The Beaverator Kid

Thursday, July 26, 2012

2012: The Summer without Water

1:00 PM | Posted by Eric |

So dry, I haven't been whitewater kayaking in weeks. WEEKS! Can you believe that?

I thought I could manage without water. I turned to mountain biking, climbing, ultimate frisbee. Anything I could do to keep myself busy while the rivers dried up, I did. I even started running. You know, the "sport" you play where no one ever wins and you end up back where you started...

Anyways, I did enter a SUP race last weekend at Mountainman's first annual(?) SUP festival. I placed 3rd, which was also last in the Men's division. The guy who won it had never been on a SUP before, and the guy that got 2nd was at least two decades older than me. Great ego boost...

If we don't get significant rain soon, a new horror film may be in the works.

Drought: A Kayaker's Nightmare

In the meantime, enjoy my spring recap edit!

(Up at the top there...)

Labels: 2012, drought, Kayaking, Little White, Pacific Northwest, Spring, Summer, Whitewater |

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Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Canada and "Almost Canada"

10:55 AM | Posted by Eric |

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Since I left the west coast roughly a month ago, I've spent the majority of my time in Canada or Northern NY, which is almost Canada. Despite the widespread belief that our neighbors to the north live in a cold and barren tundra, there's actually some reasonably good (REALLY FREAKING AWESOME) whitewater up there.

Now don't get me wrong, I won't be making poutine a regular part of my diet and saying "eh" at the end of every sentence any time soon (that's almost as bad as "y'all"), but I think it's safe to say that my passport is going to get a good deal more use before the summer is through.

First up was the Cheticamp. Ben Schott, Mike Mainer, and I had planned on getting a source to sea first descent on this one, but low water thwarted our attempt in the last 6 miles or so. Nonetheless, it was a huge accomplishment to get as far as we did, and I'll have a full TR with more supporting photos after I find out if I'm going to be famous or not. Until then, feel free to salivate over these shots...

The first "real" rapid, and out campsite for night 1.

Yours truly dropping into the committing one
Mike Mainer photo

Mordor

we named this one Mike's Panties, I'll leave you in suspense for now...

Mainer on the last big one...it was basically Metlako...

After a long 3 days of hiking/hucking and another 2 days of driving, I headed back to "Almost Canada" for something a little easier. I settled into a routine of safety kayaking and raft guiding on the Black River.

My family promptly took advantage of my guide status...

Before long, the river had reached dismally low levels, and Tony G and Chris Morelli convinced me to seek water elsewhere. And where better to seek it than one of the largest rivers in the east?

So we loaded up some Pyranha Jeds and rallied to the Ottawa after our respective rafting trips. The 4 hour drive turned into a 5 hour drive while Tony experienced some "difficulties" crossing the border. Nevertheless, we made it to a campground under cover of darkness, and woke up in a field full of tents and playboats. After a breakfast of fruitloop-peanutbutter sandwhiches and some help from the locals, we were on the river and headed to Garb...after a short detour.

Dirtbags for life!

Garb is a great place to learn to blunt...

It does most of the work for you.
Morelli going big.

"Hey hold on a second, I'm about to go huge"
Tony throwing down some nasty Pan Ams.

All told, I spent $30 on the trip. There's a reason I'm chief dirtbag...

Labels: 2012, Black River, Canada, Cheticamp, First Descent, Garburator, Kayaking, New York, Nova Scotia, Ontario, Ottawa, rafting, Summer, waterfall, Whitewater |

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Monday, June 11, 2012

Falling

2:13 PM | Posted by Eric |

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(This is the truth, and also more than the truth.)

It sure does feel like falling. If you try to fight it things just get out of control. That's how you end up hurt. It's best to just let go, tuck up, and wait it out. Of course, sometimes you do everything right and things still get broken.

Letting go and tucking up on Metlako Falls, Eagle Creek, OR
Kate Daniel Photo

It's always a choice, too. Whether it was a spur of the moment decision with a convenient pool at the top or a missed takeout where you ended up gorged in at the lip with no choice but to fall, there were a series of choices that led to the moment you tip over the edge.

One of the ones without many options. Brokeback Gorge, NY
Taylor Krammen Photo

And once you've made that choice, it's all what you make of it. Things accelerate quickly. Changes are hard to react to. Sometimes, even letting go doesn't work as well as you had hoped.

Reacting. Pixley Falls, NY
Brian Murphy Photo

When you're falling, that's all that exists. For some it's natural. Others feel their stomachs drop out. Everyone takes some time to wonder how they got there in the first place. Inevitably you start to wonder how long it's going to last. Above all, it seems bigger than it really is.

Metlako Falls, OR
Kate Daniel Photo

So you hang there.

In ecstasy or agonizing anticipation.

"Remember, this was a choice." Metlako Falls, OR.
Ethan Smith Photo

And just pray you don't hit bottom.

Kate Daniel Photo

And now for something completely different.

Labels: 2012, Brokeback Gorge, Eagle Creek, Kayaking, Metlako, New York, Oregon, Pixley Falls, waterfall, Whitewater, Writing |

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Thursday, June 7, 2012

The Best Place On Earth

2:33 PM | Posted by Eric |

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You know it's true because it's on their license plates...

I haven't been around long enough or traveled far enough to make such a bold claim, but I can certainly say that it's one of the best places I've ever been.

British Columbia has been on my list of bucket list destinations since I started kayaking. Back then, it was more of a pipe-dream than an actual goal. The likelihood of me making it within striking distance of that particular part of The Great White North seemed negligible, and even after spending a summer in Oregon, the area still seemed inaccessible.

And so when Don "Cap'n Holiday" Butler extended an open invitation to explore the Whistler area, I knew the outcome could only be legendary.

Equally important to the success of the trip was an appropriate partner in crime...

Enter Kate "Skate" Daniel

Yes, the mission to B.C. could only be a success...

Kate took the day off on Thursday to pack and "acquire" a sweet mountain bike for me to borrow on our extended weekend. I held up our departure until about 6 that night, but I was getting more people stoked on kayaking, so I think I was forgiven.

We proceeded to drive (cranking Weezer and Insane in the Membrane the whole way) to a rest area about 20 minutes south of the border. On the way, we suffered a couple technological casualties, including, but not limited to, a totally shattered phone. Suddenly disconnected, we settled in for a cramped night in the car.

Despite tight accommodations, Kate awoke chipper as always (after "just 30 more minutes")

Apparently Canada doesn't believe in the concept of an inter-province (Because they aren't states, after all), so we had to battle rush hour traffic through Vancouver, which is home to about a tenth of the province's population.

Fortunately, we had a pretty clear idea of our destination

As soon as we got on the Sea to Sky Highway, things just kept getting better.

Sea-Check. Sky-Check. Highway-Check.
Yup, they got the name right.

After a brief stop in Whistler Village to get directions, we were welcomed into Don's gorgeous home for the weekend. Kate and I settled in without hesitation and gladly recovered from the drive while watching the final stages of the Giro D'Italia... which the Canadians ended up winning.

Go Canada, eh!

Skate, scoping things out.
Don made pretty much everything but the kitchen sink, er... stove, in this shot.

After unloading gear from his last class, Don showed us down the Calcheak, a class II-III staple in the Whistler area that combined the Lower Callaghan with a section of the Cheakamus. The numerous surf holes were friendlier than expected.

It was a great introduction to the whitewater of the area with some pushy features, a bit of wood, and incredible scenery.

My appreciation for having a local guide on these rivers can not be overstated. It was very common to watch the river drop away around a bend with no significant eddies in sight. In most cases, the rapids were mellow class III, but every once in a while there were places you really wouldn't want to end up.

After a stellar first run in B.C. (my first international paddle, we rallied to the Lost Lake mountainbike trails for my first international pedal, setting the pace for the rest of the weekend.

Rallying.

We returned to a delicious roast chicken dinner with strawberries and ice cream for dessert, plus a hot tub session. I slept well.

Saturday was spent as follows:

Paddling the Lower Birkenhead and napping on this sweet swinging bridge.

Breaking and attempting to repair a bike chain.

Digging ourselves into and back out of a pretty deep hole.

Alpenglow admiring.

It was a great day, the highlight being a self guided tour of the Upper Cheakamus. After our aborted attempt at repairing my bike chain, Kate and I headed to the "Upper Lower Upper Put-in" for the Upper Cheakamus with beta from some bros at the takeout telling us to beware of the second hole after the suspension bridge.

Naturally, we decided to put in below their suggested put-in, and above Don's suggested put-in. In doing so, we subjected ourselves to a boat hindered hike several hundred "metres" through the woods and miraculously (read "through my innate sense of direction") found ourselves at the only reasonable eddy in sight. It was fine though, because I got to play in the snow.

It was at this point that Kate began question the wisdom in following me down a river neither of us had paddled before.

It wouldn't be the last time I would see this face...

Despite these (valid) concerns, we set forth through the most challenging whitewater we were to experience on the trip. I boat scouted through the class IV relaying nonverbal beta wherever I could. We arrived at the suspension bridge sooner than expected, without significant difficulty, and stoked on the experience.

Things quickly got gorge-y, and horizon lines started popping up all over the place. After a particularly hard to read ledge with a strong hole on the right, we slowed down and put more effort into figuring out exactly which rapid had the big nasty hole in it.

Nope, not this one...
Kate Daniel Photo

After blasting through the above and catching a convenient "last chance" eddy at the lip, it became quite apparent we had found "the big one." With no easy portage or scouting options in sight, I took a couple spins around the eddy line to get a better look and then went for it, nailing a SWEET boof off a flake on the left. The right consisted of a steep foam pile with a strong recirculation and pretty much no exit options.

Kate followed shortly after, hugging the left wall just a bit too closely. Her bow knocked off the wall and time slowed down as I watched her piton the same flake I boofed off and get knocked back into the hole. She disappeared completely, then rocketed out in a huge stern stall-pirouette and then disappeared again. After some sidesurfing and at least one more significant ender, she pulled her skirt, proving the bros at the takeout were right when they said "you either punch it, or you swim it."

I charged forward to get to a rock and throw a rope while she took a half-body recirc and as soon as she flushed into the eddy on the right I took off after her boat. With some fortunate side currents and a mindfulness of ferry angles developed during the very class that led to my late departure, I bulldozed the boat up to Kate and had her back in the boat just in time for a local crew to come down.

Sufficiently shaken (and in Kate's case, stirred), we asked if they'd be kind enough to show us down the rest of the run, which they were happy to do. What followed were numerous bends with pushy class IV and the occasional chute to negotiate. On one rapid, I was following along through the thick of it and noticed a potential boof flake out of the corner of my eye. Without taking the time to consider there could be a massive hole on the other side, I charged towards and felt the bow of my boat get thrown to the sky while I accelerated more rapidly forward than I had ever been before. I landed stern first in the middle of a boulder garden, recovering just in time to dodge a couple big holes and continue down.

At the takeout, we thanked our guides and met back up with Don at Dup's, the best Burrito place in Whistler. His eyebrows raised a bit when we told him about our put-in and he broke into a grin when we told him about our experience in the gorge.

Then I made pie. Kate helped... sort of.

Either way it was delicious.

The next day started slow, with a dip in the hot tub.

It's hard to rush with views like this...

We rounded out our trip with another good bike ride, which also allowed us to do a post-run scout of the Upper Cheakamus. It was great to come back after having run it blind and see everything again, especially getting a good look of the hole and how gorged in we were.

Kate checking out the "easy 6 foot boof" at the suggested put-in by the bros.

soaking it all in...

With a brief pit stop and roundabout hike to a rather large falls, we headed home, arriving in Portland happy and exhausted around 1 am.

Maybe the numerous crystal clear rivers with wildly ranging levels of difficutly (all within about a 30 minute drive) that tumble down the valleys and canyons between still snowcapped peaks have something to do with it. Maybe it was the miles of technical singletrack twisting between ancient trees blanketed in moss. Maybe it was because it was my first multi-day vacation in months.

But more likely, it was the company I had on the trip that made British Columbia the best place on Earth.

Labels: 2012, British Columbia, Canada, Captain Holiday's, International, Kayaking, Mountain biking, PNW, Summer, West Coast, Whistler, Whitewater |

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Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Bigger things to come...

3:02 PM | Posted by Eric |

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I've been pretty busy ghostwriting, instructing, and yard working for the last little bit. So instead of writing silly blogposts and assembling magazines about kayaking in my free time, I've actually been kayaking. It's a tough world, man...

Especially in places like this...
Sahalie Falls, McKenzie River, OR
Sam Drevo Photo

The last few months have been a blur of new friends, new rivers, and a lot of work. It's been very rewarding, but not without its fair share of frustrations. It's hard to teach intro classes on Class II when the gnar is running. It's also hard to constantly be surrounded by elite paddlers that think nothing of multiple laps on the Little White Salmon (LDUB) and multi-day first descents. It sorta puts you in your place and makes you feel like maybe you're not as cool as you think you are...

Those feelings are enhanced when you find yourself in situations like this...
Canyon Creek, WA

But feelings like that, when handled correctly, can inspire growth. They set the standards just a little higher. And when you make friends with a similar drive, great things can be accomplished.
This:

Kate Daniel gettin' stylie on the Lower Clack

Becomes this:

Kate, equally stylie in downtown Portland on a SUPer moon adventure

With the right people, those challenges that seem so frustrating become something to laugh about.

Like a waterfall that you just aren't nailing the boof on like you want to.

Or taking those blind strokes off the lip for your first time
(Gus is killing it, btw)

So I made the most of my time on the mellow rivers. I taught, learned to teach, and just learned more about kayaking. We created EDDY, SUPed, and watched the pros race down Canyon Creek.

Harrison Rea about to boof the rainbow...
Canyon Creek, WA

Of all of the above, EDDY has been the most influential in my skill development. "Beaverator Kid, please bestow upon me the wisdom of this great and powerful creation," you say. And truly, the information is too important to be kept a secret.

EDDY is a game. A game not unlike HORSE or PIG as played in basketball, but applied to the river, and, specifically catching eddies.

EDDY
Suitable for 2+ players, ages 0-160+
Objective: Create a line through a rapid that ends in an eddy that is difficult or impossible for the other player(s) to repeat. For each line missed, paddlers progressively receive the letters E-D-D-Y. Players alternate turns creating lines. End the game with as few letters as possible.

The Rules:

The player creating the line must broadcast his/her intentions. If they don't hit the line they said they would, they get a letter.
The following player must catch the same eddies and use the same features as the creator, unless otherwise specified. If they do not succeed, they get a letter and must catch the next eddy possible.
Players may not return to an eddy previously used, unless it is part of the specified line.
Surfing waves, holes, hitting boofs, and cross bow strokes qualify as part of "the line" created.
If a horizon prevents a significant line from being created, the creator may create half of their line and commit to the second half after the follower(s) have caught the staging eddy.
Rules are meant to be broken. Adapt this game to the river and your needs, but stay safe, have fun, and enjoy the challenges set.

So there you have it, young grasshopper, the game of eddy, and the key to me surviving this:

The LDUB aka The Little White Salmon aka The GNAR

The Little White Salmon pretty much deserves every bit of its reputation. It's a nonstop tumult of whitewater pouring down the side of a mountain, with crystal clear water, and some of the best rapids in the world. It is difficult.

This is about as mellow as it ever gets.

There are a lot of places you don't want to be.

Like here...
a little far right on Boulder Sluice.

or here...
a little coser to the meat of Wishbone than I had hoped.

There are some really big holes and a handful of pretty stout drops.

like the sweet boof at the top of S-Turn

It is incredibly gorgeous.

A pretty classic move in Gettin' Busy...
ride the pillow, take a boof, repeat. Whitewater as far as the eye can see...

All the challenges and small frustrations were washed away as I drifted in the twilit flatwater at the end of the Little White. Truly it seemed that though "nothing was different, everything had changed." My perceived lack of progress was really only a product of my ever raising standards set by the elite paddlers around me. The feelings of stagnation were indicative of expansive growth. And for that, I have my great friends to thank.

The next few weeks are sure to hold more growth with bigger things to come. Until then, here are some of my favorite shots from my time out here so far.