2,000 to my name and no job. The only certainties I did have laid with some floor space to crash on at the Herbeck household and my enrollment at the local community college.

It was easily one of the most enjoyable years I've lived and things, as they always do, seem to work out just fine.

Below are some unpublished photos from my eight months of living in the Columbia River Gorge.

Thank you to everyone of the area for your hospitality, generosity, and friendship. It's a great place but all the more special with people like you. I can't wait to return.

Big Brother, Green Truss, OR. Taken by Mike Leeds

Dropping into BZ Falls, Green Truss, OR. Taken by Robin Carleton

In the Land of the Free. Rogue River, OR.

Bow POV, Upper Zig-Zag, Green Truss, OR.

Emily Meredith learns Minnesota traditions. Feather River, CA.

Meredith Family Boof. Lower Wind River, OR.

Post Meredith Family Boof. Lower Wind River, OR.

John McConville, and his beard. Celestial Falls, OR.

Breakfast at the Put-in. Crooked River, OR.

John McConville at Rattlesnake. White Salmon River, WA.

Taken by Pete Cueno

Pete Cueno snowboating. Backyard, OR.

See Above Caption.

Freestyle lessons with McConville. Rattlesnake, White Salmon, WA.

En Route to the Little White. Columbia River Gorge.

Green Truss Raft Day. Team Bigfoot. Washington.

Orion Meredith

Tom and Kira post Bob's on the Green Truss, WA.

Brian "B-Real" Ward all smiles on the Truss, WA.

Hans Hoomans after scouting Lower Zig Zag. Green Truss, WA.

John McConville on Upper Trout Creek, WA.

The Three Amigos. Green Truss Raft Day. WA.

Orion Meredith and his new shuttle rig.

Otter scouting on the Crooked River, OR.

Tom and Kira going deep on Little Brother, Green Truss, WA.

What we called the "Gear Room." Hood River, OR.

Dan Laham enters the Green Truss Raft race. WA.

Tom and Kira between Big and Little Brothers. Green Truss, WA.

Our fridge mitigating daily reports of awesome.

Jay Gifford doing what he often labels, "Taking it to the Moon." Upper Trout Creek, WA.

Kim Russell and Jesse Becker dolled up for the Halloween Truss Paddle. WA.

Jay Gifford and McConville deciding that hiking is the best option.

Upper Trout Creek, WA.

Heather Herbeck, the river angel, as a river angel. Green Truss, WA.

My little sister goes kayaking. White Salmon River, WA.

Emily Meredith and some kind locals, Tieton River, WA.

Emily's beautiful smile shines brighter with more Corona. Tieten River, WA.

Team K-2 Pro. Pacific Northwest Creeking Competition. East Fork of the Lewis River, WA.

Road tripping with Liz Powers and her pesky playboat. Near the Clackamus River, OR.

A swimmers point of view and me. Big Brother Cave. White Salmon River, WA.

John McConville and me between Big and Little Brother. Christmas Eve. Green Truss, WA.

Left line on Big Brother. Green Truss, WA.

R-2 with Hans Hoomans. Double Drop, Green Truss, WA.

Rafting the Truss with Hans. One of my more memorable river days.

Carbon River, WA

2011-05-25T09:27:00.000-07:00

Class: V

Length: 9 miles
Gradient: 80 fpm average, 120 -160 fpm in the gorges downstream of Fairfax bridge.
Character: Committed, awe-inspiring vertical walled in canyons with must run rapids.

"Can we get him some beer or something?..... Wait, we need to give his dog what?" My reply to a local Seattle boater's shuttle beta perked Adam Elliot's interest in the passenger seat. The long day trip was getting better by the minute, shuttle was soon set with a phone call to a landowner named Alonzo, and the next move was to get his dog a large one topping pizza.

Adam sitting pretty in Alonzo's primo shuttle rig.

The Carbon is without a doubt, one of the most beautiful runs I've ever paddled. Deep walled in gorges with beautiful lush scenery atypical to the Pacific Northwest, its a river that one relishes in choosing to become a kayaker as its entrance fee simply requires a suitable craft, firm commitment, and the skill to run walled in whitewater. The payoff is outer-worldy as few have ventured deep into the depths of such a fantastic run. A truly special place of natural wonder, this place seems as its made only to be explored and enjoyed by kayakers.

GoPro's can be a pain or a blessing, here I'm trying to figure out which.

The Carbon river made it's presence known when my roommate, paddling partner, and best friend John McConville called in sick on a wet Feburary weekend putting on with a few kayakers from the Portland metro and two R-2 teams, the runs first raft descent. He left early and emerged back home in Hood River late in the evening grinning from ear to ear, the words "goldmine" were stricken amongst his face.

The rest of the spring was a waiting game. Between obligations with school, work, and cooperating river levels the two of us watched the Carbon almost daily. Situated on the Northwest flanks of the mighty Mount Rainier, the run exists predominately from it's namesake Carbon glacier. It spikes fast, drops quick and due to it's committing and inescapable nature, optimal levels are not a convenience, but a must.

Orion, Adam, and myself wondering what's around the corner

Adam Elliot's paddling resume is as varied and impressive as any. On a rapid called Landslide, he lets his actions do the talking.

Orion Meredith running what locals call, 14' Falls. We found it fun, but certainly not 14'. Take care with this one, running any sort of adequate safety is challenging at best. Portageable.

It was if we were kayaking on the West Coast of New Zealand, it's runs infamous with impressivly dramatic schist gorges. As the walls rose higher the rapids revealed themselves in more succession. The whitewater all varied, some boatscoutable, some requiring courage and curiosity, we eddy hopped our way through the intial gorges, minds blown, completely thankful to be in such an amazing place.

Orion Meredith post 14' Falls.

John McConville riding high on Landslide rapid.

Sans the scenery, one of the most enjoyable portions of the Carbon was its relative variety of whitewater. Initially in the canyons, we ran blind rapids with both small and large ledges aplenty, but completely committed. In the latter portions of the run, the geology begins to change as does the features. As the canyons open up, landslides and flood events have turned the finishing sections of the run into a fun maze of boulder gardens with a few big rapids amongst the mix. It's perfect as the worry of entrapment escaspes only to allow one to take in the beauty of the river.

Orion's "O" Face. Landslide Rapid.

Orion Meredith finding what's on the other end in Landslide.

Buried in Landslide rapid, one of the final challenges of the run.

Its impressive how times change, specifically in the world of whitewater. Jeff Bennett's, "A Guide to the Whitewater Rivers of Washington," copyright 1991, illustrates the following about the Carbon in the run's opening paragraph. "To run the Carbon is to first known the limits of your mind and body, then to dare to take them to their extremes. This indescribable Class V steep creek run, located deep in the heart of the most spectacular gorge I've ever seen, demands the utmost respect. For the few paddlers who have made the run, the rapids and scenery provided the finest of rewards."

Sans the dramaticism, its impressive to the ones before us who put probably an immense amount of time scouting, researching and planning for the inital runs of this classic. Even more impressive, is that they then mustered the courage to venture into the darkness and discovered beeming rays of light amongst the horizon lines.

Oregon Hole Gorge - Middle Fork of Smith River, CA

2011-05-24T12:53:00.001-07:00

Class: III-IV+ (V)
Gradient: 29 fpm
Length: 1-2 miles
Character: Short and Sweet. Good rapids in a beautiful gorge.

As one of the largest and last free flowing rivers left in California, the Smith river system, located on the Oregon-California border, is without a doubt a true whitewater gem. With three nationally designated Wild and Scenic forks, the North, South, and Middle Smith all uphold the Smith reputation of pristine water, beautiful scenery, and fantastic whitewater.

Completing our shuttle to the Rogue, John and I strained our heads against the glass of Captain's Bob van, peering down into the bombay gin colored waters. "Ohh. That looks really good," was John's only reply.

Borrowing a paddle, skirt, and a Perception Overflow X, which Bob had nicknamed, "The Ox." We quickly put on the Middle Fork of the Smith, bombing our way through the Oregon Hole Gorge, laughing the entire way. If every shuttle could be this good!

All photos by Pete Cueno.

Short and sweet. The flow was cicra 2,500 cfs.

Rogue River - Graves Creek to Foster Bar

2011-05-18T18:05:00.000-07:00

Class: III+ (IV)
Gradient: 14 fpm
Length: 35 miles
Character: All classic: pool drop rapids in a protected sometimes cliffed in but wonderful wilderness valley. More beer recommended.

Often times it's the not the river that makes the trip. Granted, the experience is largely attributed to the run, but seemingly enough it's the people that can make even the most dull river one to remember. With that being said, Oregon's Rogue River, was one hell of a trip.

Touted as one of the best known and popular whitewater runs in the United States, the Rogue cuts its way to the Pacific ocean through the coastal Siskiyou mountains, easily earning the river national Wild and Scenic status in 1968. A beautiful river perserved essentially in its natural condition, the Rogue also boasts excellent wildlife viewing in addition to prosperious steelhead and salmon fisheries.

Captain Bob Hoyman is the epitome of a true riverman. Calling Southern California home, and without guilt, he's pushed rubber all over the world. He's huge; a former linebacker for various universities on the West Coast, he's eyes alone tell of an aggressive spirit. Coining endless one liners such as, "Psh. You kidding me!?", "T it UP!", or "Great way to spend a day!" Bob's a character you don't forget. Pure classic, the kind only the river can produce.

The sticks are on Bob.

Pete Cueno takes in John McConville, while McConville takes in the Rogue,

while handpaddling.

My cousin Pete Cueno is by all other accounts a brother. Quiet, reserved, and thoughtful, we literally grew up together. Three hundred and sixty four days his elder, we've both spent the majority of our lives avoiding trouble and chasing our curiosities all over the place. From being tent-bound in Patagonia to bailing him out Alaskan jails, I know Pete better than anyone. After spending a solid winter in Hood River together, this Rogue trip marked his first ever river multi-day.

A small portion of Team Medium Buzz.

The story is like many others before it; lost on the shuttle, not enough beer, too much food, great scenery, good stories, poison ivy, and reaffirmation as to why river trips are so special.

Our flows ranged from 13,000 to 10,000 cfs for the two and half days on the Rogue.

John's Backside.

John and I told Pete how to row for at least three fourths of the trip. Sorry.

John is more excited for treats than getting back on the water.

Note: Look at his beard!

The Idaho contingent hit this on really hard on facebook, they cited it as the first time any of them have seen Cap'n Bob actually pumping a raft.

Pete wondering why we didn't bring more beer.

Fresh from John and Andy's kitchen, guess which one contributed what.

Pretty Lights.

In the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain remarks, "We said there warn't no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don't. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft." Truth.

The Rogue produced and its care free nature let us put life on the back burner for a spell, letting us focus on whats more important, each other.

Patagonia - Rivers Soon Dammed

2011-05-11T07:25:00.000-07:00

Chile is a very special place to me.

My first glimpses were as a young student studying at La Universidad Astral de Chile in Valdivia, a medium sized city deep in a region known as el Region de los Rios. Over the years, Chile has entered in and out of my life, usually in the form of various adventures that have ranged from being storm bound on Patagonia summits to kayaking the various rivers of the Lake District. After it all, I've yet to find a more passionate people who deeply care about the beautiful and varied environment in which they exist.

First privy to the wonder that is Patagonia years ago, I then walked amongst these rivers without knowing how to kayak, only as a backpacker. Their beauty, isolation, and ruggedness appealed very much to me as they flowed freely into the Pacific. Their soft words spoke of a wildness hard to find in todays world. A place where mother nature still breathed deep, and free.

El Rio Baker, shown here with the confluence of the Rio Nef.

This photo is upstream from the first dam site, Baker 1.

Life is simple in Patagonia. Imagine a generous people devoutly entrenched to an existence that is governed not by man, but by nature. A proud people that believe in balance, as generations of generations have made a life in this wild place, but easily of the most beautiful and mystical in the world.

Just upstream of the confluence with el Rio Chacabuco.

Downstream of future dam site, Baker 1.

Rio Baker

Now, as a avid kayaker, these rivers and this region mean even more as their value for world class whitewater is unimaginable. Thanks to those before me, paddlers have come from all over the planet to enjoy the waters of wild Patagonia. And now, they have come to fight for it.

El Rio Baker before the confluence with el Rio Nef

A map of the five damming projects in Patagonia.

Courtesy of International Rivers

Aniol Serrasolses on the Rio Baker

Taken by Chris Baer

The Rio Baker and Pascua, two of the larger rivers in the region have been under fire for the past decade as Chile's energy demands have grown exponentially, a growth where the biggest energy demands come from the northern portions of the country, specifically it's mining industry. Additionally, Endesa, a Spanish-Italian energy company, has secured tax-free property rights of the aforementioned rivers almost ensuring their use for energy development.

Whitewater

Taken by Chris Baer

Paraphrased from Patagonia Sin Represas (Patagonia Without Dams)

"The dams would capture the furious turquoise flow emanating from the two largest ice caps outside Greenland and Antarctica to spin turbines for electricity. The transmission lines would run north, held by towers more than 200 feet high. Following a winding corridor almost 400 feet wide, a thousand miles of forest would be clear-cut and the rest of the corridor’s path similarly cleared. The corridor would intersect 64 communities and 14 protected areas. It would divide endangered forests and some of Chile’s most spectacular national parks.

With all dams functioning, the lines would deliver 2,750 megawatts of electricity to Chile’s central grid – approximately 20% of the nation’s current total. The country’s urban and industrial areas around Santiago would consume some of it. But the energy is most needed to supplement the growing demands of the lucrative mining operations that lie farther north.

The mining industry, mostly foreign owned, consumes an estimated 37% of Chile’s energy, more than any other user. As one observer wrote, Chile does not have an “energy problem,” it has a “mining problem. "

Last Monday, in an eleven to one vote, the Chilean government granted environmental approval of the seven billion dollar damming project after a three year review.

Environmental effects of the five dams include flooding globally rare forest ecosystems in addition to some of the most agriculturally productive lands of the Aysen region. Additionally, more than 2,000 kilometers of transmission lines are to be erected, involving one of the world's longest clear cuts, the majority of it found in temperate rain forests with species not found anywhere else on the planet.

As I read the online news last week, my head sank, not only because I'll never have the privilege to run the Rio Baker, but because another region and people, rich in wilderness and culture, is set to destruction. Clay Wright, a infamous American whitewater kayaker was unfortunately correct in his introduction of the current whitewater guide to the country, Whitewater Chile: A Paddler's Guide stating, "Enjoy Chile. It won't be like this forever."

Suggested Reading:

Recent Washington Post Article - Circa 2011
New York Times - Patagonia Without Dams - Circa 2008
Ride For Their Rivers - Patagonia.com - Circa 2008
The Beautiful and the Dammed - Outside Magazine - Circa 2009
Protests of Patagonia Dam Turn Violent - Santiago Times - Circa 2011
Pinera e HydroAisen - El Mercurio - Circa 2011 (En Español)
Patagonia Sin Represas - International Organization Against Patagonian Dams
International Rivers - Patagonia - Circa March 2011

Suggested Viewing:

Patagonia Sin Represas - Supplemental film of the 180 Degrees South documentary
180 Degrees South - Patagonian Documentary - Circa 2009
Outside Magazine Photo Gallery: Damming Chile's Rio Baker - Circa 2009

Lake Branch of the West Fork of the Hood.

2011-05-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

Class: IV-V

Gradient: ?

Length: 2-3 miles

Character: Steep, nearly inescapable, beautiful canyon with straight forward pool drop rapids.

Spoiled doesn't begin to describe the Hood River paddling scene. While most think of the Little White Salmon and Green Truss, there also exists plentiful quality whitewater just as close to town. Case in point: The Hood River drainage.

Boasting multiple class IV high water sections such as the Main, East and West Forks, the Hood river is loaded with backyard quality consisting of spectacular gorges, great play waves, and solid river running. One such tributary that caught my interest was the seldom run and long titled, Lake Branch of the West Fork of the Hood.

Apart from Oregon Kayaking's description on the Lake Branch, John and I knew little of the run sans it was very short, reasonably stacked with a few must run rapids, and was isolated. Asking the local Hood River boating contingent for their comments, we learned that it hadn't been run for years and was rumored to be full of wood from past flood events. Perhaps bored, recently unemployed, and with a school term behind me, we gave it shot with what a few locals labeled a "juicy" level.

Exiting the second major rapid.

Scouting what we could, the run was fantastic and everything we imagined. Atypical to the Pacific Northwest, the canyon was beautiful, the rapids plentiful, and the company second to none.

Between run-outs on the second major rapid.

This makes an excellent alternative start to running the West Fork of the Hood. We encountered four to five quality class IV-V rapids, level pending, where two of which were easily scoutable and portagable, with the other two requiring harder scouts and being extremely difficult to portage if not impossible. Pure Columbia Gorge creeking at it's finest the ease of shuttle and the quality of whitewater make this a must.

The Crooked

2011-05-06T20:34:00.000-07:00

Grade: IV (V)

Length: 16 miles

Gradient: 40 fpm average

Character: Pool drop class IV within a very deep and beautiful high desert canyon.

Touted as one of the best river trips and most scenic runs in all Oregon, Charlie Munsey's persistent recommendations pertaining to the Crooked were enough for both John McConville and I to leave the Columbia Gorge for a few days and see what he was fussing about. Having a short window and sometimes only running a few days in a calendar year, the Crooked's flow due to irrigation demands make the run seemingly unstable and hard to predict. Watching the gauges for over a month, we made haste after another plentiful late winter Northwest flood event, catching the river at a pleasant 1900 cfs.

Breakfast of Champions, and a pineapple. Put-in.

A stunning place where access is whitewater only.

Situated in the desert plains of central Oregon, the Crooked makes it's jaunt to join the infamous Deschutes river some thirty miles, cutting a very deep canyon into earth along it's descent. Even if the run was only flatwater, the scenery alone would be worth a trip, but with ample straightforward rapids tossed in the mix, it's without a doubt a pure classic. Bring a lunch, take a full day, and enjoy.

This marks the first time I've every kayaked a rapid with an otter.

Conclusion: They are much more adapted to running whitewater than us humans.

John called this, "Some of the most scenic class III you'll run."

The gates of Smith Rock State Park.

The infamous Monkey's Face of Smith Rock.

McConville takes it all in. Take-out.

After a solid winter of kayaking in the Columbia River Gorge, the sunshine and desert scenery made the run all the more special. Deep in the depths of the Crooked lay some of the very reasons whitewater drives us; a special place inaccessible by most other means, left for the lucky to explore.

Upper Trout Creek

2011-04-05T09:45:00.000-07:00

Celestial Falls POV

2011-03-20T00:03:00.000-07:00

Deeper.

2011-03-09T13:26:00.000-08:00

In middle school, in-school suspension meant a few rather important things. First, you were probably in bigger trouble with the school system than you'd originally intended. The second required having to spend all day or days, out of class, in the concrete detention hall, with no windows and unable to speak unless spoken to by the teacher guarding the hall. The third and most important was that one single book could be brought in and read, during each sentence, to suffice the time.

Such a process forced me to read many a alpinism and mountaineering books in such fashion, ultimately implanting some sort of wanderlust for adventure in far away places deep inside my brain. One of the most important aspects of the aforementioned texts encountered during those early years was the author's willingness to discuss all aspects of the experience. From the glory of reaching their objective to the suffering of losing a loved partner, a total encapsulation of the event, good and bad, for all to witness.

This display of emotion towards such experiences is something that is lacking in today's excerpts of whitewater. Perhaps the sport is still to in it's historical infancy to touch on such matters in a more profound manner than discussing how one, "Ran the shit." Regardless, it has been my goal for years to offer more of an in-depth perception of the emotions I, or my kayaking partners potentially experience with our endeavors whilst kayaking. From such content we learn not only about ourselves as individuals and specifically what kayaking means to us on a deeper level, but also from our successes, failures, and simple joys encompassed within the sport. Perhaps, through such readings, we can learn from others as well.

A few weeks prior, I asked myself and a few of my closest friends who participate in the sport at various levels two simple questions.

Why do you kayak?

What does it mean to you?

Mitigation of the soul, in this case at a showing of "Wildwater." White Salmon, WA.

photo: Mike Leeds

Below are the responses:

It feels like I haven't been in a kayak in years. Mine mostly get used as a drying rack nowadays, a purpose for which it is well designed.

Joking aside: I kayak for the flow of it: Linking moves together, swinging in and out of eddies, the feeling of the force on my hull. Figuring out how to work with the river to do what I want to do instead of fighting against it. Dancing with the river as it comes. Adapting.

I kayak to see whether I can. Challenging myself. Teaching myself what is possible if I just go a little faster, stronger, more precise. Makes me believe that I am capable of anything. Finding the moment when all I am focused on is the patch of water in front of me.I kayak to explore. Discovering new rivers, valleys, finding out what is behind the next rock or around the next bend. That feeling can be found in rivers far away, or in rivers that I have done a million times before. It contributes a sense of adventure and exploration not often found.I kayak for the people. Kayakers are some of the most inspiring, free, passionate, uninhibited I have ever met. Following the dream, doing what they love.

There is incredible value both in paddling with a crew of good friends, or meeting new fellow paddlers half-way around the world."What does it mean to me?" digs a bit deeper and has something to do with all of the above, as well as being wrapped up in/associated with great memories, great friends, family tradition, my sense of self, a sense of possibility, and the pursuit of good, clean fun.

I think that is the short answer....

I kayak because it makes me feel crazy, scared, excited, and bad ass. I kayak because it means I have something (ALWAYS) to look forward to, it means I'm always learning, it means peace. I kayak because I really like flat-brimmed hats. I kayak because the girl to boy ratio works in my favor. I kayak because I'm fascinated by moving water. I kayak because no matter how good you think you are, the river is always better and you can always improve. I kayak because golf sucks.

Unclear to me till a year so ago, I have seemingly dedicated my life to kayaking. I left everything I've ever known. A job of promised wealth and comfort, a family and group of friends who I'd rarely see ever again, and a place that I had called home for the majority of my life.

I blindly chased something because it was the most pure and enjoyable thing I'd ever done. It literally consumed me, requiring a set of skills in a natural environment that I'd never experienced before. It was, and continues to be, the ultimate.

Now, years later from when I first gripped a paddle, I have almost nothing left. Stripped bare. By society's estimate, I'm at the very bottom. Financially poor, seemingly homeless, with only a few material possessions to my name.

Never have I questioned if it's worth it. Traveling with the flow and forces that created the natural world we live amongst continues to drive me. Reminding me of my fortune is a tattoo on my inner arm with the words, "Let the River be your freedom," and that is what kayaking means to me. It's my freedom; my peace, my existence, and what makes me truly understand my notion of what it feels like to be alive.

This journey has taken me to some of the most magnificent and beautiful places known to the mankind, places centered around the history of our race. It's an educator, offering lessons of all kinds, both positive and negative. Ever humbling, it often lets us know where we stand on this Earth. Additionally, some of the greatest and certainly bravest individuals I've met have been a part of it.

Kayaking is physical manifestation of truth and while it's not everything in this world, it's without a doubt the greatest thing I've ever done. Someday I will be gone, but never once will I regret living my life, if even short, as a kayaker.

Celestial Falls

2011-02-12T02:10:00.001-08:00

Three deep breaths in the eddy, a mental refocus of the line and I peel out. Stroke, spot the landing, wait, tuck, take the hit.

At the base of the drop a blue helmet floats next to me. Talking aloud to myself, "John's either dead or his crappy helmet snapped off."

A glance cross river relieved his toothy grin. A ferry across into his high five, I simply smile big and wish him happy birthday.

Potential Access Issues in the Clearwater Drainage?

2011-02-07T10:14:00.000-08:00

Completed in 1962, highway 12, also known as the Lewis and Clark highway, is a nationally designated Northwest Passage Scenic Byway, and one of only twenty-seven All American Roads in the country. Quite arguably one of the most scenic stretches of pavement in the United States with a rich and extensive American history, the road winds parallel through another piece of classic American recreation, the Lochsa and Clearwater rivers.

Both drainages are among the original eight rivers designated for permanent federal protection with passage of the Wild & Scenic Rivers Act in 1968. Both are also considered to be some of the most classic and quality pieces of American whitewater, offering various stretches of spectacular runs for both commercial and non-commercial use. Highway 12 also is the only road that provides down river access to the area's third national scenic river of excellent quality, the Selway.

Aside from quality whitewater, the drainages also boast a host of other outstanding outdoor recreation opportunities such as extensive hiking trails, backcountry skiing, hot springs, and world-class fishing for both wild salmon and various species of trout.

Idaho Transportation Director Brian Ness announced today. “I am convinced the record showed the loads can be moved safely, without damage to the roads and bridges and with minimal disruption to traffic and emergency services,” Ness said. “Every argument has been heard and considered. We can no longer delay this process.” (Spokesman)

On February 1^st, 2011, Conoco Phillips sent it’s first of two shipments of two loads apiece, which consist of two giant coker drums cut in half, to an aging oil refinery in Billings, Montana. The intended route to transport the oversized loads, which take up two lanes of road, is highway 12.

The matter becomes of special concern, says Northern Region Forester Leslie Weldon, "Should frequent transport of significantly oversized loads become the norm for these forest highways." (Missoulian)

There's public access to Clearwater National Forest land over 80 of the 174 miles on the route in Idaho. Conoco and its transport contractor, Emmert International, have identified 43 traffic-clearing turnouts on the Idaho side. Twenty-five are within the Clearwater forest, and 28 are in the Wild and Scenic Rivers corridor the Forest Service oversees.

ConocoPhillips' travel plan with Idaho Transportation Department includes this clause: "To ensure safe public travel during the move, Emmert is authorized to barricade the approved turnouts for exclusive use for the wide loads up to 24 hours in advance for each move." (Missoulian)

As an avid outdoor enthusiast not only of this area but many others in the Northwest, I feel that as a community it is important to be aware of such potential changes in accessing federally protected recreational areas. What does this situation have in store for the future of accessing and enjoying some of the best wilderness and rivers in the country? I’ll leave that up to you.

*Various Media Links Pertaining to this Topic*

Highway 12: A Long and Winding Road.

Clearwater National Forest

http://www.fs.fed.us/r1/clearwater/VisitorInfo/Assets/pdfs/hwy12_corridor.pdf

Conoco Phillips Mega-load Route Map:

http://missoulian.com/pdf_c3544dd0-2b49 ... 002e0.html

Exxon Mobile Public Statements:

http://www.exxonmobilperspectives.com/2 ... for-kearl/

Friends of the Clearwater:

http://www.friendsoftheclearwater.org/node/1029

Wild Salmon:

http://www.wildsalmon.org/index.php?opt ... cle&id=284

National Public Radio Overview:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/stor ... =133434765

Idaho Rivers United (Paddling/Fisherman Conservancy Group):

http://www.idahorivers.org/protectrivers/?page=hwy12

http://www.idahorivers.org/protectriver ... kingpoints

Pro Mega-Load Group:

http://www.driveoureconomy.org/

Anti-Mega Load Group:

http://www.fightinggoliath.org/

Various Media on the Topic:

http://missoulian.com/news/local/articl ... 002e0.html

http://www.spokesman.com/blogs/boise/20 ... ge-effect/

http://voices.idahostatesman.com/2011/0 ... egamistake

http://missoulian.com/news/opinion/mailbag/article_95e237aa-0d43-11e0-9caa-001cc4c03286.html

http://www.spokesman.com/stories/2010/nov/10/itd-issues-permits-first-four-highway-12-megaloads/

Little Klickitat Video from SMP

2011-01-04T23:35:00.000-08:00

Little Klickitat

2011-01-04T18:43:00.001-08:00

Class: IV (V)

Length: 9.7 miles

Gradient: 120 fpm

Character: A little bit of everything packed into a small creek in a basalt gorge. Rarely runs.

As I've been told, getting on the Little Klickitat, a tributary of the Klickitat river proper, is rarity as it potentially only flows once a year. Last year for instance, according to locals, this little creek never ran. Thanks to the first major Northwest flood Event in December, we were allowed passage.

Intermittent Ledges

Dropping into it's brother tributary, the Little Klick is a 9.7 mile beautiful desert creek that winds its way through a wonderful basalt gorge. Filled with features that range from slides, boulder gardens, ledge drops and culminating in a nice little waterfall, a chance to run this gem shouldn't be missed.

Wide Angle of the Waterfall

First Rapid

Putting in with what Columbia Gorge locals consider a high flow of 721 cfs on the gauge, the crew of the Herbeck's, Scotty Baker, McConville, Nick Jacob, Kate Wagner, and myself all took our time savoring the good weather, taking plenty of photos, and enjoying it all.

Nate with a different view of the falls.

It's all good down there and completely worth a visit. We ended with the level visually dropping a foot and half from the morning.

The Puzzle.

2010-12-30T10:44:00.000-08:00

The louder noise pelting my helmet signifing rain turned sleet. Before us lay a brown torrent sans of rocks, trees afloat, a flooding river.

On the brink of manageable, McConville and I clung to another old growth cliff line, another hard scout, trying to put the grand puzzle together. Lines existed but blind corners brought harsh realities. It was testing us, forcing us to make the hard decisions, the kind that an put uneasiness in one's stomach yet ultimately we sought.

It was perfect. We didn't know the run, nothing was familiar, just another adventure with an old friend. No better place.

Others had left at the beginning. It demanded total respect. There was no margin for error. Just us and the river. Our eyes scoured, searching for passage. Another puzzle.

Darkness ensued and brought more hard decisions. The unknown burned inside, pieces still left to be found, the puzzle unsolved, another day.

Taking my sister kayaking.

2010-11-28T11:40:00.000-08:00

"Lean forward! Now paddle forward!"

My sister had never visited the Pacific Northwest and in an effort to perhaps corrupt her into new and exciting outdoor activities, I took her down the Middle Section of the White Salmon river in a Topo Duo. Thanks to Heather Herbeck and Lori Turbes, the experience made for one my most fun days paddling. She loved it.

Family is everything to me, and to share one of my deepest passions with those I care so dearly about is an experience that can't be matched.

Without issue we cruised the run and I was quite surprised how strong of a paddler my little sister is. Even at the end when we attempted a roll, she eventually stayed in the kayak far longer than her brother.

Post roll attempt.

One of my favorites.

A natural.

Hagen Gorge, North Fork of the Washougal, Washougal

2010-11-20T00:00:00.000-08:00

Tributary #1: Hagen Creek (Gorge)

Class: IV-V

Length: 1 mile

Gradient: 260 fpm

Character: Micro-creeking: Pool drop ledges and bedrock slides.

The Columbia Gorge has finally begun to explode. Rain for a solid week, mixed with higher elevation snow has now signaled the official kayak season. If one enjoys paddling and lives in North America, it's a pretty damn nice place to be.

Coming into this particular day of whitewater with the mentality that I'd be kayaking mostly class IV rapids, for only a mile, with people I'd really never met before, I was completely blown away at the end of the day. This was why I moved to the Columbia River Gorge. Classic creeking with respectable rapids, outstanding scenery, every form of precipitation, and tributary after tributary of fantastic paddling. Did I mention it's late November?

Hagen Creek, located roughly 30 minutes East (ish) from Portland, has a tight window. A tributary of the North Fork of the Washougal, it's riddled with mixed conditions throughout the rainy season, where the true crux of running the creek is being able to simply access the put-in as much of the year the main logging road is covered in snow, a simple fact that I'm finding is one of the hardest parts to running many of the rivers in the region.

The Put-in, post mini-hike.

Hagen was running at what the others and experienced labeled as a "good" level and included some really enjoyable rapids with a unique pool drop character. With many unique drops and slides, it's probably the perfect definition of Pacific Northwest micro-creeking and definitely worth a trip.

Sometimes, it's better to close the eyes. Alex Kilyk.

Alex dropping into one the major slides of the run.

Robert Bart told me in the eddy, "This probably warrants a scout."

I listened.

Tributary #2: North Fork of the Washougal

Class: IV (V)

Gradient: 128 fpm

Length: 5.71 miles

Character: Short bedrock slides and ledges, waterfalls, narrow gorges, waterfalls.

We then rambled into the North Fork of the Washougal. A beautiful run mixed with some complex waterfalls/portages, continous narrow gorges, it's awesome.

Scouting Double Falls, the most interesting rapid of the section.

Ethan Smith went first. A photo sequence somewhat illustrating the rapid.

20 foot off angle lip into boiling slot gorge.

Landing.

Charging to the next feature.

The next feature could be best described as a slotted, walled in hole, complete with an undercut cave. I called it the, "Ming Pit." None of us made it through upright.

Alex Kilyk giving it.

Bracing for the the "Ming Pit."

Nick Jacob barely taking a stroke.

It was an interesting landing.

Tributary #3: Washougal (Gorge Section)

Class: III-IV

Gradient: 43 fpm

Length: 6 miles

Character: Low-angle bedrock slides, the best playboating in the Gorge, and stellar scenery.

The character of the Washougal says it all. We took our time, surfing waves, enjoying the scenery and taking it all in. The gauge on this particular section for this day read 3,300 cfs.

The crew after a much needed scenery break.

Good whitewater, great day, three new sections. They say that the best creeking in Oregon is in Washington, and I think there's some truth to that. Life in the Columbia Gorge is going to be good.

Preston Woods brings another carnage video!

2010-11-18T07:47:00.000-08:00

Go Left from The Banks Mag on Vimeo.

Wise.

2010-11-17T23:57:00.000-08:00

The virtuous find delight in mountains, the wise in rivers.

-Confucius

Their Pain is Your Pleasure.... Carnage

2010-11-14T19:07:00.000-08:00

Some carnage from this past summer on the Main Payette.

Thanks to Kevin Talley

What is this rapid called again? from kevin talley on Vimeo.

Non-Working Man's Truss - POV

2010-11-10T21:33:00.000-08:00

Non-Working Man's Truss POV from Andy McMurray on Vimeo.

Sharing of Knowledge: Gear and Maintenance

2010-11-04T23:07:00.001-07:00

About four times a year I go through my entire kit, meticulously checking everything for wear and tear, what needs to be added, repaired, and any additional considerations that should be pondered over. Additionally, I tear apart my boat, fixing outfitting, tightening screws, etc. Kayaks are like motor vehicles, sometimes, they need love too.

These next few "pearls of wisdom" if you will, come from various experiences on the water and some really intelligent people who provided some insight that I feel should be considered once in a while.

Note: These considerations and gear are intended for a non-roadside, day run. Multi-day runs, expeditions, and wilderness runs obviously require additional planning, gear, and consideration.

Consideration #1: I try to keep everything of necessity on me instead of in my boat. Within reason, this is the most effective way to handle emergency situations. If you swim, lose your boat, etc, you still have the kit to deal. I also like my kit small, compact, and out of my way.

*The Medical/Survival Kit*

Basic Medical and Survival Kit

*My basic Medical and Survival kit includes the following:*

-Water Purification Tablets

-Energy Bars

-Petzl E-lite (waterproof, batteries last 4x longer than other headlamps)

-CPR Mask

-Wilderness Medicine Flip Book (Waterproof pages)

-Triangular Bandages (2)

-Lighter

-Roll of Gorilla Tape (Fixes anything, including boats)

-Gerber Multitool

-Coban Wrap

-Emergency Blanket

-ID

*Drugs/Painkillers*

-Vicadine

-Ibuprofen (800 and 200 mg)

-Valium (Need to spend a night out?)

-Benadryl (Allergic Reactions)

-Tylenol (200mg)

-Pepto Bismal Tabs

Trauma Kit

*Trauma Kit*

- Large Gauze Pads (2)

- Small Guaze Pads (2)

-Superglue (Great for closing wounds)

-Various Sized Band-Aids

-Trauma Shears

-Roll of Medical Tape

-Alcohol and Iodine Swabs (4 each)

-Tincture of Benzoin (Natural adhesive for bandages)

-Irrigation Syringe (Can be substituted with rubber gloves)

-Pair of Sterile Non-Latex Gloves (Some are allergic to latex)

-Surgical Closure Strips (2 pairs)

-Surgical Scrub Pad

The medical and survival kit go in a dry bag clipped onto my seat with a carabiner.

Personal Survival Kit

When shit hits the fan, ie: one becomes separated from the group, swept downstream, has to spend a night out, etc. I'll often carry a personal survival kit. I've jammed all sorts of stuff in here for those times when it's needed most. It's carried either in my PFD or between my dry/union suit.

*Contents*

-Painkillers

-LED light

-Fishing line, hooks, and flies.

-Lint and a lighter.

-Super Glue

-Large Gauze Pad

-Emergency Blanket

-Iodine/Alcohol Prep Pads

Pin Kit and Tow

*Pin Kit*

My pin kit is simple and is strictly for kayaks. I've found the DMM Revolver carabiners which also have a pulley built into the biner work great. Additionally, I carry another seperate pully and a locking biner. (The only reason I don't have another DMM is cost.) Two 5mm different colored prussik cords make tying into even the smallest diameter throw bags effective. This kit stays in my PFD and out of my boat.

Note: If I'm going to be around rafts, I may beef up the strength of my pin kit as this aforementioned may be too small.

Tow

I mainly use my tow primarily with instruction. I've gone back and forth with locking biners but have found that when I really need to clip a boat, fiddling with the locking mechanism of the biner gets in the way. I use a big, bright, and simple carabiner. When not instructing, my tow serves primarily as a self belay where it can be simply girth hitched around a tree, etc. I use bright 7mm spectra cord. It's strong, cheap, and effective.

Throw Bag and Extra Webbing

Throw Bag

I use a 11mm, 20meter Palm Alpine throw bag. It's a big bag, but is seemingly much more versitale than other bags I've found in the market. The 11mm thick rope allows for self- extraction from gorges where one is able to ascend or climb out of bad situations. It's got reflective tape amongst the outside of the bag and is easy to see at night. Additionally, the line is strong enough to un-wrap most kayaks and rafts. Most importantly, it's really easy to throw. It lives right between my legs in the boat, clipped in, and only leaves the boat when I do.

Webbing and Biner

This 3 meter piece of 1/4" webbing goes in my other pocket of my PFD. I attach it to a oversize Black Diamond locking carabiner. The webbing is great for a fast anchor, lowering boats, and setting up systems. The biner is great for general climbing purposes and easy to manipulate.

Consideration #2: Every so often, DRY all your ropes, webbing, etc. Mold will build up in the fibers of the cord/rope and ultimately deteriorate the strength of the material. It only takes a few hours in a dry place.

Other Considerations:

1) If you're around ropes, get a knife, make it accessible and ensure it's sharp.

2) Remember to check your kayak for wear and tear often.

3) Breakdown Paddle? Better have one in the group. It sucks to walk back to car.

4) Attached that breakdown paddle to something in the boat. They like to swim too.

5) Remember to have fun, it's kayaking, and one of the greatest things in the world.

Lower Wind River

2010-10-28T11:17:00.000-07:00

Lower Wind River (Shiperd's Falls) - Columbia Gorge

Difficulty: IV+

Length: 4 miles

Gradient: 34-123 fpm

Character: Intermixed rapids with a final series of waterfalls. Hot springs near the take-out.

It's good most through the late season, fun, and something to do. The Lower Wind is that staple that delivers pure fun.

The Meredith's and I spent a day. No complaints.

Spunky resurface

Brother and Sister

Orion stomping out the first tier.

California's Burn Fest

2010-10-28T09:38:00.000-07:00

Trinity River (Burnt Ranch Gorge)

Difficulty: IV-V

Length: 8.5 miles

Average Gradient: 46 fpm

Max Gradient: 110 fpm

Character: Deep gorge, boulder garden rapids, river running.

In The Best Whitewater in California, Chuck Stanley probably says it best, "The awesome beauty, mystery, and ruggedness that compelled Mel to challenge the Gorge has the same effect on paddlers today. All who run the Burnt Ranch Gorge know it isn't just a great river trip, it's an experience remembered a lifetime."

Much thanks to Paul Gamache and crew for putting together a memeroable and fantastic festival. Grass roots.

Racing through the finish.

*Note: Martin Belden taking some face time for a mis-timed boof*

The unfortunate price of a botched line.

Carnage was part of the race.

Martin, Orion Meredith, and myself above the third major drop.

Paul Gamache nailed lines in the Sotar.

Taken by Lou Jacobson

Beer Slalom requires more skill than just paddling.

Taken by Wes Schrek

Tieton River

2010-10-28T09:25:00.001-07:00

Tieton River

Length: 11.5 miles

Difficulty: II-III+

Character: Continuous, roadside stream, with intermixed boulders and log jams.

In the end, it's all about the experience, and if such is the case, the Tieton River was a blast.

Not known as a rowdy technical river of any sort but perhaps a reliable dam release Washington intermediate staple, the Tieton is simply a class II-III continuous river, very chill, and really fun. For Alaskans, think a roadside Mineral Creek, sans the bears but with more beer and people.

On our first lap, Emily Meredith and I noticed a solid group of elders slamming beers, hollering at rafters and kayakers floating past.

On our second lap, we stopped, and in true fashion of the generous river community, proceeded to stuff ourselves full of stories, delicious food, and as much booze as we could feasibly pack in. Hours later, we made our goodbyes with our new generous friends, and proceeded to the take-out. Emily, probably a bit induced by the Patron, ended up having a rough time in an eddy line, but that's another story.

The ride back to Hood River was filled with conversation pertaining to how amazing people on the river really can be........

Something of interest:

2010-10-19T21:44:00.001-07:00

Vital Films presents Facing East (Full Movie) from Vital Films on Vimeo.

Holymen

2010-10-15T21:23:00.000-07:00

I just realized who changed my life.

They did it. Corrupted my soul, showed me the righteous, taught me how to live, and sometimes, taught me how not live. They first brought kayaking... holy shit! Then it was their character of each one of them, all different in their own regard but still so similar. They loved, cried, stared it right in the face, and lived more than any others I'd met.

Even now, though we so far away from each other, I still feel their presence on the river, showing me the the lines, laughing, and loving. I feel them watch me as I go off to different places and put my blade in the water. They're like those older brothers I never had. Raising you up, roughing you when needed, but always there, no matter what.

The gift of life. I literally don't know where I'd be now had our paths not crossed.

I look up to them immensely, their my role models, on the water and off. If one could be half the man these individuals are.

Their fifthly, they run the shit, and they're the best damn people in the world. Thank you my friends, you gave me everything. To the best of the best; the dearest kayakers of the greatest of lakes, The North Shore boys.

"I met a holyman who said that he knew the way
And he'd like to show me so my life won't go astray
Take my hand child now little boy don't you be afraid
I'll take your soul and walk on water."

-Blind Melon - "Holyman"

Micah's Update From a Quickie in Hood.

2010-10-07T02:40:00.001-07:00

Home in Hood River

2010-10-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

Chaos on the Little White Salmon

Hood River, Oregon is now where I’m calling home. Ultimately desiring to be a lifestyler as some sort of medical profession, I’m back in school, at the local community college enrolled in science courses that some how excused themselves from my previous undergrad course schedule.

The tuition’s cheap, the creeks fantastic, and the jobs few. Alas, I’m excited to make the Pacific Northwest home for a while for more reasons than just it’s plentiful whitewater.

T-Skirv flying. LWS.

Big plans are forming, dreams and desires I never thought possible now exist in the horizon line. With a little luck, some good friends, and motivation I’m determined to make this the best year of my life.

Big Brother, Green Truss.

Taken by Micah Kniedl

S-Turn, L-Dub.

Taken by Micah K.

The Admiral

2010-10-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

Unlike many, I was fortunate enough to have my Grandfather as my next-door neighbor throughout most of my life. He was a great man, the best I’ve known.

In his ninety-five years of life he was a father of five, a grandfather of twelve, a great grandfather of four, a husband of seventy two years, a world war II veteran, a successful business owner, track star, a volunteer and board member for various organizations of the community, and a gentlemen. Perhaps his greatest contribution however, in my eyes, was that he first showed me the splendor of the river.

“Follow the smooth tongue of water Andy, we’ll scoot right past the rocks.” His words still resonate in my memory. Every week in the spring, early summer, and autumn, he’d take me out in the canoe down our local river. There I was exposed to the wonders of the natural world, a special place he loved and cared for dearly. Aside from learning how to move eloquently with the moving water, he’d stop at every feature, bend, and beach to point out the beauty that are so often missed amongst the banks.

When he was my age, canoes were made of birch bark, thus striking the bottom or rocks meant that certain damage would ensue, ultimately ending a wonderful river trip. This was also the time of the Great Depression, meaning that a cracked canoe in need of repair cost money, money that my Grandfather didn’t have. It was almost by necessity that successful lines were needed on the rivers, void of collisions with rocks. This was how I learned, lessons that sometimes ended not so well.

Attending Yale Forestry School as a young man, he was deeply committed to nature and the preservation of our surroundings. He lessons on such floats were priceless, educating me in the finer things of the natural world. We’d identify trees, insects, gather wild flowers, listen to the frogs, and search for otters. He’d often enlighten me on the historical aspects of the locale, providing knowledge about every bend and rapid in the river, how such places earned their names. Often, he would simply tell me to cease paddling, close my eyes, and merely listen. It was beautiful.

For many years I canoed the river with Grandfather, switching spots from paddling the front of the canoe to finally steering him down the river. Watching his ever so observant curiosity take in those precious breaths of fresh air and often inform me to slow down, pull over, and watch some wildlife.

On his 90^th birthday his only desire was to float down the river. Alas, our entire family of over thirty children and adults arranged a mass armada, full of kayaks and canoes. I still remember his patient smile simply watching all he created, floating together in a place he loved so dearly.

Five years ago, when I really began to make whitewater a defining point in my life, I would come home after a trip and he’d be one of the first to ask about the new rivers I’d recently paddled, his curiosity lay in not only the whitewater, but of the geology, botany, and local culture of the region visited. He’d request the family atlas be brought over, desiring to learn of where exactly such places were located in the world, asking more questions than I potentially could answer. His curiosity was beyond fascinating.

In every different location and drainage I’ve placed a stroke, I’ve continually made an effort to take photos of the local trees, flowers, and insects, purely for his enjoyment, as I know around the dinner table someday, he’d ask me of the journey and what I discovered.

I was en route to kayak on the North Fork of the Feather river in California when I learned of my Grandfather’s death. While amongst the water, rocks, and rapids of the run, I took no photos, instead, I closed my eyes and just listened, imagining my Grandfather beside me, taking in the complete experience, listening for the insects, observing the flowers, and relishing in the beauty of such special places.

That day, I witnessed two otters playing in an eddy. On their last surfacing, they stared at me as if they welcomed my presence amongst their home on the river. It was a sight my wonderful grandfather truly lived for. I cried for a long time in that small patch of calm water, finally making peace with a great man I dearly loved.

In my twenty-seven years he taught me many things, more than just the river and how to dance with it. Lessons I still keep very close to my heart.

At his funeral his presence could be felt with the soft breeze that blew amongst the hardwoods. A Red Admiral butterfly lit on the family gravestone, gracefully spreading it’s brilliant colorful wings, pausing for only a moment then taking off into the lovely wind. It was him, telling us all one last goodbye, one of the greatest men in the world, my Grandfather, my admiral.

Osprey

2010-09-29T08:17:00.000-07:00

The osprey soars above, it's wings affixed, gliding in the thermals, watcher of the river.

Hips bounce in the waves, moving faster and faster downstream. The time is near.

"Focus." Mantras repeat. Lungs taking more air, the pulse slows.

Hell breaks loose, waves crash, current speeds, the river attacks.

Markers show themselves. The Hump, critical. Diagonals, get left. The Rock, drive.

Eyes sharpen. "Focus". The strokes repeat themselves by memory.

Positioning begins and alters. Chaos everywhere.

White Hell. Sight no more, only feeling. Driving, positioning, dancing with the current.

Air below. Whiteout. The current subsides. The Eddy. Relief.

Eyes move upstream to downstream. Challenges remain, but complete awe overwhelms.

Draw stroke. Rocketed back into the maelstrom. "Focus."

Buried in white. Again, only feeling. A rock emerges. Left.

The eddy. Relief. Awe. Happiness.

Upward. The white Osprey soars. A symbol of good luck. Watcher of the river.

Watching over us who dance in the flow.

Admiration. Respect.

Idaho Special

2010-09-26T16:37:00.000-07:00

Idaho has a very special place in my heart, not only for the paddling but for the community of wonderful paddlers that make the place all that more special. Some are local, some imports, but all seemingly solid on and off the water. A small tribute to those who made my summer and experience all the more special. Thank you.

Emily “Swim” Meredith

Emily is purely delightful; she’s funny, sarcastic, and humble about her multitude of talents. Originally from Weaverville, California, where she learned how to raft guide in the Trinity Alps, she came to Idaho as a class II paddler. After a solid summer of pushing herself and endless laps on the mighty Main Payette, she’s now running waterfalls, rapids on the North Fork, and continues to steadily improve.

Easy hitching on the South Fork of the Payette.

A talented raft guide, devout environmentalist, and avid traveler, Emily is again heading back down to her second home in Chile, where she plans on paddling as much as possible, revisiting old friendships, and probably fighting to prevent future hydroelectric dams.

Emily boofing on the Lower Wind River, Columbia River Gorge.

Emily is a great paddler, a better friend, and has one of the most amazing personalities within the community. Undoubtedly, she’ll quickly become one of the better female paddlers in whatever region she eventually calls home, mainly for her desire to paddle, but because she loves it.

Micah Kneidl

Micah Kneidl doesn’t like waterfalls, in fact, he’s terrified of them. He does however, love his Idaho big water, and paddles it with as much enthusiasm than any of the other locals. From playboating at the Gutter to ripping down the North Fork, Micah’s called it home in his decade plus of paddling experience. He’s proud of his home rivers and it shows as he’s one of the most accomdating people I’ve met in my travels. Eager to show me the river and the gems of his homeland, his hospitality is unmatched. When he’s motivated and ready to fire it up, Micah’s energy is unmatched.

Micah is currently living and working near Boise, where he anxiously awaits next June when his beloved rivers again come alive.

Micah on S-Turn rapid, Little White Salmon, Columbia River Gorge.

Ethan McLeod

Ethan McLeod had to borrow my cell phone and call his parents asking permission each time he went kayaking. He’s fourteen years old and is one of the hardest rippers that paddle the North Fork of the Payette. Spending much of the summer following young Ethan and learning the river, I was delighted to learn that he was not only a phenomenally young paddler but a great kid; generous, humble, and eager to learn more than just kayaking.

Ethan questioning his Trashcan mystery move technique.

His impressive ability always left me in awe when paddling with the youngster on high water North Fork runs. His aggressive style and decision making is already sound. The world, especially of the whitewater variety, will certainly be his oyster. I look forward to paddling with Ethan again and watching him chase his future dreams.

South Fork of the Payette, Trashcan.

Ethan running true at Rock Drop, one of the crux moves of Jacob's Ladder.

North Fork of the Payette.

Will “Stubs” Stubblefield

Stubs is the most fanatical paddler I’ve shared an eddy with. Purely motivated for hard, technical whitewater, specifically big water, it’s no wonder he’s centered a good portion of his recent existence around the North Fork of the Payette, a run he covets and paddles as much as he physically can, alone or with a few selected others.

Stubs. One of a Kind.

He started boating in the Southeastern United States, specifically North Carolina and Tennessee. Off the water he’s a quiet character, soft spoken, reserved and observant. On the water he’s free, dancing with the rapids and showing his infamous wide grin always at the beginning of the really hard rapids. In addition to whitewater he also has a stout penchant for good gangster rap, which he will undoubtedly play driving up highway 55 to the top of the North Fork.

Stubs taking some meat on the Lower Five at really high flows.

North Fork of the Payette.

Will breed’s good form, believing in the what could be described as the pure and more wholesome aspects of the sport; simply paddling with the river. Defiling sponsorship, media, and the mainstream paddling scene, Stubs believes in keeping adventure in the sport; paddling hard wilderness whitewater with only a few close friends, self-supported, no media, no sponsorship, simply friends and the water. It's contagious.

Will amongst it on some high water North Fork boogey.

In addition to being a good Southerner, he’s a damn good paddler, one of the best I’ve shared the river with. For many reasons, I always felt content bombing through the North Fork with Stubs, not because I felt more safe or solid, but simply for the fact that he’s probably having the most fun out of any of us. It was an absolute honor to paddle with Stubs, I respect him greatly and I’ll miss him. He’s currently on an expedition in India attempting to feed his big water addiction.

"The Sun shines not on us, but in us.

The River flows not past, but through us."

-John Muir

Eastern Road Trip: Mesa Falls, Quake Lake, and Box Canyon

2010-09-22T16:26:00.000-07:00

We had three days of minimal work, a desire for new drainages, and any aquatic experience that differed from the taste of the Payettes. We rumbled East.

Matt Myers and Will Howerton started paddling this year. Both Wendall, Idaho natives, and hard practitioners of the sport, they know absolutely nothing about waterfalls or much about kayaking in general, but as most new paddlers often experience, they had the passion, and they wanted to do some hucking.

Box Canyon was the first stop. A gem of a canyon that literally carves it's way to the Snake river out of something resembling the plains of Kansas, the drainage boasts the 11th largest natural spring in the continent. It's beautiful, somewhat outer-worldly, and has a chunky twenty foot waterfall perfect for that first time virgin or a quick fix.

Box Canyon Approach

Idaho's Box.

The highlight is the location. Beautiful water, a impressive box canyon, and friends experiencing a new facet of whitewater. The not so highlight is the bushwhack to the put-in through potent amounts of stinging nettle, poison ivy, and spiders that I still feel crawl amongst my legs.

We call this, POST WATERFALL SYNDROM, it really sucks.

Matt steering true.

Will just riding it out.

LOWER MESA FALLS, HENRY'S FORK, ID

Five years ago, I first viewed Lower Mesa Falls from Joel Decker's helmet cam, footage from the Midwestern whitewater film Dakib. In my living room that January I probably screamed aloud, "YES."

It was as good as the footage.

QUAKE LAKE

Length: 1 -1.5 miles

Grade: IV-V

Gradient: 155 fpm

Character: Post-apocalyptic whitewater kayak boat riding.

After two failed attempts at poaching a 3000 cfs Beartrap Canyon run on the Madison, we opted for the final and next best closest drainage, the only watershed left actually with acceptable running whitewater in Montana, Quake Lake.

Historically, the short Quake Lake section on the Madison is facinating. Running mostly year round, an earthquake dating back to the 1950's basically dammed the Madison river creating a lake in it's carnage. Over the years the water seeped through the debris, carving out a mile long section of shallow, log filled, and post-apocalyptic whitewater. The water is eery, the dead trees abundant, and the rocks sharp, it's a different place to go boating.

After a quick scout, Will opted out, Matt had his doubts, and I was going. Matt was greeted by his first major class V swim in a rapid called S-Turn. Losing his paddle, bruising his taint, and denting the hell out of the bow of his borrowed and now owned boat, he handled himself well, opting to appease the river gods with a booty beer at the take-out.

Chile Footage from December 2010

2010-09-20T21:07:00.000-07:00

Chile 2010 from Andy McMurray on Vimeo.

A quote, pertaining to one of the greats.

2010-09-19T23:41:00.000-07:00

"It is inspiring flowing with all that power around you, like taking part in the most intricate, lovely music or the most beautiful dance with nature. The greatest pleasure is closing your eyes, feeling dozens of long rapids and thousands of moves flowing through you like the water itself. The composer Mozart said that he had entire symphonies come to him in a single instant, hearing all the different instruments, harmonies, and melodies all at once in his mind. I can close my eyes and feel the entire 15 miles of the North Fork in my body, the lines, paddle strokes and boat angles, the wild flowing water all the way down like a symphony. I found my Mozart experience on the river."

-Doug Ammons

North Fork

2010-09-16T06:22:00.000-07:00

Payette River Update from Eric Parker on Vimeo.

South Fork Swimvational - Trash Can

2010-09-09T12:58:00.000-07:00

Banks came out.

The goal, swim. The place, Trash Can hole on the South Fork of the Payette, canyon section. Mystery moves, wicked playboating skills, rafts, it all went.

The names are withheld to protect those righteous.

East Fork of the South Fork

2010-09-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

East Fork of the South Fork

Class: III-V

Length: 15 miles

Gradient: 67 fpm

Character: Small mountain river, fairly continuous, boulder-chocked rapids, roadside.

Essentially, we’re just river perverts. We need it, will chase it, and venture to the ends of the Earth to find it. The only limits really are ourselves.

Hatched, as some journeys often are, around a campfire and amongst various empty cans of Pabst, the feasibility of an early morning put-in on the East Fork begun by John early in the night. As the evening continued it was clear that he wasn’t going to give up and I proceeded to add to the growing collection of cans, clearly in no shape to get up early, drive to the interesting old mining town of Yellowpine, and put on a new river. Alas, the next morning I awoke to John already yelling at me to arise and that coffee was already brewing. No escape.

Due to the massive amounts of flooding in the South Salmon drainages, not one but two entry roads to reach the cleverly named East Fork were under construction and/or washed out. Making the scenic gravel loop around the back way into Yellowpine, I was reminded via various encounters with locals why Idaho maintains to be not only a red state, but a gun touting one at that. Think cultural militia meets a mountainous Martha Stewart.

We chose only the meat. Putting in directly above what we considered the only class V rapid on the run, Flight Simulator, we ran nine of the fifteen mile run breaking off a mini continuous section within an hour and fifteen minutes, stopping only once to eddy. The run was fantastic class IV, relatively benign but enjoyable at the medium-low flow.

Donning our mountain bikes for the shuttle back we split a beer, laughed about various parts of the run and then made the long drive back to beautiful Banks where a high water North Fork patiently awaited our return.

South Salmon - Canyon Section

2010-08-24T06:39:00.000-07:00

South Salmon – Canyon Section

Length: 32 miles

Gradient: 42 fpm

Class: III-V

Gauge: 6 feet

Character: Steep mountain-river, boulder-choked rapids, limited access, wilderness.

“Get my boat!” John screamed as he clung to his paddle violently swimming for the river right bank. Seconds prior, his 83 gallon kayak was being tossed around in the air by a massive hydraulic, the result of accidentally dropping into one of the biggest holes we’d seen thus far on the run. Now in a tough spot; with his boat and overnight gear quickly floating downstream in the very swift current, miles deep in a tough wilderness, John was forced to swim through at least another big water rapid before reaching shore.

When I was a child, I used to consume adventure literature and specifically the seasonal Patagonia catalogs. Cover to cover my eyes would dart through the wonderful photos and text. I dreamed, imagining myself in such beautiful places, sharing the experience with others. The suffering, glory, and exuberant joy of just being there, taking it all in. I dreamed, cut out photos, and wrote down names of all the places my curiosity someday would hopefully take me. The South Salmon was such a place.

Canyon of the South Salmon

Nestled inside a 32-mile canyon this big water run is anything but boring. Reading and running, dodging huge hydraulics and just like the Secesh, we would turn to each other after each significant rapid, which were surprisingly many, and simply grin at each other. This was good whitewater, very big, very continuous, but damn good.

Warming up with some small hot springs.

It didn’t end. By the end of first few hours we’d already lost track of how many significant rapids we’d run. As the weather worsened and the gradient picked up, we pressed on, not really sure of what our intended ending point would be. Scouting only one rapid thus far, one that we’d later find out as Devil Creek, our small team was making quick work of the South Salmon, until John swam for the first time in two years.

Initially my concern was hypothermia. The water was freezing, the weather awful, and John had just taking a long swim sans a dry suit. He was also on the opposite side of the river at least a mile upstream from where I finally pigtailed his boat into an eddy right before another major rapid. After two failed attempts at ferrying his loaded boat across the roaring current to the other side, our only options lay in him walking back upstream and swimming through a small rapid to my awaiting throw bag.

We forgot our gloves, thus, doing it the old fashioned way.

The sheepish worried grin plastered amongst John’s face was priceless at best, “That was a big hole!” as he announced our reunion. John is the best playboater I’ve ever known but even he knew he was no match for the power of the South Salmon. Now late in the day and the weather continuing to come down on us, we hacked out a little pad on the river left bank and erecting a small shelter with my tarp, crawled into our bivy’s, and happy to dry off.

As my boat careened backwards and flipped in the large hydraulic I knew we should have scouted. Whatever I could see downstream was big, this was Falls Creek, the hardest rapid on the run and only in our first ten minutes we were survival paddling. Each of us going opposite directions, I was thankful to share an eddy with John at the bottom. “Holy shit that was big! Do you think that was Falls Creek man?” My eyes gave him all the reply he needed. If it wasn’t, I’d hate to see what the real Falls Creek rapid looked like.

Kayakers are a superstitious bunch. We respect and look for omens. Much like seaman in the ocean, the symbolism between certain omens and safe passage go hand in hand. For John, myself, and some others, safe passage derives from sighting a bald eagle. When I started paddling, a group of us Midwesterner paddlers would head to a certain river every year to honor a deceased man named Jim Rada that first explored many of the runs in the Lake Superior region. Never fail, we’d always see a bald eagle soaring above us, following us where we went, always on that specific weekend, on that specific run. A good friend of mine once told me that he knew it was Jim, watching over of us, soaring in the thermals, smiling upon us.

When John and I reached the confluence of the Main Salmon and South Salmon, in a lone dead tree high above the river, sat a brilliant bald eagle. It watched us silently, standing guard like a sentinel, ensuring safe passage. No words were spoke but I knew from John’s humble smile that he saw it too.

Secesh, South Salmon, Main Salmon: Secesh

2010-08-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

Secesh

Length: 20 miles

Gradient: 111 fpm

Class: IV-V

Character: Steep-creek, narrow river bed, boulder choked rapids, logjams, wilderness.

It’s an energy. When you’re physically shaking from fear, and that person is standing directly beside you, sometimes that’s the only fire you need. To explain is difficult, the camaraderie of it all, but that’s what makes you power through, to face up to that fear, to fully enjoy that experience. It morphs you into something different all together, it charges you, and together you get after it. No words or titles do it justice, some call it partnership or friendship, that person or persons you know who ignite that fire from within. We call it Boof or Die.

A river trip will always be simply a river trip, some are better than others, have better whitewater, scenery, etc. A river trip with a best friend however, is one that will remain in memory for decades if not a lifetime. In the case of the ultra classic Idaho multi-day that connects the Secesh, South Salmon, and Main Salmon, over 70 miles of quality whitewater with only a 23-mile shuttle, represents what all river trips should be. To combine it all, with one of my best friends, on stretches the two of us had never seen, is simply one the greatest experiences in the world.

The situation couldn’t have been better. Two days off of work, my long time paddling partner and best friend John McConville en route to Banks, and the Secesh and South Salmon running at high flow. Coming from an ACA instructor certification course in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I sold John on a trip I really had no idea about. Hearing from trusted friends that this link-up of three rivers was exceptional, especially at high flows, I only assumed that we’d be able to pull it off in the allotted time. Arriving in the wee hours of the morning John stumbled into my tent with his sleeping bag, offered a quick embrace, then told me to wake him when we were to embark. I said it would be early and his reply of, “Fine. Just make coffee.”

A local team had gone in a few days before us and informed us that due to the massive amounts of rain that the state received in the weeks prior, most roads to and from the entry and exit points were washed out, thus no 23 mile shuttle, instead, a longer four to five hour jaunt was to be our only option.

As we rambled our separate vehicles into McCall, we opted to stop at the area ranger station to at least get a map and figure out where exactly we were going. Discussing our plan with the rangers, our luck grew as the two men informed us that the shuttle road that was formerly washed out had that day been cleared for use. A few hours and some short miles of beautiful mountain roads, and we were packing two and half days worth of gear into the back of our boats, quietly slipping into the Secesh that afternoon, with what would be a fantastic level of 49.5” on the gauge. We knew nothing about the river except that there existed one major portage and a big rapid called the Mircale mile.

Named after Secessionist miners who worked the drainage throughout the civil war, this gem of a river never lets up. The continuous nature of the twenty-mile run challenged us initially in our fully loaded boats. The extra weight felt skiddish as we dropped deeper and deeper into the canyons of the Secesh, running rapid after rapid.

My initial thoughts about the feasibility of running this rapid, our portage.

The Miracle Mile, shortly downstream, looked amazing from our scout. Following the torrent with our eyes we sized up every hole, rock, and feature till around the bend the water went and beyond our eyesight. Nodding at each other and discussing our differing lines we went for it. Catching an eddy midway through the rapid John raced by me, completely focused and bombing the entire thing. Atypical of most runs, the features seemed twice as big from the scout as we braced, rolled, and ferried our way through the endless quality whitewater. Catching a small eddy downstream we were ecstatic, it was John’s first introduction to Idaho and we both now understood how the rapid received it’s name. It was non-stop action, full-on, and demanded absolute attention.

Scouting the Miracle Mile.

At camp later that evening as asked John how he’d describe the Miracle Mile, “A never ending rollercoaster….whiteout……big water feel, amazing. I’ll never forget that big seam at the end.”

John in Camp 1.

We laughed all the way to our first camp that night, amazed at the quality and continuousness of what we’d thus run. Still on the banks of the Secesh, life as we both understood it, didn’t simply get better. I hadn’t seen John in over five months since our last kayaking trip in South America, we carried through the night with endless stories and laughter, all of cares put to the wayside because we both knew that the next day would bring yet another day of awesome whitewater. Before falling asleep John asked me what I thought of the day and in my personal journal is scribbled, “Fucking awesome…….and we get to go kayaking tomorrow.”

I finally destroyed my R1 Fleece.

The North Fork of the Payette

2010-08-12T13:48:00.000-07:00

North Fork of the Payette

Class: V-VI

Length: 15 miles

Gradient: Average 106 fpm, Max 265 fpm

Character: Constricted mountain river, congested boulder filled stream bed, continuous, roadside.

"Oh, living on the North Fork, I don't know if that's fun or scary."

- John McConville

Beginning in a small association of houses known as Smith's Ferry, the infamous "North Fork" as locals label it, plunges nearly 1,700 feet in a 15 mile flume of violent whitewater. It's situated between state highway 55, a canyon, and a railroad, the river itself is seemingly whitewater stripped to nothing. Dynamite enhanced rocks litter the run in each section, creating not smooth stone, but angular pointed razor sharp ends, not normal to rivers within the state. It's ultra continuous big water that never seems to let up. It's deadly, non-stop, and will challenge all with it's complex sequences of required moves. With over 20 named drops in just 15 miles, and with 20 more rapids that remain distinct but unnamed, it's no wonder that generations of aspiring and infamous big water expedition paddlers have called the North Fork home. Paraphrasing Scottish expedition paddler Gerry Moffat, "The river was like nothing else I've ever paddled. The continuousness is shocking, big move after move, hit after hit, rapid after rapid, it never stops. It beats you and completely reshapes your paddling."

Boofing "Rock Drop", Jacob's Ladder.

Taken by Andrew Roan

First paddled in 1970's, the North Fork is broken down into three different sections, each five miles in length, but vastly different in technicality. The "Bottom Five" consists of the lower five miles, starting at a rapid called Hound's Tooth and running to the take-out in Banks. Littered amongst this stretch are rapids titled, "Crunch, Juicer, the Warm-up, and Otter Slide." At most respectable flows the stretch is honest class five and where most virgins to the North Fork begin their humble start.

The next "easiest" section is labeled as the "Upper Five," which consists of four stand out rapids, all considerably harder than the lower five. "Steepness" begins the run with a bang, dropping down a flume into a shallow area surrounded by hydraulics. Rocks near the center of the run have maimed, paralyzed, and shooken many a strong paddler. "Nutcracker" is next and demands respect as probably the second hardest rapid on the run. It's long, technical, and consequential, recently claiming the life of long time North Fork legend Conrad Fourney. The run-out of "Nut" itself would be a stand-out rapid anywhere else in the world as it maintains another half mile of hard whitewater require demanding moves. After "Nut"exist two additional long big water rapids titled, "Disneyland" and "S-Turn," both solid class V's.

The hardest and most continuous section is known as the Middle Five. Rapids like, "Slide, Know-where-to-run, Bad Jose, Chaos, Bouncer down the Middle, Pectoralis Major, Screaming Left, and Jaws," all seem to feed into one another and host a multitude of horrible places not to venture into. Additionally, most of the aforementioned rapids have lower un-named rapids that continue to require exact precision. Golf course and the hardest rapid, Jacob's Ladder, are the crown jewel of the North Fork as they consist of one giant class V-V+ rapid that lasts for over a mile. Jake's, named in reference to Christianity's biblical stairway to heaven, drops 265 feet in 300 yards, requires three major moves, and in the words of Fred Coriell, "A surge of focus; Jake's doesn't care if you've paddled it five times or fifty times, it'll beat you mercilessly if you don't treat it with care." While this may not seem like massive gradient to today's steep creekers, imagine that amount of gradient with 2,500 cfs, not 300.

Crunch at high water.

Taken by Emily Meredith

Golf Course was named in reference to the 18 holes required to play the sport, and in true North Fork de reguire, one must dodge a mine field hydraulics, easily totaling more holes than a simple eighteen, and that doesn't include what most paddlers refer to as the "back Nine."

Will Stubblefield cranks through the run-out of Juicer, high water.

Taken by AM

The North Fork has changed my life. Arriving to the river's banks in early June, I was privy to the now infamous high water season which Doug Ammons has called, "A once-in-a-lifetime-thing." Annual mountainous snowpack mixed with heavy spring rain and then combined with a delayed release from the Bureau of Land Management who operates Cascade Reservoir, the source of the North Fork, created a paradox of perfect conditions for the highest water ever record since 1948. Running at 9,000 cfs for weeks, the raging waterway literally tore through it's banks destroying everything in it's path. Never in my life have I witnessed water do such things, words cannot due justice to even begin to describe the beast, it was terrifying, without mercy, and amazing.

Seth Stoner, Myself and Will Stubs amongst it in Juicer. High Flow.

Taken by Emily Meredith

The best paddlers in the continent and possibly the world came out to paddle the raging torrent, often in distinct sections. Their 1,000 yard stares in Banks resembled those who've spent years in combat, illustrating the sheer power of what the North Fork was throwing at them. In the most recent edition of The Banks Mag, Fred Coriel stated, "If the Stikine was that big, we would have walked out." Long time paddling legend Charlie Munsey speaks of the North Fork at high water in the following, "Paddling above 4000 cfs you often get completely buried in chaos. Holes and waves are exponentially more powerful, there are compressional features that can rip you completely out of your boat. Especially in the upper 10 miles, swimming would be a disaster. It's a brutal, dangerous place." This was more than double the flow.

Taking on the "Alien Wave" in Juicer. High water.

Taken by Emily Meredith

Spending three days extensively walking the banks and trying to find courage amongst the chaos in simply the lower five, I finally put on. The endeavor was not only a physical test but mentally one of the most strenuous battles I've faced kayaking. It would require more focus than any run I'd previously attempted. The simple facts and problems lay in outlying factors that were without control. If a skirt imploded, a paddle broke, other other such factors happened, which was relatively conceivable with the sheer power and force of the water, it was over. Even if you were paddling with others, they couldn't help, you were completely alone out there. There existed no room for error, no screw ups, no mercy. If you fucked up, you were dead.

Ethan McCloud (14 years old) leads through Golf Course.

Taken by Andrew Roan

Breathing through my nose to control my heart rate I nodded to Micah Kneidl in the flooded eddy below Hounds Tooth and performed a bow-draw into the main current. Like being shot from a canon and instantly traveling at 30 mph, I was baptized by the North Fork, getting slammed and careening through a whitewater hell. Compression waves, massive holes, hit after hit, literally knocking the wind right from your lungs. It was like nothing I've ever felt. Completely unable to fight against the current, on the very brink of control.

Speaking with an old friend that evening, I later described a rapid called Juicer by saying it's like paddling through a mile of 25 foot crashing wave trains and holes with people aligned on either bank throwing dynamite at you. For the first three rapids my mind and body were on overload, I was hanging on, fighting for everything. After paddling through Juicer and with one more rapid to go till the take-out in Banks, I couldn't control it any longer, a freedom cry rang from my lungs, muffled by the roar of the current; it was the greatest thing I've ever done in my life.

Bouncer Down the Middle with Ethan McCloud

Taken by Andrew Roan

The lower five at extremely high water is easily the most fun I've ever had in a kayak. From that day I still can't continue to get enough. It's everything. The pure challenge, the raw power, speed, and the experience of moving with forces that have literally shaped the world. Once one learns to move with the North Fork in harmony, not against it, the nature of the run then presents itself.

With that power and fun also brings severe consequences. At most flows but especially high water, the simple price of missing a line means taking the most horrific beating of your life. At 3500 cfs while kayaking through Golf Course I got pushed too far center and dropped dead into one of the largest holes in the rapid. For forty five seconds I got the absolute shit beat from me. As my team waited below, I could feel the power of the North Fork ripping me from my boat, trying to grasp the paddle from my hands, throwing my 80 gallon kayak and body around like a toy. It was the most violent experience I've ever had kayaking. Twice I thought about pulling my skirt, a response that certainly would have been near disaster. In that chaos, I made up my mind that I was simply not going to swim. I'd either flush out eventually or die in my boat. There were no other choices. It was the North Fork rules. To reach that realization is one that still weighs heavy on my mind. What seemed like minutes later, I eventually flushed out. Hitting a last chance eddy where my friends sat in horror, I vomited water and sat exhausted for many minutes, trying to regain my mental and physical composure. John McConville, without words, simply paddled next to me and gave me the biggest bear hug I've ever received.

The North Fork, if allowed, will change one forever. German AKC paddler Marcus Schmid reflects, "I haven't been there since 1987, but sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can see the rapids in order and their lines. I can feel the river, and my hands start sweating. The river drills this deep inside you. It lasts forever." From those early days at high water to now later season top to bottoms, the river has reshaped my paddling, certainly in a physical sense but more mentally than anything. I literally live on the river, awake to it's sounds, watching in humble admiration of it's moods. The respect itself demands is one simple facuet of the experience, the respect we as paddlers offer it is another.

Micah Kneidl in complete focus.

Taken by AM

The following is an excerpt from my personal journal after my first top to bottom, a non-stop run of the full 15 miles.

"I feel changes. The river again is moving me into new directions. More focused, more respectful, seeking further and more committed adventure. A chance to challenge myself. A chance to live more free, to find the ultimate balance of knowing thyself, quelling all ego, and really finding what can personally be achieved while moving with nature. The river, the presence is honing me, altering my body and mind. No more is living for the day, but instead living with purpose. I'm unaware of where this will all lead, but with patience, I'm sure the moving current will take me to where I can find it, a balance, the challenge, the self-knowing, the peace."

The North Fork's roar will forever dance in my dreams.

South Fork of the Payette - Staircase Section

2010-08-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

Staircase Section

Length: 5 miles

Difficulty: III-IV

Gradient: 32 fpm

Character: Beautiful mountain river, rock gardens, roadside, moderate use.

Dustin Sifford takes on Carnage Corner at 12,000 cfs

Taken by Cascade Photo

Avoiding some bad places at 14,000 cfs.

Staircase is probably the best bang for your buck, it’s short, technical, fun, and roadside. Over the years it has apparently changed with each high water season and this was no different. Running this section at various water levels brings about different moods of the river. Being fortunate enough to run this section both in flood and low water, I’ve seen Staircase in just about everything from a raft to playboat.

Dustin banging through Staircase rapid at a healthy flow.

Taken by Cascade Photo.

It’s fairly continuous and packed with intermittement class III and includes two stand out class IV rapids entitled Slalom and the namesake, Staircase. Both are complex boulder gardens complete with various lines, penalty hydraulics, and fun boofs.

Circa 14,000 cfs.

Dustin flips in Bronco Billy, 4,300 cfs.

Taken by Cascade Photo

The June high water brought about levels never historically seen before, a stout and muddy 14,000 cfs. With twenty foot haystack crashing waves dominating the majority of the run where major rapids should have been, many of us kayakers took to the section as much as possible knowing the joy of watching cars race by your boat at eye level wouldn’t last long. It was amazing, dodge a crashing wave here, scoot right or left there. The run would only take mintues but was packed with so much excitement we would always seem to go back for more.

When the mood of the river changed to lower levels, commercial rafting again began, full of carnage and the emergence of playboats. Thankfully due to the cold water of the bottom releasing Deadwood Reservoir, this stretch will run well into late August.

Andrew Roan and I in the namesake rapid.

South Fork of the Payette - Intro and Canyon Section

2010-08-11T16:11:00.000-07:00

The 182 mile South Fork of the Payette begins it’s descent into the Snake River plains from the high reaches of the beautiful Sawtooth and Salmon mountain ranges. Named after a French mountain man and original white settler of the area, Francois Payette, the large watershed boasts an impressive 1,200 square mile drainage en route to the lower Snake river plains. Mountainous snowmelt coupled with releasing water from the irrigation established Deadwood reservoir ensures plentiful amounts of cold water for recreation on the four sections of outstanding whitewater.

The four sections of ascetic whitewater on the South Fork include the mountainous Grandjean section, the Canyon, Swirly Canyon, and the final section known as Staircase. Most sections range from class III-IV at various water levels, include hot springs, and have some of the most classic intermediate whitewater and scenery any boater could ask for.

Canyon Section

Upstream view from atop at a 6,000 cfs Big Falls.

Length: 10 miles

Difficulty: III-IV

Gradient: 39 fpm

Character: Beautiful mountain river, rock gardens, pool drop, secluded.

Cap'n Bob "tee-ing it up" in Surprise Rapid.

Taken by Shawn at Cascade

The Canyon is about as classic and the word can get. A beautiful mountain river, encased between a gorgeous walled-in canyon, sometimes inescapable, complete with wonderful pool drop rapids, hot springs, history, and a giant yet impressive portage. Out of all the sections in the Payette drainage, this is easily one of the best. It’s by far the best class IV section I’ve ever run. A day on the canyon is one never wasted.

As the rain continue to fall in early June the levels continued to rise. The Canyon is atypically run anywhere from 2,500 cfs on down. Putting on the canyon at 6,000 cfs for the first time was quite an experience. Scouting Blackadar rapid (the namesake rapid where Walt Blackdar drowned), the features looked enormous even from five hundred feet up. The biggest obstacle of the day was to determine where exactly to portage Big Falls as the main portage lines were covered with boiling flooded water. Added by team and rope work, and additionally one intense ferry, we got through unscathed.

Blackadar rapid at 6,000 cfs.

The crew at Big Falls.

Taken by Sean Hurley

Ropes, Boats, Cliffs at the Portage.

Taken by Sean Hurley

The high water Canyon run was my second introduction to a flooded Idaho, it exemplified the reason I came out west. Big water, lots of scenery, classic rapids, terminal holes and lots of fun. The moves were there, the features massive, but the grins after each rapid are still etched in my memory.

Big Falls cranking and literally shaking the ground.

Taken by Sean Hurley

With the summer progression and the lower water levels I’m still surprised that even now the Canyon still lives up to it’s classic reputation. Be it sitting in Pine Flat hot springs at the put-in getting literally warmed-up or standing with your boat entranced by the power of Big Falls, this stretch never fails to disappoint.

Kevin Taley getting served in Trashcan.

Taken by Shawn at Cascade.

Despite all the runs at various water levels my favorite moment thus far of running the Canyon was taking Emily Meredith down for her first time. Emily was a class II paddler at the start of the summer. An employee of Cascade, she took the water with passion, paddling every day on whatever she could, picking all the instructor’s brains for new theory, tips, and techniques. After establishing herself as a solid class III-IV boater in the matter of a few months, she asked me to take her down the Canyon.

Emily shows some spirit.

Putting on late one evening with tin foil meal, a camera, and some dwindling day light we bombed through each rapid reading and running everything. Thus far, Emily had gone through intense scouting procedures at major rapids but due to daylight, the nature of the canyon, and in learning new techniques, this would be her first taste of “on the fly” whitewater, relying only on her own skills and instruction above the each rapid. Grinning from ear to ear we came to Little Falls, a rapid requiring a classic clean boof ledge on the left or a glassy tongue on the right. It was her first boof and watching her nail it almost brought tears to my eyes. Her fists pumped, her screams could be heard throughout the canyon walls, and the feeling of flying within a kayak raced through her nervous system.

We all remember that first boof. That time where we challenged ourselves to commit to a certain move, in a new place, and where the consequences raced in the back of our brain. Emily couldn’t stop smiling for days and still continues to ask when we can run the Canyon again.

The end of a solid day on a classic river.

Taken by Emily Meredith

Even for the most extreme boaters, a run down the Canyon should not be missed. It may only be class III-IV, but it’s some of the best and most classic out there.

Mighty Main Payette

2010-08-10T07:48:00.000-07:00

The Main Payette

Length: 7 miles

Difficulty: II-III+

Gradient: 13 fpm

Character: Gentle river, pool drop, heavy use.

Go Left issuing the beat down.

Taken by Dr. Phil

Know in local circles as the “Mighty Main”, the Main Payette is the local class III cruise. Starting at the confluence of the North and South Forks of the Payette, it’s no wonder that this stretch sees more boaters, rafters, and swimmers, than any other runs in the area. Beginners and intermediates alike flock to the Main and it’s seven miles of relatively easy and deep whitewater, it’s close the big city (Boise), and because it boasts relatively warm water. Classic deep rapids like Go Left or Your Fired (Fucked), Adios My Friend (Motherfucker), and Mix Master keep the run fun, while interminent class II rapids such as Constriction and Mike’s Hole provide fun at basically any level. With guaranteed flows through the summer thanks to two upstream reservoirs, the Main is the local classic that always puts a smile on one’s face.

Go Left: Look really close at the man in the back of the raft.

The rule of thumb is the following: when it’s cooking down the in desert (Boise), the Mighty Main starts cranking with anything inflatable and not so inflatable, usually accompanied by various water guns, cans of cheap beer, and more rubber than a Trojan factory.

Boogeying with a family.

Taken by Kelsey Kodanko

Eatin' shit on Go Left.

Taken by Dr. Phil

The mighty Main also boasts some fairly world-class surf waves and playboating features. Waves like Bennet’s and Climax emerge later in the summer after the snow melt and provide some often rowdy rides. Additionally, when the water is too high and the local irrigation needs met, the Bladder wave emerges, which can only be described as epic. Huge wave features provide one the ability to go as big as they please, all with eddy service.

John McConville and a blunt on Climax.

Taken by Emily Meredith

Soul Surfing on Climax.

Taken by Emily Meredith

The Mighty Main is fun with any craft, a classic piece of basic whitewater and as local legend and elder raft guide Cap’n Bob would boast, “A great way to spend a day.”

This guy found the "guide kicker."

Taken by "Dr." Phil Morrow

Banks, ID

2010-07-31T15:42:00.000-07:00

The stellar metropolis of Banks, Idaho basically consists of a corner side café, an adjacent outhouse, and the Bear Valley raft company. Scattered amongst the opposing hillside and across the river rest a smattering of trailer homes, randomly parked large equipment and a few other odds and ends that could resemble something out of West Virginia. Sans the aesthetic and interesting cultural appeal, Banks is located on some of the best whitewater-based riverfront property arguably in the world. No matter the skill level, an enthusiast of the aforementioned can find whatever it is they are looking for on one of the various watersheds that form the Payette drainage. From the North Fork’s continuous big water class V, to the classic whitewater and scenery of the South Fork, this possibly is paradise lost, or perhaps lightly mentioned.

John McConville ponders the deep end at the "Slide", our semi-permanent seasonal living quarters.

Starting in January, I scoured the online pages of whatever whitewater company that was potentially hiring. My requirements were minimal; I had to work in some faucet of whitewater for the season, it had to be located within a day’s striking distance of a classic class V run, and I wanted to paddle as much as I could, from work, any day I desired. Money wasn’t the point; it was the experience and self-growth of living and breathing whitewater everyday that I sought.

Testing high water conditions on the South Fork of the Payette. Staircase section.

Taken by Megan Harpham

I struck gold. In March my job search had paid off as I accepted a raft guide and kayak instructor position with Cascade Raft and Kayak located on the banks of the Main Payette near beautiful Banks, Idaho. I knew two things; the first was that I was going to be amongst the ranks of a very reputable whitewater company who’s past employees have included legends of the sport such as Scott Lindgren, Brad Ludden, Gerry Moffat, and Wink Jones. The second was that I would be literally living on the banks of the North Fork of the Payette, training ground for hard expeditions such as the Stikine and ultimately a run that would change my life forever.

Sometimes things don't go as planned. South Fork of the Payette, Canyon Section.

This summer has been one of the best of my life and with immense pride I begin the next segments of this river journal, welcome to Idaho, a place sans of ego, full of solidity, and some of the best damn paddling on this earth.

Seth, Will and myself finding clarity. North Fork of the Payette circa 8,500 cfs.

Additionally:

The Banks Mag: The first kayak based magazine that illustrates what all other forms of whitewater based literature should be. Subscribe.

Kootenai Creek (Bitterroot Range)

2010-07-19T10:15:00.000-07:00

Grade: IV-V

Length: ¾ of a mile

Avg. Gradient: 340 fpm

Character: Short, steep, low volume creek.

Hungover. After a rousing evening to celebrate the unfortunate end of recent multi-day runs with what easily could’ve be the entire Missoula area whitewater community, a small group consisting of Barry Bohr, Dick Lewan, Susan Hollingsworth, Casey Wilcox and myself all decided for some reason it was prudent to shake out the poison and rally for some creeking.

We drove, hiked, scouted, and fired up a very healthy flow for the Missoula creeking staple known as Kootenai Creek. Just thirty minutes South of the big city lies just under a mile of manky class IV-V creeking, complete with some chunky slides, a fun eight-foot boof, and a rowdy ledge ridden run-out. Literally taking one less than ten mintues to paddle and hike, Kootenai is seemingly made to foster a fix.

Photo: Dick Lewan amongst it.

It only took one lap, some solid combat rolls, and a few pitons to realize that a hangover combined with short, manky creek runs are perhaps not the greatest way to spend a day. Basking in the sun, our crew decided that once was enough, hiked back out to the parking lot and went mountain biking. Short, sweet, chunky, and full of headaches.

Selway

2010-07-10T08:41:00.000-07:00

Length: 47 miles

Grade: IV (V)

Character: Wilderness Big Water

Average Gradient: 28 fpm

The water was still low and we hadn’t figured out how we were going to complete our shuttle. It was on the way back from the Middle Fork, still pre-permit season, the road across Nez Perce pass was rumored to be recently paved, and all the omens were stacking in our favor, it was a trip we couldn’t pass up. Arriving late evening and sleeping in the outhouse at the put-in, we amassed our kit the next morning and hoped for the best.

The Selway runs for 50 free flowing miles through the wild and scenic Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness Area . Due to one permitted single launch per day throughout the permit season, late spring through summer, the run maintains a untouched feel. It’s the adjacent tributary of the of the Lochsa and makes up a solid portion of the Clearwater drainage. Taking out at the impressive Selway Falls, our group spent two solid days on the river, taking in the beautiful pool drop rapids and enjoying a solid evening out in the wild.

The run was surprisingly impressive even at low water. While our group boat scouted the majority of major namesake rapids like Ladle, Wolf Creek, and Moose Creek, I was most taken back with the quality of pool drop features that each seemed to maintain their own personality and twist throughout the day.

Our blended group of Southeastern boaters meet Montucky’s finest chose to spend the night just upstream from the confluence of Moose Creek. There we spent the remaining daylight mushroom hunting, hiking, and taking the local untouched feel of the beautiful valley and even more fantastic weather.

Luck was again on our side as we found Barry Bohr greeting us at the take-out, big grin on his face and a twelve pack of beer in Casey’s truck. It’s a river well worth doing and on par with typical Idaho whitewater characteristics: fantastic scenery, classic rapids, and some quality wilderness.

Sometimes, pictures speak louder than words, and such is the case with the Selway.

Middle Fork of the Salmon

2010-06-26T09:37:00.001-07:00

Impassable Canyon

Lofty

We all connected and readied ourselves in Missoula the night before our launch. Packing up the sole vehicle to the brim, we all crammed our kit inside Casey’s rusted Toyota and sped off into the night towards Stanely, Idaho, slamming beers, telling stories, and breaking the ice.

Dick.

A week before our departure date things looked grim. The water was going to be ultra low, the lowest any of our group had ever put-on. The weather called for mixed snow showers, cold temperatures, and rain for every day throughout our journey. To boot, we were uncertain if our planned put-in tributary of Marsh Creek was even runnable. Weighing everything carefully, consulting fellow kayaking compadres, and the fact that all other rivers weren't running, we decided that we’d make the most out of the trip and keep a positive attitude, no matter what happened.

Living.

Arriving in Stanely the next morning we re-confirmed out shuttle status, packed up our belongings into dry bags, bought some last minute treats in civilization and readied our launch at Marsh Creek.

Casey going big in other ways.

Due to the extremely low water, we prepared for a nice class II-III float, and in such preparation, things like a five liter bag of wine were placed in the bow of my boat behind the bulk head. Our philosophy was, if we’re going to paddle relatively easy rapids, for five days, in the rain and snow, we might as well eat and drink to our hearts content. Thus, stern pillars were removed, adjustments made, and poop tubes strapped to the back of the boats.

Marsh Creek was brutal. To combo the cold weather, wheel-chairing or the act of using one hands to physically move a kayak over shallow riverbed was often employed. Tributary by tributary the water slowly grew, providing us with at least acceptable flows to properly navigate the upper tributary of the Middle Fork. After three slow hours, plenty of rocks, and the cold, we finally reached the confluence, happy to have real flows to do some kayak boat riding.

Final Night Fire.

We attacked every known hot spring, not only to relax but to re-warm ourselves. Our first camp was made at ? and as bivy’s were spread, tarps erected, a brilliant blue sky emerged, one that would bless us for the majority of the trip. Soaking in the hot spring that night with my new found friends, under a brilliant sky, I wondered how much better it really could get.

Loon Creek Meadows.

Over the next few days and as the river miles piled on I began to really get to know these people I was venturing with downstream. Of course the hot springs and the scenery was beautiful, the river classic, but the real pleasure in the entire experience was that of making new friends. The river does magical things to all of us, especially when we are amongst it’s banks free from everything else. This freedom was apparent in my companions, through them and their stories, I relived my freedom, a continued love for the river, and the beautiful feeling of sharing that with good people.

Hack. A Montana Staple.

The Middle Fork was an ill fated trip that statistically speaking should have been horrible, alas, the weather turned, the companionship flourished, and the trip was one of the more relaxing and enjoyable experiences on the water I’ve had. After four nights and five days on the water we took out on the Main Salmon, celebrating with good beer and embrace, only to speed off onto further adventure either back into the real world or in another drainage.

Gorgeous Granite of Impassable Canyon

All photos taken by AM