The Final Chapter of a Season: The Homeland

The water's were slowly tapering from the creeks in the furthest reaches of the North Shore. Meanwhile, a singular urbanite had driven northward and Joerg had left his corporate job aside for the day. He met with myself and Kiffy. Joerg is one of those legendary characters of the Midwest Creeking community: well versed in peer pressure tactics, known to take the tough lines for giggles, and eternally at the front of the crew on the river.... an all around fine gentleman! On this day Joerg's personality was particularly shining as he quickly made the sale for me and Kiffy to run the DT for the second consecutive day. Despite both of our lacking motivations, Joerg made the sale. I found myself speeding for the put in of the DT. Kiffy and Joerg represent some of the most experienced boaters in the Midwest having paddled together from their teenage years.... and then there was me: a mere 4 seasons under my belt.

 Myself atop "Triple Drop" of the Devil Track River

Photo credit of Andy McMurray

We put on the river and immediately it became clear this run was going to be spicy. Joerg made it plain that this run was going to be speedy. There would be no scouting, little eddying, but not without looking out for one another safety-wise. We barreled ahead, and as triple drop came upon us, I found myself in the rear of the crew. There was no looking back as we each dropped over the horizon lines. I remember the nasty cotton mouth of nerves as we dropped in. But in the morning sun light we each found our smiles on the river that day. I admittedly had a less than clean run, but stayed composed throughout and kept pace. I managed to get stuck in the hydraulic below portage down the middle and rolled up wasting no time. I knew it fed out on the river left. I placed 4 hard forward strokes while side surfing, and easily escaped it's grasp.

Joerg, Kiffy, and Myself Portage the Admiral amongst the majesty of the Devil Track Canyon

Photo credit of Andy McMurray

In a little over an hour and a half from putting on we found ourselves floating amongst the blue skies as they reflected in the calm waters of Lake Superior, the Devil Track behind us. 

In the coming days, the community rested as the yearly migration to the Presque Isle River in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was at hand. There we would take part in the annual downriver race in honor and remembrance of Jim Rada... a legend of paddling who had lost his life on the river in the last decade. Although I had run the Presque before, I looked forward to participating in the race for the first time.

The skies shone blue and the air was warmed in the sun's golden presence. We amassed the day prior to the race to run the full Presque Isle. The crew included Kiffy, Andy, Joerg, Decker, Holton and myself. And so amongst the Spring sunshine we would make the long trek to the put in. After an hour of shouldering our boats and walking less traveled roads, the sweat dripped from my brow as the river came into view. Thankfully, I slid into the chilled waters and let the river cool me. In succession we made our way downstream, and after three or so drops, it became clear that it was going to be an off day for me. I found myself less than upright tangling with the river's bottom all too often. With this detriment to my confidence, I portaged Triple Drop and Nokomis with a majority of the crew, making the heinous portage, and rejoined the other paddlers.

We continued onward as the sun fell in the afternoon, and came upon the final mile of the Presque Isle. There the river would drop in rapid succession over 4 drops of class VI+ and V character. The river was running higher than I had previously experienced and so I awaited the horizon lines ahead with focused attention.

Nadawadaha Falls

We busted down Nawadaha Falls one by one with enthusiasm growing as the drops increased in their difficulty. Downstream we eddied out above Manido Falls. There the watered cascaded over a multitude of rock stairs, forming repetitive pour-overs of 2-3 feet in height. The last time a ran Manido I recalled getting caught in the pour-overs, tried to side surf out, and eventually ran the remainder of the drop out of my boat and on my ass. Today was my day to redeem myself, as I carefully picked my line and held the landmarks in my mind.  The horizon roared as I slid over the first pour over and attempted to time my strokes, hoping to boof the next pourover. I kept the bow up as I blew through the next pour-over and comfortably bounced down the remainder of the drop.

The Final Streches of Manido Falls

Everyone eddied out, as ahead loomed one of the most pristine falls of the Midwest. Manabezo falls outstretched nearly 100 yards wide, and dropped 25 ft to the waters below. It's line was not easy, as the lip of the falls was irregular and fractured, as we sought a narrow tongue of water. Furthermore, the landing had a history of breakings legs due to it shallowness. I had descended Manabezo twice before and last fall experienced my first spine compression as a result of boofing the falls. I hoped to learn from that experience...

The sun was falling low on the horizon, and I was feeling fired up and confident. I jumped my boat and decided I'd be the first of the crew to descend. Hugging the river left bank the scene accelerated and the familiar tunneling of vision occurred as my focus narrowed on my line.

 Manabezo Falls of the Presque Isle River in the UP of Michigan

It's moments as these that the mind slows time and the dualism of reactive/instinctual paddling comes to battle with that of intentioned/conscious paddling. Reactive paddling deals with the immediate reality of the whitewater before us and our reaction to it. Meanwhile conscious paddling focuses on the river ahead, and is planning intentional strokes before they are even placed. Each have their place, and so we struggle as kayakers to balance the two amidst utter chaos.

The horizon opened up before me and my stroke hit the lip of the falls. My bow rose to meet the horizon as I took to flight in a wicked boof. My conscious mind took over, I remembered all that I had been told about techniques to avoid spinal compression. I threw my torso forward against the deck of my boat and kept my back hunched. I landed with a audible and violent "BOOF". In the impact my paddle slammed hard against my boat and my thumb in between. I celebrated the control I had maintained; I had hit my line, place a nice boof, and protected my spine. But I was acutely aware of a warmth and throbbing in my right thumb. I had learned a new lesson...how to clear your paddle on impact. On inspection, the thumb had begun to swell already. I kept the pain to myself, in denial of the injury, as the rest of the crew took joyful flight.

 Joerg Steinbach boofs Manabezo

We each paddled away from Manabezo with the knowledge that ahead loomed "Zoom Flume".  Zoom Flume can be described as series of  entangled wave holes of formidable size created by the constriction of the river rocketing through a narrow walled-in channel. It provides for the "sporty" grand finale of the run before emptying into Lake Superior. By the time I had punched a moderate sized entry hole to Zoom Flume, I knew my thumb was in poor condition, as I felt tendons snapping and pain warmly course through it. It was too late to turn back. The roar was obvious and ahead the gnashing of the Flume lay apparent. All thought of my discomfort was lost to the required focus. Deep strokes were laid as I ploughed into the melee of a chaotic wave hole sized over my head. My bow went skyward and I fought to stay upright. But a secondary reactionary upturned my boat. I went for a quick roll attempt and missed it. I waited for my paddle to reach the surface but I had no such luck. I threw for my next roll and focused my hip snap. I narrowly came to the air upright and sighted before me another large curler nearly on top of  me. I pounded through and was relieved as the onslaught had ended.

"Zoom Flume" of the Presque Isle River 

Drifting into the expanse of the lake, the crew celebrated the run and the adrenaline happily danced in our veins. But my enthusiasm was killed by the pain coursing through my thumb. Cussing repetitively, I tore it my glove off and placed the thumb in the numbing waters of  Lake Superior. In pulling it back for inspection, there was visible bruising and it was floridly swollen... I knew I had broke something. Bruising that early was tell-tale. Coming to shore, the crew noted my state and carried my boat back to the camp for me, while I sulked back.

My pulverized thumb

The Jim Rada race took place that year without me amongst its ranks. I took to filming the event and attempting to keep a good attitude. And amongst the community, I lost myself amongst the rising flames of the campfire and soaked in the glowing twilight.

Soaking in the Sunset on the Shores of Lake Superior

I was uplifted by the laughter and the fellowship in spite of an underlying disappointment.

 

Laughter amongst the rain

In parting the Upper Peninsula,  I drove in the morning light numb and thoughtless...  I was aware that my season had come to a close.  I grieved for the loss of it for several weeks as a x-ray confirmed what I had already known... inside my thumb I had avulsed a ligament that took a piece of bone with it. I avoided hearing anything about the rivers as the rains rolled across the North Country. I packed my belongings as I would soon move to my new home of Billings, MT for the next three years.

Midwest paddling! Thank you to the Red Dangler Community!

Photo credit of Andy McMurray

As my depression soon faded, I looked back on the season with thanks, as I had been deeply gifted. It was a season of profound change in my paddling, of countless unforgettable memories, and friendships both formed and deepened. As I drove from the North Shore and Duluth, I nodded thankfully to Lake Superior in gratitude and farewell. I drove into the Westward horizon with the freshness of the new life ahead of me, meanwhile behind me lay the setting of countless golden memories, shaped by my lifelong tenure in the North Country. The Northland would remain pridefully........ my homeland!

Fall Creeking The Upper Peninsula of MI - Day 2

One of the Northwoods pristine falls.... myself on Manabezho Falls

The morning came early to my eyes as I wrestled myself from the grasp of the couch and looking out into the frost laden sunshine outside the window. After reading shortly from my book, my fellow companions awoke and we drove to the local grub-ery for hearty breakfast. Bellies more than satisfied, we gathered back at our lodgings, packed up, and headed for the Presque Isle River.

I drove down the road lined by leaves flaming with color, bordered by a blue cloudless sky and reveled in the beauty of the world. Arriving at the river my eyes were graced by the sight of heavy flowing waters swelling generously about its banks. The Presque Isle water was running very high.

We set about scouting the drops and readying for the action that lay ahead. One thing was certain, the well-known and picturesque Manabezho Falls was looking friendly to my eyes. However, the water above and below it, though reasonable, was intimidating in character (with the exception of Manido Falls). Each made their personal decision and Japs decided to do a solo run of the entire final mile of the Presque, meanwhile the rest of us committed to lapping Manabezho Falls.

We geared up for the adventure ahead after dropping Japs off upstream and wishing him luck. Japs arrived at Manabezho at the same time as us carrying our boats and proceeded onward styling Manabezho. I ran up and put on next. I slipped into the water noting the line. I paddled hard driving rightward aimed for a narrow pinnacle of water, fought to place boof stroke, and sailed airborne viewing the 25 ft of air between myself and the water below. I landed a with a thud, despite having a slight angle of entry to allow for a less violent landing. Emerging from the mist with a smile I paddled to shore. We shared in the moment as we watched each of the six of us sail into happy flight.

 My second lap on Manabezho

I took my second lap with comfort and laid a solid boof stroke and the bow of boat stayed level with the horizon. I landed with loud "thwack" and felt my spine compress and a pain run through it. I paddled from the mist catching the breath that was knocked from me unsure what damage may have done. I paddled to shore and took things easy. Slowly recovering I discovered my back was ok, but in future days was going to make me pay for my lack of a stomp.

Justin and Lara declared they were going to run the final throngs of the Presque below Manabezho. Myself and Marcus set safety while scouting the river ahead. The river plummeted over a final slide creating an intimidating hole at it's base. Then the river constricted into "Zoom Flume" rocketing through a narrow channel. Guarding its entry lay a 2.5 ft high wave leading into a gnashing 3 ft tall wave hole whose line has never been entirely clear to me. Japs and Lara pounded through both with success and nailed the necessary rolls.

Marcus and I contemplated  the section for what seemed like hours, unnerved by the first hole leading into Zoom Flume. Finding an alternate route, myself and Marcus put on the river. We took to the far leftward bank and launched off a small boof ledge landing in the calm waters below. We eddied out and prepared for the challenges ahead. I led out and took to the line for the first wave. It came into view and I laid power strokes to propel me through as the water naturally accelerated toward its violent rising.

 

The first wave entering guarding the entrance to Zoom Flume

 

I collided in a wash of white and emerged unscathed and lined up for the next and more formidable beast of a wave hole. I chose the leftward line and again powered ahead as if a knight in joust riding headlong into an opponent. In moments as these, your vision tunnels on the task at hand and the world outside is but banished in a moment of purity in almost meditative focus. I smashed into the onslaught and fought in blindness.  My momentum was slowed to an almost stand still and yet I emerged to catch sight of water beyond its gnashing while remaining upright. But at that moment, a cross-current boiling lateral sub-ed out my bow as the wave-hole over turned me in its final grasp. I calmly set up and rolled up right and put my boat on line for the final moments of intensity.

The second wave-hole guarding the entrance into "Zoom Flume"

We emerged into the expanse of Lake Superior congratulated by fishermen on shore and fully immersed in the elation that only whitewater can bestow. The weekend had been gifted me with a confidence I would take forward with me for the paddling that lay in the season ahead. I grinned the whole drive home as the darkness fell upon the flaming leaves and a burning contentment warmed the hearth of a heart.

 Myself and Marcus still grinning

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!