An Early Beginning

I sat in denial as a text message came in: "Paddling the Lester". The anticipation had been growing amongst the paddling community for almost a month. Anxious trips to the rivers found only ice clogged disappointment. And while I packed up my gear, I couldn't help but sense there wasn't something quite right about this. The earliest I had ever paddled yet was March 28th and we were embarking on an unprecedented date. What would it mean for the upcoming season.

I literally ran out the door with a tremor of excitement, kayak slung over my shoulder. Only days before the water had been ominiously running over top the river ice but the season had been like none other. The we had been thawing since February and the newspaper reports read, "the warmest spring in 132 years".

I pulled into the Lester river and checked the level and smiled... it was medium high, with little ice to be seen. Myself and rallied finding ourselves driving to the put in. I was secretly dealing with the early season doubt... I asked myself, "do you still have it after 6 months away from your kayak", "Will you remember how to paddle?", "When shit hits the fan... will you roll up?". We sat with our boats poised on shore, ready to seal launch in. I looked up and noticed a large amount of ice slabs come down the river and the water level visibly rose before us. An ice dam had broken. We sat impatiently waiting for it to pass. In the meantime we were joined by two more of our paddling companions. Finally after an hour of waiting the ice let up and the four of us slid into the water.

It came back to me as if I had never left it and a smiled as paddling was all that I had been anticipating. The entire run went flawlessly and the water was high enough I would guess I never touched rock. Emerging from every explosion of water I felt a little more alive. We found ourselves perched above the twenty foot falls, Almost Always. I walked around it feeling I still had more confidence to build before giving it a go myself. We finished out the run and were in search for more.

We carried our boats to the nearby Gazebo Falls on the Amity Creek. The low rumble of the falls made it clear that it was running high. Upon scouting I was less concerned with the falls as I was the lead in (which is usually the case for me). I decided to watch on safety as other other made light of their line. All three of my companions ran it with varying degrees of success and pain. I opted out. Being the first day of the season, I found easy justifications. We put in below the falls and ran the remainder of Amity with little incident.

I got off the river and peeled the layers of soaked neoprene and started the car. It was the day I had been waiting for for months and it failed to disappoint. And so came the early beginning as I drove disheveled and smiling.

Day Before The Departure

Before departing on a week long road trip I knew I would not be able to paddle. So before leaving I decided to go out for an afternoon run of the Lower St. Louis. Myself and two others dropped a shuttle vehicle at Jay Cooke state park and ran on foot back up to Thompson Dam. It was a gloriously warm day with temps in the mid-sixties, and the sweat beaded on my brow as we put on our paddling gear and pushed onto the Lower Louie.

The level was in the mid 3000 cfs range and the river was a fun ride. I managed to get a little surf time on big glassy after riding the rollercoaster of wave trains through the canyon section. The after sliding through the "first sister" and dodging the "second sister" we portaged around the Octopus. Putting on again we cruised through the boogy water to Jay Cook. There we each sailed off the the 12 footer. My line was too far left and sent me into the meat of converging waters near the base. Fortunately it posed no problems as I rolled up and made my way onward. Disliking my line, we all walked back up and ran it again, each styling our respective lines!

It was a good day of paddling that had me grateful for the creeking that I have right in my back yard. There is no better way to end a day than watching the sun fall driving away from the river.

The Black River

I awoke from a hard nights rest on my cushy air mattress to the sun shining through the transparency of my tent. The crew of paddlers packed up camp from the Presque Isle River and headed out to the Black River for a day of intensity. I was sore from the long day of paddling the Presque Isle day before and knew I would enjoy the first half of the Black River as a spectator.

After scouting the water levels and the gnar our group of 12 paddlers suited up. 7-8 of the twelve put in to run the first section including Potowatomi Falls and Gorge Falls. The rest of us set up to support the rest. Two went up and helped get boaters over the around infamous "Birth Canal" (a nasty hole). Meanwhile, I rappelled down to the sticky base of Gorge Falls, tied myself off, and had a throw rope ready in case of a swim. It was majestic place to be. The sun shone bright and the temperature rose into the 60s as I sat in the shadows of the canyon, pleasantly cooled by the mist rising from Gorge Falls. I watched each paddler one by one style their respective lines. In between paddlers I watch the elegant eruptions of water from Gorge Falls base... entranced by it's beauty. After all had safely run the Falls, I ascending back up and made my way to the put in.

Gorge Falls

Putting on with the 11 other boaters, I couldn't help but smile. I enjoy paddling in large groups. Safety in numbers gives me confidence and I learn from the many styles of paddlers and their lines to each drop. We paddled onward through a bunch of class III+ drops before arriving at a distinct horizon line. We had reached Sandstone Falls, a class IV+ to V. I eddied and scouted the scene ahead. The water poured over a steep 10-12 foot conglomerate ledge. As it did it hit an outcropping ledge on it's way down and created a huge boiling pile before plunging into the hole at it's base.

3 boaters quickly ran the drop and portaged up for a second lap. After observing the results for two of the different lines taken by others, I chose to run Sandstone Falls "up the gut" ploughing right down the middle and through the meat. I set up my line with some direction from paddlers ashore and paddled hard. I collided with the first boil and was mostly blinded in my descent, but attempted to continue throwing stokes for momentum as the harsh collision of the hole eveloped me. I shot down and submerged completely. The hole felt as if it shot me into a bow stall and yet I emerged surfacing upright. Like my predecessors running this line, I had run into the hole and was submarined out 6 feet behind it's thrashings. It was a quite ride.

Sandstone Falls

The river continued onward over numerous fun class III drops before reaching an ominous horizon line. We all eddied out... some to spectate Rainbow Falls and others to scout it's line. I watched as 5 paddlers braved the treachery of the falls. Each fought down a tight line while only 3 feet from falling over the precipice of death, punching into a curler they plunged over a 30 foot semi-vertical falls into the churnings below. Each paddled away unscathed.

The group converged and paddled only a short distance in the sunlight to the sight of the expanse of Lake Superior. Thus ended a memorable weekend of paddle, wrought with carnage, triumph, and contentment!

The Presque Isle

Having never paddled the rivers of the southern shore of Lake Superior when I heard that a large group of paddlers would be going in that direction I joined the band wagon. After a 2 hour drive to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan I found myself at the Presque Isle River. I heard much of the river knowing full well that it was a South Shore classic run. After watching other boaters hit up the last sections of the river, myself and a paddling companion stepped into our car and drove to the put in. It was to be the beginning of a long day.

From the road we traveled 4-6 miles on sub-par logging roads till we reached a locked gate. We thereby walked with 50 lb kayaks slung over our shoulders 40 minutes as the blubird sky let the sunshine through and warm the air into upper 50s F. We reached the river wet with sweat and took moment of rest to dry before sealing ourselves in our drysuits for the 8 miles paddle.

Getting gear up at the put-in

I put onto the river and paddled into the unknown. I knew only what was written of the rapids ahead.

The river dabbled over class II whitewater amongst clay banks, before gradually constricting to some class III rapids. Very soon I knew we would hit the first significant drop, Triple Drop (IV). Through the choas I eddied out and saw it before me. It consisted one ledge with a descent hole followed by a small pool before the river drifted over another and more significant ledge before dropping again in more class II. After much debate on the line to take we came to consensus and my paddling buddy offered to go first, to which I yielded.

John going over the lip on Triple Drop

After watching his successful line through the choas I enter my boat and push away from shore. I ferried across river and made for my line. I was a touch off, but punched through the first ledge without incident and paddled hard to the next. I dropped over the next ledge giving some propulsion and push onward and through the hole.

Next on the docket and only a few bends of the river ahead was "Nikomis". It was a much fable drop that I heard much about. Within a small rocky gorge with walls on both sides the river constricted of a small ledge hole before, rocketing over another ledge creating a meaty and intimidating hole. There were two options, crash down the right side blasting through multiple obstacles in transition between ledges before crashing into the main hole at it's weakest point. We both decided to run the left side pushing through a small hole on the first ledge and riding a large tongue of water and building speed to crashing into the meat of Nokomis with as much speed and momentum as possible.


I volunteered to run it first and slipped into my boat. I threw some effortful strokes and punched the first ledge hole with ease.

Myself readying to punch the entry hole into "Nokomis"

Seeing the choas ahead I paddled hard through small pool that fed the tongue. I saw my line and shot for a small curler marking my line. Blasting through it, my eye were wide as I paddled down the tongue that accelerated me a rocket speed for the hole ahead. I brace hard as I collided with the wall of water ahead. Unable to see anything, I felt my boat being tossed a bit as I worried that I was stuck in the hole. But in those milli-seconds, my boat had blasted into the hole up onto it's pile and "typewritered" me rightward to it's outflow. I emerged with a whoop and a fist pump at my success.

Myself looking back on "Nokomis" after emerging victorious

My paddle buddy punched Nokomis with much the same line and with the same success. We paddled down river with smiles.

My paddling partner running Nokomis

Paddling onward we came upon the first of of three conglomerate ledges. The first one we portaged due to the shallow mank. The second we scraped down losing plastic from or boats. At the last "Lepisto" conglomerate falls, I hopped out of my boat on river left to scout. My eyes saw the river pour through a small channel into the pool below making a giant wave. But that was only what my eyes saw... I directed my paddling campanion from shore to run it. He plunged into the drop with wide eyes and was stopped dead in his tracks... my eyes were wrong... this was a nasty hole. He fought valiantly while I helplessly grabbed a rope on shore. He was endered, looped, sidesurfed, and thrashed about. After rolling up 5 times, he pulled his skirt and swam. He went down and didn't come up until 4 seconds late. I quickly jumped into his boat and retrieved his kayak. I felt terrible having directed him into harms way.

It was about this time that we saw that the light was waining in the western sky and we paddled hard over flat water to racing the falling of the sun. We approached the most intimidating portion of the run. The first river opened broadly over a thirty foot slide Nawadaha Falls, then a short while further coursed over a drop resembling giant stair steps dropping another 20-30 ft over Manido Falls, before at last plunging 25 ft vertically over Manabezho falls.

The first of these obstacles, I paddle hard over the lip and followed the flowing water over the left hand side of Nawadaha Falls. I continually adjusted as the slide through it's best at me. I arrived at it's base without incident.

Nawadaha Falls

We then scouted Manido Falls. Each time the river poured over a stair step it seemed to make a hole. My paddling companion had run this before for, but with the light waining into dusk we picked a line and went. I followed his line down the left center line on the drop, and through some hard strokes for momentum. I slid of the first two stair steps and saw the hole ahead as my eyes grew wide seeing the last stair step pour-over.

I threw a futile boof stroke, before impacting the hole and found myself in a wicked side surf. Facing to the river right I paddled hard to stay upright my shoulder nearly under water in my brace due to the steepness of the incoming pour-over. I then threw the bow of my boat into the choas of the incoming water hoping to squirt out the hole. I rolled up to find myself side surfing and facing river left. I stayed calm and planted my paddle hoping to catch some greenwater to pull me out. I realized it was useless and pulled my skirt as I flipped over.

Manido Falls

It is at this moment that a boater determines there fate... I swam upwards. I knew that I did not reach the surface, I was in for a long harrowing ride in this hole. Fortunately, it spit me to the surface and seeing my boat pushed off of it and down river. Paddle in hand I could see, that there was still 10-15 feet of slide still left in the drop and I lined up to go over it on my ass. I bounced off a few rocks before being deposited at it's shallow base. I was bruised but un broken. My boat wash down river next to me and I grabbed it and pull it ashore. I was panting hard half from the adrenaline and half from sheer exhaustion. Having a keen sense that karma had caught up to me for our incident on the third Lepisto, I got my wits about me and saw the horizon line ahead of Manabezho falls.

Manabezho Falls as it is normally viewed

I had waited all day to run the 25 falls and despite my poor luck on Manido, I was dtermined to run it. By this time night was fall and the landscape was becoming apparantley dim. As my buddy portaged down the base of the falls for saftey, I agonized over the line. Deciding I jumped into my boat and charged ahead. Seing the line I was fighting for I paddled for the lip. It came sooner than I had expected and in an awkward way. There was no time for a boof stroke, I was already falling into vertical. I cork screwed weirdly and saw the base of the fall collide with me and my boat with a thud.

Myself ready for a roll attempt after Manabezho Falls... it was dark

I emerged from Manabezho dazed, I had run it but with a terrible inelegant line and had run it as the sun last rays could barely be seenon the horizon.

Still ahead the river rocketed through a narrow gorge into lake Superior, and the ride was name appropriately "The Flume". As we paddled I could hear ahead to rivers roar. It was now almost full night and the drop was becoming hard to read. Yet it having little consequence but to flush one out to Lake Superior we blindly went ahead. It was choas! I took a left had sneek line, as I watch my companion smash into a wall of water on river right. Sliding pat him, I paddled hard as a massive curler threw my kayak upside down as if it were a toy boat in a bath tub. Underwater I felt the choas around me and waited for it to subside before rolling up. Clearing the water from my eyes, I saw the river rise into one last wave. I blasted through the hit and found myself floating into Lake Superior.

Zoom Flume (imagine this in the dark!)

In the darkness we laughed at that choas we had skillfully botched and emerged from. We paddled the shorline to the campsight and carried our boats up the 50 ft clay banks along the shore of the lake. We arrived to find the camp mostly empty, bacause half of the paddlers had gone looking for us. After finding them and letting them know we were back safe, I peeled my soggy drysuit from me and went to bed. It was perhaps the most epic day of paddling I had yet experienced. Although not the cleanest paddling I have done, certainly it was more than rewarding!

The Split Rock and The East Beaver Rivers

by Stellae et Luna

After waking up at 5 am, taking a test, and sitting through 2 hours of anti-parasitic pharmacology I drove home bathed in the sunlight and warmth of the day. I set about preparing for paddling excursion ahead by pouring a pot of boiling water into my kayak and popping out the dent from piton-ing on the East Beaver river last weekend.

Successfully mending my boat, I met with some fellow paddlers and took to the road northward. As the drive went on the sun gradually faded as the grey skies hung above the north shore. We pulled into the parking lot near the Split Rock and checked the gauge. The water was deemed worthy, we loaded two shuttle vehicles and drove to the put in.

The seven of us paddlers slid into the marshy water of the upper stretches of the Split Rock River and weaved through alders to the widening river. The river made it's first drop down a significant slide before reaching the old Superior Hiking Trail bridge where the action was to officially begin. I scouted the first rapid and cruised my way down it with little incident. It would be nearly the last time I would scout.

The Split Rock River was chock full of steep slides one after another the all melted into one another. Each with a unique line, often hugging a rocky wall following the path with the most water. The river went onwards as we passed the river's name sake. Finally we reached what I would consider one of the most significant drops on the river entitle "Under The Log". The drop was comprised of a 15 ft concave and steep slide into small hanging boil before spewing out abruptly leftward through I powerful hole-ish confluence of water. I scouted it out and went last in the party. I dropped down the right on the slide and found myself stuck in boiling eddy between the tiers of the drop. Not quite excited about my situation and the fact that I was pointed up stream, I pushed off the rock with my hands and made my way down into the next phase. I paddler hard seeing the piling hole ahead and blasted through relieved.

The river mellowed and gave way to it's mouth it opened into the horizon of Lake Superior. It was a fun run in from a paddling perspective, but my kayak had a different opinion of the Split Rock. As I took my gear off and flipped my boat over I noticed two sizable gashes... not through the hull but close enough to weaken it. The prospect of an out of commission boat soured my Split Rock run to a degree but would not quench the exhilaration

The day grew colder as the falling rain hung onto the last seasons aged grass and the leafless and budding boughs. Are ambition only grew as we packed and left for the East Branch of the Beaver River. I drove to gauge the river's level and judging by the falls found it to be similar to my last excursion there... very high. Shivering in the cold our caravan of six paddlers navigated the mild upper stretches of the Beaver. I sat contemplating what lay ahead. I paddled weaved my way down the first bit of class IV drops over a small slide then punching a hole creating ledge. The river let up as we approached the falls ahead. I eddied out to take a look as two of my companions went over the horizon line. I scouted the level and saw that was indeed the same meaty level I had see the weekend previous. I made up my mind staying optimistic about the line ahead and mustering the will to run the three falls ahead. I carefully looked at the line to the lip, got in my boat, and pushed off.

I paddled hard for a small "V" and burst through a small wave onto the lip of the 18-20 footer before me. It being a sliding falls (as opposed to straight vertical), I fought to keep my boat from plugging the falls and missing a tricky boof stroke, I pulled knee hard and impacted the water ahead. My angle of entry must not have been too bad as I felt the impact slightly violently and clear my eyes to find myself upright in the hanging pool above the next 20 footer. Relieved to be upright I paddled for the lip of the drop ahead. The scene opened up before me as gravity took hold of my boat and the water. Again I did not perfect my boof strong and mid-flight fought to keep my entry from being too vertical. I collided with the water and surfaced upright to the audience of 3 paddlers below cheering me on. I let out a joyful whoop and traditional fist pump as I fought with the boiling chaotic waters into the eddy below. The rest of the group joining us as we each descend the next and more mild 15 ft falls. After navigating some class III boogy water the river mellowed and meander through a golf course and we stepped from our boats walking the railway tracks back to our awaiting shuttle.

After a plentiful in good food and laughter, I parted ways with the crew and drove through the darkness back to Duluth. I went to sleep beautifully exhausted and happily fulfilled.

The Stewart River: Low Water

After half day of classes the beat brightly as I drove the northern shore of Lake Superior to the mouth of the Stewart river. Gearing up at the put in the river was clearly going to be a drastically different run than it was the weekend previous. As myself and my fellow paddles put on, I found it was 2-2.5 feet lower than my run of it 5 days earlier. We weaved and fought our way past the class II waters dragging the rocky bottom.

I we made our way pas the first slide and onto one of the main attractions, "Plumber's Crack". I went last in line as I slid of the bony lip of the 12 ft falls. After a sub par landing, I walked up and ran it again planting a well timed boof stoke and sailing into a flat landing.

Myself boofing "Plumber' Crack"

We continued onward portaging another unrunnable drop coming to the next attraction... the "Pillow Drop". This time I had some apprehension about the pillow drop due to the lack of water many more rocks were plainly visible and uncovered. I plunged down the pillow drop with only a minor hit to a rock near my feet.

Myself rocketing down The "Pillow" Drop

We paddled onward as the imminency of Lake Superior became apparent as passing fishermen and the cool breeze signaled its presence. We paddled into the expanse of the lake and break through rollers came ashore. It was a fun paddle and a great day in the beauty that the North woods offers. I went home in the sunshine content with my day.

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.

From Troubles To Triumph: Part One - The East Beaver

I awoke to the wind howling at my windows and the dull light of the cloud shrouded sky. I stepped out the door with my kayak over my shoulder as the air still decided whether it would freeze the landscape. The road was still wet from the night's rain as my car splashed through puddles to the Lester River parking lot. Arrived to an empty lot, I tilted my seat back, made a few phone calls, and waited with my eyes closed. With the cold eroding my motivation, I was about the start the car and leave when a kayak topped car arrived.

The ride up the North Shore became quiet as the falling snow and lack of light sapped my energy and motivation. We arrived at Beaver Bay and looked at the river. I had never taken a close look at it in high water, and seeing it raging as it did now was stirringly impressive.

The angry Beaver River in its fury near Hwy 61

We headed upstream to scout the level of the East Beaver. Having never run this river, I took the word of a paddling companion when he casually said, "it's good". Our caravan of vehicles pulled into the parking lot at the put it and geared up. Emerging from their fogged vehicles dressed for battle our crew of 9 paddlers slid into the East Branch of the Beaver River.

Getting geared at the put in (photo courtesy of John McConville)

Amongst the placid and boggy waters we floated through the bends ahead as snow fell heavy enough to coat the ground white. I listened intently to the description of what lay ahead: Some simple class III boogy water with an important river right hand eddy. It sounded uncomplicated to my sluggish mind. We turned a sharp left bend and I began to hear the roar of the waters ahead. Watching a few of the crew drop out of site, I got ready.

However when the scene ahead came into view my eye widened in surprise. Realizing the river's level was very high, the river held no simple boogy water. In shock I paddled hard crashing through big features and clashing cold water. After punching a descent hole I see 3 of our paddlers chilling out in an eddy one of which was clearly in pain. He ferry out and continued down river and I followed him. Eddying out again I saw him pull his skirt and saw his boat flush away as he pulled himself ashore. I was concerned, I had no idea how far ahead the eddy was before the river dropped over three sequential sets of well known falls. Finally a fellow paddler who knew the river went by. I ferried out and went down looking for eddies amongst the flooded chaos. After seeing a companion with the vacated boat on shore I eddied out as he drug it to me. On the other shore line walked up our injured paddler. I clipped it onto my PFD's tow line. I paddled furiously as I ferried across to the other shore dragging the boat behind me. A fellow paddler on the other side grabbed my boat. I jumped out feeling the drag of the boat I was towing threatening to pull me down stream. Two paddler on shore grabbed me and pulled me and the boat ashore.

The last of three falls on the East Branch of the Beaver River
(my orange boat can be seen on shore) photo courtesy of Mellisa Grover

Relieved we all regathered ourselves and put on again. Only a hundred yards later I eddied out just before the first of the falls. Before me the river dropped 20 ft down a sliding falls into a boiling hanging pool. It the dropped another 20 ft into another and larger hanging pool, before dropping a= final 18 ft falls before making it's way again. I looked at the drops below and sensed my jinxed confidence and decided I would only run the last one. After watching a few paddling friends fire them off each fall, I and another paddler lower our boats to run the final 18 footer.

Mimicking the route of the paddler dopping the falls before me, I blindly paddled to the left hand shore towards the lip and launched myself off. After a moment under water I porpoised to the surface. (see video of the action below)

Video of me running the last falls on the East Beaver
(video courtesy of Melissa Grover)

We paddled onward down the meandering river to the take out and walked back to the road. The run was a hectic mess and yet I was happy to have run the last falls. I was relieved that everyone made it out okay. We drove back to Duluth, I was anxious to be again warm inside my home. How was I too know that the day's adventures were not to end there... (continued in the next post)

Paddling Rekindled- The Stewart River

The the winds blew cold as a new front of wintry air set down upon northern shore of Lake Superior. Still wet and geared up from a run on the Silver Creek, I shivered getting my boat from the truck top. Our same crew of seven paddlers slid from the banks of the Stewart River and began our journey among its currents. This being my third run on the Stewart river, and having walked it's entirety to recover a throw bag last year, I was acutely familiar with the river. With that awareness, I took the lead as we paddled the first stretches of its flowings.

The river was flowing at level higher than I had ever run it, and was nearly 6-12 inches higher than my experience. After multiple bends in the river we came to the first drop and exited our boats to scout. Ahead lay was a two tiered slide buried under a flood of water. Seeing the left line, I resumed my position and ferried out. I paddle into my line pushing through the minor clashings of water leading into the first tier. Cold water leaped up with it's watery grip attempting to push my about as I collide with the first wave hole and laid a hard stroke propelling me beyond it's grasp. Seconds later I was on to the second tier blasting into the slide ahead bouncing off a few rocks. I avoided a final and solitary hole and eddied out content with my lines.

The crew paddled on and as the river took a left bend we eddied out above Plumber's Crack. Exiting our boats, "Plumber's Crack" lay ahead as the water plunged over the 12 ft vertical falls. Everyone grabbed there boats and eagerly went to view it's beauty. Last year I had run the falls at a decently meaty level and plugged it and made it out okay (click here to see picture of plumber's crack from last year). However this at the river current level Plumber's Crack was impressive and intimidating.The falls was creating a big hydraulic and on the typical left line had a current pulling back behind the curtain of the falls. Secretly I was hoping someone else would run it, so that I could follow in wake of their gumption... know that someone else had ran the drop okay. But there were no takers, and fought with myself to run it in my mind and verbally. After getting a bit of encouragement from some of the crew and assurances that safety could be properly set up I went about sizing up my line.

Adrenaline was already kicking in as I carried my boat up to upstream eddy. As I pushed off from shore I breathed deeply hoping to exhale some nerves. I eddied out in a small eddy right above the lip. The crew of seven let out whoops and hollers of encouragement as I planted deep powerful strokes towards the lip. My focus narrowed and only the water and I existed as horizon line opened to the scene ahead. I hugged the left shore and rode stream of water throwing my last strokes before bursting into the air. I leaned forward looking at the boiling landing below me. I landed just as I had planned boofing (landing flat) into the pool below. The crew on shore cheered in congratulations and relief... I pumped my fist let out a whoop and went to work keeping myself from being pulled into the curtain. I paddle away with a smile.

Riding the waves of adrenaline still in my blood, we paddled on and forded the next portage and arrived shortly there after at the head of another horizon line. Ahead lay a rapid I had not yet run, but had my eye on it for the last year. Looking down from the cliff above I could see the "Pillow drop". The river raged 19-20 ft down a sliding falls and collided into a boulder. A 5 ft deluge of water exploded off the rock and buried it in a deep surging heaving of water. I had seen it run before, but at this high level the drop looked heinous. We all grabbed our boats and I shoulder mine to portage it, but meanwhile wrestled with myself to run it. A paddling companion likely sick of hearing me verbally wrestle with myself gave me the bit of encouragement I needed. I knew that the run was only safer at higher water levels. I again slid into the water and blew some good breaths as I heard the paddler on shore shouting in encouragement. I hugged the left shoreline tight and planted deep vertical strokes. I avoided a hole and saw the chaos ahead. I felt my boat falling into the vertical gap that would send me head-long into the boulder's exploded pillow. I leaned forward and braced for impact. The water blindingly hit my body as being tackled by a lineman, but I held strong. I had all along expected the giant boiling pillow to over turn my boat and I fully expected to have to roll up. Yet I emerged from the hit in a burst of water and speed upright. I peeled into a swirling eddy and made a tricky ferry across the river. The guys on shore congratulated me with a few whoops as I sat in an eddy waiting speechlessly content. There weren't words for the elation inside of me.

The rest of the river poured beautifully through earthen and rock walls. I felt good as I smoothly nailed my line on the last fun drop. We paddled on into the great expanse of Lake Superior. As always the joyful sense of awe poured over me. Only a paddler can describe the feeling of paddling a river from it's beginnings, passing through it's obstacles and challenges only to arrive at the vastness of it's ending and becoming into Lake Superior. Much a metaphor for the lives we live. I went went to bed that night, with my spirit whole and my body joyfully tired.

Paddling Rekindled- The Silver Creek

The aroma of coffee cut the grogginess of the morning as I drove to the Lester River parking lot to begin my weekend of paddling. It was my first day back paddling after being badly bruised the week previous and I was out to make up for lost time. I planned to warm up for creek season with a run on the Knife and French Rivers. I arrived at the parking lot to find a plethora of boats atop vehicles and a half dozen paddlers enjoying the morning banter. My plans quickly changed as a group of veteran paddlers graciously let me join them on a run of the Silver Creek. It was a creek I had yet to run and had heard that it was a run of class IV magnitude.

From the roadside banks of the Silver's put in, I anxiously geared up. This being my third time in my creek boat this season, I internally fought to keep my confidence up yet realistic. I Pushed my boat into the water and pealed into the current along side 5 paddling companions. Behind us 7 more paddlers geared up for a run.

In only a short while I met the Silver's first drop. I eddied out and watched my fellow paddlers drop out of sight. I went last and was surprised to find 3-4 foot drop as opposed to the slide I was expecting. I penciled awkwardly into the pool below and braced upright. From the pool we now sat, ahead lay a slide with logs forcing us to portage. Meanwhile chaos broke loose. The party behind us began dropping into the pool and had two paddlers swimming. In all 12 people played bumper boats in a pool with a log jammed slide only slightly ahead. Slowly the crowd dispersed as our party portaged ahead, and put on the river leaving the drop behind.

Only a short while ahead, the river reached another horizon line. We all dismounted our kayaks and scouted the drop ahead. It was a slide I would estimate being 1.5-2 football fields in length complete with small drops, S-turns, and slides. Yet the first portion was congested with downed wood. One by one we put in 1/3 of the way down the drop. I pushed off and paddled hard punching a hole and maneuver through a boiling S-turn. I eddying out and then pursuing the rest of the slide ahead blasting through obstacles ahead weaving a path amongst the water buried rock. Our crew having all successfully passing through the class IV action pushed on.

Before long we again met another horizon line. The river opened up to 15-20 ft river-wide falls. In a group effort we heaved a log from it's only line, hugging the river right shoulder through a boney channel then dropping 12-15 ft into the pool below. Watching several of us scrape out their lines I took my turn. I scraped my way down and as I gravity accelerated me off the lip of the falls, I consciously threw a hard stroke driving my body forward in an attempt to boof (landing flat). Landing in somewhat of a boof, I don't recall my face penetrating the water's surface and paddled away content.

The river's gradient wound down as the fishermen throwing lines foreshadowed our approach to Lake Superior. Ripping through a culvert under Hwy 61, I peeled out at the mouth of the silver with my paddling confidence renewed and a smile on my face.

The Itch

Upon arriving home from my westward journey, it was clear that the season was turning and the rivers had broken open. Yet being bound by the thralls of medical school, I sat all week restlessly stirring with the feeling I was missing out on whitewater. To scratch the itch I was feeling, I decided to take a walk up a few local creeks to see how conditions were fairing. (Click any of the pics for zoomed view)

The Sucker River:Looking upstream from Old Hwy 61

Looking Downstream from Old Hwy 61

The upper stretch of the "Teacups"The lower stretch of the " Teacups"


The Knife River:

"Fish-trap Falls" seen below

After a peaceful walk up the Sucker and viewing the French and Knife rivers, I confirmed that I was in fact was inflicted with the irrational lust for whitewater. The plethora of ice, indicated I had not yet missed out and confirmed that there was still much adventure in the season ahead.

Hucking Illgen Falls

My second run of Illgen

I awoke late Wednesday morning to a text message asking if I wanted to run Illgen Falls. Having the day off of med school I figured...why not? The sun was shining and air was warm as the three of us paddlers converged on Lester Park and car pooled Northward; myself, Jeremiah Peck, and Anthony Abalsliger. We also brought a trusty camera man to document the action.

Arriving at the Baptism river we stopped and checked the gauge which read 2.2 ft. It was not by any means high, but definitely meant Illgen Falls was runnable. Parking near the falls we hurried down to take a look. It had much less water than I had seen earlier this year, but was clearly runnable. We scouted the already obvious line down the falls and went back to the car to gear up. I readying myself in silent contemplation of the events ahead. Carrying our boats we headed back to the Falls. We each went our individual ways of getting ready and nervously scouting the line.

Finally I said to Jeremiah, "you wanna rock, paper, scissors for it?" in regards to who was going to huck it first. Anthony chimed in, "I'll go second". I looked at the two of them, no one really wanted to go first and I had enough willingness..... I exclaimed, "screw it, I'll go first". There it was...my verbal proclamation had cemented it. I slid into my boat and made myself comfortable while the others on safety had cameras poised. I push off into the current and intently paddled to the arching lip just right of center. As I came over the top, I looked down from the precipice to the water below with the whites of my eyes likely showing. As gravity took hold, I made myself attempt an Oregon tuck, trying put my paddle blade in front of me and ducked my face just before impact (which in actuality didn't happen as my brain thought, as seen in the video). When I hit I was surprised that it was not as violent as I would have expected. I was under water for only a split second before I emerged upright and paddling.... and equally surprised that I didn't have to roll up. I raised my paddle triumphantly and smiled. Here's the video of the run:



Next to run Illgen was Anthony. I waited at the base of the falls with a throw rope in one hand and video camera in the other. Jeremiah was standing ready above the top of the falls on the river left cliff face. Anthony came over the falls slightly more left of center and penciled into the falls. His boat resurfaced at the base of the falls getting beat and held by the falling water. Here's Anthony's run:



It flushed the boat a split second later, just after he popped his skirt. While swimming he was pushed to the left cliff wall. Jeremiah promptly dropped his throw rope down to him which Anthony quickly grabbed. Jeremiah then instructed me to throw a rope from my vantage to pull him away from the wall and down stream. I ran up as close as possible and made a frantic toss that didn't reach him, then another attempt still worse. Jeremiah holding the rope walked the cliff band until he could pull Anthony more down stream and away from the cliff till he could swim ashore on his own. It was a little frantic at first, though it must be said Anthony at no point was in life-threatening danger and had adequate safety ready for him. But he was glad for our help to get him out of there. Meanwhile the next problem was that Anthony's boat was trapped against the cliff in the current beside the falls and was staying there.

It was clear I was going to need to rappel down to the boat in order to free it from Illgen's grip. Myself being a rock climber, I was well aware of the capabilities of my gear. I knew my throw rope was spectra rated to at least 1600 lbs and we had another throw rope of similar strength. I also knew I was going to need to make a harness...we had no webbing though. So I ran up to the car and grabbed a 12 ft NRS car tie down strap and brought it back and made a harness as I was taught in my American Mountain Guide Training.

Myself getting harnessed up and ready for action with the NRS strap

We formulated a plan for us. I would rappel down on one line while having another line tied to my releasable tow-line belt which would be manned by Anthony at the base of the falls onshore and downstream. I then would rappel down, clip the boat to my tow line, then rappel off the end of the rope (into the water at that point) and be pulled/swim ashore by the line attached to my belt manned by Anthony. Jeremiah anchored the rap line a tree and I rappelled down the cliff on a munter hitch (another climbing trick, when you don't have an actual rappel device). I reached the boat flipped it over and clipped it. Dropping into the water, Anthony pulled me swimming and the tethered boat ashore. It was gratifying to put my rock climbing training and rescue skills to the test and we as a team smoothly pull off the extraction of the boat. Here's the video of the action:





After regathering our ropes, the sun came out as Jeremiah ran Illgen next. He took more right line down the falls, tucked nicely, was flushed, and rolled up triumphantly:



Anthony was not phased and was determined to run Illgen clean. He took another stab at it:



Then Jeremiah then took his second run of Illgen:



I was pretty content with my first run having not even needing to roll. I only hoped that my second run would be as clean as I shouldered my boat, walked to the river, deposited it on some rocks, and slipped into the cockpit. Getting the all clear, I again paddled for the lip of the falls. I threw some good strokes off the lip as a passed over the edge an down the falls. While descending, I conciously tucked thereby pulling the boat angle less vertical and attempted to place my paddle blade to spear the oncoming water. I hit much harder than the first attempt and braced off my right side having barely even submerged. My goal was achieved, I again had escape rolling (not that rolling is a problem). Here's my second run of Illgen:



We left the river like excited school children; smiling brightly and unabatedly talkative. We packed up and had ourselves a celebratory beer and headed home. It was the perfect way to top off the creek season which was rapidly coming to an end as spring runoff wained. I had had Illgen on my tick list for the year and was happy to have reached and surpassed my goals for the season. Only a year ago in April, I had run my first river and now found, a season later, myself in a whole new place of confidence in my paddling.

Three RIvers, Four Runs, One Killer Day

My day started at 3:30 am when the alarm woke me up to study for my med school test. I learned that getting 3 hours of sleep is much better than pulling all-nighters and has become a pre-test tradition. After passing the exam I was ready for action!

I hurried home grabbed my boat and threw on my dry-suit. The first run of the day was the French river. Since I hadn't been on many creeks yet this year we took the run slow. The French was fun. It had a bunch of great slides mostly class III running with maybe a touch of class easy IV. However I didn't like how scrappy it was...I want my boat to last more than one season. I then ran off to the Knife River with other paddler I met on the French River. The Knife was good and juiced. I managed to hit a couple of good sized holes and put my new creek boat to the test. After that run, I then had a small break before my friend Roger got off work, luckily I ran into my Dad who was chasing his own favorite pass-time (fishing) and shot the breeze with him for a while. When Roger got off work he, Nate, and I went and ran the French again.

Being thoroughly French-ed out, Nate proposed we head over to the Lester river for a go of it. I casually accepted the proposition, not really realizing what I was getting into. The Lester when running well, as it was, is a straight up class IV+ river. After setting up shuttle and looking at the first two meaty drops, my nerves ran a little high. Putting the nerves and thought processing away, I went at it one drop at time. It was pretty much non stop big flowing class IV. I ran the whole thing clean, with some moments I worried I might flip the boat....but I have found my new boat to be very forgiving. Of the drops we hit, Limbo Falls felt the most intense. It was only the second drop after putting in and was a 15ft falls slide that slammed you into giant exploding water. I remember coming up on the lip and then going into pure chaos, water exploded around as a slid down the main vertical section. Having cleared it I saw ahead the big hole that finished it off and put some paddle strokes in for momentum as I blasted through. The rest of the run had only more of the same. It was a confidence boost to have my first run of some technical and sustained class IV out of the way.

It was just getting dark as I left the river and realized that I hadn't eaten all day. I sat down at the local burrito establishment and had a great time chilling with with companions. It was a long, epic, and fulfilling day. I suspect there will be more to follow.

Amity, Epic Surfing, and Lutsen Tele Skiing

Waves breaking on the rock wall near Stoney Point

So after a weekend of surfing and I took a look at Amity creek and thought it might be fit for a run. The next day myself, Anthony, Scott, and Lara found ourselves at the top of Amity Creek. It was a virgin run for the year and my creek boat. The first drops went well, and were mostly slides. I then dropped over smiley slide which could be consider class IV depending on levels. It was a fun ride that went smoothly. However as we continued down the river it was getting increasing scrapey and shallow. By the time we reached Gazebo falls Lara had cracked her new and defective creek boat. I wasn't going to lose anymore plastic off mine and decided I'd walk the rest back to the car. It was a learning experience building...patience. I now have a decent rock to gauge the levels.

The rest of the week I was busy with school. However to my great fortune, winter decided to give one final fight. By Thursday the waves were 5-7 ft and class was canceled for the next day with predicted 16 inches of snowfall. I went out after class to try and give surfing a shot, even though I could not round up any other paddlers to accompany me. It looked descent at Lester River, but somewhat nerve racking due to fact there was no set break point. So as I went out I was a bit concerned as the waves seemed to crest at anytime or point. I caught a couple descent rides and then decided that it wasn't smart to be out there alone as the winds were picking up.

All of Friday I sat at home reclusive avoiding the weather and studying. However the wind was howling outside, as I learned its speed had picked up to 40-50 mph and waves were rumored to reach 18 ft tall. I woke up slowly and went out to surf around 2 in afternoon, figuring I'd let things die down a bit before going out surfing. When I arrived Stoney Point proper the waves were huge... definitely too big for a paddler without a partner. So I found a small no-name break that entertained me for an hour. When I came back to Stoney Point it had died down enough to be attempted. However as I sat in my boat on shore it was clear this wasn't an adventure to take on alone. As I cowered back to the car my friend Andre and car full of companions drove up to watch the action. To my fortune, at the same time paddle friends Nate and Brian showed up to team up against the waves.

It was quite intense getting out past the break, which included waiting till there was a calm between sets and then paddled furiously praying you didn't get hit by an oncoming curler to slam you up on shore. Luckily I made it out and sat contemplating the break before me...it was far larger than I expected averaging 8 ft waves. I waited until a giant wave came up, breaking from the right. It was exhilarating and hair raising at the same time. As dark wall of water comes from behind as I look down it's slope ten feet to the water below. I came ripping down it's face as it curled and crashed behind me sending skipping along at ripping fast speed on the edge of a 4 ft pile of green water. I went on to catch 3 more of these climaxing in a ride down a 12 footer. Now this all sound very fantastical and wholly unbelievable. Luckily it was caught on video:



It was the most epic surfing I have yet done. I couldn't help but call everyone I knew just to attempt to expel the exciting and adrenaline that was overflowing. That night I traveled to a friends cabin up the north shore and woke up earlier and tele-skied Lutsen all day. It was a gorgeous blue bird day with the sun shining brightly and the snow wet and slushy. It was an absolutely perfect weekend complete with great adventure, great friends, and beautiful surroundings!

The Creek Boat

This weekend after much thought, testing, scrutiny, and research I bought a new kayak. Those who know me would ask, "what do you need another kayak for?". This boat is for creeking and running gnarly water that would otherwise prefer to eat you and your kayak. Therefore I bought a bigger, beefy, and in some ways ...safer boat (considering what I have already been doing in smaller kayaks). I'm excited for what the future holds... I've got some drops that I'm gun-ing to try with the new kayak.

Much in the way of excitement is heading my way...spring break is only 3 weeks away, and American Birkebeiner is this week (survival is the goal this year). On the docket for spring break: Climbing a little sport, much long trad, big wall, and sleeping on a portaledge overnight thousands of feet off the ground (stay tuned for new blog posts)!