The Beaverator Kid: Oregon

Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts

Thursday, June 20, 2013

On Aliens and Spaceships

9:57 AM | Posted by Eric |

Disclaimer: This is a literary post, if you just want to see people hucking their meat and where they did so, just scroll through the photos and read the captions.

Chris Peck, hucking his meat. Knife's Edge, Bottom Moose, NY.

We are aliens. Our boats are our spaceships.

Dramatic? Yes, but no less true.

In the strictest sense, our boats transport us through space and time. That they travel only linearly and with roughly the same velocity as most other things through time will do nothing to discourage me from calling them time travel devices. Even the shape of a kayak is similar to the rockets we often envision time machines taking on.

Nate Merrill, blasting off. Split Falls, Salmon River Canyon, OR

And if we loosen those restrictions to account for the perceived shift in the space time continuum, you might just start seeing what I'm getting at. It's said that time flies when you're having fun, and quite often I end long river trips wondering where exactly the last 6 hours have gone. Mental playback of the day happens at high speed, skipping by at a blur.

Crystal, Bottom Moose, NY with an unfortunately foggy lens

When things go wrong, or get committing, time slows down. We plan our strokes in slow motion, gentle smooth strokes fill our minds eye when we know our paddle blades will be spinning like a windmill. When we watch a friend getting beatdown the seconds stretch out and settle in, like unwelcome guests oblivious to their transgressions. When you're the one in the hole, it's twice, three times as bad. A minute feels like an hour.

I imagine Jacob Cruser experienced a bit of time dilation here. Final Falls, Salmon River Canyon, OR

And then there are the golden moments. They happen most often at the horizon line, when the world you know is suddenly expanded, abruptly made real. Those instants stay with me, paused, or running loops over and over again. Groundhog Day with no opportunity to make right the wrongs, just plenty of time to observe, acknowledge, and accept. And improve the next time. It happens in the slow moving pools, too. When the light bounces down the canyon wall, or the massive bull moose steps across the river like it's a small stream.

Cruser's golden stroke.
Frustration Falls, Salmon River Canyon, OR

And how many times do we find ourselves in the heart of a foreign wilderness, feeling just as at home as our local backyard run? Or on that backyard run and feeling as out of place as we would on the moon? Even roadside runs can feel committing and remote. No matter what our physical proximity to town or even the next person is, the river can sweep us away into another world.

Chris Peck and Danny Mongno at Agers Falls, Bottom Moose, NY

So there you have it, our boats are our spaceships. And what does that make us?

We could call ourselves astronauts, or simply travelers. But I prefer to think of myself as an alien. Alien, at least, to "those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators" that Ed Abbey struggles so hard to tolerate.

Tony Gianfagna making the move at Fowlersville, Bottom Moose, NY

We wear our specialized space suits, our harnesses and safety equipment. We probe, discover, document. We choose to live in a different world. As we leave the remote river, it feels less like coming home and more like immersing ourselves in a strange, sometimes hostile planet. And when the humans reaching out, making contact with our world in their own ways, encounter us, it's usually with surprise, even shock. They wave from shore, staring, wondering how we got there. They rarely speak, as if they believe we speak another language. And we do. Our lingo may as well be gobbledigook, and we read the river like a book.

The Space Suit

Jarred Jackman on Vanishing Falls
Salmon River Canyon, OR

So you can keep searching out there in the void if you'd like. Maybe you'll even find something. But I think I'll keep my focus on these aliens that call themselves "Normal." There's plenty of them around, and they're pretty easy to observe. Not much travel involved. And as long as I can make it back to my planet every once in a while, I think things will work out.

Dave Gardner stomping Fowlersville, Bottom Moose, NY

Will Crimmins with the Steeze on Knife's Edge, Bottom Moose, NY

Dave Gardner and Tony Gianfagna finishing up Agers Falls, Bottom Moose, NY

Labels: 2013, Adirondacks, Bottom Moose, dirtbagging, Falls, Kayaking, New York, Oregon, Salmon River Canyon, Whitewater |

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Tuesday, April 30, 2013

The year so far...

10:26 PM | Posted by Eric |

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Straight to the point: The last few months have been busy and exciting.

While a variety of easier Class 3-4 rivers made up the first month or two, in March I found myself once again at the lip of Celestial Falls. It's about as clean as any 45 foot waterfall can be, and Harrison made a second lap look super appealing.

The next day I rallied ahead of the racers at the Upper Wind Festival with Benny Small to get a couple shots. The Upper Wind is a great class 4+ race course with continuous waves, holes, and rocks to dodge. We posted up just below Ram's Horn, one of the steepest rapids on the run, although definitely not the hardest.

Dropping into the meat

Kim Becker charging hard to stay ahead of the Nicole Mansfield/Katrina Van Wijk Duo

The lead-in to Ram's Horn, note the gnar gash on Paddler #1!

As much fun as paddling is, it doesn't pay the bills. So I spent the majority of my time working at the Portland Aquarium.

That is an octopus arm.

Lurking hard...

Meanwhile, my car was breaking down. Time to find a new grand investment. And by that I mean a car that won't breakdown within a year for under about a grand. As always, the internet provided, and I got hooked up with this sweet rig!

Mazda B2000 Pickup, better known as Maria. It was at this moment I fell in love...

A photo mission out to the coast the first night I got her seemed like the perfect test. Besides a brief interruption of my sleep by a very friendly police officer ("No camping in city limits...but you can drive a mile that way and nobody will give you problems") and an apparently murderous forest, the mission was a great success.

Now if you look carefully, you might see an issue. The bottom photo was taken about 30 minutes after the one to the left.

As it turns out, I still don't have an answer as to whether a tree falling in the forest with no one around to hear it does or does not make a noise. I do, however, know that a tree falling in the forest will obliterate a trail whether there's anyone around to hear it or not.

Also, trees are really big.

After dodging that (wooden) bullet, Harrison Rea called me about running Punchbowl Falls on Eagle Creek. It's one of the most visually appealing waterfalls I've ever seen, so that answer was a no-brainer. There were 2 other questions that required a bit more contemplation: How to get out of work on Easter Sunday, and whether or not I'd run Metlako, the 80+ foot spout shortly below Punchbowl.

A slow day at the Aquarium and some begging answered the first question, but I was still unsure about the second. I had done it once before, but only with people who could offer some guidance and safety. The mental pressure had me pretty maxed out without even considering running a 35 footer just before. I decided to decide at the overlook, after getting an idea of how much water would be in the creek, and to decide again after seeing how Punchbowl worked out.

Harrison had a sweet line, but busted his face a bit.
Dan Phillips Photo

I thought I was having a sweet line, but got rotated and busted my shoulder a little (more than I thought)
Dan Phillips Photo

Unwilling to take another hit to his face, Harrison opted out of Metlako, despite perfect flows. I was left with a tough choice, but opted to paddle down into the quiet gorge alone. Harrison and Dan would be unable to do anything to help except run down trail in the fading light and call for a rescue, but I was confident I would nail the line.

Dropping Metlako for the second time.
Harrison Rea Photo

And with a couple hand strokes midway down, I did just that. It was a great feeling to paddle over such a huge horizon again, and an even better feeling to find my paddle wedged at the lip of the portage rapid just downstream.

Unfortunately, the hit I took at punchbowl had done far more damage to my left shoulder than I had thought. I spent the next day in a sling, and the next 3 weeks trying to recover in time for the Northwest Creeking Competition. (<-- By Eric Adsit, hey, I know that guy!) I also published Issue 5 of The Dirtbag's Guide to Whitewater.

When I finally got back in a boat, things felt good. Really good.

To the left, John Edwards on Sunset Falls

To the right, Benny Small planting a solid one on Champagne

Everything went as smoothly as I could have asked. 3 laps down the East Fork, a rowdy night amongst new friends, and a solid lap down Canyon Creek at a great flow had me stoked on boating and boating culture. Since then, I've been taking as many photos as possible on the familiar runs.

Nate Merrel taking headed into Swizzle Sticks

John Edwards on Big Kahuna

Tony on the same

Stacked action for Gus Kilgore and Eli Nicholson on Champagne/Hammering Spot

The 'Illusive' Gnarsper on the same

When I can't paddle, I've been going on some stout hikes with Mike "I'm serious, it's an ass-kicker" Braun, who likes trails that go up and down a lot.

and down

For hazy vistas and really tasty peanut butter honey burritos...

To top it all off, I bought a camera. A real one! To celebrate I'm starting the classic Project 365. A photo a day, every day for a year. Probably easiest to follow along here.

Labels: 2013, Canyon Creek, Celestial Falls, Eagle Creek, East Fork Lewis, Hiking, Kayaking, Metlako, Northwest Creeking Comp, Oregon, Pacific Northwest, punchbowl falls, Washington, Whitewater |

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Wednesday, December 19, 2012

An Unexpected Complication...OR How I Became Temporarily Homeless

12:18 PM | Posted by Eric |

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In terms of dirtbagging, I had it all. Lot's of friends with warm homes and spare couches or bedrooms, a nightshift job that was just mind-numbing enough to dream about kayaking during the whole shift and left the days free to actually go kayaking, and even a family I didn't owe any real responsibility to.

And that's the best kind of family...
Kate Daniel Photo
(Also, apologies to my real family...)

What could possibly go wrong?

It all started a few days ago.

I was informed that circumstances would no longer permit my very pleasant accommodations in the Woodstock neighborhood of SE Portland, an unpleasant but not unexpected development. In a desperate attempt to prove I was incapable of being trusted to my own devices, I cut my finger deep enough to see a vein while moving a refrigerator. It didn't work. The reasons for my eviction seemed reasonable enough though, and the wide network of friends in the region would surely step in to fill the position of "host." If my position should then be described as "parasite," it should at least be noted that there is a symbiotic relationship occurring, because, as expected, a number of hosts seemed to spring up.

The obvious selection was Gus'. Not only was there a big room, short commute, and high tolerance for smelly kayak gear, he has a cool ass name. In truth, the large majority of potential hosts were from college students leaving for winter break.

Presumably to act grinchly towards younger siblings...

With such a wide and undoubtedly reliable selection of new homes, it was hard to conceive something going wrong. Especially in the early morning haze preceded by 18 or so hours of consciousness, the latter half of which were spent carting children's toys unnecessarily back and forth in a store. I should add, the term "concious" is used in the loosest sense.

Anyways, unacknowledged by me, the options trickled subtly away.

Benny left, Cat left, Harrison might (?) still be around. The day came for me to move out far too soon. I found myself experiencing some moderately significant anxiety as I packed up the car again. There was a distinct feeling of "not-good-ness" settling in the pit of my stomach which I attributed this to one too many redbulls throughout the night.

After an ashamedly short drive to Gus' I hopped out of the car and confidently entered the passcode on his garage and twisted the handle.

Nothing happened.

I repeated the code 3 or 4 times, occasionally cursing, because cursing usually helps in these situations. So I called Gus, worried I'd have to admit I forgot the code. Turns out, I had it right, the door just needed to hear me admit I could be wrong (kinda like some of the girls I've met), because it started working as soon as Gus told me the code I was using was correct.

Things were looking up. I got to chat with Gus, it didn't sound like I woke him up, the door was about to open, and I'd continue living the dirtbag's dream. Except it still wasn't opening. And to be honest, I've sorta put off sharing this detail, because it's a bit incriminating.

That handle I twisted in my initial attempts actually sent a deabolt into the frame, effectively sealing me out. The poor automated door opener's engine whirred and cranked (repeatedly), now so desperate to allow me inside where moments ago it had stonewalled me.

It continued to strain against the deadbolt for the duration of my conversation with Gus which involved 2 near circumnavigations of the house, searching for an option that would allow the entering part of breaking and entering without the breaking part. It actually continued struggling to open well beyond my discovery that these college students had been surprisingly responsible when they headed home for break.

Ultimately, it stopped though.

Then it started to snow, a rare occurrence here in Portland.

So I went back to Kate's and did the first thing anyone in my position would do. Told facebook I was homeless.

Thanks to Cat, I'm not homeless anymore, and now I get to tell people I'm in a much better place now than I was yesterday.

Happy Holidays Everyone!

Labels: 2012, dirtbagging, Oregon |

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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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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.