Redemption: The Cascade River

The waters of lake superior presided over the horizon's expanse; a the landscape whose view was framed by the bounds of my truck tailgate. I emerged into the scene before me, sat behind the wheel, and headed to the local greasy spoon to fuel up, caffeinate, and ascertain the paddling plans for the day. At a variety of paces the crew gradually awoke and when we had all amassed the consensus pointed to the Cascade River.

The Cascade looms in the minds of paddlers across the country as one of the most classic and highly respected class V runs on the Northern Shores of Lake Superior. The river's character is bipolar in that it is harshly unforgiving to those that don't heed its demands and yet so immensely rewarding to all who walk from its banks. Steeped in lore, the Cascade has dealt of some of the worst beat downs on the North Shore (some of which I had already witnessed).

Cascade from Chris Baer on Vimeo.

Chris Baer's helmet cam footage of the Cascade... check it out

At this point, I had never completed a full run down the Cascade. 2 years prior my season had been ended by it, and I hiked my boat from it's banks less than a mile into the run. Now as we checked the level (-2) I swallowed hard, keeping the nerves in my stomach and fighting them from getting into my head. It was a level higher than I had previously run. As a creeker, to claim that nervousness is not a part of your daily diet would be a lie. Nerves keep you honest and they keep you safe... and yet other times they keep your from your potential. It is a slippery game we play both listening and ignoring the heedings of our unconcious.  But as we drove to the put it, I hung my hat on the daily paddling I had amassed and the confidence I had built. I quieted my mind's thoughts and let go. It was my day for redemption....

Readied for battle at the put in included the solid crew of Chris Baer, Tango, Jason Stingl, Joel Decker, and McMurray.  Putting in below Hidden Falls, I went about setting safety in the pool below the heinous drop for the more daring of our crew. Hidden Falls is perhaps the most consequential and frequently run drop on the North Shore. It is a snaking 100 yard slide that dishes out insane boat speeds. Meanwhile  it erupts in a final roostering explosion of water that leaves paddlers rolling dice as to how how they will fare in the grand finale... finishing the drop in pissed-off, eat-your-face hole.  To add to the fun, it's only exit is flanked by a veil of dagger-like icicles hanging from a low tree branch. Those who had the gumption to run Hidden Falls had varying success. We all felt bad as McMurray carried his boat from the shores of the Cascade his shoulder feeling ominously painful.

With one less member we pushed on. "Discretion", a class V technical slide provided the initiatory introduction to the Cascade for the year. I slid over it's horizon line and braced left off a strong seam and laid a determined stroke to pound through the final and hungry hole.

Bracing through "Discretion"

 Moving a 75 yards down stream another horizon line loomed. The drop known as "Moose Rock" loomed. I knew the line, but had yet to have a good result out of it. The drop was a technical slide divided by a large rock in the center, forcing one to decide over the more technical banking left line in which the river feeds easily into, or fighting the river onto the right line and over a more straight forward slide.

I pushed on in the back of the crew and thought I would drive for the right line. But as the scene accelerated my decision became less than favorable. It was too late, I turned for plan B but I was sailing for an impact with moose rock. I let go of my paddle, put out a frantic arm, and stiff armed the dark rock. I immediately slid into the rushing slide, one hand on my paddle, and before I could regain my grip the waters banked violently. My boat threatened to flip, and I thrust my right arm out for stabilization. I felt it dragging down the jagged slide on my elbow. I pushed off the bottom, stabilized my boat, and regain my paddle grip in time to plug through a final hole. I could feel cold water on my throbbing elbow. My elbow pad was turned sideways on my arm and a gash in my drysuit was apparent. I quickly jumped out of my boat, made a quick duck tape repair and rejoined the crew, brushing off the soreness.

The time came for me to decide, was I mentally capable for the rest of the run; could I pull myself together. With the encouragement of the crew I pushed on into the unknown. Its times as these in which you rely on the paddlers you surround yourself with. They knew me well, they knew my capabilities.... their confidence and optimism quenched any self-doubt that Moose Rock may have planted. One by one we picked through the multitude of drops; my paddling growing more confident with each.

flowings. I banked up high onto the pile and braced right. I was spit from the chaos into a calm pool and in one fluid motion flipped and rolled up instantaneously. I smiled, giddy with adrenaline and could see it on the faces of my friends.

Amongst the Melee of "Long John Silver"

Paddling onward, my body and mind relaxed... the run was tapering off. We all busted through "Screaming Stingl" along side it's name sake. We cringed at the abuse I boats took scraping down  the manky slide known as "cheese grater". I stepped from the river smiling amongst the blue skies and rays of sunlight... I had redeemed the Cascade.


The firelight lit the night at paradise beach. Being that it was Friday the community was rallying in impressive attendance for the weekend. Twenty or more paddlers settled about the beach with the exchange of man-hugs from familiar faces and handshakes from the newer faces. A crew from Pacific Northwest arrived to add to buzzing camp. The energy was building in the heart of the community.  You could feel a warming excitement, blazing like the camp fire that stayed lit late into the night. I retired to my slumber in anticipation of the days ahead and fell deeply into dream.

Eyes Wide: The Cascade River

Myself running "Discretion"

I knew it was coming. The signs were on the wall, Cascade river was to be run. Yet my shoulder's were sending me messages that my weekend run of the Kadunce was not without consequence. They crackled warnings with daily tasks and movements. I told myself that I would resist the lure of the Cascade River. But when the call came I failed and couldn't say no.

The leaves, still in their infancy, hung on the passing limbs as I starred through the window glass in quiet somnolence. The clouds, each in their independence, allowed the sky and sunlight to glorify the space between their midst's while we made morning passage northward. I sat in frank contemplation of the hours that lay ahead. The Cascade River was much fabled. Guide books championed it's beauty and treachery, paddlers from throughout the country kept it on their tick lists, and it's waters inspired an implicit veneration amongst paddlers.

The car lurched to the roadside as I cradled my coffee, and took a last sip as we each stepped out. We had arrived at the river and walked to the bridge to check the river's flow. Measuring approximately -4 or -5, the river had met my predetermined standards... I told myself I wouldn't paddle unless it was -4 or below. The Cascade river has quite a character. An in or two in the river level makes drastic changes to whether she is a angry torrent requiring razor precision or a moody gnashing that has some forgiveness to mere mortals.

The anticipation built as the gravel rattled from the wheels as we made the turn into the parking lot of the put in. After quietly readying for battle, I set my kayak along the river side, made myself comfortable inside it, and followed my companions in peeling out into the river's flow.
Ahead in the distance a horizon line was becoming more distinct. We each eddied out and exited our boats to look at what we knew was ahead.

From the shoreline, "Hidden Falls" stretched out before us in it's menacing glory. It is an impressively long and steep slide whose main flow snakes from one river bank across to the other before exploding off an invisible obstacle that creates a 3-3.5 ft roostering pile. Hidden Falls thus terminates from the rooster in a continued slide into an ominous hole.

Video example of Hidden Falls (courtesy of T-Bone)

It is a drop that I believe very few paddlers do without instance of nerves or doubt infecting the recesses of the mind. I was no different as watched from shore as Ryan and Andy ran it perfectly. Walking to my boat and getting in, my stomach was in my throat, and as I pushed off shore I nervously gulped in attempt to bring it back down.

As I paddled over the horizon line hugging the river left, I piled into oncoming curler which directed me into the main flow and the ride of my life. The river picked up insane speed, as the flow rocketed me across the river. I smashed through an erroneous wave and when my eyes cleared I could see the final scene. There stood the thunderous 3-4 foot wall of water and split seconds between me and impact. My eyes wide as I have known, my grip tighter than humanly necessary. My last strokes fell into the water as I made my last adjustments to my line, attempting to point slightly left. I exploded into the gnashing billow of water. The hit was violent and my eyes were blinded by a wash of white. My orientation felt skewed, but it soon became clear I was not upright. I could feel my paddle and hands batter against rock. Adrenaline dismissed any sensation. I was more concerned whether I would find myself battling the ominous right hand hole or in the gentle left hand pool.

A slide show of my progression down hidden falls (Photo credit: Ryan Zimny)

When the scraping stopped, their was a moment of calm as I made for my first roll attempt.... it failed. I calmly repositioned and tried again. I came to the surface and was relieved to find myself in the calm left hand pool.

Ryan and Andy signaled to see if I was alright. I checked myself over, nothing was immediately obvious. But as I paddled into an eddy, I noticed a large gash in the neoprene over my left thumb. Then the pain start to flow insidiously to my thumb and familiar feeling of warm inflammation came to it. Yet it seemed I could still paddle with the pain and stiffness.

There less the 50 yards down stream lay "Discretion". Another class IV/V drop consisting of a complex boiling set of ledges, before terminating in a significant hole with a right hand outflow. I had less apprehension about this drop, the line seemed clear to me. I got back in my boat. Attempting to line up near the right hand bank, I was surprised to find myself sliding over a rock ledge that I was not aware in scouting. It pushed me left towards the meat of the hole. I kept battling back towards the right, and found myself on line for the culminating hole. Getting some strokes of purchase I dug deep and collided with the hole emerging in the outflow with relief.

Slide show of my progression down "Discretion" (Photo credit: Ryan Zimny)

Continuing down river, I noticed my thumb was feeling stiff and wouldn't let me use it without a shot of pain. We came to another horizon line shortly there after. The river ahead plunged ahead over a series of ledges and holes before being split by "Moose Rock". Half the river went left dropping steeply through a narrow turning constriction, and on the right it flowed over a long slide. I fought with brush on shore and tried to get a better look at the line on this class V but had only minimal sucess. We each went ahead and I sparred with a myriad of holes, waves, and gnashings. As I neared moose rock and made my left hand choice, the river extended its grip and turned my boat sideways to the current just as I was to descend the left line. As I crested the lip, I threw some desperate strokes to straighten out my boat but was still off line. I dropped in and the river easy over threw my boat. Underwater, I felt two significant hits to my head before sensing I was in deeper water. I knew there was a slide ahead and had no interest in getting anymore hits while underwater. I pulled my skirt and found a sketchy footing while clearing the water from my eyes. My boat washed into slide while I stood mid-river waist deep in current fighting to keep my feet gripped to the rocky bottom. I inched my way over to the right hand wall while waist deep in current and found shallow path down the drop.

My confidence was obliterated, my thumb throbbed, and I was breathing heavy with fatigue. Though the pride in me wanted to run the rest of the river, the reality was things were stacking up against me. I would venture to say that 40% of creeking is grounded in your paddling confidence and the mental picture you have of your abilities. Mine had taken a serious blow and I decided I would pull the plug and walk out of the Cascade River.

I paddled the last bit of class II boogy water before eddying out and carrying my boat ashore. I climbed up the steep hillside lining the Cascade with a rope attached to my kayak below. Arduously I haul my boat up, found the trail, and drug her on a long 2 hour long walk back to Lake Superior. I was humbled by the Cascade River. Walking in quite contemplation, I knew that it was a good experience for me. Each river demands respect. While measured confidence and aggressiveness sometimes rewarded by the river, unrealistic pride is not. The fact is I am not a renowned paddler, I do not have enumerable years of experience, and I have many skills to build and much yet to learn. But I am passionate about learning from each drop I run, every river I paddle, and every paddler that I share the river with. I love whitewater and one cannot learn without a rough day on the river.

The the sun poured onto the budding spring scene and warmed the pavement on the drive homeward. I sat quietly fighting to keep my eyelids open and slowly felt my frustration melt as we left the river behind us.

Me on Hidden Falls

Cascade River Skiing

Having passed through the fire of a tested and feeling freedom in my liberation from school for a three day weekend, I was eager for rejuvenation. So myself and friend drove up the north shore with our cross country skis on hand. As we drove fresh snow hanging from the trees grew in thickness while we noticed 4 inches lay on the ground.

Looking for groomed trails we found fresh corduroy along the Cascade River. I was outfitted by my friend with classic gear. I hadn't classic skied since I was 17 and even then it was sporadic at best. I awkwardly applied kick wax and skied away. My technique was clumsy and uncoordinated. My ability to get kick was poor. We threw on some warmer wax and I was on my way. My reintroduction was 8 km of climbing without rest from the incline. I was breathing heavy and feeling my legs were working different muscle than skate. Soon enough the groomed trails ended and we continued on. The trees rained snow as the wind blew it from their branches.

"Chastity" frozen

The way back was refreshing as we flew down hill; the landscape flying by. We abruptly took a hard turn into an ungroomed powder trail. Following the leadership of my friend we trudged down the steep banks to the river. With caution we skied along the river. As the banks became stone and river constricted, I stopped and listened. You could hear the ominous roar of the water in the depths and under the ice. We stopped on the precipice of the water fall entitled "Chastity". We climb back up the bank and skied back to the car.

We stopped to check out Onion River road on the drive home but it was lathered in 4 inches of ungroomed powder. We instead pulled into the Coho Cafe and ate a hardy meal before heading home to Duluth. It was all that I needed to be ready for the rigors of the week ahead.