... sol ...: Head Above Water

Photo by Shayne Vollmers

This past weekend I went to the Puntledge River Festival in Courtenay, BC, where about 200 paddlers gathered round for BC Hydro to release water from their dam up-river. Over the course of two days the water’s flow was increased dramatically, giving incentive for white water kayakers to congregate over campfires, beer-a-plenty, and paddle talk. Alright, first of all let me just say that river kayaking is for brave souls and should I sum up my first taste of it, it was very humbling indeed. I had no skills, no technique, no control of my boat, and no fucking idea what to do, and that’s a strange position to find yourself in when you happen to be on a Class 3 river coursing down rapids.

My first day began in a van full of other so-called “beginner” kayakers, though I soon discovered I was the only one who had never paddled on white water before. The driver was old enough to go at 40 kmh and not think to unroll any of the windows given all twenty of his passengers were sweating through their junk in wetsuits, skull caps, river booties, water mitts and PFDs. I was cursing the old man under my breath, nervous as anything, seated between two male paddlers who would have the burden of rescuing my sorry ass for the entire run of the river, little did they know.

The fellow to my right was a friend of mine, not a close friend exactly, but friend enough to invite me along. Not to mince words, he is the surliest, gruffest, most impatient man you’ll ever meet, all brawn, beard and bad language. I’ve always felt he looks upon me like a naive child whose inexperience of the world he finds so intolerable that our friendship is little more to him than community service. Half the time I love the man dearly while the other half I fantasize about chucking heavy objects at his head, but I’ll be the first to admit he has a warm heart, and that it’s worth enduring his biting words to laugh at his hilarious stories, tag along on adventures and share the company of the good folks around him.

Finally arriving at our take-out, the gentle run I had envisioned was smashed quickly when we all clambered out to see a fast moving, choppy river with a sharp bend right from the get-go. What this meant is that we would have to ferry across the current away from a tangle of trees and branches along the nearest shore and more importantly, a messy pile of logs at the top of the bend.

Seeing the shock on my face, my friend took me aside.

“Ok,” Ben said. “Let’s talk strategy.”

But he may as well have said it all in Klingon because none of it means shit when you have no fucking idea how to run a river. Within seconds of first getting in my boat I had already flipped upside down, pulled the skirt of my kayak, and was swimming through the tangle of trees. Ben was barking at me to get to shore, which I was able to do though the hardest part wasn’t over. On slippery rocks and without any hand-holds I was being instructed to make my way 30m down the river, and being cursed at not to stand up, and to float feet-first downstream, which by the way is all very counter-intuitive. It appeared there were obstacles everywhere in the freezing cold water, not to mention the very real possibility of being swept away in the river -- there is little I can do to explain the initial stress I felt.

Eventually I got back to my boat, hesitant to get back on the river, shaking and on the verge of tears. The group of “beginners” liked to congregate in eddies, god knows why, for when crossing the current from rushing water to still water I would flip my boat and go swimming again. The man who had been on my left in the van bound for hell was a fellow whom some called Diaz and others The Probe. At one point we all knew there was no way I’d make it to the calm pool our group was splashing around in as I went tearing past wild-eyed with Diaz chasing after me until he caught up and pushed me to shore, so that I could calm down some and give my arms a rest. He climbed on the rocks like sweet Jesus my saviour, dumped the water out of my boat that I had not yet successfully swallowed, and got me going again. It’s all a blur now, so I can’t recall if I set out intentionally or not, but I do remember screaming at him that there were rocks ahead.

“It’s ok,” I think he said, though I remain unconvinced.

I paddled the rest of the way down-river with white knuckles. In order to prevent myself from beaching my boat and refusing to continue, I reminded myself it was an honour to be on the river, a very spiritual place indeed, even if it wound up drowning me in the end, in reality likely the merciful thing for everyone considering I was such a godforsaken liability. It seemed to me nothing short of a miracle when I successfully rode my boat ashore and put my feet on dry land. I couldn’t believe I was alive and unscathed as I climbed onto the riverbank with shaky legs like a newborn fawn.

Would I do it again? Well, I’d go back with more practice, having some skills, technique and experience on a few slower, easier rivers. Though in the end, it was well worth the fear, and it never hurts to garner more experiences where you can laugh at yourself and be humbled.

White water kayakers, creekers, play-boaters, aside from all being absolutely insane, are truly the saints of the Earth. They are some of the kindest, most welcoming and supportive people I’ve met in some time and it was truly a pleasure to be among them for a few days. The weather was unexpectedly sunny and hot, we all wore our sunburns well, drank, ate and laughed our fill, sat around fires and sincerely enjoyed ourselves. On the return journey home we stopped by in Coombs, a quaint little town notable for its wild goats who live on rooftops, and a delightful earthy grocery store plentiful with unique, delicious items. It really was a perfect summer weekend getaway; heading back to Vancouver on the ferry I remember thinking how very lucky I am to live in such a beautiful part of the world and to have such lovely friends.

Forgive me once more for not taking photos of my latest endeavor on the river. The weekend went by so very quickly, and it was all so new that I just couldn't bear to peel my attention away from what was happening to snap a few shots. I will however post some photos of my recent hikes -- an easy amble over the three peaks of the Chief in Squamish, and a summit attempt of Golden Ears that both went awry (to say the least) and yet still managed to be a very fun and memorable day in the mountains. You can read the Trip Report on Club Tread.