1999
By Dan Monskey
I've been paddling three seasons now and have racked up quite a range of paddling experiences. I've done the Kettle at flood and play levels and the Upper and Lower St. Louis at extreme levels. I've done travel trips to paddle on rivers in Tennessee, Idaho, Colorado, Great Falls of the Potomac, and creek boating in the EMORY/OBED. I've also done numerous rivers on the North Shore of Minnesota. I run the rivers, and I play the rivers.
The paddling season for me can run from mid-March to mid-November, with a few rare paddling experiences late in December, as was the case in 1997. Kayak polo and pool sessions add indoor paddling to my season during winter. So I have paddled "somewhat." Yeah, folks, I'm telling you how tough and macho I've become. Yep! I'm a Bad Boy all right! And you all know it! Right? Naw, I'm kidding. There are many paddlers who have done more, been more places, and paddled longer than I have. My intention is not to brag. This story is one of therapeutic fulfillment for myself. I want to express what thoughts I've had and the solutions I've come up with, if there are any, that have helped me cope with my paddling. I wonder if people who choose to face danger have similar thought processes and solutions. I hope to "entertain" those who cannot relate to this story personally, inform those who may learn from this, and connect with those who have similar thoughts and situations happening, for me to learn from and relate to. I'm just letting you know how the subject of this story came about.
Ever since I began paddling, I've noticed a behavior pattern developing in myself. I test limits and push limits. This pattern has been a dominant companion off and on throughout most of my life. But when you're testing what you can get away with in school, it's just acting up and the consequences may only entail a visit to the principal. Raising hell in the neighborhood may just result in a police escort home that night. But testing nature and one's ability to cope with nature may---what do they say in the Rapids Riders' Waiver---"cause injury or death." WOW! These are high stakes for "testing" limits! This injury and death thing fascinates me. The fascination is not as an obsession to explore, but as a variable that my mind does not see or consider, and I wonder why not. I do not think "should I do this" or "I might get hurt or die." I see paddlers of all abilities walk away from features or take sneak routes, avoiding the "meat" or even choosing rivers to run that are no more than a casual entertaining run. These people have made and are making conscious decisions to limit their experiences to those they feel safe and comfortable with. I wasn't aware I was making similar choices and decisions. I now realize I was, but these decisions were based on a willingness to take more risks.
When I took the beginning kayaking class, graduation day was on the St. Louis River in Minnesota. We got to Electric Ledge, and the instructor showed us the (preferred) route through the drop. We were then to attempt to run the drop one at a time. I had been scouting the ledge for a spot that interested me. When my turn came, I took a different route---a more aggressive route. I had scouted it well and believed I could run it successfully---as I did. I heard sometime after this that I was labeled either a really good boater or a "crazy" boater.
I went to Idaho with a group after taking this class my first year, and I had a blast. The group had a veteran paddler running sweep so stragglers wouldn't get in trouble. I later heard from the sweep paddler that she had watched me jet from side to side of the river as I found features to play and run that she hadn't even considered, if she saw them at all. I had not yet developed the skills to surf as others had, so I wanted to have fun by trying everything I could do.
A Park Ranger had been guiding our group down the Payette River. There was a feature called Staircase that most of our group had had difficulties with. The paddler running sweep and I encountered this feature after all the excitement was over. I scouted, scouted, and scouted! I had chosen my route and felt fine about it. I could even pass "the spit test". (If you're nervous, you most likely have a dry mouth and cannot spit). I ran right into the mouth and down the throat of this rapid and did great. Afterwards, a paddler in our group told me he had noticed something while watching my run on Staircase. Well, I'm thinking he's going to say something like he thinks the colors I wear look good on the river, or something like that. But he told me he had noticed how relaxed I appeared while running the rapids and how controlled and successful I was as a result of my calm state of mind. I found it interesting that everyone isn't like that when they're paddling. I wondered why someone would be somewhere where they weren't comfortable with their perceived level of danger.
Later in the trip we wound up scouting a rapid I was curious about, but our group didn't run it. I wasn't sure of what was going on in the rapid, so I asked a veteran paddler about the feature. He said he didn't know about it because he doesn't try to understand what he wouldn't consider running. I kept looking, hoping to have a revelation about this feature. The rapid had a rooster tail I saw to be hiding a razor-sharp rock that would have sliced the boat and paddlers seat open. I felt chilled as the pulsing river momentarily revealed this to me. I thanked myself for having a long enough attention span to be able to see this rock, as I had been considering running it. I must have been like the young innocent child who cannot swim and is not afraid of the water, but dives into the deep water of a pool, not knowing he needs to be above the surface to breathe. So, already in my first season, I'm looking towards the paddling horizon to see things for myself to run that others are not.
We came back to high waters in Minnesota so we hit the St. Louis River the following weekend. I had just returned from Idaho, kayaking all day, every day, for over a week. I was interested in putting those newly acquired skills and techniques to the test. This is where my whole state of mind changed, and my reputation as a paddler was established. (Refer to December,1995 HUT! article "Legends of the Falls") I had a heightened desire to pursue further testing of more extreme limits.
I tried running Electric Ledge different from what anyone else seems to have run it previously. What happened wasn't what I had expected when I scouted. I believed I was going to die when I looked down into the hole waiting to swallow me as I treacherously dropped over the ledge. I did come out---and learned a lot---but others did not like thinking about the "foolhardy" risks of such a run, even if someone else was directly paying the consequences. This maneuver really upset a few in our boating community. I was confused and disturbed by their attitude because I was fine after the run. I learned from my run and was taking my own risks. I was scolded by some and supported and comforted by others. I wasn't a child anymore, so I had no authority figure who could get me back on track for my transgressions---no one to ground me until I learned to behave. I was on my own to find out where I should be with my paddling and to learn how I should proceed in my future paddling path. I decided to keep testing.
The following spring I went on a creekin' trip to the Southeast. We were running the Little River of Tennessee. There was a set of drops called the Sinks on this river. Others in the group had just gotten whooped on the upper drops. I was scouting a slot on the last drop that we were told by the guide not to do because it was too dangerous. I looked and looked and looked and believed it was okay. The guide grudgingly said okay, and I ran the drop. I did great, without a problem. Another feature on the river was called the Elbow. By this time, our group of a dozen paddlers was down to four running this drop. The upper drops had cost the group broken and damaged boats. Now, besides us four, the others able to paddle took off. We were told the far slot was extreme Class IV, and it may be best to run the close slot. I looked it over and executed the far slot. I was told that I made this Class IV look like a Class II. I'm told by others about what to avoid, yet I run it without a problem. I get scolded for runs I "manage" and get confused by others' warnings not matching my own impressions and results. Why?
That summer I went on another trip to Idaho---this time at high water. I brought both my play boat and my creek boat, in case of varied need. The big water was great. The rush was intense! The waves were huge. They would be surfable, then fold closed on themselves, crashing and breaking up their uniformity. You couldn't trust them. Running the river was based on good timing. I would be on a cresting wave, then cart wheeling over back in the trough with tons of water pounding down on me. Then I'd be downstream, as if spit out of the wave. We were running a long section of the Clearwater River that had a rock with a huge billowing pillow of water blowing off the front of it. I road scouted and had no problem deciding to ride the pillow. When we came to it, it looked more ominous than I had sensed from the road. So I avoided it and felt disappointed for not facing it.
The following day we were running the lower section while overlapping the last part of the upper section again. So we looked the rock over again, and I knew I could do it. I scouted a route to force myself into a setup eddy. The pillow was a must-make move from there. Again, it looked worse on the river than from the road. So, I slid through a rocky channel on the other side of the rock and avoided the pillow altogether. I couldn't believe how far off my judgment had been from road scouting to boat scouting.
Further downstream was a feature called Irish Railroad. We had scouted it from the road. When we came to it while paddling, I opted to scout from the far side so I could get a perspective from that side. I spent much time looking and even watched two or three of our group run the sneak route down the side. I was looking at the meat down the middle and decided to do it. I'm running it and get halfway through the rapid and don't recognize my landmarks for positioning. I feel so small and insignificant surrounded by features packed with intimidating power and energy. So I stop in an eddy in the middle of the river and re-evaluate. Everything looks bigger and different. The energy of the huge pillows of water billowing off the humongous boulders and the mist spraying the air from disturbances of the pour-overs and the holes are spooking me. I wondered where I was.
I spun around in the eddy to clear my mind and look again. No difference. I spun again. No difference. I spun one more time, cleared my mind and searched my soul. This time there was a difference. The difference was a revelation in my mind. I believed I could run this, but not in the boat I was in. So I shot over to the sneak route and looked at my intended route, disappointed in myself, as I safely passed by it. I wished I had been able to test the run in my creek boat.
The following day we hit the Upper Lochsa for some fun. I was road scouting as we drove along to the put-in, memorizing the landscape landmarks that corresponded to the river features I wanted to run or avoid. This section of river was packed with action. There were large holes and waves everywhere. It was a long section with much to remember. After a while, the mind can't remember every spot on the river from seeing it only once. So, I start questioning and evaluating whether trusting my memory is favorable and if the consequences of being wrong are worth being faithful trusting my memory.
We put on and began running the river. I subsequently ran into a problem in the worst way. There was a great surf wave on the far side of the river by a huge rock pile. After scouting and running all the holes, waves, landmarks, and deciding which sides of the river to be on to enjoy features or to avoid features, I avoided the wave, mistakenly remembering it to be a hole to avoid. Now I'm on the opposite side of the river from what I really wanted to be. This side has a nasty hole to avoid. I didn't see this hole when scouting this area on the drive to the put-in---nor as I stumbled upon it. I dropped straight down in it with betrayed surprise. For a split second, I sensed it was over for me, but it side-surfed me for a few seconds and flushed me out of a corner of the hole, and I was clear. Our probe boater had caught an eddy just below the hole I dropped in and watched with disbelief that I went there and that I even got out of it---especially so quickly, without mishap.
Idaho had been great. It gave me an appreciation for water and features the likes of which I had not experienced before. It broadened my boating horizons to enjoy the huge and powerful water aspect of the paddling spectrum.
A few months prior to the Idaho trip, during the spring of that year, I started paddling the North Shore of Minnesota. A group of paddlers, including myself, were paddling the Baptism River. When we came to the portage for Illgen Falls, we all looked the falls over. Everyone, including the Big Dogs, decided to portage. I couldn't believe it! This is run often, and we're here and we're walking away?! I've been hearing about this drop ever since I started paddling. This is one of those you want a feather in your helmet for, isn't it? So, I spoke to one of the Big Dogs about it. He told me he had done it before. He has nothing to prove and has no reason to run stuff with potentially heavy risk. He wants to return to paddle another day. I found it interesting that a legendary paddler doesn't have to do every feature every time he encounters it to get that same sense of enjoyment, unlike that of a junkie who needs a bigger fix to sustain the same sense of pleasure. This sounds like the philosophy of a mature paddler. Maybe the sensation of paddling that a healthy-minded paddler is after is not an addiction to be satisfied, but a sensation of pleasure in and of itself.
The summer after my first North Shore season, the Idaho big water summer, I was introduced to rodeo play boating. I would spend all day, every paddling day, playing on one local feature. It was great fun, but I missed opportunities because of this pursuit---opportunities that my paddling pattern would not logically have passed up. The Lower St. Louis is supposed to be a run with heavy potential consequences and to be a great feather in a paddlers helmet. This is something for a novice paddler to run as soon as it is available. But I was comfortably passing up this opportunity---even when Bad Boys were offering to guide me down it. Wow! Willing to walk away from a new opportunity? I had also walked away from a wild creek run in Idaho that summer. There was an overhanging log blocking a desired route on a creek dumping into the Lachsa. Because of this danger and the extreme nature of the rest of the run, I opted not to run it.
Why would I pass up an opportunity---Was it fear? I was led to believe I was "foolhardy". Wouldn't I do anything if I was "foolhardy" (even without scouting)? I had thought I was old for a beginning paddler, so I think I wanted to get to be as good a paddler as fast as possible so I didn't miss my window of opportunity before I lost that edge of youth. After a while, I realized I may be able to become a Class IV or V paddler and have the ability to consider traveling to some exotic land, such as Chile, to paddle some really 'top end' water. So I decided to gear my interests towards developing greater skills and to not just lie back and enjoy a comfortable and safe level of paddling. The brass ring was within my reach! I just needed to push, or more like keep testing, myself towards Class V abilities. Again, searching and testing for that edge!
