Flash Flooding In The Midwest

Myself running "Plumber's Crack"

Over the course of an evening, darkness in clouds had been brewing. I excitedly peered at a myriad of bright colors of moving radar image. Rains looked to be inevitable for Duluth and the North shore. But would it be enough? I went to bed with a message on the local forum asking if the anything had risen.In the morning I got confirmation amongst text messages flying spouting glorious river levels. I had the car packed with gear in no time and was on the road. The sun was high in the sky and humidity was rising as steam off the drying pavement as I drove to the North Shore. The temperatures hovered around 85. I stood sweating outside the car overlooking the put-in to the Stewart River. The levels looked more than do-able and I made some quick phone calls.
I met Cliff in the parking lot of the Knife river and waited for the others to arrive. Anxious and impatient, I put on my gear and jumped onto the final drop of the Knife and did two quick laps. By the time I carried back to the car the crew was assembled and ready.

Jay boofs "Plumbers Crack"

Arrived at the Stewards put in, we suited up and Tony patched up his boat, as had become routine after the Split Rock river had maimed his trusty craft. As we paddle away from the banks of the put in, it became apparent that the level was by no means juicy (judging by the scraping sounds of our boats down the first set of slides). But as we arrived at "Plumber's Crack" the fun had only begun. Each of us paddled into an state of airborne joy while boofing the 12-15 ft falls. After 3-4 laps we each headed on our way.

T2 exhibiting the brown claw!

We braved through the newly descended drop I entitled tentatively entitled "Piton Falls" as Joel Decker has yet to name it after pioneering his line down it. Each of us slid through drop without an issue.

Myself atop "Piton Falls" w/ Cliff on safety

As the rays of the sun rose high into the sky, we reached the horizon line of the "Pillow Drop". A ribbon of light cast itself gloriously on the drop as we each melted into it's massive boilings.

Cliff bathed in light while dropping into the "Pillow Drop"

Lastly we took long glances at the line on the final fish ladder drop. Although seeing a definite possibility line, none of us had the gumption to fire it up. Paddling toward lake Superior a we collided with a wall of fog as the lake's cold air mixed with the humid sun warmed air from the higher elevations.

Happy Creeking!

Getting into my car and seeing a flurry of text messages on my phone regarding conditions on the Lester river, quickly loaded my gear and speedily drove back towards Duluth. The fog hung thick on the banks of the Lester river making the daylight fade quicker than a normal day. Excited prancing from my car to the river edge I was great by significantly high levels. I had not paddled nor seen the Lester this high in two years. A crew of paddlers emerged from the banks and I found some campanions to do a lap with me.

Inside myself I was nervous. The last time I had run the Lester this high the consequences were almost dire. Yet putting onto the river it was clear the river was lower than I originally thought and was not as high as the historic day two years previous. Every rapid felt cushioned from the rocks below and less abrasive. The river seemed to flow more gracefully and I felt in control. Reaching the 25 ft falls that is Almost Always I took out to scout while my companions charged over its lip. I had already decided that I would run it, but wanted to take a good look and run through the drop in my mind.

Japs styles "Almost Always" at high water

I pushed off from the banks into the current keenly aware of my line. When the moment came I charged to the river right aiming for a the clean and voluminous lip of the falls and fighting the majority of the river that charged left down a unfavorable chute. However, the river right hand water move more slowly. In hitting the slower current with significant speed, my boat began to peel out and I headed towards the lip of the falls sideways. Adrenaline took hold and I battled to straighten my boat. I turned the bow in the nick of time and grabbed a right boof stroke in the process. I sailed into verticality and landed atop the main flow of the falls and prepared for the hit. I collided with the 5 foot high exploding hole awaiting me at the base of the falls and was thrown into a left brace. Expecting to be immediatly over-turned, I was shocked to find myself rocketing forward upright among the wave train. The last wave turned my edges fliiping me and forcing me to roll up. I came to the surface triumphantly and felt the surge of adrenaline coursing through me as I smiled.

We paddled onward elated with the days events. I pulled my boat ashore and revelled in my success. The beginnings of summer had come and their ran brought the renewing waters to the rivers, and I myself left feeling again renewed.

The After Hours: Lester River

The season had commenced and the waters flowed generously. Every evening paddlers converged at the Lester River's edge after a day of toil, paddles waiting in anticipation. We ended our days in the dusk amongst the currents of the river. Over the course of the seasons we had all come to know the river as if it were a brother. Every drop as if a familiar face, it's roar with a recognized inflection. Our runs of the river like a friendly wrestling match; like a respectful joust.

Every day near the end of a run on the Lester River, I would find myself on a precipice looking down at a vertically twisting ~20 ft column of water exploding in a fantastic hole in the pool below. The falls aptly entitled "Almost Always", as it is almost always portaged, lay before me. Each day I looked at Almost Always attempting to summon the the confidence I had had the year previous when I had first run it. The gumption slowly grew in me through day one and two of the paddling season. On the third day I was set in my mind to run it, but was impeded by late hours at the hospital. I rushed to the river frantically hoping someone would be willing to consider another lap with me. I was in luck.

My run of "Almost Always" last year... picture it with twice as much water.

We put on and began a steady pace... no hesitation, no pause to rest. My confidence bolstered with each passing rapid. And then carelessly, as a single rapid remained between me and "Almost Always", I was over turned in my haste. My first roll attempt failed. My second was interrupted by a rock striking my helmet. My flustered third attempt barely got my head above water. My fourth attempt floundered uselessly as I pulled my skirt swimming in the river's icy grip. I retreated to shore and began running to catch my boat as it swept down stream. When it had finally been herded to shore, I discovered that "Almost Always" had left it's mark by indenting my boat's bow . The river chastened me for my over confidence and I left feeling like a fool for missing my rolls.

My pride bruised, I went the next day and took to the river and used the run to rebuild my resolve. A day later I was again mentally ready as I stood on the threshold of falls analyzing the line. My self and another companion spent 30 min contemplating the possibility of a run, both teetering on the edge of resolution. my fellow paddler climbed into his boat while I watched him style the line.

I still had my doubts as I slipped into my boat. Yet despite them I found myself pushing my kayak from shore in utter focus on the task at hand. I paddled through a small wave as my eye caught hold of my line. The water was high and the current opposed my efforts to stay on line and I paddled furiously as it was proving unexpectedly difficult to attain the right hand lip of the falls. By a small margin I snuck past threatening disaster, and was relieved to find myself riding into the vertical and falling with the water. Yet widening eyes quickly replaced my relief as I braced for collision with the hole below. It rose up and enveloped in a wall of exploding whiteness as I soon found myself less than upright and readied my roll for when calm would inevitably ensue. I emerged to the surface and raised a fist in exultant glory, grinning over my shoulder at what had been accomplished.

The summoning of strength and the majesty of overcoming fear and doubt brings a burning satisfaction to one. And we can all lay claim to parallels of this experience in our lives. I drove home warmly jubilant and endowed with an overreaching appreciation for the gift of this day whose sun was now setting.

From Troubles to Triumph: Part Two- Lester River

I loaded my wet gear into my car having arrived back at the Lester River. Emerging from the river was a group of paddlers who had just made a run. Enticed by others, I reluctantly put my wet gear back on and joined a group shuttling up the Lester River.

It was my first time back on the Lester of the year. Having run Lester numerous times last year, it was like reacquainting with an old friend. I passed through the put in drop and headed toward Limbo Falls. Being in the back of the group, I took my time with my typical line hugging the river right side of the drop and punching the holes below. We paddled on.

I exited my boat and walked the rapid I will always walk... Naked Man. The river and I have come to an understanding and I will spar with Naked Man no longer after my experiences with it last year. I ran ahead and met with my fellow paddlers and put on the river again. My lines went clean through the fun boof on "mini-octopus", avoided potential piton on "Oh God", and punched the holes on "Oh Shit". Ahead lay "Almost Always" a 20 ft falls. I had been observing fellow paddlers run Almost Always for almost a year now and knew it was time for me to make a run of it. Upon scouting my blood boiled with adrenaline. The falls is known for being technical, for one because it is tricky to dodge some unfortunately placed rocks and get to the lip of the falls in good order. Once at the lip one slides off a shallow lip, throws a slight boof stroke while turning an edge while air borne and lands in the pile of water. Rining the flume downward you hope that your momentum slams you through the hole created at the bottom. It is not a run for the faint of heart.

After some contemplation of the line, I went back and got into my boat. I could see the line ahead of me and as the lip came closer I weaved through the rocks and paddled frantically to the right hand lip. I was relieved just to get to the lip cleanly.

As I sailed downward, I attempted a ineffective boof stroke. I landed in stream of water flowing downwards and fought to keep my boat lined up. I held on for the hit. I smashed into the hole and was relieved to be falling no longer. I set up for my roll and waited for the chaos to pass. I rolled up with a fist pump and let out a whoop to expunge the exhilaration.

I walked up the rocky banks of the Lester River shaking with the adrenaline still coursing and couldn't put my smile away. It was a triumphant end to my weekend.