Autumn: The Traveler

As autumn was slowly losing its grasp, the cold winds made their presence known in the north country. I packed up my automotive for the journey ahead. My intentions were pointed west as I mounted the open road. It was time for me to explore my future education as doctor and I was out to tour residency programs. My first destination was that of Billings, MT where I was to spend four weeks getting to know the residency.

 

Snowfields looking up to Red Lodge

I arrived at the house owned by the local medical school (for med students to stay in while on rotation) and stepping out of my car to see my new roommates carrying a climbing rope and I smiled knowing I was amongst good company. I was not mistaken. Over the four weeks, I came to make numerous and deep friendships. The town of Billings opened her arms to me and I found myself going to open mics weekly, climbing in town sandstone bluffs, and (when the snow fell) skiing amongst some early season powder. In a short month, I had found a community to call my own. I felt at home and I felt fortunate to have come to know the place. I left Billings in the cover of darkness saying my goodbyes and drove away. The time in Billings had felt too short and could not shake the feeling there was more waiting for me there. 


I drove 13 hours home to Duluth through night and arrived with a slight tremor of caffeine and lack of sleep. I slept for 10 hours after arriving home and left at four the next morning to catch a flight to my next destination. By morning, I found myself in the airport waiting for my flight to Burlington, VT. I was soon to become a regular of the airport traveling culture, which demands an almost zen-like patience to flow with the ever changing and frustrating environment. I arrived in Burlington, picked up my rental car, and went to the hotel to crash. After some needed rest, I went about familiarizing myself with the environment. My first stop in any town is the climbing gym and the local gear shop… always a good place to get a feel for the outdoor adventure community. Burlington was a charming town that felt full of life and with a wholesome culture about it. As the traveler, I slowly became accustomed to coffee shops and dinners alone, and the short-lived conversations with strangers were medicine for the moments of loneliness. People watching became a normal pastime. After a daylong interview with the VT residency, I quickly bought a couple New England maps and took to road again. 

 Look onto the Atlantic in Acadia

I was expected to be in Bangor, ME to interview the next morning. The road sped through quaint New England towns nestled in the crooks of the Appalachian Mountains. The snow fell thick in the night as I sped through New Hampshire speeding for the shores of the Atlantic. I arrived in the cover of night and again settled into my sterile hotel room. I spent the next day in interviews and cruising about Bangor exploring the tidal flows of the Penobscot River and filling my belly with fresh clam chowder. The next day I had to myself to explore for the day and drive back to Burlington for my next flight. I drove 45 minute over to Acadia National Park to see what beauty it might hold. 

 Looking out at the immensity of the Atlantic in Acadia NP

 

I arrive in Bar Harbor anxious to see the ocean. I was surprise to find that much of the oceans immensity was blocked by beautiful rocky islands that litter the coastline. I took the time to hike onto a rocky overlook to finally see the horizon of the ocean before me. I drove back to Burlington only to find warnings of a massive snowstorm to clobber the Midwest…. I knew I would not be going home for the weekend. Having friends of friends offer me the generosity and kindness of their abode, I elected to stay in Burlington for the weekend rather being forced to spent it stuck in the airport in Detroit. Having the entire weekend in Burlington, I boots found a local tele-demo and skied the over-price slopes known as Stowe. I enjoyed my day on teleskis and dodging the east coast harem of skiers as the runs were choked with the multitudes. The following day I slept late and went to the local climbing gym for a quick workout and had meals at Burlington’s finest.

Enjoying tele-demos

 

The culture of the East coast was new to me; much of Burlington spent its time being the anti-metropolitan. On many occasions it felt as if wore a veil of granola attempting to hide the culture and attitude from its nearby neighbors of New York and Massachusetts. And yet there was an acceptance and tolerance to all was Burlington's true charm... the inviting sense of home that was extended to all. However, amongst my travels I grew an aversion to New Yorkers. They are the antithesis of all that known as “Minnesota Nice”, and have an air of demanding entitlement that rubs a simplistic and conscientious northern Minnesotan in the wrong way. 

The next morning I was back in the air for a brutal flying day with three transfers. By the time I had arrived in Grand Junction, CO for my next interview I was spent, tired, and ornery... flying had finally gotten the best of me. My bag was lost, my cell phone had busted, and I was in debt for sleep. After finishing interviews and getting to see the sights in Grand Junction, I got a phone call from a friend back in Billings inviting me to go to Big Sky for some skiing. I was more than excited about the opportunity and changed flights.

Arriving back in Billings I reconnected with friends and felt at home. We drove out to Big Sky and skied three wonderful days with good conditions to be had. I managed to take a few spectacular falls at high speed and bushed up on my tele technique. And by the end of the three days my legs were so sore I could scarcely walk straight... but I was smiling. I flew home finally after all my adventures and spent the week in Duluth, only to again find myself with a car packed to the brim as I move down to the cities for a month long medical rotation.

 The majesty that is Big Sky

It was a long couple of months on the road and in the air. I had my eyes opened to the possibilities in places afar from my home of Duluth. For the first time in a long time, I felt unsure of where I was supposed to be. It marks a transition in my future to come and I look to it as both exciting and consuming.

Northwoods Whitewater's Last Gasp: Part Three

 

The clouds had parted from the sky and the sun let it's presence known. I had taken a day away from the running waters and was keenly aware my loss. My paddling buddies were all putting on the Cascade River meanwhile was far from any flowing water. When I arrived back to my northern home, the creeking up the North Shore had all but waned. However my old friend the St. Louis River was running above 2000 cfs and provided for some boating. I arranged to meet Decker and Cliff at the put in. Upon arriving I noted a creek boat on an unfamiliar vehicle and searched for the owner.

While writing a invitation to paddle to place on the windshield a fellow emerged from a nearby trail and approached. He introduced himself as Kyle and I was familiar from the local forum that he was new to the area and looking for boaters to paddle with. Extending some Midwestern generosity, I invited him to join us.

So the four of us put on for a fun ride amongst the big water character of the St. Louis. Showing another personality of the St. Louis we rode blasting along, bypassing the "Second Sister" and the "Octopus" given that amongst the high water they had become brutally harsh. Kyle meanwhile seemed to be having a good time, having a high quality level for his first run. But I was looking forward to running a small falls near the swinging bridge that is runnable at high water.This falls is precious to me because of my childhood memories of it. I can recall the days when my mother would bring me to Jay Cooke in the morning light before afternoon kindergarden. There I scurried about climbing the rocks near this falls and viewing it's cascade while my mother warned me of the river's hazards.

More than two decades later, I had managed to ignore her warnings as we eagerly approached the horizon line. While foreign tourist on shore nearby gawked, Cliff gleefully took flight first, followed closely by Decker. Kyle went next with little hesitation while I played photographer from a nearby perch. I came awkwardly into my short passage into the vertical world. I emerged from plugging the falls slightly disappointed. I paddle ahead of the crew and quickly eddied out. I shouldered my boat and hiked up for another run... I new I could do better and was striving for a clean run. Companions ashore as I again took flight and had a better run.

Untitled from kyle crocodile on Vimeo.


The day was blissful in the simplicity of the satisfaction. We drove upstream grinning and talkative with remnants of adrenaline still fueling our enthusiasm!

Northwoods Whitewater's Last Gasp - Part Two

 Anthony runs "Portage Up The Middle"

My eyes opened from sleep and relief came to me... it was over and freedom was mine. My licensure exam was now in the past and the bag of my paddling gear sat outside my bedroom door ready and awaiting me. I leapt out of bed and scurried about the house excitedly preparing to embark upon the Northern Shore of Lake Superior.

We congregated in Two Harbors catching a hearty breakfast to fuel the day ahead. A lineup of four cars laden with creek boats sped northward. We stopped along the way checking levels and debated the best course of action as the Cascade was a perfect level. However stopping at the Devils Track river there was more confusion as to ascertain the river levels. The once known gauges had been blow out by floods two years previous and correlations were unknown. We huddled up... "Cascade or Devils Track?"... The majority held wit the Devils Track as there was apprehension from the majority about the Devil's Track especially of those who had not run either of the Northwoods most technical and classic runs. Among myself, Japs, and John H. being the only paddler's with experience with the D-Track, we had some concerns amongst ourselves about the committed nature of the D-Track. There was portages that MUST be made or suffer dire consequences and blind slides that could hold a perilous log. But we agreed and we quickly made shuttle.

We split into two groups: Japs leading Anthony and Andy S. Meanwhile Myself and John H. led Scott W. and Brian behind. Setting off amongst the mellow beginnings of the DT it became more than clear this was going to be a low water run. We bumped our way down and in the leading the way I was surprised at how quickly we arrived at triple drop. Triple drop cascades first over a 20 ft sliding falls into a narrow pool before dropping over a larger 35 ft sliding falls into a small margin-ed pool. From the the river passes through the gates of hell and explodes over a 40 ft double tiered burly falls known as "The Admiral" and has only been descended twice. Complicating the picture was a log wedged between the base of the first falls and the opposing wall lining the narrow pool just barely left of the landing zone (this one is new and not the one that has been there for years). Four of the seven decided to run the top two drops of triple drop. Japs went first styling the first drops and set safety in the last pool. John went next and styled the first drop and emerging unscathed set up safety in the first pool. Andy S. went next and plunging into the first drop emerged from the depths and was pushed against the left-hand log. He fought as the boiling currents made an uphill battle away from the pressing log and paddled out of it's grasp. While Andy S. styled the second drop, I  took once last glance at the line then slid into my boat and peeled into the oncoming current. I fought hard for the right-hand shore through a moguls of water and  saw the horizon line before me. Entering the purity of the vertical world, I fought for a late boof stroke to keep me from the depths of plugging. I was only mildly successful and was dismayed to find myself greeted by the left hand log. I grasped the log with my left hand keeping my boats edges vigilant. After two attempts I found myself still being push back against the log. I finally paddled frantically back towards the base of  falls and was relieved to have the boiling currents release me and let me enter into the calm eddy before the second falls. I was breathing hard from the exertion and took a moment to catch my breadth and collect my focus. With John onlooking, I turned and sped for the lip of the second falls and fought again for the right most line. I plunged over its sliding explosion of water and bounced violently mid way down the water's roaring descent and slammed into the pool below. I emerging triumphantly from my first baptism by triple drop as Japs and Andy quickly grabbed a hold and steadied my boat in the tight lower eddy I exited my boat to the shore with an unrelenting smile. John styled the drop behind me and the four of us portaged with enthusiastic chatter meanwhile admiring "The Admiral" and the mist hanging about it's majesty. Sliding down the scree slopes the river below greeted by our fellow companions who finished their rugged portage. We lined the misty and ice encrusted shoreline and mounted our boats for the adventure ahead.
Continuing downstream I took the lead of the second crew for a short while. The tight cliff walls alerted us to the nearness of our next challenge, Serpent's Slide and Boulder Falls in direct sequence. Japs and the group ahead scouted serpent slide for the deadly possible of logs. Being that I ended up in sweep, by the time I arrived those on shore gave me the thumbs up. I turned collected my focus and will as the water accelerated at break-neck speed toward the oncoming wall. On a rocket ship ride the water and I collided and banked off oncoming wall like a hellish water slide then commenced  into another entry slide. I paddled for the left line and plunged down the sliding Boulder Falls busting through the hole lining its base into a broad eddy. I turned and watched each of the crew as the came rocketing down each emerging with wide eyes and priceless grins.

The river ahead mellowed and we bumped along the scenic boogy water admiring the majesty of Devil's Track Canyon. We each sped through two more drops of significance before reaching the horizon line of "Portage Up The Middle". Portage Up the Middle is a double tiered ledge hole having a tight and specific line and given it's sticky hole is deserving of a safety on shore. It is aptly named, because portaging the drop is made nearly impossible by the bordering sloped walls . Having been in sweep I was the last to reach the shore and as I exited my boat I was informed of this situation ahead. I was told of a large log that was wedged in a diagonal to the current perfectly embedded in the necessary right hand line.

The scene at "Portage Up the Middle"... notice the log

As a group we converged to discuss our plan... we originally thought to seal launch from a tight left hand perch. I was elected to go first and only after almost sliding down the steep bank into the river I handed my boat off to John. But the small perch was found to be too unsteady to even mount me boat. So myself and Japs lowered ourselves into the tight pool between tiers and found a slight underwater ledge for a footing. Japs and Holton steadied my boat as I quickly ratcheted in and slid over the final ledge to the waters beyond the drop. Looking upstream I watched as each of the party forded past Portage Up the Middle.
 

 

Brian puts on and runs "Portage Up The Middle"

Alas John was all that was left and had no one to aid him into the tight pool. I quickly  scaled the mossy left cliff wall above the drop. I waded out into the river feet from the lip of the drop and as John paddle up the right hand shore I grabbed a hold of his boat kept him in the eddy as he exited his boat. We lowered his boat over the right hand cliff wall to the arms of Japs and each clamored down the slick and mossy left hand slopes.

The sun was broaching the edge of the horizon as we finally pushed from shores below Portage Up The Middle. We had already had a quick meeting about the peril ahead. The river below was known to enter a canyon that terminated in Pitchfork falls, which of 40 ft in height terminated on a pile of rocks... certain to mame or take the life of any who plunged over it. More importantly there is only a single eddy and place to climb out of the canyon, afterward you are certain to be hopelessly propelled over the falls. At issue was tha fact that none of us that had run the river before remember the exact location of the eddy and path out of the canyon. We would take it slow and eddy as often as possible.

We entered the canyon and nerves ran high. John and Japs took the lead. After a few anxious and blind bends in the river I was relieved to see them on shore beckoning the group to an small eddy ready to pluck our boats. When we each had reached the shore, looking up the slope to the canyon rim that battle was not over yet. The lactic acid coursed through my burning legs and breath heaved as I shoulder my boat while scaling the slippery slope. Reaching the top I chucked my boat the ground breathlessly unable to vocalize my relief to have sumitted the canyon rim. But as the crew reassembled at the rim panting, we were aware of the ominous creeping of darkness to the land as the sun had now fallen below the horizon. We urgenly hiked along the canyon top and threw our boats down a wooded gully towards the river below. Emerging from the harrowingly slick gully we came again to the river's bank.

Being the last to the river edge half the crew had already pushed in the river and paddled frantically downstream fighting the dwindling light and the oncoming darkness. Being familiar with the river ahead, I took the lead of the second group. It was only a few river bends before we came to a large and familiar horizon line. Ahead lay some of the best Class V the North shore has to offer. Below the horizon line was a ~25-30 ft sliding falls entitled "Ski Jump" which then subsequently plummeted into a hefty slide of 30-40 yards in length that violent banked around a 90 degree corner pummeling the rising canyon wall and terminate in another long slide, hence it is named "Up Against The Wall".

I turned to my companions and yelled "this is it!!!" and turned my focus back to the horizon line. The scene opened before me. The world  white of the leaping waters stood out  as the shores melted down a large slide of perhaps 20 feet in height. Rocketing downward the waters danced of the rocks leaping into the air. The slide directly took a bend to the right and plummeted over another slide. I knew it was coming... the slide smashed directly into the oncoming wall  and made a direct 90 degree turn in what results in a monsterous wall of water (entitled "Up Against the Wall"). I confirmed my line sped for the wall came high on it and braced. I no sooner found myself gleefully bouncing down the last and more mellow slides. Thus ended one of the most intense sections of whitewater the North Shore has to offer. In what turned to complete darkness the crew of paddlers drifted to in to the cold water of Lake Superior as the inland ocean congratulated us for the run with host of large waves. We surfed our boats back to shore, with quiet contentment and grins.

Northwoods Whitewater's Last Gasp - Part One

I hadn't left my basement lair for more than a few hours in a day and from the sparse light that peaked through the windows told me the presence of day or night. I was consumed by the thralls of studying for medical licensure exam, an endeavor I disdained more than any.Though I tried become oblivious to the sunshine or otherwise, yet I couldn't help but notice that the clouds where darkening. The local news and local paddling blog pointed alert me to the coming of storm to the Northland.  The weather service told of system unlike any seen in recent history and the paddlers where buzzing like  swarm of wasps in anxiousness.

The skies wrath came like a thief in the night and while I slumbered I heard the rain knocking on the windows of my dreams. I woke to an angry wind pressing and newspapers headlining reports of 5 inches of snow in the heights of Duluth. Steadfast I declared to myself I would and could not go paddling as my exam was but two days into the future. But with each text message of another paddler asking if I could paddle my will was being eroded. By the afternoon word came that Lester River was running high and I could no longer say no. I rushed to the river and met with a sizable crew including Anthony, Andy S, Scott, Brian, and T2.

Gearing up it was clear the levels where high but not of an uncanny nature and I had paddled it higher. We put on as temps dipped into the low 30s. Out of the gates I felt confident and boofed into the right hand line of Limbo Falls tangling with the multi-tiered hole laden goodness emerging unscathed with a smile. The entire run went equally smooth as my old friend the Lester river didn't fail to please. We inevitably arrived at Almost Always and getting out the boat for a quick peak I knew I would run it. T2 with his abundance of gusto fired it up first with success. Myself and Andy S. saddled up and fired it off. I watch Andy S. blue boat be lost to the horizon.

 Looking back at Almost Always after running it

I lined up focusing on the narrow line conscious my speed and position. I made the right hand slow moving tangled water pouring the lip of  drop. Eyes wide I armed my left boof stroke and viewing the vertical let the stroke loose as my boat left the water for the air. In the world of vertical I landed atop the opposing tongue of water mid way down the drop. Conscious instinct took hold as the world went in a split second from vertical and horizontal in gnashing of explosion of white washing water. Amidst it I stayed strong and emerged to the scene shocked that I had no need for a roll! I was elated and my confidence bolstered for the day ahead. I left the river begrudgingly and only because the darkness had begun to descend. I went home with a fulfillment enough to continue my studies. I thanked the river for the gift of the humanity it had returned to me and strength to carry on with the studies ahead of me.

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

Fall Creeking The Upper Pennisula of MI

 Japs on our second lap of Slate Falls

The cold winds had migrated from the North and settle about the Northern shore of Lake Superior. My thoughts had not strayed to paddling as the water levels seemed inevitably low and had begun to think I should prepare for the winter ahead. But the paddling community eagerly caught wind of the possibility of flood watch for much of Minnesota and Wisconsin. As I woke in the morning to rain falling the windows and found a steady drizzle falling from the grey hued sky. But throughout the day, staring through the hospital windows at work, no heavy rains seemed to come. It would not be enough to rekindle paddling on the North Shore. However thing appeared to be different in Wisconsin and the U.P. of Michigan.

On a whim I found myself driving in the darkness after a unexpected invitation to paddle the L'Anse area of Michigan, hearing that the level had become more than favorable. The drive through the darkness went quickly as I pulled into the "Hilltop" Motel and found my friend Justin. I slept soundly and awoke to the familiar grey, cold, and soggy paddling weather. We snatched breakfast at the local greasy spoon and met up with a couple other paddlers who knew the area better.

 

Myself and Japs eye-ing Slate Falls before suiting up

We drove out to the Slate River and hiked up to scout the final drop on the river. There before us stood a 20-25 ft drop of boney and narrow proportions but safe of all wood. We checked the river level using the old method of a tape measure and measuring the distance from the river to the top of a crossing bridge. It was deemed that the levels were of medium character and we set up shuttle. Having geared up and put onto the river it became quickly obvious that the river levels were fairly boney. I put aside the thought and figured the small creek just needed to constrict a little and conditions would improve. But as we reached the first major drop I was aware that this was going to be a boat abusive run.

 

Myself on the first drop of the Slate River
 

The first falls, flowed over a manky ledge dropping off a 4 ft shoulder onto a long slide. We all fired it off hearing our boats scrape loudly. The river then mellowed and the boon-doggle ensued. The river meandered and forked amongst flat marsh land and was choked river wide log jams. We creatively found our way above, below, and around them. However, by the time the 5th or 6th log jam showed up in the river ahead and my boat yet again scraped along the gravel bottom, I was about to lose my patience and was seriously considering walking out and calling it quits.

Japs amongst one of many slides on the Slate

But the river began its gaining gradient as cliff wall began to line the banks. The river dropped over several large sets of stair case ledge drops and pour over a 30 yard long constricted slide. While the action was fun, I still could help but wince at the plastic my boat was losing. Finally the ahead we could see a distinct horizon line of Slate Falls the final and most burly the Slate has to offer.

 The Horizon Line Above Slate Falls

We had already walked up and scouted it for wood previous to putting on the river. Slate Falls is a 20 ft drop that pours awkwardly jutted slate slabs that diagonal the river’s flow, and in large part looks to be of grave risk for pitoning. However on river right the Falls flows through a narrow gap, hitting a small ledge of rock on the way down, and terminates in the pool below.

We all fired into it without hesitation. I lined up for the river right slot and rocketed into verticality. I braced on the descent and felt myself auto-boofed from small ledge in the falls. I felt my boat sailing into a mild side-boof as I impacted the water. I braced up with little need to roll. Myself and Japs finding the drop to be the only redeeming quality of the Slate River at this point decided to run it again. I rocket down again and found a way to miss the awkward boof ledge and mildly plugged into the pool meanwhile emerging upright. We continued onward finding our shuttle vehicle near the river and left the Slate River behind us.

 

Looking back at Slate Falls

 

With fellow paddlers having arrived in the area our phones were ringing. The consensus was to run the Falls River right in L’ Anse. We rendezvous with some Duluth and Milwaukee boaters and scoped out the biggest drop on the river entitle “Power House Falls” in which the run begins with. Power House Falls is a 15 foot drop whose width drops onto mangled rock ledge with the exception of the extreme river left. Unfortunately at the top you have to ferry across the slow moving lip of the falls to achieve the left hand line.

Gearing up we put on as the sun was falling in the sky and the temperature was slowly falling. The first few rapids went quickly and I was surprised to find myself at power house falls already. The paddler ahead of me was eddying out above the falls and I quickly decided that I was feeling confident and blew by the eddy aim for my line. I waited patiently with myself armed for a boof

Myself on Power House Falls of the Falls River

One by one the crew nicely dropped powerhouse and continued down river. The river flowed over multiple sets of bedrock ledges and slide and arrived at multiple drops of varying height (5-8 ft). Arriving at a pour-over named “Ass Hole” we stopped to look. I felt pretty confident and only looked at the drop briefly. The river constricted between two boulders created a jetting pour-over that collided dead center with a rock at its base. I went last and lazily dropped in.

 

Anthony runs "Asshole"

 I didn’t throw much of a stroke and plugged the drop deeply and found myself in a bit of a situation. Completely underwater I maintained my boats balance submarined and upright yet completely submerged. Meanwhile I wondered calmly if I would get plastered on the rock directly ahead of me or stuck in the hole created by the pour-over. Fortunately neither occurred as I was shot out upright into an adjacent eddy. I shrugged and grinned at my fellow paddlers who had looks of concerned as I ferried back into the hole in front of the boulder and into safety.

 Myself running one of the myriad of moderate drops on the Falls River

We continued onward and shot through the final drop through a concrete dam with a narrow chute through it. We paddled into the cold wind that whipped across Lake Superior. Hours later with a belly full of food we drove through the darkness to Ironwood, MI with hopes to run the Presque Isle in the morning. Through the night I I slept soundly awaiting the morning.

Paddlemania and the Summer's Paddling!

Myself running the "Beak" of the "Octopus" on the St. Louis River

It was a season of transition and as the spring turned to summer, so I reluctantly left my quaint cabin in Ely and readied myself for 6 weeks of the urbanite life that awaited me in the twin cities. But as my last gasp of soul nourishment I spent my final weekend at Paddlemania at the St. Louis river.  Each year the paddling community takes the opportunity to celebrate whitewater of the St. Louis river, and revels in camaraderie amongst paddling friends. 
 
Have last paddled in Colorado I felt strong and confident in my paddling skills and was happy to come back to the St. Louis. After 2 laps through Finn Falls and enjoying summer Class V paddling, I dropped into the "Beak" of  "The octopus" and battled for my second successful run of the drop for the year.

  Myself on Finn Falls of the Lower St. Louis River (a rare picture)

As sun rose high into the sky and the day began to wain the whole of paddlers converged to spectate the "Slot Machine" Showcase. The Showcase was an informal friendly challenged in which all brave souls would run the drop "Slot Machine". The drop received it's name, because as the river flows through a tight canyon slot it drops over a 15 ft sliding cascade into a gnarly and hungry hole bounded by tight rock walls on both sides. The nature of the hole is such that anyone who runs the drop is as good as rolling dice or putting nickles into a "Slot Machine" as to whether they will emerge without a beat down.

Surprising, I had avoided the drop for a number of years, but decided today that I would test it. Along the rim and amongst the rock outcroppings spectators choked the vantages of the spectacle ahead. And so one by one each brave paddler test his/her will. With varying results they charged into Slot Machine as I looked on the last paddler in line to go.

 

Myself on "Slot Machine" of the Lower St. Louis

When my time came, I slide into the water and strongly paddled to the lip. Then I began to plunged deep powering strokes as I came to the lip. I fought for the tricky line and attempted a stroke as I plunged down the drop to bring my nose up. Colliding with the wall of white, I sought to keep myself from plugging into the depth and being held in the grasp of the hole. And with a last stroke I emerged triumphantly throwing a triumphant fist pump into the air.

Running "Slot Machine"!

The day turned to night and the evening festivities ensued. Worn by the day filled joyful exertion, I left the night fire surround by new and old friends and snuck into the back of my station wagon to sleep for the night. I fell asleep to the stars and happily let my mind fall to dream.

However my waking life would soon transition. Medical school demanded that I be educated in the Twin Cities. I packed my belongings and said my goodbyes to the people and places that had become my friends. A day later I found myself amongst suburban sprawl struggling to make peace and adapt to the foreign landscape before me. The river felt far away and so did my life in Ely (or Duluth for that matter) and the memory remained alive.