THE D

IRTBAG’S G

UIDE TO

WH

ITEWATER

A GRAND

Misadventure

+ Chetco Opalescent Columbia River Gorge

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Paddler: Sam GraftonLocation: Canyon Creek (Stilliguamish), WA Eric Adsit Photo

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Left: South Africa Lifestyling. Scott Martin Photo Above: Joe Potoczak drops into Zwicks on the Green River Narrows, NC

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Paddler: Shaun Riedinger Location: Chetco River, OR Brian Vogt Photo

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Paddler: Harrison Rea Location: Grand Canyon, AZEric Adsit Photo

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Clockwise from left:Cliff Mailloux drops the Virginia Spout, Great Falls of the Potomac. Regina Nicolardi Photo Joe Potoczak, Dave Meister, and Greg Ceilosczyk take a closer look at Rock Run, PA. Regina Nicolardi Photo Sam Grafton in the midst of classic pacific northwest gorgeousness, Canyon Creek, WA. Eric Adsit Photo.

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Clockwise from left:Cliff Mailloux drops the Virginia Spout, Great Falls of the Potomac. Regina Nicolardi Photo Joe Potoczak, Dave Meister, and Greg Ceilosczyk take a closer look at Rock Run, PA. Regina Nicolardi Photo Sam Grafton in the midst of classic pacific northwest gorgeousness, Canyon Creek, WA. Eric Adsit Photo.

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Paddler: Harrison Rea Location: Grand Canyon, AZ Eric Adsit Photo

Katie Chapman & Sam Grafton dive in on Canyon Creek Stilli, WA. Eric Adsit Photo.

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Somewhere in the Grand Canyon. Nick Gottlieb Photo

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Paddler: Scott Martin Location: Grand Canyon, AZEric Adsit Photo

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Paddlers: Robert Murphy & Joe Potoczak Regina Nicolardi Photo

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Paddlers: Matt King & Dan RubadoLocation: Little White Salmon, WAEric Adsit Photo

Paddler: Sam GraftonLocation: Canyon Creek, WAEric Adsit Photo

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Editorin

ChiefEric Adsit

C o v e r Photo

Nick Gottlieb

WordsJeremy CassRyan Scott

Scott MartinNick Gottlieb

Brian Vogt

PhotosRegina Nicolardi

Scott MartinKeel Brightman

Nick GottliebBrian Vogt

With additional design work by Eric Warner

and Katie Lei

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contributors

Eric Adsit Photo

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Sometimes getting to the river is hard. Cars breakdown, snow covers the road, or maybe there is no road to begin with. I’ve taken my shuttle for granted since I was a kid. My dad would devote full days to shuttling me around, occasionally dropping down to river level to cast a fishing lure or wave as we passed. I’ve grown out of that, although I’m still stoked any time I see my pops along the river, but I never grew out of expecting a reliable shuttle.

On my return from a 16 day trip through the Grand Canyon, my 1986 Mazda pickup suffered a series of casualties that ought to have taught me a lesson. We got siphoned out in Las Vegas for three days with a burnt out starter, only to have the transmission blow out in eastern Oregon just a few days later.

As submissions rolled in for this issue, I began a cross-country roadtrip, and nearly ended it 16 hours and 400 miles later with a blown head gasket. I suppose without that four night and five day pit stop at the ever so classy Motel 6 this issue would be even later than it is now, but it was no less frustrating at the time.

But malfunctioning vehicles make up only one small niche in the problems shut-tles can provoke. Wildfires like those described by Brian Vogt can destroy ac-cess to already challenging environments. In some cases, there’s no road at all, so you spend half the day post-holing your way to the put-in, and the sec-ond half wondering why there’s so much water in the river when there’s still so much frozen at your feet, like Nick Gottlieb on his trip into the Opalescent in NY.

The point is, quite often things don’t go as planned. All we can do is take a deep breath, hope we did everything we could to prepare, and ride it out. Welcome to Issue 9.

Eric AdsitDirtbag-In-Chief

19Regina Nicolardi Photo

20Contents

Eric Adsit Photo

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Chetco:The Gem of The Kalmiopsis

Opalescent

A Grand MisadventureBehind The Shutter

From The Gorge

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Chetco: The Gem of the Kalmiopsis

By Brian Vogt

The Kalmiopsis. The Siskiyous. The Klamath Knot. This region of southwest Oregon and northwest Cali-fornia is some of the most rugged, mountainous terrain in the west. It is also home to superb wild rivers. Many of the runs are staples: the various forks of the Smith, the Klamath, the Trinity drainage, and of course the Il-linois and Rogue. But the region is also home to some tremendous lesser-known small rivers and creeks, of-ten with challenging access or narrow flow windows.

The finest of these is the Chetco. Rising entirely within the Kalmiopsis Wilderness, the Chetco is the only river to rise in these mountains and drain to the sea. Its watershed is a lush forest, the last remnant of the ancient ancestral tem-perate forest that once covered North America. Carnivo-rous Darlingtonia Californica is often seen, and there are even aquatic carnivorous plants in the high lakes as well. Newts and snakes abound, and the fishing is plentiful too. Whitewater? Well, in 20 miles of canyon there’s a 100fpm section with non-stop pool-drop IV-V rapids, and the rest of the run is loaded with quality III and IV drops, beaches, waterfalls, grottoes, and more. Of course, if it were easy to get to, a run like this would be overwhelmed. Luckily, it’s self-regulated by virtue of its remoteness – and the 2002 Biscuit Fire that torched nearly 500,000 acres in the Sis-kiyous and all of the access trails (but little of the canyon).

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One can hike the 4wd road up to Chetco Pass, and then make a 4-mile descent down Slide Creek. Or one can approach via Baby-foot Lake trail for a flatter, more maintained 9-mile ap-proach. The longer walk is on a better trail, and tra-verses a barren wind-swept ridge of serpentine soils.

Here, ultramafic rock from deep in the earth has been exposed on the ridge top with its startling hues laid bare by the stunted plant life its limited nutrients can sup-ply. Upon reaching the river, after descending 2,000 feet through a blooming carpet of Azalea, the work is over and an immersive scenic won-der is about to engulf you.

Some folks have managed to gain access to the river early in the season, in April or early May, to catch big water class V flows in the thousands of cfs. We like to linger for a week hiking and swimming in good weather, so we look for 500 cfs on the Brook-ings gauge as a minimum and go when the weather is nice and the trail snow-free.

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“Luckily, it’s self-regulated by virtue of its remoteness. The 2002 Biscuit Fire torched nearly 500,000 acres in the Siskiyous and all of the access trails.”

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“the river consolidates, the fire scars recede, the walls grow steeper and ever-clos-er together, and the rapids… well, they just keep coming. “

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The run is tiny and shallow above Slide Creek, carving through the Magic Gorge, a serpentine and peridotite canyon of lush pools and wa-terfalls. Once Slide Creek enters, the river consoli-dates, the fire scars recede, the walls grow steeper and ever-closer together, and the rapids… well, they just keep coming. Boulder slalom af-ter blind corner after steep ledge, it’s as continuous as pool-drop can get. Gradual-ly the ancient forest comes to dominate the canyon walls, and the IV-V eases to III-IV. A lower gorge with two class V rapids offers a spicy option for those left wanting a little more. There is good camp-ing near Slide Creek, and plentiful camping below Tin-cup Creek. Bearfoot Brad will run your shuttle with a smile (and it’s a doozy!).

As with the Illinois, be cau-tious of rain as flows can spike through the roof in no time. It might not be the Middle Kings, but she’s a jewel of a wilderness IV expedition, comparing favorably to runs like the Illinois, SF Salm-on or Jarbidge-Bruneau.

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WATERFAL

PARADISE

Words by Ryan ScottPhotos by Keel Brightman

Ryan Scott on his latest gorge discovery,

Cable Choke Falls, OR

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On May 2004 I waited below Metlako Falls on Eagle Creek in Oregon. I wasn’t there simply hik-ing around; I was there waiting for a signal. With a walkie-talkie in one hand and a video camera in the other I patiently, but nervously waited. A hun-dred feet above me David Grove was leaning for-ward in his kayak preparing for his descent over this majestic falls.

At that point whitewater kayaking was in midst of a paradigm shift. Creekin’ had become more of a focus than playboating and creekin’ lead to steeper and more challenging creeks and falls. The Priest-ley Brothers opened local paddlers eyes to the potential in the area and by the time Metlako be-came runnable, paddlers in the Pacific Northwest were on the verge of proving once and for all that we were in one of the best locations for large run-nable waterfalls. If you look at a detailed map of Washington and Oregon, waterfalls dot the page by the thousands. We are surrounded by falling water and beautiful pristine creeks.

It took a couple years for someone else to put their boat in above Metlako, but once Trip Jennings took the plunge in 2006, paddlers were poised to start honing in their skills on this waterfall. Metla-ko turned out to be one of the easiest waterfalls in the 80+ foot range to line up and freefall into a soft landing zone. Even at then world record heights, Metlako turned into a training ground for big wa-terfall paddlers as many hiked up the Eagle Creek trail over the years to test and improve their skills. But while many were focused on one, a few were focused on others.

One waterfall of particular interest was Outlet Falls near Glenwood, WA. Standing around 70 feet tall, nearly every local paddler interested in running big waterfalls had seen it. The problem was that no one had seen it with enough water to make it runnable. Years went by, checking it ev-ery now and then until the call came on January 9, 2009; Outlet Falls is IN! To no surprise, when we pulled into the small dirt pulloff overlooking Out-

let, we were greeted by nearly every local paddler with interest in this falls. Paddlers who had been looking at it for years and were not just hungry for it, it had been dreamed about for so long they were starving. Erik Boomer was already dressed and had given it a final look. His enthusiasm that day was inspiring. Before the day was over Boomer, followed by Ben Stookesberry, followed by LJ Groth descended Outlet for the first time. Those that did not run it vowed to return soon. The following day Luke Spencer and Cody How-ard made descents on the falls as well. At present day, just like Metlako, it has become a favorite vis-ited by the top paddlers in the sport.

After that paddlers began to wonder what’s next? Is there anything left that has not been run? Most people thought that all the first descents had been run. Until later that year Summit Creek came across the radar and changed everything we thought about finding new creeks for the modern paddlers. The Wells Brothers had come across the creek and with motivation from Cody How-ard four days in early July opened up two descents on the creek. The upper boasted a 70 foot intimi-dating falls along with many slides and smaller falls that were unique to the area. The lower run contained the infamous Skate Park Falls, which resembled a massive quarter pipe that launched paddlers into the pool 60 feet below. This creek gave inspiration when it was needed. No one had ever heard of it or really thought about a natural kayak feature in the way the Skate Park revealed. It wasn’t just a waterfall on the side of the road; it turned out to be two very unique and challenging runs.

The other runnable falls were being knocked off as well; Chris Korbulic ran Butte Creek Falls in 2009 and then set his sights on Toketee Falls on the North Umpqua River. Arriving alone, he left his camera set on the bank and asked a by stan-dard to snap a couple pictures while he claimed the first descent.

It has been a decade since David Grove descend

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"We are

surrounded

by falling

water and

beautiful

pristine

creeks."

Ryan Scott takes some time to enjoy the view on the Final Falls rappel, Salmon River Canyon, OR

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"We are

surrounded

by falling

water and

beautiful

pristine

creeks."

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It has been a decade since David Grove descended Metlako and it is now a destination in the gorge just as the Little White Salmon and the Green Truss. It has be-come another test piece for top paddlers to practice their skills on and take that to other more technical falls. Tyler Bradt prac-ticed on the large falls in Oregon (Sahalie, Final, Metlako, Bridal Veil, etc..) before shattering the world record by running 189 foot Palouse Falls in Eastern Wash-ington.

Now that the obvious falls with easy access have been run pad-dlers are searching further into the hills where the access is very limited. Weisendanger Falls on Upper Multnomah requires a grueling hike up 1,500 foot in elevation to access and run, but it has been done. The waterfall-lined Upper Canyon on Rock Creek was first explored a cou-ple years ago. Three months later the falls on the East Fork of Herman Creek were explored for the first time. And recently on February of this year another no-table falls on Bridal Veil Creek (Cable Choke Falls) was run for the first time once again proving that we are still in a young age of whitewater kayaking and there is still new whitewater out there and the whitewater guide to Or-egon and Washington continues to grow.

Erik Boomer claims another First Descent. Outlet Falls, WA

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Cody Howard sizes up Metlako Falls, OR

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A Grand Misadventure

Words & Photos by Eric AdsitIllustrations by Katie Lei

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It’s hard to imagine a shuttle from hell starting in Portland. For one thing, it’s one of the most lush, verdant, and damp places you could start an ad-venture from. For another, it’s one of the easiest cities to escape. But as with many things, where you start and where you end matter so little. We were going to The Grand, and nothing was going to stop us, be it lack of sleep, small blad-ders, or those pesky things called speed limits.

We blew by the numerous waterfalls cascading into the Columbia Gorge, resisted the tempta-tion to stop and savor the last bit of rain we’d see for nearly a month, and drove headlong into the light snowfall and plummeting tem-peratures near Salt Lake City. We piled gear and people into spaces they probably weren’t meant to be piled, and found ourselves ring-ing in the new year at Zion National Park.

Awaking hungover and leg weary from a de-manding but heavenly hike to Angel’s Landing, we resigned ourselves to making the final push to Lee’s Ferry. But only after dealing with the squealing horror coming from Harrison’s front left rotor. In an effort to divide and conquer, Scott and I headed towards the river while Harrison and crew dealt with his car troubles. As if in punishment for abandoning our com-patriots, Scott and I faced an 80+ mile detour around a landslide. We arrived at Lee’s Ferry roughly an hour behind the rest of the group, roadweary but pleased to be at the put in.

Over the next 16 days I thought very little about our shuttle, or any form of motorized transpor-tation for that matter, but when I did, it was with a hint of concern. My Mazda B2000, af-fectionately known as Maria, is older than I am, which is only one of the similarities she shares with women I’m generally interested in. An-other is that she frequently provides a relatively comfortable place to sleep at night, but that has little to do with this story. More importantly, I

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we attempted to drown our sorrows in 32 oz mojitos, multiple 6 packs, and pint sized bottles of mid-shelf

liquor...

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was concerned the hired shuttle drivers might not appreciate all her quirks- namely a finicky starter, lack of dashlights, and broken gas gauge- as much as I do, and be unable or unwilling to deliver her to our takeout at Diamond Creek. Needless to say, it was with great relief that I watched her coast into the dusty takeout. That relief was replaced by puzzlement, and then frus-tration as she refused to start again. A couple push starts later, Maria was running happily as we loaded her up for the long trek north. Hoping it was just a fluke with the battery, I turned the key off, and tried to start her up again. Nothing. We piled in, once again exceeding the appropri-ate human/seatbelt ratio and began our slow climb out of the canyon. We drove through the desert until we had no choice but to stop for gas. We held our breath as I turned the key, hoping the most disappointing thing about our stop would be the gas station’s beer selection.

Nearly an hour passed as we solicited help from motorcyclists from the UK, big bearded biker types in ancient pickups, and grease covered me-chanics; determining the issue was most definite-ly the starter, and finally getting a tow-start and coasting into a motel parking lot in Las Vegas.

Committed to a night and at least an afternoon, we attempted to drown our sorrows in 32 oz mo-jitos, multiple 6 packs, and pint sized bottles of mid-shelf liquor. Our sorrows turned this into a pool-party and invited all their friends. I awoke hungover and robbed, while my friends suffered through the various stages of what can only be called the drunkover-waking up still drunk, and slowly, painfully transitioning to a severe hangover.

Our AAA tow truck driver informed us there would be no way for the starter to be re-placed for another two and a half days. I don’t know if it was the drunkover or the thought of

spending that much time trapped in Vegas, but I heard Scott vomit over in the bushes. We confined ourselves to the dimly lit hotel room, watching movie marathons and do-ing our best to hydrate ourselves. A grocery store trip the following day followed by a few hours in the park playing Powerade/Trash-can basketball left us with high hopes that Ma-ria would be ready to rock the following day.

She was, and we hightailed it to Salt Lake City to stay with friends, paying for our lodging with a currency worth more than its weight in gold in the state of Utah- real full bodied PBR. We arrived in Boise at happy hour, with plans for a quick beer with a friend, but found ourselves eddied out with the prospect of free concert tickets, a place to crash, and perhaps most importantly, more beer! Spirit and mind revitalized, we set out on our last leg of the journey. But the trip wasn’t over just yet… only three and a half hours from Portland, Maria kicked out of fifth gear and refused to go back in. Fourth kept us going until we had to downshift to make it over a pass. Horrible grinding ensued, and we found ourselves back in fourth, struggling to climb.

We coasted into Pendleton, with the knowl-edge that, no matter what, we’d be spending more time there than we’d like. Our new me-chanic informed us that the transmission was totally shot, and it would be at least a day be-fore it could be replaced. Harrison offered an extraction, which we accepted with much ap-preciation. He drove 200 miles one way to pick us up, turned around, and bought us dinner when we got back to Portland. Some people…

Over the next few days, we all parted ways, reminded that sometimes, the destination really is more important than the journey.

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E p i l o g u e

I returned to Pendleton with the help of my Boise friends, paid more than what I bought Maria for to have her transmission replaced, and spent a cou-ple nights with friends at Whitman. As of this writ-ing, shesuccessfully reached the Southeast US, with hope for many more long drives to rivers, and many more nights spent sheltering me from the elements.

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Shooting the Big Ditch With Scott Martin

Behind the Shutter

Scott Martin spent his first few weeks of 2014 roaming the American Southwest and pad-dling through the Grand Can-yon. TDBG sat down with him to ask how his camera gear (which is always in tow) fared. -Eds.

TDBG: What gear did you use? I took an array of cameras, my digital Nikon D700, a 1965 Pola-roid Land 350 and a canon Ae-1 with some slide film. For lens-es, I used my trusty 70-300mm F4.5/5.6, 50mm F1.8, 24-85mm f3.5 It was a bit excessive but worth it!

TDBG: What where the biggest chal-lenges on a 16 day trip during winter? Keeping batteries charged. I did not take a solar panel as there is a lack of sunlight in the canyon dur-ing winter and I was trying to keep my costs down. I took 4 batteries and slept with them in my sleep-ing bag at night to keep them from losing their charge in the cold. The fine sand was a major chal-lenge as well; it got everywhere. My one lens made a crunch sounds at the end of the trip!

TDBG: What would you change on the next trip? It all comes down to battery life! I would try take a battery charger and solar panels so I would not worry about the battery life so much. TDBG: What did you use to transport camera equipment? I used my trusty Watershed Ocoee dry bag as a lap bag and then had my film camera and polaroid with batteries and cards in a Pelican case. I liked this system, it worked well. My lap bag was super heavy though.

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Clockwise from below: Eric Adsit at House Rock Rapid, the crew at Clear Creek camp, Harrison Rea blasting through Lava Falls, and Dan Phillips packing up for another day on the river. Paddle, Eat, Sleep, Repeat.

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The WaitingGame

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“If you’ve never postholed in snow with a loaded kayak strapped to your back, I highly

recommend it.”

We’d been gazing at the 55’ Hanging Spear Falls for over an hour going back and forth about whether it might go at more sane (lower) flows. Our friends Matt Young and Bill Frazer had been missing since the put-in, we were on our third pot of coffee, and the water was only getting higher.

Flash back to the previous winter, hunched in front of my laptop perusing the internet’s vast supply of waterfall photos. My interest had become piqued by some hikers’ photos of Hanging Spear Falls and an eight year old forum thread initiated by none other than the White-water Outlaw, Dennis Squires.

It was perhaps just the wrong amount of skepticism that led us to the side of the Opalescent River in NY state’s High Peaks huddled around my jetboil won-dering what had become of our compa-triots.

The trip began in an auspicious manner. Confusion regarding meeting times and locations found us at the trailhead just in time for a crack of 5pm start. A hiker showed us a picture he’d taken that af-ternoon of Hanging Spear Falls at a per-fect level. We stoically chose to interpret it as good news, despite the warm and steady downpour lifting fog from a deep snowpack. We shouldered our boats and began the five mile trek up towards the Flowed Lands, the lake that marks the

Any northeast kay-aker with chest hair has heard of Dennis Squires. He passed away paddling in

putin of the lower gorge of the Opales-cent -- our target.

A couple hours later found the A-Team at the Flowed Lands, in

New Zealand seven years ago, but his legacy has lived on through his NY state guidebooks, rambling tomes filled with obscure creeks no one has been brave enough to repeat since.

A lifetime could be spent squandering paddling days going after all the creeks he wrote about, but if you read with just the right amount of skepticism -- not too much, but not too little -- you’ll find a handful of runs that are genuinely entic-ing.

the dark, cooking dinner inside the lean-to to stay out of the rain. There was snow on the ground and it was still ear-ly spring, so we weren’t too concerned, but the High Peaks are known for very aggressive and sneaky black bears, so we were sure to be careful with our food: overnight, Christian kept the block of cheese by his side and the bacon under his head in his sleeping bag so that the bears wouldn’t make off with our breakfast.

Words& Photos by Nick Gottlieb

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Despite our best intentions, a bear did in fact manage to steal the cheese, but Christian scared it off before it snagged the bacon by yelling, “I know your tricks, bear! You’re just a person in a bear suit!”

We tried to sleep for a few more hours without much luck. By morning, the lake had risen 8” and was flowing quickly. Oh well. We hiked all the way in here, it’d be silly not to put on.

After a few hours of alternating between ogling the falls and brewing pots of coffee, they showed up. Bill had taken a serious bushwhack on the wrong side of the river, ultimately ferrying across in the last pool be-fore the bottom fell out. We gazed down towards the pool where Dennis put on for his run of the lower gorge, seeing something more akin to 1500cfs than the 150 he estimated he had. Tails between our legs, we chose to continue our portage (is it still a portage if it’s over two miles long and involves walking all the whitewater on the trip?) so we could get to the true highlight of the run, the 16 mile paddle out into the headwaters of the Hudson.

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By the numbers:

5

2

16

1

miles of hiking

two miles of portaging

miles of flatwater

block of cheese stolen by a man in a bear suit in the middle of the night

If that’s not a successful paddling trip, I don’t know what is.

The lower gorge of the river was successfully paddled in 2012 by Matt, Bill, and Morgan Boyles with reports of “awesome but too low.” One of these days we’ll get the right level...

Dennis’s trip report is here: http://www.npmb.com/3/fo-rum/general-paddling/first-descent-in-the-high-peaks-wilderness/

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Class 4:It’s

BIGGERthan you

thinkBy Jeremy Cass

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Walker Fletcher Photo

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Over the years I’ve spent a lot of time meditating and searching for that sense of flow discovered when running challenging rapids. Surfers aspire to become watermen and women disciplined in swimming, paddling, diving, and the ways of the ocean. Climbers have pushed the limits of the Yosemite Decimal System so what was expert decades ago is moderate today. Although once a surfer and climber, I’ve chosen to become a whitewater kayaker honing my technique, practicing swiftwater rescue, and running rivers worldwide. Immersing myself in A lifelong journey of self-discovery and dirtbaggery.

Several eloquent and poignant articles addressing style and progression have recently been published in response to high profile accidents and tragic deaths impacting the whitewa-ter community.

Chris Hull Photo

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Moved by these events, discussions with peers and pros, and my own direct experience, I have come to the conclusion that Class IV is much bigger than what we currently perceive and deserves more attention. I also believe that it is the key to enjoying whitewater as a lifelong pursuit.

In the 1998 revision of the International Scale of River Difficulty (ISRD), the American White-water (AW) Safety Committee reluctantly, but bravely took on updating the Scale with a plus and minus descriptor (IV-, IV+), and a decimal system after Class V (5.1 -5.2 etc). A problem the committee identified was that in general the Scale caused a misperception to “… pad-dlers motivated by ego, image, being cool, etc., who are not in touch with their abilities and can’t identify a safe rapid from a danger-ous one.” Basically, an attitude arose in which many wanted to define themselves by being a Class V paddler, or Class V being the only real challenge a paddler could experience or aspire to. From a commercial standpoint it became a selling point to heighten the perceived risk of river running for customers. Lastly, the as-sumption became that Class III was an auto-matic doorway or entitlement into harder riv-ers and rapids. Class IV virtually disappeared from the discussion, alienating a portion of the paddling community and stifling the imagina-tion of whitewater kayaking in general. Conse-quently, Class IV lost its identity and was taken for granted.

Technology, technique, swiftwater rescue and

information have allowed kayakers to explore more and more Class IV (and V) around the world, opening it up as a legit and not to be overlooked rating. However, in no way should we, nor the ISRD blindly downgrade every rap-id and or river. In fact, there are many superb published interpretations of benchmark class IV and V rapids and rivers, including those es-tablished by American Whitewater. Other ex-amples include guidebooks by authors such as Davis (Southeast, North America) and Bird (Eastern Canada, New England Region). These sources widely address Class IV as being just as hard, consequential, and/or challenging as compared to much earlier established ratings of Class V. Even the world’s elite practice a dia-logue in regards to Class IV and V. Just watch any LVM, Substantial Media House, Tits DEEP, or Clear h20 Films production. Though much of the content is real Class V, Class IV is still featured to highlight the skill and dedication necessary to style advanced waters. In other words, Class IV demands the imagination and challenge of even the most hardcore boater.

Recently, while running the Roadside Section of the Alsesseca in Mexico, I ran a rapid nearly identical in size and character to a local Maine rapid called the Krusher on Sandy Stream. Both are big, powerful and have entrances and con-sequences, but on the Alsesseca it was Class IV. Variances in scale at the local and international levels celebrate diversity and further inter-pretational dialogue amongst the community. Terms such as Norwegian, B.C., or New Zealand Class IV are commonly described to be larger

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in scale and difficulty than much of its stateside counterparts, with the exception of the West Coast. However, sometimes that expansion goes too far and lessens the value of a rating scale entirely. For example, I’ve stood at Gorilla on the Green River Narrows in North Carolina several times to seal launch into Scream Machine with pure determination and stoke, only to share beers after the run and hear the all too cliche, “The green is just Class III with Class V consequences” speech. I understand that the paddler who says this has probably earned it - and it’s their pre-rogative, but it breaks down communication to obtain objective beta about a run and develop a useful assessment of the skills needed to style it, not just survive it. Worse, it can provide a false sense of confidence to the inexperienced, or cheapen the overall difficulty entirely.

I would like to encourage that as a community we do not reinvent the wheel, but tap into a great-er understanding of river awareness for Class IV. Paddling different boats, traveling to multiple rivers, receiving swiftwater rescue training, taking courses and allowing for a longer progression towards Class IV is now, more than ever necessary. Just as surfers and alpinists have moved

Jenna Blish Photo

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towards expanding awareness of difficulty, exposure, challenge and risk, we can push to do the same in whitewater. Class IV offers endless opportunities that range from huge high volume beasts to stout waterfalls and slides. It boasts complicated multi-days, and even portages. Also, on many Class IV rivers there are Class V’s for those looking for more. There are even Class IV rapids on Class III rivers. Changes in water levels enhance the possibilities and risks.

In reality, almost any grade of whitewater can kill for a myriad of reasons. However, with time, training and dedication much of its risks can be mitigated, and greatly enjoyed. For me, I feel more committed and connected to whitewater now that I know how big a step Class IV truly is. I have become more grateful for the Class V’s I have run, and more prepared for the ones I as-pire to. I have also become more comfortable with walking some rapids. After all, portaging is a celebration of life. Acknowledging Class IV as a truly advanced place only adds to the sport’s progression, retention rate, and marketability as a lifelong pursuit. It acknowledges how far whitewater has come, and has yet to go. Wonderfully, it is much bigger than we think.

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To Embracing The Unexpected...

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To Embracing The Unexpected...