All Year

More than one post in a month?! Seriously. It's kind of true. This is HERE too.

Maybe you just hear about the spring/summer California whitewater. Maybe you think California turns paddlers into soft , fair-weather namby-pambies. Maybe we all live in the sweaty asphalt oceans of suburban sprawl outside Sacramento or San Francisco or (save me sweet jesus)Fresno*. We all have to drive hours and hours away from our vast condos in Downtown to reach the pristine, unadulterated watersheds of the Sierra Mountains. We don't really appreciate them, anyway, and drag our boats if we have no choice but to hike the wheelchair accessible trails. Mostly though, we just have our surfer girlfriends drive us to the put-in bridge then wait, bikini-laden, beers in hand, at the take-out.

Example # 1: Big Kimshew Creek. Spring classic, predictable mid-80's days and great sun-bathing for the girls at take-out.

Photo: Dave Fusilli

Example #2: Royal Gorge of the North Fork American. Early summer multi-day, but make sure the lady doesn't blast her blingin Escalade sound system on the way out of the put-in.

Photo: (unknown; let me know who you are)

Photo: (unknown; let me know who you are)

Example #3: Yuba Gap of the South Fork Yuba. Maybe I need to use the thesaurus. Classic. All stereotypes hold true.

Photo: Taylor Cavin

Here, Taylor Cavin, currently of Coloma, goes with the flow, bro.

Here, Taylor Cavin rolls a fat one after the boof.

Taylor Cavin was once heard saying, "Holy F-ing Shit! That was the coolest rapid I've ever run!"

(Not actually in reference to background rapid, but to first rapid on 'The Gap')

Sometimes we Oregonians who consider ourselves for honorable Californian-ship have to go to places like eastern Nevada to work so we can keep kayaking in California. Or India. Or Brazil.

It's mountaineering! It's skiing! It's the Middle Kings in October!

Tehipite is a place where dreams come true. A nap definitely becomes reality.

(Ben Stookesberry, Darin McQuoid, and Rush Sturges bask in the October sunshine)

You know, I guess Californians really are soft. As an Oregonian I can say that about all those lazy, sun-baked, (insert derogatory term for Californian).

But really, some of those guys(and girls) are pretty tough and are some of the best kayakers in the world. I've seen one or two of them tear up a dance floor too though, so don't count 'em out when D.A.N.C.E. comes on the radio.

They're from all over. Siskiyou, Mendocino, Humboldt, Shasta, and Butte counties are represented by a ton of good paddlers and rivers and towns you've never heard of or seen on a map. Summertime is the right time, but the other seasons are a fine time too.

* I am terribly sorry if you are from Fresno.

Balance: A Middle Kings Story

The idea of doing the Middle Kings about 4 months after its regular season seemed preposterous. 

Completely. 

Laughable.

I hadn't done anything physically demanding in months. Embarking on the hike alone would be like attacking a fully armored gladiator with a hot fudge sundae. 

Looking back down at the first series of lakes.

Usually, life happens too fast for you to do anything about it, but on a snowy hike up Bishop Pass you have plenty of time to think about all that amassed information you haven't bothered thinking about again. 

Score on the page 249 quiz in the latest Vogue: trend-savvy and taste-making sense of fashion.

(Ill-focused photo of Rush making his way up Bishop. Steep, snow-filled ravine of doom seen below.)

It's either tears or laughter. I'm not sure how Darin was feeling at this point, but he was on the verge of one of the above due to frustration and exhaustion. 

Laughter, I think. Physiological response to knowing how far we still had to go. 

Like so many of us, here are Ben and Darin trying to make sense of life from things found in the wilderness. 

The sign at the top of Bishop Pass might say "Only by destroying yourself can you find the true strength of your spirit."

It might also say "Elevation 11,972 Feet. Pets, weapons and wheeled vehicles are prohibited."

Darin sat down next to me after he passed the sign and may have said under his breath, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is." Sometimes you just have to notice when things are good.

Clearly, he was referencing our discussion on how easy the hike would be since we would be able to drag our boats most of the way. 

Or paddle across lakes!

You know, when I went out hiking to this river I didn't think I was really going to have a great time. I knew the river was going to be great, but the hike I was sure I could do without. It's true too, I could have done without it. 

But the hike comes free with the river experience, so we had to take it too. 

It was not the kind of walk you can just dance along and have a hell of a good time. There are no babes or fire engines to wave at. I mean, you're not going to meet any great people out there in the middle of October. Maybe just some random day hiker who is going to bombard you with questions and exclamations about how you are truly crazy. 

Not as crazy, good friend, as the folks in the parking lot who asked how far the trail goes and how long it takes to get there. 

"Well, it goes all the way to Canada." 

"Oh that's nice," the computer guy replied. "Honey, I think we can make it to Denny's before it closes." Bit of an ill-contrived excuse, don't you think. Using a 24 hour restaurant as a premise to get away from the trail to Canada as fast as possible. 

See, we've got to be here on earth to mess around a bit. The computer guy is trying to stay away from that. Maybe he doesn't realize that. That we are dancing animals and we love to move around. Maybe we aren't supposed to dance at all anymore though. 

It's the trick of perspective that makes it look like Ben is wading through waist-deep snow. Really, it was only mid-thigh deep. 

Finally at 'The Brink' overlooking Le Conte Canyon. The great thing about amassing a bunch of beautiful images and memories is that they never end up owning you. You know, it's like I wanted this perfect view of Le Conte Canyon at dusk. So now I'm satisfied for a while that no matter what goes wrong, I have the "Le Conte at dusk" issue settled. Then it was the perfect first view of the river. Then just the right rapid. Then the perfect meadow. The camp. The bedrock. The miles of whitewater.

Maybe they do own me. 

Tehipite is on the map, but it's an experience not on any map.

I think a lot of addictions hide truth from the user. The river won't wait to show you truth. There's no label for it though. What it shows can't be crammed into a single word. A story. 

There's something in the experience that's undefined. A mystery. A sphinx. A real adventure. 

Not Kayaking/The Night Sky

It's been a while since I have been kayaking, and just thinking about it doesn't produce nearly the same aesthetic appeal or pleasurable stimulation that a true-blue day on the river guarantees. It does remind me though, of all those good days and how I can't wait to get back into the swing of things come winter. (fingers crossed)

I'm not out because of a slipped disk or torn meniscus, thank god. 

But let me take that back real quick. I'm not sure if that would be worse than working out in bfe, Nevada. Seriously. Darkest night sky in the lower 48.

Great star gazing though. 

At least I have the stars. 

Getting excited about the upcoming possibility of doing some actual kayaking next week on the South Feather(very far away from bfe), I got to looking at some pictures from the summer of care free kayaking in the wonderful world of California. 

Some fantastic photos:

Darin McQuoid on an early juicer.

Nate Garcito lines up the second day gorge. 

Darin sez: "You don't like it? Let me convince you it's soooooooo good."

McQuoid and his gloomy fantasy.

McQuoid again, trying to capture us with his mystery. He's really in there. 

Garcito makes it happen. 

McQuoid on another classic: NF San Joaquin. 

Hardly workin? Me too. 

I did a little hiking yesterday. It was actually pretty nice. 

Out of the smokey valley and into the clear mountain air.

View from the top. Up in smoke, er, clouds. 

Camping was okay too, even with the Labor day crowds.  

Behind The Times

Cali Descending

To avoid continuing this blog's reputation as the update-less "Same Old S**t", here are a few photos of some kayaking.

It's hard to call the first mile or two of Royal Gorge wilderness, with the "No Trespassing" signs on trees in the water and spread liberally every few hundred feet. Trees clearly below the high water line were plastered with the signs, making most any scout a touchy, though entirely legal affair. Pressure from land owners has lessened in the past couple years(one even waved and smiled at us on the way in), but it still seems like they don't want anybody else in there. 

Of course we can respect that. Just scout, portage, and keep the 'booyas' and chest bumping to a minimum, or at least quiet. 

Devin Knight minimizing his impact. 

Darin McQuoid follows suit, but can't resist a nearly catastrophic 'holla' downstream. 

One catastrophe averted, another close at hand. 

Darin hit the pool, separated from his helmet due to buckle breakage, and fought to get out of the river left cave/eddy. It must have been pretty disconcerting to resurface without a helmet, on the opposite side of the river from where we were expecting and in a giant dark cave. He battled in there and stayed as composed as anyone in that situation could be, waiting for a rope, its reassuring tightening, and eventual emancipating upward pull. 

Hypothermic, shaken, and shaking, I'm sure Darin came into the light with new perspective on risk and reward. Sometimes the highest rewards are not only because of a fun or interesting line, but because of the menacing consequences that await a missed line or unlucky surge in the current. The river occasionally, but physics really, makes us all its bitches. 

Darin seemed to have the same line as me off the falls, but must have caught an underwater surge to the other side of the river, ending in a cold, exposed hour instead of a boof out into the sunlight. You just never know. 

I love a lot of things about the river and wilderness, but it does show tough love sometimes. 

Morning is when I like the wilderness most, empty and echoing, like a half-world, light filtering in through the trees. The fire from the night before smoldering with the nights dew. 

That morning at Heath was a little ominous, light breaking out minute by minute, bright splashes on the mountainside and treetops, barely rising enough to reach into the gorge. Pink clouds streaking the sky downstream. 

I woke early, knowing I was going into the rest of Heath gorge alone. Pine needles and oak leaves blew along the bedrock in front of me on my way to the ravine access. Birds were going like mad in the trees along the rim as I climbed down to the river. 

Paddling down the gorge, really just being there, gave me an almost historical feeling, like I was looking back at myself, as if that morning had already happened. My heart was beating like crazy and my stomach felt queasy with excitement. 

I know that gorge has been paddled many times, probably many times solo as well, but it still makes for an exciting and involved short paddle out to sunlight. 

The gorge was filled with darkness. I sat at the top for a few minutes, imagining the passing life and the place left to itself, aware of the particular earthy smell, mossy rocks and trees, the horizon line and soaring gorge walls. 

I portaged the crux left-to-right move in the gorge, surprised at how easy it was, then dropped down through one of the most dramatic places I can imagine. 

Below the crux, in the first sun of the day. 

We finished out the day on Royal and made it somewhere down in Generation Gap, if that's the one that comes first. 

Another reminder of the random power of water came for me at Rattlesnake falls. I landed center-right and was surfed under the falls, upright, way over to the left side and spit out into the eddy. Luckily, it's an easy one to decamp. 

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Next up, the elusive Yuba Gap.
I don't even know where to begin about Yuba Gap. I just want to go back. It's like Fantasy Falls, but one day, smaller river, no big portages and tons of good rapids. 

Okay, actually it's hardly like Fantasy, but go there and experience this rugged gem some time in the next five years if there are ever predictable releases again.  

Taylor Cavin, above and below. 

Darin finishing an early portage. 

Emerald waters, easy access, and amazing whitewater slide Yuba Gap right up to my 'Best Day Run' distinction. 

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Belo No Mo'

I'll repeat what plenty of people have been saying for a while now: props to Tyler Bradt.
I doubt I need to repeat the details of his amazing accomplishment, so I'll just leave it at that and thank him for quieting all the skepticism about Pedro Oliva's 'record-breaking' descent of Salto Belo in Brazil.
All question and concern over whether Pedro's performance on Belo carries the world record can be lowered, but hopefully not forgotten. Both were incredible kayaking feats and neither should be brushed off as a 'stunt' or poor representation of kayaking to the wider world. At least neither kayaker spouted off about wanting to "see all you guys in Heaven," thank god. Though Pedro did follow Jaime Pierre's lawn dart approach for landing his big freefall, his motivations were far from the Heavenly realm.
Both are, I'm sure, proud of what they have done and want their actions to represent them and kayaking in a progressive light. If anything, their actions are inspiring to many and big steps in the movement of a new understanding of whitewater and confidence towards big drops.

We're just catching up to skiing and other 'xtreme' sports, right? Hopefully nobody will soon follow with an accidental descent of a new world record waterfall, like skiing's Fred Syverson did off a 107 meter cliff.
However delayed, after Bradt's day at Palouse took the wind from my blogging sails, I will try to clear up a few things about Oliva's day at Belo.
Among the questions of whether or not he stayed in his boat at the bottom, there might be a few other questions, like what did he think about the possible consequences or what about other waterfall experience he had.
Oh, you don't really care about that? Just want to know what happened at the bottom? All the excitement about this has passed?
Well, he stayed in his boat. That's all I could tell happened. He walked out a minute later, slightly shaken, but mostly on top of things and wanting me to go to the top to run the thing too.
Right, Pedro. Not to say that his line was uninspiring...

So, back to Cali, where spring is in full swing and the sun and snow are adding up to some nice days on the river.



Watch out for bro's in bunny suits.


When you do eventually make it to the river, boof and be happy.
Dave Fusilli and Jared Seiler demonstrate.



Jeremy Laucks enjoying his first days in California.


I took this picture of Jared running triple drop. It's bad cause I was scared and watching him and not the camera.


Dave Fusilli took this picture and was not scared.

Somewhere down there was the most absurdly violent piton I have ever experienced and the real reason I was scared. It looked a lot like this:

Jeremy Laucks Photo

Can I please just plug Jackson Kayak here? I think I would be in much worse shape were it not for the Uni-shock bulkhead system in my boat. Uni-shock bulkhead=fancy name for the ankle-saving rope, cleat, and foam system that sits in the front of each JK creek boat. So soft it hardly bruised my ego.

Next day or so, Fusilli checks out what we portage on the South Branch to get to the nice whitewater downstream.

It doesn't go, to all you prospective huckers.

The South Branch keeps it real below the Seven Falls, with plenty of good boofs and rapids all the way to the takeout.
Fusilli cools down on the first of many after the long portage.

Jared Seiler.

Jake on the second tier. The nice thing about white boats is that you can't see them in pictures.

Jared dropping over the third tier.

Jake stroking into the nasty looking bottom hole.

Jared making good time through the splashy lead-in.

And boofing against all odds.

Fusilli too.

Nicole Mansfield airing it out.

It's a lot less intimidating when you can pretty much walk down the drop. Not to say that this isn't high quality, there's just nothing better than summertime in Cali. That's all.

The unclean one. The rapid, not Jared.

Thanks LiquidLogic, for making photography fun again. Jake near the end of the run.

The South Branch is one of my favorite runs in the world and one of the most beautiful places I have been. Right up there in the top five in both lists.
Good enough to go back again at lower water and enjoy another day in the sun.

Darin making the most of our last trip on the SB with a nice run of "99 Problems".

Shon Bollock follows in good form.

Ryan Knight too!

Devin Knight stoked on another sunny day paddling in California. It doesn't get much better.

Brazil: At The End Of The Day

Well let's just get right down to it. I've been trying to avoid this subject as much possible. I've been asked, prodded, interrogated, about what really happened March 4th on the Rio Sacre behind Salto Belo. 

So what really happened, right? 

First, let me tactfully distract you with a few photos from the rest of the trip while I conjure up some grossly exaggerated story about that day. 

I know I usually just look at pictures anyway, so look at these. I won't even bother you by writing anything about them. 

Well here we are at Salto Belo and looks like I'll have to put off the report until next time.