After all the water of spring rains wained away and the creeks became bony trickles there was still left enough water to playboat. The regular trip to the St. Louis's first wave/hole albeit alone or with friends became a restoring endeavor, since I was still inflicted with the thralls of medical school that raged onward nearly until July. Yet by the time the Midwest Mountaineering Kayak Festival had passed, it was becoming clear that the St. Louis's water was quickly shrinking to it's summer level. In search of more time on the water, I never thought twice upon an invitation to travel to paddle Sturgeon Falls on the Winnipeg River in Canada.
I drove down to St. Cloud and rendezvous with paddling friends Scotty and Nora.We headed Northward under the eventual cover of nightfall. Sturgeon falls in lore and by word of mouth has been described as a world class play boating location. Located 20 minutes East of Winnipeg Manitoba it is within striking distance for us. I had only seen pictures of it's large picturesque features. As we arrived we drove down to the boat landing I peered into the darkness seeing little, but could hearing a distance roar across expanse of water before me.
Myself surfing Sturgeon Falls! (courtesy of Nora Whitmore)
As the morning dew settled upon the tents we awoke and rallied with fellow paddlers from Minnesota, paddling into the expanse of water towards the distant sound of Sturgeon Falls. Upon my first sight of Sturgeon Falls, it looked promising but its beauty and power was yet to be fully appreciated. When we neared the doorstep of Sturgeon's features, the size and magnitude of the waves became wonderously impressive. To the eye, Sturgeon Falls appears as if two lakes are mystically flowing between one another. However in viewing a map, it would become clear that it is actually formed by the flow of mighty Winnipeg River. If one looked casually at it's expanse, you might be able to convince oneself you were standing beside a flowing ocean of perpetually breaking waves. During our time, 68,000 cubic feet per second flowed through Sturgeon falls and created multitude of beautiful standing waves ranging from 4-10 ft. Yet between the maze of waves there stood an singular island of smooth rock, and behind it formed the giant eddy that is a sanctuary for kayakers. The eddy swirled and surged in pattern like that of serpent swimming, creating small whirl pools strewn about. Furthermore, it provided a place of rest and access to the waves.
Over the course of the next three days, I spent countless hours surfing waves from the mounting sunrise to the falling sunset. Imagine being on a 8 ft tall standing wave while it crashes behind you and then throwing a stroke and surfing backwards, staring the explosion of water in the face before you...the feeling is priceless. On Sunday afternoon we left Sturgeon Falls. My body was sore in places I had never perceived. When I arrived home I slept heartily smiling at passing of well spent Fourth of July Holiday.
It's been quite a few weeks since I last went climbing and after short day of class I had a taste for some climbing. After calling around, I was surprised to find that Tyler was ready for a trip up the Northshore. We decided to head to the "Mystical Mountain Zone" adjacent to Wolf Ridge ELC. The sky was blue and the wind was blowing strong as we hiked out to the cliff band along Wolf Lake. Upon arriving our first planned route was to fire up "Th Black Gates" a 5.10a. Being a tiny finger crack seam, it would have been a heinous trad lead. So we quick set up a top-rope and rapped down. I was the first to hit up the route since I had never climbed it. I first ascended up a thin seam with decent face holds that narrowed quickly. Soon I found myself in a small corner pulling myself up by my smallest finger knuckles wedged into the crack and feet on nickle thin placements. The route eased up for a bit and then reached a large horizontal crack in which I traversed along until reaching another seam. This being the crux, it involved reaching up and getting only my left thumb knuckle stuck in an unfriendly crack and smearing my feet high.... desperately reaching for the next finger jam. It didn't go without a fall, but it did go. After Tyler made clean work of the route, we went to go set up another route entitle "Jack Be Nimble". After rapping down and looking at the route I was confident this one would be tricky. It was supposedly a 5.10a but as most Northshore climbing ratings its difficulty was highly under-rated. Again I hit up the route first. It first began in a narrow angled open book corner with a thin crack in the corner and smooth faces. My focus was on the crack. It started out with good hand jams, but quickly narrowed to unfriendly fingers. I found myself grunting vocally as I pulled up on painful and weak finger jams while smearing and jamming my body into the corner. Not without falling, I reached a triangular roof with a large crack in it's corner. Being the crux, I threw a manky fist jam deep into the crack, swung my feet up to high smear, and reached for the next hand jam. Finally finding a good jam, I pulled upward largely unweighting my feet until they could be stuffed into the crack. The rest of the route went beautifully... a 5.8 crack with great jams. It was a excellent and challenging route....and long too (at least 100ft). Tyler took a chimney style approach to the open book and styled the whole route cleanly.
We packed up and decided to end the day at Palisade on the way home. My interest was in climbing "Phantom Crack" again. Before long I was rappelling down. I moved smoothly jam after jam until reach the crux. There my jam slipped out and my clean run was ruined. Disappointed I got back on the climb and finished it. Tyler cruised the route speedily and efficiently. I wanted another shot at hitting the route cleanly and went back down. Unfortunately I found that I was tired... and flailed the route. I finished it panting heavily. It was a great day. I was happily exhausted and drove home contently quiet in a daze. I arrived home as it was just becoming dark and crawled into bed with a grin.
A picture of "mini-octopus" on the Lester River courtesy of the Duluth News Tribune
It was no ordinary day. The night before it had rained torrentially and by morning it was clear that the local rivers were flooding. As I sat in class, my excitement grew as I poured over Flash Flood warnings and found myself having a trouble sitting still. At noon I hurried out of class, quickly ate lunch, and headed out to the rivers.
Myself and Nate first pondered over Tischer Creek which is a full on class V run that is only runnable at flood levels. It was too much intensity for my tastes. We then took a look at Chester Creek and had the same feeling. So we went to the ever reliable Lester River. We drove up and decided to take a "quick" run before the rest of our fellow paddlers arrived. Upon putting on it was clear that the river was running BIG...things were looking and acting differently than my last seven runs on the Lester. After the first rapid, Nate took a swim. In attempting to eddy out and be of service, I broached my boat and was unable to roll up and found myself swimming as well. Luckily, I was able to swim my boat into a tiny eddy where we could empty the water from it. I got back in knowing I was going to need to run what I could of the river by myself and search for Nate's boat. It's interesting how nerve racking it is to run a river by yourself despite the fact that even with a partner there's not always a lot they can do to help you in a bind. We ended up finding his boat intact quite aways downstream and continued the rest of the run. Within a couple of river bends, I managed to get myself stuck in a hole just above above a fairly significant class IV drop ("mini-octopus). I side surfed it for 5 min, getting window shaded and rolling up, still in the hole. Finally, I desperately stuffed my back end into the hole and up-ended my boat free of it. I quickly rolled up and frantically got on line for the drop ahead and was relieved as it went smoothly. The river was HUGE and the amount of whites of my eyes showing was probably equally large as we finished out the run. We met up with another fellow paddler , Jorge, and went to do another lap.
All was going smoothly, the first couple of significant drops went well. Up ahead was a drop entitle "Naked Man" . I had always portaged it because I heard that that it breaks boats often. Having never run it previously I was easily encouraged to give it a go. It started with steep a double peaked wave train/reactionary lead-in before dropping over the crux, a 7-8 ft shallower drop/slide containing some lovely piton rocks and a hole at it's base. It went well as I ploughed through the wave trains. Cresting the crux of the drop knew I was right on my line. I thought to myself, "you've got this in the bag". It was nearly fatal mistake!
Hitting the hole at the bottom I missed a single and needed paddle stroke to propel me past it and was quickly pulled into meat of the hole. I stayed calm while side surfing and worked hard to attempt to power out of it, but was eventually flipped. Not having a plethora of energy and feeling that my boat was clearly still stuck in the hole, I popped my skirt and swam. I went for my first and instinctive breath of air but couldn't reach the surface. It immediately became clear that I was being recirculated and held under by the hole. In the chaos of the surging water, all I could perceive with my eyes was light and darkness and all I could hear was the immanent roar of the water in my ears. As the water went dark, I barely touched the bottom and desperately tried to push off and away. Fighting back to the light, I reached my arms and face up for the surface but I still could not get a breath as with lungs burned horribly. I aspired some water in the attempt. I was hoping there would be a rope from my fellow paddlers to pull me out, but I knew that they were down stream and unable to get to me in time to help....I knew I was on my own. I plunged back into the chaotic darkness and touched bottom and again was still unable to get a good footing. I went into the light water and got pulled down into the dark again and again. I was tired and knew I didn't have much longer. "This it IT", I thought. "I'm going to die". Thoughts raced through my head, some instinctive and some conscious. That which I loved, people, places, events, flashed through my mind faster than comprehension. I made one last push for the surface and managed to get my face with 4-6 inches of the surface and breathed only water. I couldn't fight any longer. I had no energy left. I felt myself starting to go limp and my body giving up.
It was at that instant that I came back into the light and reached surface. I took my first glorious breath in over a minute. Defensively surveying the river to make sure I was clear of the hole, I coughed violently and I struggled to get the water from my spasmodic lungs. While being swept down stream and clear of the hole, I found shallow enough water and struggled to stand. My fellow paddlers shouted instructions that I could barely comprehend in my primal state of being. I staggered towards shore holding my body haggardly; my arms limp at my sides, hands hanging flaccid, and my balance failing me. I fell to my knees and crawled to the bank of the river. Ripping the helmet from my head, I dropped to my chest and laid in the dirt breathing so hard that my ribs ached.
After a short while, there were shouts of "grab your boat". I turned to see it floating by and quickly grabbed a hold of it and was dragged into the river. After fighting with it and being drug over rocks, I gave up as a Jorge paddled to coral it downstream. After some further instruction, I crawled up the slippery clay banks to trail above and hiked in a daze down stream. After following a whistle blow, I found my comrades hauling my boat ashore. They greeted me with some valiant attempts at encouragement. I don't fault them for trying... what would does anyone say to comfort someone who just escaped from the verge of drowning? After some discussion of the incident, feeling somewhat animate and stable, I decided to drag my boat to the road and walk back to the take out. Emerging from the woods, I dumped my boat and paddle on the edge of the road and walked back. It was a surreal. The events that had just occurred were too difficult to wrap my head around. I walked strangely blank and emotionless feeling as if what had occurred had been a day dream gone wrong.
Lester River at flood levels just above Superior St.
I didn't hit me until 11:30 pm that night as I lay at home alone resting. It was the gravity of what I may have lost in a few more seconds. I had already wore out discussing the incident with Jorge and Nate. I had probably less than 10 more seconds under water before I would have blacked out. Loosing consciousness in whitewater is grim. Clearly I under estimated the power of the river at a level in which I had never paddled and it was at an extremely high level. Had we been aware of the danger, setting up safety would have happened...in our experience the drop had been run countless times without incident and at a lower level the hole barely exists. If I would have known, I would have never run the drop. In any case, through all the analysis, the truth was...it wasn't worth it. I would have rather broken my arm than to face what I had faced. Knowing what I would have lost was hard to stomach. Yet on an optimistic note I began to reevaluate what was important and what I have yet to accomplish in my lifetime.
Everyone will confront their mortality and over the course of a life time. It is not uncommon to have a brush with it, whether it be in confines of a car, the result of smoking cigarettes daily, or in a kayak. I woke up the next morning and went back to the Lester River and ran it twice.... but I will never run that drop again. I love to paddle and will continue to do so, but not at any cost. When I wake in the morning I know where I'm going and where I want to be.
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.
After my day on the Devils Track I was ready for more action despite any exhaustion. Receiving an invitation the night before I woke up early and drove up to the Brule River (MN). Meeting my paddling friends, we threw on our gear and headed far into the boondocks to the put in. Due to vague details of the guide book we ended up losing the put in trail and walking 2 miles further up river than was necessary or intended. We got to the river sweating having hiked long and hard with our boats shouldered.
Getting on the river we sped through easy boogey water before reaching the thralls of the Sauna Bath drop. Upon scouting it was clear the drop was a challenge to be contented with. The river narrowed and large volume of water poured over constricted boulder garden. Most troublesome was weaving between two giant boulders in which the river piled up against then short thereafter pouring into a significant hole. They required much contemplation and a couple of logs thrown in to assess the hole's stickiness. After many musings and watching a log get flushed out the hole, I proclaimed that I would run it. I intently analyzed the line one last time while walking back to my boat while my other 3 paddling companions set up safety.
Sitting nervously, on shore with my stomach in knots, I caught the signal and set off. I started down the river left of center avoiding a set of holes. Coming quickly through the chas to the boulders that required weaving, I attempted to move from left to river right. However, the river's speed was pulling me straight at the geo-metro sized downstream boulder. In a split second I determined that I would have to deflect off it's pile. I put a hard stroke in for momentum as I rode up over it's side. I was launched completely airborne forward and to river right off the rock and landed nicely set up for the hole ahead. I paddled hard knowing I needed to punch into the hole. When I hit the hole, I reached for a hard stroke on the face of it's backwashing wall only to no avail. I was being endered and as such had a small hope that I could maintain the vertical and push through...but alas I got flipped. In the commotion I wasn't sure if I was in still in the hole, but I set up and rolled upright instantly and found myself free of the hole. I caught an on-the-fly eddy on the right and regathered myself....the worst was over. I then peeled out and bust through the large pushy wave train with some flushy holes. I raised a fist to the air and triumphantly bellowed at my success as I peeled into the calm pool below.
The four of us continued down the river passing more class III and IV river before portaging the majestic and gnarly canyon of the Brule. Managing to almost take a nasty digger throughout course of the portage, I made it down to the base of the canyon, and put in ferrying out through fast boily water around the river bend. The river then relaxed, however with the knowledge of Devil's Kettle being ahead of us, we could not. Every bend we slowly and carefully came round ready to eddy out at a moments notice. After 6-7 bends of anticipation we saw Devil Kettle looming ahead and portaged it admiring it's beauty.
The ever-stomping Upper Falls
Putting in below whirlwind of mist from the un-run Upper Falls we headed down river shortly reaching Lower Falls. Myself and Scott Ewen contemplated the line for a significant amount of time noting it's large irregular roller leading into a intimidating frowning. We deciding to leave the drop for another day. Not long after, the river narrowed as it spilled through "Sewer Pipe". Ignoring the beta of my creeking buddies from the day previous, we ploughed through several big holes to arrive at the river left eddy. Scouting the drop it was clear that it was very safe: big pool behind it, obvious line, and a sure-to-flush drop. Yet to get to the correct line from the current eddy one had to attempt a heinous ferry through two big holes. Due to the friendliness of the drop I was determined to run it...ferry aside. I walked up as far I could before setting off. Hitting the first major hole I mistakenly placed a stoke past it on the right sending my boat back towards the left. In an attempt to correct I was overturned. I made two unsuccessful roll attempts before knowing that I was going over the drop upside down and tucked hard. I was violently sent through, the paddle being ripped from one hand. Having been underwater for two roll attempts then the drop itself, I didn't feel I had enough air to get my hand back on the paddle and get into my set up...so I took a little swim. Being that I was in a huge calm pool... my swim was of little concern as I found a shallow spot and dumped the water from my boat.
From that point we were home free and dropped through one last class III drop before reaching the beautiful shores of Lake Superior. We beached are boats happily and exhausted. After a much needed refueling stop a Sven and Ole's, I determined that an attempt at Illgen falls on this day was not possible as tired as I was. I drove home in the dusk content with the day and my paddling.
I started my Saturday with anticipation of the adventures ahead. In the late morning, I caught a ride up to the infamous Devils Track River. Ten paddlers drove up for the chance to run the gorgeous and challenging Devil's Track.
I had heard only fabled stories of the Devils Track river: must make eddies, unscoutable class IV, tight class V drops inside the river's ominous red canyon walls. Others urgently warned me it was amongst the most difficult rivers on the Northern shore of Lake Superior. As we drove north I was encouraged by the experience of the paddlers I was accompanied by and delved deep for my own self-confidence. We drove up to the put in and I put my gear on in silent nervousness squeezed into my boat and slid into the river with my five companions for the day.
The river started with deceptive class II building into solid class III as the river slowly fell into its canyon and S-turning around sharp bends. We quickly eddied out above a nearing horizon line. Ahead lay "triple drop". Here the river plunged deep into the canyon first with a 20 ft steep slide drop into a boiling hanging pool then dropping another 20 ft into a small pool then sliding through a narrow slot and plunging 30 ft over "the Admiral"... the poster-child of gnar! Being my first time on the river and not feeling warmed up nor as confident as was needed, I decided to take the heinous portage around the drops. After running safety for the others, three of us made the must-make ferry to the other shore and hiking up the steep banks then descending a rugged and steep gully. Dripping with sweat I finished the portage and promptly jumped into the river's cold water to relieve some heat. We continued downriver down continuous class III and through unscoutable class IV with the direction of my experienced companions.
We eddied out just above "Portage Up The Middle" which consisted of a double-holed drop the second of which had some significant holding power. I set up safety from a narrow perch on the left and watch as everyone attempted the drop with varying degrees of success and a growing nervousness. I jumped in my boat with my line through the drop in mind and a plan to paddle the shit out of it....making sure to have a crap ton of momentum to blast through the holes. My strategy proved successful as I left drop behind me with little incident (stay tuned for video). We paddled a short ways before portaging over Pitchfork falls and returning to the river.
Back in our boats it was indicated the next drop was "1.5 miles ahead" which we later learned was a ploy to keep us from fretting over the unscoutable drops ahead. Being third in line I watched as Joel ahead of me disappeared over a significant horizon line. My eyes were likely open wide as a barreled down the 15 ft steep slide/drop which immediately steeply rushed down fast slide through two bends of the river before the entire river slammed against it's canyon wall and deflect off into a shallow slide into a pool. Ahead of me I could see the bottom of Joel's boat and knew this was a significant drop to be contended with. Unfortunately in my fixation on the water piling into the wall, I succumbed to the same fate and was flipped. As I tucked hard while submerged and promptly felt two hits to my helmet and thought to myself... "Oh, shit...this is going hurt!". There was a break in the shallowness and I instinctively made my roll attempt. I flipped upright with surprising ease (and relief) to find myself right on the giant pile of water next to the canyon wall and continued down the slide wide-eye and with a tight grip on my paddle.
The river wound down with some last breaths of class II and III before flowing into Lake Superior. A huge smile broke on my face as we paddled through the ripples of Lake Superior carrying a satisfying sense of accomplishment. As tradition would entail, we got off river and told the story of our run to the other group of paddlers that had waited for us and preceded us in their run down down the Devils Track.
The run down the Devils Track was a definite milestone in my paddling that will be remembered. We drove home, myself talkatively exhausted still running through the whole river in my head, still living in the exhilaration I had just experienced!
I woke and went to class on Thursday hoping to paddle later in the afternoon. A few phone calls later it was clear I was going to be disappointed. To remedy the situation, myself and a friend decided to go climb at Palisade Head. An hour later, we pulled up to the vast expanse of Lake Superior as is so beautifully seen from Palisade Head. We first went to fire up the route "Danger High Voltage". I never do the first pitch of it because of beta I had received before. Against my advice, my friend was quite interested in leading the first pitch. Upon getting down to the ground it was clear we had no gear to protect the big off-width crack that lay overhead. He did the grunt work of prussik-ing up the rap line and I had the joy of climbing an alternate route of some decent 5.10 chossy face climbing... I had fun with it! I was going to lead the second pitch, however our rap line wouldn't budge when we tried to pull it. Again my selfless friend ascended and I climbed some nice 5.8. We then set up "Blue Bells" a nice little 5.9- that went well for the both of us. I finished out the day by cleanly climbing a beautiful and technically challenging hand crack entitled "Phantom Crack". We drove home as dusk was falling and I was feeling tired and satisfied with my day.
The Louie under the Hwy 210 bridge
When the sun rose on Friday I rolled out of bed tired and sore with no expectation of adventure in my day. After surviving a 7 hour day of med school classes my intention was to go home and go to bed. However the phone rang my creeking buddy Andy called to invite me to a run on the Lower St. Louis. Putting fatigue aside I drove quickly to Carlton to the river while pounding an sugar infested energy drink. The river was flowing high at 7000 cfs... easily the highest I have run the lower Louis at. Under the Hwy 210 bridge and through the mini-gorge was a hugely boiling chain of successive 3-4 ft wave trains followed by big glassy and more waves. We portaged our way around the "Second Sister" and "Octopus" because at this level they formed deadly terminal hydraulics that necessitated complete avoidance. After getting back on the water we weaved our way through the bone yard with much class II and some class III paddling. Coming up on the swinging bridge we swung around the island to river right. There we scouted the 8-10 ft drop that concluded a converging and heavily boiling pool. We scouted on the rocks that brought back the memories of the past when I used to climb them as a kindergartner and admire the waterfall while under close supervision of Mom (I grew up in the area). As took to lead in to the drop I managed to get turned around but successfully straighten out. I missed my boof and came off the lip more river left than is ideal. Landing in the soft pillow-like boil, I fortunately didn't go too deep. I braced out of the flushy water and had no need to roll. It was a great drop.. We got off the river and sat around as most paddlers often do... spent an hour telling paddling stories and shooting the breeze. As the day came to an end I was invited to do the Devils Track river the next day, in which I accepted with some encouragement. It was a killer afternoon of paddling with a great crew of paddlers!
Myself surfing Sturgeon Falls! (courtesy of Nora Whitmore)
