A few weeks ago Jesse Wilensky, Christopher Kyle, and myself set out to do the famous Wapwallopen in Nescopeck, Pennsylvania. The drops found on these creeks are giving the Northern-Northeastern region of Pennsylvania a world class paddling reputation. The day was pretty good but I will let Jesse’s shots do all of the talking. All I can say is I’m glad I still have a face. :^)

Photos are by Jesse Wilensky and the sequences were done by William Ott.

Powder Hole 2nd Descent Jesse Wilensky

Christopher Kyle boofing Anarchy

Freewheelin' Anarchy

I didn't feel a thing.

Here are two cool edits my friend Jack Carter put together of our trip to the great white north this past summer.

As a follow-up to Art’s fantastic post, I figured it would be best to now share with you, dear readers, the pictures that I took while on our Next-to-Last Descent of the Romaine River.  That’s right- word has come through the grapevine that another group, shortly after our trip, managed to make their way into the third gorge under the cover of darkness.  I am not sure how they got away with that; it sounds unbelievable, but this life I have lived has given me plenty of chances to see or experience the unbelievable.  So hat’s off to those mystery boaters who could not be told “NO!”  No names are known and cerntainly would not be shared on the internet, but, if they happen to read this post: GOOD WORK, FOLKS!

Enough of that: this is my supplemental content post, so it’s time to cut to the chase!  Here are the foggy, misty pictures of our trip that I managed to snap with a temperamental point-and-shoot that couldn’t quite cut it in the constant cold rain.

We had a lot of short portages around big holes. Lowering the boats or throw-and-go action was occasional.

Boreal forests and granite walls were the standard view in the long pools...

..as were waterfalls cascading down the cliff faces...

...which, of course, was spectacular.

The bog we crossed when the headwinds on the lower river became too strong

The bog was beautiful itself, but grueling to hike across and full of carnivorous plants like these Sarracenia.

It was a remarkable trip to the (former) end of the line: Haver-St-Pierre and beyond.

In my mind, our trip was done with direct inspiration from the “Down the River” chapter of Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire: we had a notorious river, a thing of spectacular beauty, that we knew was doomed.  Days numbered, we felt it was absolutely necessary for us to go and see this river before it disappears for the remaining length of human existence.  It was just as we expected, our journey best described as bittersweet: the scenery and whitewater were spectacular, the difficulty of the logistics and enduring the weather was a wonderful challenge.  However, seeing the construction site and being faced directly with what we loose as we seek “progress” was a major bummer, as I could casually understate.

Back in my hometown, the questions are being asked about what price we pay for our energy consumption as shale drilling moves ahead full-bore.  The cost is more evident and easily understood in our Appalachin case:  We already have had the potentially upsetting connections between climate change and fossil fuels drilled into us as vigorously as any oil company sinking their wells.  The spectre of spills and gas migration contaminating our water supply is, of course, an immediate perilous prospect that anyone would take notice of; it is even easier to notice when it is in the middle of your neighborhood, down the street or up the hill, another virtual street corner dealer supplying the fix of hydrocarbons our developed world is addicted to.  But this was different!  On La Romaine, we were confronted with the ugly side of “green” energy.  Hydropower is frequently lauded as a major source of what is perceived as cheap, plentiful, zero-impact energy.  With the Romaine Complex, our group had the fortune of seeing what is destroyed to make these billion dollar projects.  Almost our entire trip upstream of La Grande Chute will be inundated by the dams once the project is completed.   Roads bulldozed in what was formerly pristine wilderness and thousands of square kilometers of boreal forest submerged.

To what end?  As I understand, Hydro-Quebec supplies 40% of all energy consumed in Quebec, successfully meeting the domestic electric demands of the province.  What is left is a surplus to sell to the United States.  Are these new lakes to just, in the short term, help the residents in New York City turn on their air conditioners?  In the long term to facilitate the utilization (exploitation?) of natural resources in Nord-du-Quebec, a region of wilderness significantly larger than the state of Texas that remains almost entirely undeveloped?  To those in Pennsylvania and West Virginia, shale gas is in our faces and people find it very easy to find a way to oppose it- this is different.  Instead, we the public find it very easy to accept or even embrace these changes when they are somewhere we can’t see, somewhere no one we know has likely been.  The questions now brought to me from our adventure are of the very value of what we know as progress.  Do we need this electricity?  Is it worth it to trade away the wilds to keep the juggernaut of progress moving forward?  Our lives are immeasurably more comfortable than those of our predecessors- do we really need more?  What of those in the developing world?  Do they not deserve a slice of the same pie that I eat from?  If we were to renounce modern life, what would replace it?  Could any of us be satisfied by that?  What would that even mean?  The sight of the Romaine #2 Complex excavations raised nothing but questions and provided no definitive answers.

The Romaine River emerges from countless bogs and lakes near the 52 parallel on the Quebec-Labrador border and flows South to eventually meet the sea along Quebec’s Côte Nord (North Coast). The Romaine River flows through a vast wilderness area and drops 1350 feet in its final 130 miles. This amazing river is currently being destroyed for profit by Quebec Hydro, a company owned by the Canadian Government. The Romaine Complex will be composed of 4 dams that will be capable of producing 1550 Megawatts. All of the power produced will be exported to the United States.

The incredible Romaine River from above

Realizing that this was a once in a lifetime chance to paddle this river before it was dewatered and flooded, we hashed a plan together in less than a week to travel 1400 miles North East to the small town of Havre Saint Pierre, a fishing and iron ore export port along the coast. Four paddlers; John Moore(Calorie King), Dave Carey (International Playboy and Pro Kayaker), Brian Kish (negotiator and black fly bait), and myself (Muscle/ Cop look-a-like)met up on a Friday night for a 27 hour marathon drive to a small float plane base outside of Havre St. Pierre. We made a few stops along the way including a stop in Quebec City for lunch made by Dave’s Québécois girlfriend (which he met during our last Quebec epic adventure earlier this summer). Upon arrival we realized we had been foiled and there was no lunch. We drove out of Quebec City following Route 138 for 12 hours heading North East . Hundreds of miles of beautiful coastline, small towns, and other legendary whitewater creeks and rivers past by on our way North. We arrived Saturday night after midnight and set up camp at the mouth of the Romaine.

Ferry Ride across the mouth of the Sagneay

Internation Playboy Dave Carey and his GF in Quebec City

Loading the 1956 Otter float plane with kayaks and supplies for 6 days

Early next morning we woke and headed for the airport. When we arrived we were informed the cloud ceiling was too low to fly over the 3500 foot mountains. We waited there all day hoping for a break in the weather, which never came. On Monday morning the weather was even worse, pelting rain and 30 mph winds. The group morale was low as we might have had to turn around and attempt another run. Finally we awoke Tuesday and we could see the mountains for the first time. We loaded up quickly with boats and gear for six days of wilderness paddling into a 1956 Otter float plane. Our pilot Tan Gauy, (Pepe la Pew) spoke broken English and ensured us the plane was young because it was the same age as he was. He did this while passing a sheet in French about what to do in case there was a crash. We took off and flew over a tapestry of lakes, bogs and granite bubbles. We also flew over a massive 93 mile road construction project that will lead to the impending doom of the river. Pepe landed the plane in a narrow deep straight in the river with incredible skill and we unloaded our boats and gear onto a sandy island. As the plane took off we all realized this is the most remote place that we had ever been.

Saying goodbye to civilization, the plane leaves our island drop point, 150 miles of River to go!

On the first day we dropped the hammer to make up for our two day flight delay; some flat water and easy rapids brought us into the first gorge. Granite walls and domes rose nearly 1000 feet above the river bed. 180 cubic feet per second or 6,400 cfs roared through the gorge in a pool drop fashion. The rapids were big and powerful and we quickly learned our long boats with 50-60 pounds of gear didn’t behave the way we were used to. We were armed with hand drawn canoe maps that had been made some 30 years ago, but proved to be extremely helpful. They indicated where the campsites, chutes (waterfalls) and rapids were as well as suggested routes and portage trails; all of these directions were in French of course. Many of the rapids had multiple lines and channels ranging from class 5+ big water to low volume class 4. We made two portages in the first gorge around a chute and a class 5+ rapid. We opted to boat conservatively considering our loaded boats and the remoteness of the river. In the big rapids our normal plan of action was to find a low volume channel and sneak down as far as we could until we needed to scout or portage. Near the end of the gorge I was probing a class 4 drop with two offset holes. I found myself being dragged into the second hole and the surf began I made a few strong attempts to surf out, but the hole was a perfect boat keeping a steep walled C shaped hole. I decided to hang in the hole until some of the other group members could get down to me. After about 3 minutes my arm felt like it was ready to fall off and I had to swim. This was my first swim in four years. John bagged me with a rope. After recovering my boat we paddled a few more miles and had our only campfire and dry night of the trip. We camped on a beautiful sand bar just above a 20 foot waterfall.

1st taste of the romaine, Kish digs in

Best camp site ever, minus the bugs

Enjoying our only dry night on the trip

After breakfast and packing up we started the day with an easy twenty foot slide and a class 4 drop, then we came face to face with 15 kilometers of flat water. We paddled steady trying to make it to the next gorge. We stopped only for a few #1 breaks and an hour lunch break. At lunch each day we watched in amazement as John plowed through 14 ounces of tuna, two mountain house meals (serves 2) and some trail mix for desert. To pass the time we talked creeks near and far, bowel movements, and the women of Fayette County, PA. We came to the second gorge after lunch; what we found were more huge powerful rapids. The class 4 rapids had huge wave trains and stoppers while the class 5’s had even bigger features with multiple moves. We portaged two drops in this gorge a stout waterfall and a long class 6 rapid. Near the end of the gorge we saw a helicopter and workers cutting trees and stringing a line across the river. It was our first reminder of the fate of this amazing river.

Dave has some waterfall for breakfast

Amazing Drops and scenery on the Romaine

On day three we paddled 45 kilometers of swiftly moving flat water punctuated by a few nice class 2-3 rapids. We paddled through an amazing Yosemite-like gorge, thousand foot granite walls rose steeply above the river and waterfalls leaped off its brim. A forest fire had ripped through the area several years back on the eastern shore and stood out starkly in contrast with the dense forest on the opposite bank. A black bear making its way down the bank took a minute to watch us float by. He actually sat down like a stuffed animal and watched us pass. Rain fell steady throughout the day just like it had done the day before; the group joke soon became that it was clearing up. Nearing the end of day we reached the dam site of Romaine 2. Trees were cut down, machines were bulldozing and what used to be mountain had been blown away. The natural river channel was blocked and the river was diverted into a gigantic tunnel to allow for the construction of dam. Our hearts sank as we saw the destruction realizing the wilderness part of our trip was over. The dam to be built will be over 300 feet high and would flood the 30 kilometers upstream, drowning the second gorge and diverting water around the third. Quebec Hydro provided a shuttle around the dam site. We were adamant about wanting to put in directly below the dam so that we could paddle the final gorge called Les Murailles which translates loosely to mean the rampart or the walls of a fortress. We tried to communicate this to the security officers but they drove us 15 kilometers downstream and said they were bound by their orders. We tried to get in contact with their superior but she had already left the office. We decided to camp close to where we were dropped off and call in the morning with our satellite phone.

Heartbreaking views of a entrance to last gorge of the Romaine, the future dam site

Death of a River, a massive 7000cfs diversion for dam construction

The next morning Brian Kish, while pants-less negotiated access to below the dam. Within 45 minutes the security crew had arrived and we were on our way. Best of all we left all of our heavy gear at camp which we would paddle down to later. Upon arriving we had to wait until someone pointed out where we were allowed to put on. Around the bend we came to the spire rapid where a narrow channel pours into a furious looking hole just below an impressive 25 foot tall spire rock. We took some time here to admire the amazing scenery and the explosive thunder of the Romaine at its finest. There were no takers on that line but we ran a fun series of class 4 slides down a back channel.

John and Brian admiring The Spire and Les Murialles Gorge

Below the spire we had a heavy dose of class 4-5 with two chutes mixed in. The first chute was an impressive seven meter falls with a stunt devil line down the center and keeper holes on each side; again we opted for the portage. We carried down a steep sloped mass of granite that had been polished smooth by high water since the last ice age. The slick rock required ropes to lower the boats down to a tricky seal launch pad. A quick scout around the bend revealed a 3 meter ledge with a burly keeper hole. To avoid it we needed to execute a hard ferry across 6,800 cfs between the backside of a hole and a boulder. We all made the ferry and found a sweet class 4 sneak to finish out the rapid. After a short pool we came to Les Murailles a one-hundred foot vertical rock wall that ran straight downstream as far as we could see. We followed the wall and moved quickly through several big water class 4-5 rapids until reaching the final series of drops before the Basin of Les Murailles. We ran center down a 10 foot wide tongue accelerating at an alarming rate reaching the trough and then rocketing to the peak of a twelve foot wave each of us relieved we had made it past the 50 foot wide holes that lay on each side of the tongue. The next drop was similar but there was no tongue; we portaged quickly and floated up to the brink of the final drop. The drop had been run once by a previous group and was named the land of the giants. The rapid dwarfed my previous notion of what a big rapid looked like. Here the water dropped nearly 50 feet though a series of slides and ledges choked with a chaotic storm of dynamic waves and explosive hydraulics. The portage around this drop was the hardest on the run, we had to hand our boats up over a ledge and down a cliff to reach a decent spot to put in; luckily all our heavy gear was waiting for us at camp 10 km downstream. In the pool below the rapid, construction of the powerhouse and penstock were well underway. Soon this gorge will be completely dewatered.

The sneaks are class 4-5

We headed downstream to eat lunch and pack up camp. We still had lots of miles to cover to get home on time. We paddled 15 km of flat moving water to the next set of chutes. The first drop was one of the most constricted drops on the run and poured over a 6 foot ledge into the frothiest water I have ever seen. There was more air than water in the boil. Surprisingly, there was a line off a boof flake on the right. I went first and plugged it deep; my stern came up first, but a few powerful strokes with my new paddle had me out of harm’s way in a hurry. The other guys ran after about 2 feet to the right boofing off the wall with much better success. Downstream we ran a fun slide ledge and paddled down to the next chute. This chute was actually a big wave train rapid. We scouted and John ran an easy line down the right. I convinced Brian and Dave to follow me down the meat of a big water wave train. It appeared to be an easy left to right line with only one hole near the middle of the rapid on the left. Brian and Dave did not scout on their own and asked if there were any big holes, I replied “nothing that will stop you.” I back-paddle ferried into position at the top of the rapid and began my descent charging into the giant waves which were about twice as big as they appeared on the scout. I started to climb the tallest wave which was a true 12 foot monster. The wall of the wave was nearly vertical, my bow climbed above the top of the wave as I was starring at the sky. I reached out for my next stroke to crest the wave but I never got there. The next thing I knew I was getting worked in the biggest hydraulic of my life. I looked left and right to see if I could surf out of the hole. I knew what I had to do next; I clenched my paddle and pulled my skirt for the second time on the trip. Luckily, I flushed down the rapid quickly but I was being pulled downstream into another ledge that we hadn’t scouted yet. I swam with my paddle as hard as I could to make an eddy. I got to shore very relieved. After the swim I had learned that the wave had back surfed and typewritered me twenty feet to the left into a huge hole.

Romaine boogy water..nice!

We decided to camp just downstream because it was late and we felt it wasn’t a good idea to proceed to the next chute and class 5 rapid a few kilometers downstream as it was getting dark. Each time we pulled onto shore we greeted by a cocktail of blood sucking insects, worst of all “la mouche,” the black fly. Within 30 seconds of pulling ashore we prepared our defenses; head nets drawn, deet applied, sometimes we even wore gloves. Even with our precautions, dozens of black flies found a way to fulfill their primordial instinct and drew first blood. We often wondered what the flies did when we weren’t there to bite. Black fly bites reactions are a lot like poison ivy reactions, some people are affected very little while others swell up and break into hives. Brian Kish fell into the latter category. By the 5th mourning Brian’s face was swollen to the point where his eyes had nearly swelled shut. There was some pity, but mostly jokes resulted from brains face which looked liked he had visited an insane Botox doctor. Despite his near blindness Brian continued to paddle downstream.
On the fifth mourning we had 60 km of river to the takeout or a 20 km paddle and a two mile hike out. We debated both options but left it up in the air for a later decision. After a short paddle we came to the most interesting rapid on the run. Here two converging channels surged together creating a hole that would form, then suddenly break and flatten out completely. A few seconds later it would form again. We watched the cycle carefully to try hit it just at the right moment. I charged it a little late and punched the hole as it started to form and caught an eddy just downstream. In the eddy the water suddenly rose five feet before quickly dropping out. Our last major obstacle was La Grande Chute a two tiered 80 foot waterfall. It was a truly impressive site watching 6,800 cfs drop that much gradient all at once. Just below the falls was our last class 5 rapid, and a bridge was being built directly over it. A worker came down and told us that he called security we needed to walk about a 100 ft up and a ¼ mile around the rapid to avoid the work site. Brian and Dave informed him that we were just going to run it, which we did. A few kilometers downstream the river turned and began to parallel the coast. We were greeted with a stout coastal breeze forming foot high waves with whitecaps. We trudged through about a mile of this before taking a break, we had 40 kilometers to go which would have been impossible. We also realized we passed the hike out spot by a mile. At that point we decided to paddle back upstream and hike out. The paddle upstream was easy with a strong wind on our backs and waves to surf.

John Moore in front of La Grande Chute

We hit the shore and began our hike first crawling through a thick patch of alder and then up a densely forested steep hill complete with lots of dead falls. Already exhausted at the top of the hill we still had 1.9 miles to go. We continued to drag our fully loaded long boats through a thick forest as I struggled to figure out how to use my newly bought gps. About 45 minutes into the hike we came to a large opening in the forest where a vast bog sat. It was a beautiful, but daunting sight. I began marching through the bog and quickly learned not to step on the red moss. I sunk waist deep in quick mud nearly losing my booties. We paddled across a few ponds and slowly made our way across the bog. Each step pulling a 100 lbs of boat and gear was a challenge, to make it worse I had lost a water bottle on the hill, and I knew I was getting dehydrated. Finally across the bog we followed the GPS back into the woods and made our last push to the road. The black flies were happy we came to visit. Finally, two miles and three hours later we made it to the road. John threw out his thumb to hitch a ride to the airport and instantly got a ride. A short time later we loaded up, plowed some poutine (French fries, gravy, and cheese curds) and set off for our 27 hr ride home. Brian “Rip Van Winkle” Kish slept for about 24 out of the 27 hour car ride home. The Last Descent of the Romaine is a trip that we all will remember the rest of our lives.

The paddler profiles:
• Art Barket, 27, middle school Technology Education Teacher, 7 years paddling
• Brian Kish, 27, internationally traveling architect, 8 years paddling
• Dave Carey, 30, Unemployed, 20 years paddling
• John Moore, 38, Coal Power Plant technician, 13 years paddling

Photos and Story by Art Barket

For More Romaine Photos and other Quebec Epic Photos check http://artbarket.smugmug.com/Whitewater-Kayaking

It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve returned home from my summer out West raft guiding and safety kayaking for Kodi Rafting. It was an amazing summer of paddling with friends from home and friends that I’ve made in Colorado. I will never forget my time in Buena Vista and am hoping to return there again one day in my life. Here are some pictures from over the summer –

Enjoying the view while taking care of some business. - Photo by Erin Qualters

Wave wheel on the Arkansas. - Photo by Eliza Burk

Our campsite setup. - Photo by William Ott

Racing the Speeder on the Numbers section of the Arkansas. - Photo by William Ott

Cool view of the West out of my side view mirror. - Photo by William Ott

After returning home it wasn’t long until my itch for boating was starting up again. Hurricane Irene had arrived and I attempted for some local goods but ended up getting skunked horribly. I couldn’t be disappointed for long because Beaver Fest was approaching the weekend after. I road up that Friday night with Geoff Calhoun and we made it up to Colton, NY for a good night of sleep under the stars. The next morning we woke up bright and early to crank out a bunch of laps on La Raquette! I got in around six laps but the last one hardly counted because the water had pretty much dropped out. Here are some shots of us on the Raquette –

Geoff hitting the boof at Colton. - Photo by Patrick Rogers

Looking like a perfect landing for Calhoose! - Photo by Patrick Rogers

Heading through the slot backwards. - Photo by Patrick Rogers

After the Raquette on Saturday we headed over to Taylorsville for a some “socializing” with friends from all over the East. The next morning we got up for some early morning hucking on the Mosier Slide on the Beaver. It was crazy to me that just two years ago the slide was run from the very top for the first time by my friend Kevin Vesely and now I think almost ten people including myself ran it from the top eddy from the side. After the Mosier Slide we did the Mosier and Eagle section of the Beaver which is always a good time. There was even a race on the Eagle section that evening which Geoff had gotten first in. You can check out the rest of the results here – Race Results as well as the results from the race on the Raquette on Monday which was also a cool event. Here are some pictures of the Mosier Slide as well as the Beaver –

Dave Carey on the Mosier spillway. - Photo by Mark Zakutansky

Graham Seiler boofing at the end of the spillway. - Photo by Patrick Rogers

A shot of myself on the Mosier section of the Beaver. - Photo by Patrick Rogers

After returning home from a great labor day weekend in New York I had heard that Pennsylvania was due for some moisture and knew that it was going to be a week of creeking. I got on some great local favorites including Conewago East in Mount Gretna, Long Green right outside of Baltimore, as well as some micro creeking on some tributaries that come into the Codorus (I had done with Kevin several years back in the day). By Wednesday I had my fill but when I realized that we were getting more rain I knew that I had to go big. When you want to go really big, you call in the DEMSHITZ. Talking to Jared Seiler (One of the ring leaders of Demshitz) Wednesday night we discussed a plan to do some exploring the next morning up in Northern Pennsylvania where the flooding would be the worst. Bad idea.

When I started driving the next morning I should have taken the hint that it was going to be a long day when they were closing every major highway I was attempting to get on. After an entire day from driving (escaping) from town to town attempting to meet up with Jared in Berwick, it had seemed that I became trapped in the town of Shickshinny which had become completely submerged underwater. Shickshinny was literally right next to Berwick but it had seemed like they closed every road leading into the town. I made a final attempt to jump a barricade and drive through some water almost stalling out my car. I eventually made it after spending almost ten hours in my car and moving from town to town taking whatever detours I possibly could.

When I made it to the Albertson’s house, Jared’s friends who are locals to the Northern PA paddling scene, we discussed plans for the next day thinking that we had plenty of options. Even with the immense amount of rain things were still dropping out quick and we new that we were going to have to act fast in the morning if we were going to catch anything. Jared had his mind set on Heberly Run in Jamison City since our options were limited with all the roads closed and Pennsylvania being in a state of emergency. We new that the dirt road taking us to the put-in of Heberly was going to be completely ruined because of the flooding which is why Jared and Albertsons devised a plan to run shuttles using the Albertson’s Quads. In all honestly, it was probably one of the dopest ways I’ve ever run a shuttle. It maybe even tops the Glen Miller shuttle! Maybe. Anyways, Heberly turned out to be low but the drops were still good and big! This run was comparable to something straight out of the gap, with drops almost as big as David’s on Hornbecks or Raging Angels on Tumbling Waters. Needless to say, I was impressed. After we returned from the run to our cars we were awaited by an officer from the Game Commission. He wrote the Albertsons a citation for using their Quads on Game land which was totally whack because we were only using them for transportation, NOT FUN (Okay we did a few wheelies too)!

Check out a few of the freeze frames Jared took from the day –

Using the quads to get to the top! YES!

Myself launching Lewis Falls on Heberly

The Alberstons cooperating with the officer.

Myself running Big Falls on Heberly Run

Well, that about sums up the end of my summer and the beginning of my fall season. Now I’m sitting here with an ear infection, probably from Long Green or the Codorus (Damn you Codorus!) wishing I was playboating Holtwood. Happy Paddling until next time!

-Brenton

In my ongoing effort to provide new content while I have some downtime, I have a quick follow-up to the last post about Webster Wildwater Weekend.  As I made my way back to the Ohiopyle area, I received a phone call from my friend Don Smith, whom I’d hit up on my way to the Blackwater the previous Friday, with the message on my voicemail being:  ”Winter has returned to Tucker County.”  No news to me; I figured that much out while I was sliding off of SR219 Friday night.  What was news to me was how much snow had fallen (official Canaan Heights weather station total: A CRAPLOAD.  Okay, the dude with the weather station didn’t record that day.)   Moreover, there was a warm snap coming as part of another front.  I had some work to attend to at home, but two of our buddies from Ohio were already on the scene and getting ready for the action.   According to the records at Canaan Heights Weather Station we had 14″ of snow melt on us over the next day. That’s more than an album by a wack Canadian rapper, for real.  You know I got my ass down there as quick as I could!  We had a little cookout on Don’s porch; Kyle ate Don’s last hot dog.  Ill move by an raw dude.  What’s worse is that he blamed it on me, that jagoff.  If I was Don, I woulda kicked his ass out in the rain.  Then we screened Close Encounters of the Third Kind, discussed the role of the “French Intellectual” in movie archetypes, and kept watching the radar to see how much more rain was coming.  Eventually, it started to snow, but we knew we had enough water, for sure.   Something was in.  When dawn broke, the decision was made:  Red Creek!  Red Creek is a hard-to-catch creek that drains Dolly Sods Wilderness Area above West Virginia’s Canaan Valley,  approximately 7mi or 12km long and dropping in the heart of the gorge at about 250ft/mi or a 5% grade.  We mobilized, using local yokel Curtis Heishman for shuttle and a successful infiltration to our secret winter trailhead.  We started grinding out that two miles in booties through the slushy snow…

Long walk, cold feet- but you know you'd do it in a heartbeat if you were there.

Will we ever feel our toes again?

After an hour’s walk, we arrived at the put-in on the Left Fork of Red Creek

Left Fork Slush and Scrape! All downhill from here

We paddled hard that day- because that’s the only way to stay warm on days like this!

Kyle Wingler boofs off of Clapper

Shawn Yingling running Double Clapper

The thing about Red Creek, besides the fact that it drains the absolutely beautiful Dolly Sods Wilderness Area of Monongahela National Forest, is that it boats fast.  Not that I ever boated anything slow with Don.  But soon we were past the 3 Left Boofs (protip: there are 4 left boofs), past SuperSlide, past Hammerfactor, and below that other rapid I don’t know the name of.

Shawn Yingling below the rapid I don't know the name of where you go far left

We portaged Mood Ring, and found ourselves on the paddle out.

No more than a few weeks later, I was back at Red Creek with some friends who had never run it before.  I told them that it was too low.  They refused to listen.  I brought up the fact that the North Fork of the Blackwater was running.  No, they wanted to do Red Creek.  They heard the ZoneDogg had done it that low before.   Picture me rolling my eyes.  Well, they were my ride.  I went along with it.  When the guilty parties read this post, they will be indignant.  They will shake their fists and defend their decision, but, in their hearts, they will know it was true:  Red Creek wasn’t running.  It wasn’t so bad while we were in the rapids, but the paddle out was hell.  Oh, and there was carnage.  Low-water carnage, and two of us walking out.  Really, though, it was an adventure and a good time with good friends, and everyone got to see what a magical place Red Creek is.  Here’s a pair of videos edited by some guys on that trip- they make good videos:

Fast Tube by Casper

John Stephen’s Red Creek POV vid

and if you ever show up to the bridge in Laneville, and are looking at the takeout, wondering “Is this enough water to run??”

This is too low!

It’s been a long, hot summer- at least for my boating.  I got some free time on my hands, nevermind why, so I figure I oughta share some goodies with ya, right?  Let’s reach back, way back, to the first weekend in April of 2011: Webester Wildwater Weekend! Yeah, I am going to post about Class II boating- and Class V partying!

My homie Brenton, being the sick-ass dude he is, was sick of studying.  He was sick of work.  He had a couple days free, and, of course, decided to convince me that we needed to get our boats wet!!  Thankfully, the second thaw of the year had just hit WV the week prior, and we high-tailed it to the Blackwater River to catch what flow we could.  I made a few phone calls to my Tucker County friends, but it looked like it was just gonna be us catching a low flow on the B for Brenton’s much-anticipated first run on one of the most CLASSIC of WV’s runs.  We knew we had to move fast, as another storm was moving in:

the snow started falling before we even reached Tucker County

The river was running about 200cfs- an undoutably low level, but beggars can’t be choosers.  We needed our whitewater! By the time we were halfway down, we had not just whitewater but white-air, too; the snow was coming down!

Fat flakes were falling as we banged our way down- a lot of people shy away at low levels, but when it’s the dead of winter or the middle of summer, I don’t see any reason to not take what you can get!  I need my whitewater; soon enough, not only was the water white, but the air, too.

We hiked out, got some food, and hit the road for Webster Springs to meet up with some of our friends.  The drive was harrowing, with 4″ of slush covering SR219 as we dropped off the mountain.  At one point I turned the wheel only to get no purchase…I slid helplessly across both lanes and off the berm on the other side of the road.  Luckily for me, the next vehicle to come along was a truck carrying 3 generations of good ol’ boys.  Did they have a chain? HELL YEAH THEY HAD A CHAIN!  The youngin and me were on our bellies in the snow lickity split, wrapping that chain around my frame and they dropped the truck into 4-low and gave it a mighty yankin’- out I came.  Hands shook, appreciation given; people talk shit on the folk in WV, but I wouldn’t trade ‘em for no one else.  I was back on the road just before Johnny Law rounded the corner, no doubt seeing my tracks and smashing his hat like Roscoe P. Coltrane in his frustration to miss out on catchin’ me on a reckless driving charge.  We got to Weston and dropped Brenton’s not-so-trusty CRV at the Super8 motel I practically lived out of the winter before and proceeded forthwith to the beating heart of West Virginia.  We arrived, after some discussion with the local constabulary about the velocity of my vehicle (thankfully not the odor coming from Brenton’s breath or the color of my eyes), late in the evening- just in time for Brenton to tie one on with our friends Brian Bridgewater and John Quigley- great pals, solid dudes, and partners in other adventures.  These guys were champs, stepping up the next morning for the annual downriver race on the Elk River.  The Elk is a friendly class II run that can be had in the spring- we were hoping to ignore the race and catch some of the better class III whitewater in the area, which I have never done- classics like the Cherry, the Cranberry, and the Back Fork of the Elk.  Unfortunately, despite the snow we had in Tucker falling as cold rain and sleet in Webester County, the rivers hadn’t risen- yet.  I decided, of course, that I was going to race, too.  I signed up for the sub-3m boat class and headed upstream to shiver at the starting line. I jogged back and forth about a half mile at the put-in, did some stretching to warm up, and put on.  A true mass start, everyone bunched up on the opposite shore- I thought this was the starting line.  NO! We had a rolling start under the bridge. I was starting from the back of the pack!  No matter- a few elbows in the faces of the club boaters from Indiana and a few strokes off the chests of the folks falling behind me and I was in the lead group…but with a guy in a longboat closing in behind me.  Eventually he overtook me, but I kept stroking….and stroking..a few miles later and we were at the biggest rapid of the run, PX Falls, and I could see the singular wildwater boater and the 3 leading longboats out in front of me.   Caving to temptation, a glance over my shoulder revealed the other shortboats lagging almost out of sight behind me, victory in my class locked up.

Brian Bridgewater on the way to first place in the longboat category

John Quigley feeling the burn and staying safe with the elbow pads on

Your author with his eyes on the prize, crushin' out the shortboats over 8mi of shallow riffles and short ledges

some dude on his way to win the inflatable category..no lie!

taking an interesting line to get ahead of the other sit-on-tops

Opps, I meant "Leading the swim-besides!" Did I mention that it was about 36°F that day?

Well, that line worked for the ducks...

Though, I think as locals they knew the lines better than the rest of us...

Once we were done, Brenton and I headed back to camp for a quick nap before we hit the party.  Yes, that’s what Webster Fest is about- the party.  Class II whitewater, Class V partying.   They have this gazebo/amphitheater thing with an vented roof to allow for indoor bonfires.  There is a stage, too, for the bluegrass band.  And then there is the pizza. And Beer.  It’s a good time.  Especially if you are obviously rollin’ on molly like this the sweaty, red-bearded maniac foot dancing in the picture below or the man known as Orange Crush (you will know him when you see him in real life, trust me).  Characters, I tell ya.

Dude was like a Gucci Mane lyric: "Bitch, I might be!" Kids, don't do drugs. But go ahead and jump fires.

Brenton and I spent a fair amount of time working our connections throughout the evening, trying to find something we wanted to paddle the next day.  We weren’t going to be satisfied with another run on the Elk.  No way.  Finally, the next morning, after breakfast, we had it: a rendezvous at at Mason’s Branch to run the Lower Meadow.   The Lower Meadow looms large in East Coast boating lore- Eister and Davidson’s Wild Water West Virginia refered to it as “for the Kamikaze Kanoe Klub” and a great article about the second descent in an old American Whitewater I read as a child was titled “TRAPPED IN AN UNDERWATER CAVE!!”  This river is nothing but hollowed out sandstone boulders piled on other worn sandstone boulders- a plethora of sieves, a symphony of siphons, more undercuts than you can shake your paddle at.   I don’t know why, but I left my camera in the car.  We packed into the truck and headed to the put in for my first time paddling with some dudes plus John Moore, who has since become a regular partner-in-crime and is always good for getting me fired up to run the stouts.   It was a sunny, nice day with water in the mid-800’s and the Lower Meadow, with a guide, was a ton of fun.  Solid class IV, but giving a sharper, more invigorating experience than the difficulty of the moves would suggest, as there was always a death trap looming just beyond the correct lines.  We hit the Upper Gauley for my third run on that whitewater standard at an ultra-low level.  Yeah, I know- can you believe I’d only run the Gauley twice before?  Weird.  Iron Ring at about 1 grand is ugly.  I shoulda brought my camera…shoulda, shoulda, shoulda…  At the takeout, we said goodbye to our new friends and chilled by a creek for a little bit, Brenton and I taking a moment to enjoy the bounty that Jah provides and to reflect on the nature of exploring the great, wide world around us.   Then we hit the road, another great weekend behind us….

This blog is coming fast and has a lot in it so watch out.  This was my first full year living out of the Pyranha Van aka Orange Bitch, Dave Fusilli picked me up from my home in PA back at the beginning of April and I just got home now, mid August.  Our first stop on the tour was the New England Triple Crown here is Dave waiting for his ride.

Waiting to shred

Then after the event the water was high down in West Virginia so we did what Demshitz does, drive down to run the shit.  We were lucky enough to catch Real Manns, Manns and Lower Medow along with shreding the Dries of the New.  Here is a video documenting our time in the wet and wild West Virginia.  Click the link for the VIDEO.

Taking Care of Business

After that is was time to head out west, we had a quick stop in Colorado to climb a huge red stout rock with Jed Selby and Turtle, along with an over nighter on the Colorado River, Westwater Section.

Last pitch of a four pitch climb.

Then it was off to Reno and California I ended up finishing 5th at the Reno River Fest Freestyle and from the Demshitz had some time time to hit what was good in Cali at that time. We were able to get on some different stuff that not to many people have been down before and it was a really fun mission click here for the video……

One of the better drops of the day. - Photo: Nicole Mansfield

After Cali it was off to Colorado for the competition and festival tour, and this year Demshitz went to work.  Dave Fusilli, Mike Patterson, Nicole Mansfield and myself all made the podium more then once.  All of us took home some money and prizes from each event.  This year Bonfire Brewery made a beer and named it after our very own “DEMSHITZ”  here is the video from the Demshitz party and the Teva Mountain Games.

Demshitz looking stezy with purpz. Photo: Nicole Mansfield

This year we had lots of water pretty much everywhere we went and we were able to get a bunch of really fun days on the Glenwood Springs wave in CO.  Dave Fusilli made a sweet video showing what we got on a wave. CLICK the photo for the video.

Clean Blunt by Craig - Photo: Nicole Mansfield

After Demshitz won Colorado we decided to take over another state, we headed up to the Northwest area.  On our way moving around the country we received some terrible news that we lost a great friend, teammate, and up and coming ripper Stephen Forster so we had a surf session in his honor and made a video to go along with it.  Stephen Surf Session

After that unfortunate accident we moved up to Idaho and were able to get on some really great creeks that not to many people have been down before and true Demshitz style we were able to document it and here it is for your viewing pleasure.

Getting ready to run the Brown

That creek was one of the highlights of the whole entire trip.  The next stop for me was the National Point Series Final at Kelly’s Whitewater Park in Cascade Idaho.  I finished third in that event and third in the point series, this was also a big highlight of the trip.

Blunting my way to a third place finish, - Photo: Scott Sady

Our last planned stop was to hit the Northwest which includes the Skookumchuck Narrows.  This video that I made I think best captures what Demshitz is truly about, in the end we just like having fun, whether it’s creek boating, play boating, camping, driving, drinking, hanging out, and everything else in between.  Don’t take yourself serious because you’ll never have fun that way.  Click the PHOTO for the VIDEO.

Very Serious Photo: Jeremy Laucks

Crystal Drainage

I can’t figure out how to embed the video, but I highly suggest checking it out by clicking the link above!

First two photos by Ben Carter, all other photos shot by Colter Beereboom!

This story is a two weekend extravaganza!

Weekend 1:

It’s 9:15 Thursday night, I just got off work, and I’m headed to Ben Carter’s house because we have no idea what to do this weekend. I pull up, we grab beers, and we go to the computer to check flows. The original plan was to head to Crested Butte for some OBJ laps, but the flows were tanking. I tell Ben of this mythical place they call North Fork of the Crystal. I had been there the year before and my mind was blown. The North Fork is one of the most beautiful places in Colorado, and my favorite place in the world. In our crew the whole drainage has been dubbed the Enchanted Forest. Ben is little skeptical, but with his wife being out of town he is definitely in for an adventure. I convince Ben that his Tundra will get some unnecessary beating, and that we should just take Ol’ Nelly!

Now contrary to popular belief not only is Ol’ Nelly great on the off road it’s highway capabilities are unbelievable. This machine can travel up any mountain pass at speeds exceeding 25 MPH. Morning rolls around and we load up the Jeep with 4 boats (2 creekers and 2 playboats), plenty of gear, shovels for snow, and a large dog named Odie.

We’re off. We drive down highway 24 and head towards Buena Vista. We stop at good ol’ CKS to see an old friend and then dart towards Independence Pass. As we were doing a little sight seeing we come upon a nice local cliff jumping pull out. We jump into the deep mini gorge and then head into Aspen. We stop at Cemetary Road and decide we have to run Slaughterhouse. Great run and you can always depend on locals to give you a ride back to the top. After Slaughterhouse we finally make it to Marble, Colorado. The sun is setting and we’re headed up Lead King Basin! We cross the creek and everything is going good until a wrong turn turns everything that was going good into a class 5+ road. We went up Sheep Mountain. This road was covered with snow, wood, and mud. We make it up a respectable amount of this road thinking that this is the way to the NF, but we finally come upon a log in the road that is unmovable. We camp out on the road.

The morning sun comes and we decide to turn around and head out hoping to make it to the NF through the town of Crystal. On our way down Sheep Mountain I realize that I had made a wrong turn and we did a lot of work for no good reason. Our spirits are now high due to the fact that we believe that we’re going to finally make it to the Enchanted Forest! We get there and we scout for wood. Everything looks good to go and we have another crew willing to set safety for us! As Ben and I gear up, Pablo Von Huene shows up out of nowhere ready to put on with us. Pablo goes first and we see him disappear around the entrance rock backwards. I look at Ben and say, “Well I guess I’d better go.” The first slide goes great, but Pablo is no where to be found. I line up the second slide and boof. I land on my right edge and get throttled. I set up to roll and get completely rejected by the log in the eddy. At this point, I have no doubt where I am. I pop my knees out and reach for something to grab. I can see the tree I’m up against but I can not get my hands on top of it. My kayak hits me in the head and I go under again reaching and climbing up. Finally my head comes up and I’m grabbing onto something stable. My kayak is squeezing me between it and the tree and I’m starting to assess how dangerous the situation is. A rope goes over head and lands next to me, but I have no idea on how to use it. I take a deep breath and try to climb on top of the tree. This is when I realize my skirt is caught. I quickly leave one hand on a solid limb and go under with my face and other hand and get my skirt unhooked. By this time Pablo is out on the tree with me and I climb on top. Glad to be ok. The boat extraction and paddle extraction is easy and the only gear lost was a drain plug.

High water NF is no joke when there is a log in the eddy on the right. If there was no log the drop would be relatively inconsequential. Ben ran the last two drops solo, and Pablo and I waited to be safety on the log for the next crew. The next crew does great with no hang ups. I get out and run a redemption lap in which I ran Icing backwards, but stomp the rest of my lines. Ben and Pablo are happy with one full lap. After a few beers and some food Ben and I lap the bottom 8 footer a couple times for some practice. The next morning we lap the bottom 8 footer 3 more times and are satisfied with the weekend of high water North Fork. The hot springs at mile marker 55 just after Meat Grinder going north is a great place to eat lunch.

Weekend 2:

Chris Mack and I load gear around 12:30 on Friday and take off in Ol’ Nellers again with plans for Crystal Mill Falls, the North Fork, and the South Fork Punch Bowls. We have an exciting drive getting there in the hot sun with no AC. It’s dusk and the light is dwindling fast as we pull up to Crystal Mill Falls. As we gear up the rest of our crew pulls up. I get two laps in on the falls and Mack gets one, and we decide it’s time to head towards the NF. When we get there it’s completely dark. We light up the fire and party down in my favorite place in the world. We slowly wake up the next morning and start to get excited about the creek. We make some food and go for a walk to pick our lines. Colter Beereboom and I gear up and get in the first laps of the day. At lower water the creek is just as much fun, but much less stressful. Every one is firing up the creek all day providing great footage for the video.

We make a huge bonfire and Justin takes his dirt bike to provide some beta on the Punch Bowls water level. Justin claims that the Punch Bowls are running on the high side. We get some sleep dream of the Punch Bowls. The next morning we load up and head towards the ominous Devils Punch Bowls.

As soon as we get there, I decide that I’m ready for this drop. I put on my helmet and elbow pads and start walking up the hill. As soon as we had safety set, Justin helped me launch into the biggest drop I’ve run so far.

The Line:

• Balance boat on sketchy rock and snap your skirt on
• Have trustworthy friend slide your boat into position
• Say a prayer or whatever
• Tell your friend you’re ready to send it
• Slide
• Hip check a rock
• Slide
• Lay a stompy boof
• Regain composure
• Line up the second drop moving left to right
• Lay a few strokes
• Fist Pump

Second up was Justin. He decides to pencil the first one. He lines it up and styles. Textbook! Josh Heise steps up and boofs! He works it out and styles! Jon Rezabek decides he wants to fire it up and has a roll at the bottom of both drops, but couldn’t be happier. We leave the SF happy as could be.

Another short stop at Crystal Mill, and the weekend of kayaking is coming to an end. Until next time Enchanted Forest, until next time!