badfish Magazine
Connected by water
Poise in the maelstrom — Miles Harvey on the Colorado River, Glenwood Canyon, Colorado | ZACK HUGHES
Connected
Science confirms that we are all inextricably connected by the planet’s most abundant substance. But the connection created through a passion for time spent on water is no less real. The shared glow of stoke after a run down the river, laughing around a campfire, sleeping beneath a dense overlay of stars, waking to the sound of water. Shared experiences centered around time on the water create a geography and culture of their own.
Badfish Magazine is our effort to share that connection — the people, places and culture of our community — with you. In an era of endless information overload, we wanted to slow
By water
down a little and tell a few stories through images and words printed on paper. Almost by definition, the best times are transitory. Currents change, characters change, the love for water matures, obligations encroach, torches are passed, and the moments shift into times remembered. The pages that follow are our attempt to capture a few of those moments. This is also an invitation to make a connection for yourself, not in some farflung destination but right out your backdoor. Wherever you are, whomever you’re with, whatever you’ve got. No membership dues required.
River basins of the contiguous United States. | GRASSHOPPER GEOGRAPHY
SALIDA
A river often defines a town. every resident is affected by it in one way or another. Some people are content to simply walk or drive along it, while Others happily invite it to flood into every aspect of their lives.
Mural by James Brown. | SACHA HALENDA
SALIDA The wind that daily pours down the peaks into the Arkansas River Valley has settled into itself and now blows lazily about the cottonwoods lining a pond in front of a rambling 1980s tri-level. A soft glow wells off the water and ducks float in the shallows as the adjacent creek burbles in the background. A psychadelic mural painted onto the side of what was once a barn is a surprise in the otherwise organic landscape. In it, a massive octopus wraps her tentacles around the base of a conical mountain while the Arkansas River engulfs the town of Salida, Colorado. It’s late evening, late June, and the tri-level with octopus belongs to Zack Hughes. The co-founder of Badfish SUP, Hughes places great importance on community and fun, so his home is a natural focal point for paddlers local and imported. There’s always room for the tribe for nightly post-river gatherings most of the summer, to pitch a tent or park a camper, drink a beer, eat some tacos. A famed river town of the West, Salida draws paddlers from all over the world, notably for FIBArk (First In Boating on the Arkansas), a 70-year-old event spawned by a bet between friends as to who could kayak the 57-mile
stretch of whitewater from Salida to Cañon City the fastest. The time clock soon became irrelevant as entrants navigated Bighorn Sheep Canyon and the Royal Gorge trying merely to survive. America’s first big whitewater event was won by two expert Swiss boaters—the only entrants to finish—but FIBArk was born (and no one died. Bonus.). Over the last 70 years, the festival has morphed to reflect the popularity of different whitewater trends, but currently, it’s the explosion of SUP that’s breathing new fire into the spirit of the event. The three-day weekend includes downriver SUP races, SUP cross, SUP and prone board surf contests. A recent favorite, Skills for Bills, pits SUP paddlers against an increasingly difficult and increasingly lucrative skills course. And of course, there's the Hooligan Race, where outrageous homemade water crafts of any kind battle for the pinnacle of absurdity in front of the wild crowds that line the downtown wave. FIBArk weekend traditionally brings many paddlers to Hughes’ place and this summer is no different. A freckled 12-year-old girl glides in front of the mural, expertly navigating a twisted system of wooden ramps and berms on a Onewheel. Two more camper vans pull up and stop on the graveled driveway. Doors open; dogs burst out onto the lawn, figures step down. A blender fires up somewhere inside the house, announcing the arrival of margarita hour. There’ll be chips, fresh guac, a hot grill. There’ll be some music, some campfire, some stories, lots of plans, maybe some BMX bike shenanigans, maybe a bulldog riding a skateboard. But there'll definitely be stoke to wake up the next morning and hit repeat.
A famed river town, Salida draws paddlers from all over the world for the country's "oldest and boldest" whitewater event.
A rare moment of focus at FIBArk, America's oldest downriver party — ahem — whitewater event. | ANNA TOLL
DAYTON Dayton, Ohio. Home to inventors and inno-
years taken more than a few lives. It was finally removed in 2015
vators such as Wilbur and Orville Wright. A
and replaced with a river feature for kayakers, SUP paddlers and
once-bustling center of manufacturing. A
surfers. The city and the Parks and Recreation Department knew
hotspot for all things aviation. And, over the
the new feature (known to locals as the art museum wave) would
past decade or so, a rising adventure capi-
bring more people out to the river and more money into the local
tal of the Midwest. Dayton today is an urban
economy, just as such projects have in many small towns around
playground for artists, students, musicians,
the country.
entrepreneurs, small business owners and adventurers. It’s famous for its 330 miles of bike trails, a multitude of delicious craft beers, and...river surfing?
The river features at RiverScape MetroPark and in front of the museum are my late summer hotspots for river surfing and hanging out. Unlike a lot of spots around the country, low-water summertime levels are actually prime in Dayton because the features get a
OK, river surfers, Dayton may not be the very
green face to the wave, changing them from a rowdy kayak hole to
first destination to come to mind, but it’s
more of a shortboard and SUP surf wave. Every day the water lev-
definitely gaining attention. When Five Riv-
els are good, a group of us connect on a “Surf Dayton” Facebook
ers MetroParks and the Dayton Rotary Club
group page and make a plan. We’ll arrange all-day surf sessions
sponsored the creation of a play wave on the
that sometimes reach well into the night, the glassy wave sparkling
Mad River in 2013, the spot became a hub for
in the beams cast down by city buildings, bridge and street lights.
whitewater paddlers to get together for a day
If you’d rather paddle, you can always run the whole stretch of river
of fun on the water. Additionally, a danger-
from Eastwood MetroPark down to the art museum wave, playing
ous low-head dam on the Great Miami River
in all the features along the way. — Shannon Thomas lives and pad-
near the Dayton Art Institute had over the
dles in Dayton, Ohio.
"THE gem city" is Famous for 330 miles of bike trails, a multitude of killer craft beers and...river surfing?
Close, consistent and uncrowded — Shannon Thomas takes full advantage of drop#1 at RiverScape MetroPark. | JILLIAN A. BROWN
JAPAN Nestled deep within the fabric of Japan, a growing movement of river pioneers is building a community on the virtues of paddling, surfing and preserving an innate connection to nature. These paddlers draw a great deal of inspiration from the lifestyle and mindset epitomized by paddling towns in the United States. They’re looking at their own backyard waterways with fresh eyes, and wondering what’s possible. Like their counterparts in North America, they seek expression and deep kinship through the art of paddling, surfing and adventure. In a sequence of enthralling journeys to Japan, I’ve found myself at the center of this cultural upwelling. Most of my time there has been spent on two rivers: the Tama, that snakes its way to the Pacific around dams, diversions, subways and superhighways, flanked by Tokyo, home to 36 million; and
the Yoshino, etched into the bedrock of the rural Iya Valley region on Shikoku Island, its deep gorges pulsing with world-class whitewater and its tributary valleys dotted with old thatch-roof homes from a simpler time. The
stark contrast between the Tama and Yoshino perfectly depict the dichotomy between new and old Japan. The former, rapidly approaching and inevitable; the latter, fading. The community of paddlers stands as a bridge between them. At traditional Japanese Shinto shrines, red torii gates mark the entrance to a sacred space. Shrines are dedicated to kami, which are the essence of nature manifested as a mountain, tree, river or other natural feature. The essence exists in, and is limited to, that particular location. It’s up to us to communicate our experience and discoveries from place to place. This is what's happening on the rivers in Japan. The paddlers are establishing a genuine connection to the landscape and sharing that wisdom with as many people as possible. I host workshops that at their core aim to manifest a connection to nature. In Japanese, this effort has come to be known as Kogi-Do (pronounced "kogee-dough"), a phrase that means “the paddling way.” Ultimately, Kogi-Do is a way of living, the spiritual side of paddling and surfing. It recognizes time on the water as a form of meditation that generates insight. The mind clears while immersed in nature, and that clarity can encourage positive change that ripples into an individual's relationships, workplace and worldview.
I’m honored to be dear friends with some of the individuals at the forefront of this philosophy and approach. — Bradley Hilton lives in Grand Lake, Colorado.
a growing community of japanese paddlers are seeking deep kinship through the art of paddling, surfing and adventure.
Japan's Niyodo River has a color so singular it's called Niyodo Blue. | ZACH MAHONE
In 2017, designer and entrepreneur Ikuzo Fujimura founded the Ultra T80, a 80km downriver race, to “protect river resources through participation.� The T80 starts in the mountains and continues down the Tama River through the heart of the city to Tokyo Bay. Ikuzo is deeply creative; he produces a line of handmade paddling wear, CABBO.
Former adventure racer and rafting champion Yacu Takahata may be the most graceful whitewater stand up paddler in the sport. His passion for and keen perception of the beauty of flowing water inspires everyone around him. Yacu, his wife and former Olympian Kayaker Ando Taro, operate RiverBase Halau on the Tama River.
PHOTO | TOYOHIRO OGAKI
yacu takahata
PHOTO | ZACH MAHONE
ikuzo fujimura
Hiromichi “Rangi” Sasaki owns Suggoi Sports on the Yoshino River. He's travelled around the Pacific as a professional lifeguard, and is a leader in developing stand up paddle safety and risk management in whitewater. He is the local connection for Bradley’s Camp Japan paddling adventure, where guests experience rural Shikoku whitewater, surfing and culture.
Bradley Hilton returns to Japan every year to embrace the rich culture, hospitality and paddling. Bradley’s Camp Japan adventures in Tokyo or on Shikoku are a favorite for japanese locals and visitors from around the globe. The Japan crew also makes their way east each june to spend time with bradley on colorado's rivers.
PHOTO | TOYOHIRO OGAKI
bradley Hilton
PHOTO | ZACH MAHONE
hiromichi sasaki
Who says paddlers don't like ball sports? A mean game of bocce goes down in Westwater Canyon on the Colorado River, Utah. | HEATHER JACKSON
RAPID
I
As I drop into Skull Rapid, the test piece rapid of Westwater Canyon, the responsibility of safely guiding my 14-year-old daughter Chloe and my friend and business partner Zack’s 8-year-old daughter Maggie weighs heavily on me. My arms are already cooked from rowing this raft loaded with gear. Chloe is helping me focus by screaming in my ear from her perch atop the drybags strapped to the back of the raft.
By mike Harvey, photos by heather Jackson
CHANGE “Daddy! Go left! Left! LEFT!!”
My family has been running rivers since my kids were in diapers, so this is not unfamiliar terrain for Chloe and she is typically quite comfortable in whitewater. However, ever since I dumped my entire family out of a raft on the Rio Maranon in Peru, Chloe has felt like I need some direction. As I pull into the eddy below Skull, safely past the infamous hole and the “Room of Doom” eddy, I feel a huge sense of relief — yes, we’ve cleared the biggest hazard of the run, but more important, Chloe is done yelling at me. Zack, Maggie, Chloe and I clamber up and over the huge boulders at the toe of the canyon wall to watch the rest of our crew run Skull rapid on paddleboards. Running Westwater has become a rite of passage for any serious Colorado whitewater stand up paddler. A classic western river run, it’s an almost-perfect blend of fun
Class III whitewater and mind-blowing canyon country scenery; a fairly simple overnighter only five hours from home. The rapids are big and fluffy, visually intimidating but more bark than bite. The main feature of Skull rapid is a large ledge hole up against the canyon wall. A clean run down the left-hand side is the preferred line, but it’s harder than it sounds: a series of pour-overs and large boulders block the line until you are almost right above the hole. This creates one of the most subtle maneuvers in whitewater paddling— the late dash above a big hole. Nailing the move isn’t that difficult, but staying calm while dropping in takes serious self-restraint. A group of our friends and team riders have joined us for this twoday trip. Yacu from Japan stood with his mouth open, looking up at the canyon walls, and asked, “Are we still on planet Earth?” Guillermo from Washington DC learned to river surf 20 minutes upstream of our nation’s capital. There’s Cohen from Charlotte, North Carolina and Shannon from Dayton, Ohio. We also have veteran western river runners for whom a run down Westwater is old hat. Among those veterans is my 16-year-old son Miles. Miles was 2 when he first climbed into the cockpit of my kayak with me and paddled around in the Arkansas River in Salida, Colorado. He’s been paddling with and competing against adults since he was 12 years old and in the last year he’s become a man before my eyes. The skills he’s been developing since he was a child are starting to be matched by physical ability. Watching him paddle at a high level and have fun doing it has been the greatest joy of my life. In addition to the thrill of watching your son excel at his passion, watching your kid doing something at a higher level than you ever did is a fantastic way to measure your own decline. I’ve paddled
Yacu stood, mouth open, looking up at the canyon walls, and asked, “Are we still on planet Earth?�
Watching your kid doing something at a higher level than you ever did is a fantastic way to measure your own decline.
whitewater obsessively for 25 years. If, as they say, it takes 10,000 hours to master something, I have all the hours without the mastery. I’m an expert-level paddler by almost any measure, but I’m more of a grinder than a natural. Miles is a natural. Watching him brings me happiness while consistently reminding me that whatever talent I once had is rapidly exiting stage left. There was a profile of Miles in an outdoor magazine this summer which was titled, “Miles Harvey: The Future of SUP.” In the photograph, he’s smiling, having just crushed the GoPro Mountain Games downriver race. He looks like the completely unfazed 16-year-old that he is, giving a thumbs-up that might look ironic if you didn’t know what a sincere kid he is. Look a little closer and you might notice another person in the background of that photo, lying prone on his board on the side of the river, not looking particularly youthful or unfazed. In fact this man looks crushed, having just finished his race run, gasping for thin mountain air. That man was me. The photographer unintentionally captured the perfect moment to lay bare my descending curve as an athlete against the ascending trend line of my son. The rest of our team starts to descend Skull. Some paddlers choose lines that end in early wipe-outs
and full swims of the rapid. More experienced riders take what Yacu called “the old man line” (left above the hole). From my view at the midpoint of the rapid I can see Miles lining up for his run and it’s obvious from the minute he drops into the first wave that he has no intention of making the left dash: he’s driving hard for the raging hole. I am way past the point of worrying too much about Miles on the river, but I have also never seen an intentional run of this hole in any craft, and dropping in on a
paddleboard seems a decision only a teenage male
I’m euphoric. Floating a river, watching a cast of char-
would ever consider. As he drops in, his board dis-
acters brought together by the river, and sharing it
appears. He’s in a deep crouch and for a moment
all with the next generation—all this lets me backseat
it appears he’s floating—standing on the exploding
my ego and just enjoy what’s going on. And what is
whitewater. He pops out the backside still on his feet,
going on? Friends whooping and giddy, kids grow-
doing what all 16-year-olds do: acting casual and
ing, dads growing older, cold water flushing down-
looking downstream past his dad at something more
stream, the canyon walls marking time as they always
interesting.
have. In the end, there’s really not much point in let-
These days, I am actually just fine with my place in
ting a river carry you downstream.
the pecking order. In fact, loading back into the raft,
Maybe that's the point.
A 20-day backcountry ski/paddle mission in Alaska is going to take you places. In this case, the iceberg-riddled Alsek Lake. Spencer Lacy in the slush. | LUKE FARNY
Finding equilibrium in her work as a physician assistant, her family life and her ardent drive for surf time is a thorny equation that Claire graff would never trade.
The wetsuits drip steadily onto the linoleum. They’re hung over the door to the shower that’s never been used as a shower, only gear storage. Over the hum of the road, the stove rattles rhythmically, the way it always does when I forget to put a towel under the rack for driving. We’re half-way back to camp and I’m beginning to suspect we’re in for another tough night. I glance back from the passenger seat to see Milo’s chubby, square feet bouncing restlessly. He should be napping right now if we’re going to have any shot at a smooth bedtime. ¶ His brother Finn was a champ at the river, mooing at cows in a nearby pasture and counting passing trains. But right now he’s close to losing it over not getting a third helping of goldfish. A plastic bowl ricochets across the floor with a clatter. A familiar tension creeps into my shoulders. ¶ Spencer’s bare arm is draped casually over the steering wheel, he didn’t bother to put on a t-shirt after his surf. When our eyes meet briefly, I can see that he’s somewhere else, unfazed by whining kids or flying Tupperware. A pang of jealousy passes through my chest. His session on the wave was longer than mine. ¶ I think back to the choice I made when we pulled up to the river late this morning. “First or second?” Spencer had asked before the ignition was even turned off. Sometimes
The only possible answer the anticipation of a surf session bubbles up so strongly in me that I absolutely have to go. If I tried waiting, taking my shift with the boys first, my impatience would spill over into every book we read, every Lego spaceship we built. Today was one of those days. “First,” was the only possible answer. ¶ Which means that now it’s been a few hours since my time in the water, my one-on-one with that fast, loud, surging mound. Spencer is fresh off the wave. I smile when he starts drumming to Zeppelin on the steering wheel. I envision the endorphins pumping through his veins. I hate myself a little as I shake off my envy. ¶ Finn finally falls quiet. The small highway arcs toward the mountains and I let my eyes sweep the panorama of ranch land. The sun warms me through the window and there it is, an opening, an invitation. I take it. I close my eyes and float back to that other world. ¶ The forceful leap off a huge boulder, body and board landing with a satisfying slap, instantly surrounded by a loud rush that feels like silence. Everything evaporates except for the union of the edge of my board with the face of that wave. Moving almost faster than I can handle, I fly towards the right shoulder recklessly and then lean back left with visceral precision. I relive the two seconds in the freedom of that banking turn, letting them saturate every part of me again. ¶ The RV bumps into our green shady campground. I hop up to start prepping as Spencer backs us into a slot next to the creek. Grab diapers, fill water bottles, find the dog food, find Finn’s bike helmet, start planning dinner. ¶ Spencer unbuckles Finn and I dry the linoleum just as the restless boy comes galloping past me. Soon there will be toys everywhere, Milo will start a tired fuss and need to be held until bed. Finn won’t like his dinner or any of the pajamas we brought. But he’ll wear a contagious grin as we walk beside him on his evening bike ride, and later, the four of us will pile on the tiny pull-out couch and read together while darkness falls outside. ¶ And I’ll be on the river again tomorrow. — Claire Graf f lives in Boulder, Colorado.
Finn hugs mom while she's dry. | SACHA HALENDA
Claire Graff gets her turn. Arkansas River, Buena Vista, Colorado. | HEATHER JACKSON
SHAPING A
CULT URE IF IT WASN’T FOR THE SHIVERING, you’d never know that the students were nearly frozen, standing on the river bank in wetsuits two sizes too small, ankles and wrists exposed. Each one wears a huge grin and bounces on their toes. Then, when Hannah, a fellow student, stands up for her first time on a river wave, a cheer erupts from the shaking bunch. Hannah, shocked by this accomplishment, looks to us with a dropped jaw and throws her fists into the air. Every instructor knows the euphoria of standing up on a river wave for the first time, and every time we get to see a student do it, we live it all over again. It’s May in Colorado, the most unpredictable month of the year weather-wise. The air temperature is 50 degrees, the water a brisk 45, and the sun lurks behind dark gray clouds; not what many would consider ideal learn to river surf conditions. But fellow instructor Bradley Hilton and I can’t get our students out of the water. As they run dripping wet up the river bank, three telling words leave their mouths: “Just one more!” We look to each other smiling, knowing that means five or six. And we know we’ve got them, they’re hooked. You can see each student working out in their heads how they’re going to acquire a board and make river surfing part of their lives. These are the moments that keep us teaching what we love. We paddle for Badfish, a company rooted in the philosophy that anyone, newbie or expert, sixth-grader or grandmother, should be able to experience this kind of stoke. Everyone’s welcome. No cliques, no clubs. We want to be the first to lend out a board, the first to push anyone into a wave, the first to fire up the grill or the blender at the end of a long day on the river. Just like me, most of my paddling teammates love to teach. Trey Knight builds the community of instructors as a certi-
fied ACA (American Canoe Association) Level 5 Instructor Trainer. Bradley Hilton facilitates and hosts multi-day immersive experiences in the U.S. and Japan. Natali Zollinger and I have pop-up instructional events all over the country and the world through our co-owned business, RVR 2 RVR. And Mike Tavares follows the whitewater circuit, squeezing in clinics between competitions. “I enjoy helping people unlock potential they didn't know they had. I try to teach people how to learn. That transfers far beyond SUP,” says Trey. Stand-up paddleboarding and river surfing will grow and evolve. As instructors we have the ability to influence the direction in which it moves. We don’t take this responsibility lightly. We adore this sport. It radically changed our lives and we feel a sense of obligation to it and to the river. It’s our job to facilitate that connection for others. Bradley said it perfectly. “In a way, teaching can shape the culture and direction of our sport. We have the opportunity to lead by example the moment a student starts paddling or surfing.” “There’s a consistent joy that I get from my clinics when I get to witness the shift in a person's mindset when they finally get it,” says Natali. “They don't have to fight the current and their efforts become graceful and efficient. You truly start to understand and develop a relationship with the river when this happens.” We encourage people not to try and conquer the river but to become an extension of it. From this connection stems respect, appreciation, and the understanding that the river will forever be the teacher and anyone playing on it forever its student. Like Natali said, sometimes you just need someone to help you get it. — Brittany Parker lives in her van down by the river.
Taking teaching seriously leads to serious fun. | HEATHER JACKSON
Not seen in this photo: the monster swim to either bank that Mike Tavares will enjoy if he wipes out. New River Dries, West Virginia. | ANDREW WAGNER
Well-known fact: All teenaged boys flip out sometimes. Miles Harvey, Arkansas River, Howard, Colorado. | PETER HOLCOMBE
In perpetuity Protection, by human standards, is a questionable designation. in the United states, We’ve surely learned as a nation that government protection, when
Browns Canyon National Monument it concerns natural, cultural or historical resources, can be temporary, changeable, rescindable, subject to political influence or to people’s fickle appetite for leaving well or wild enough alone.
Browns Canyon's resolute beauty. | LOGAN MYERS
21,586 acres • 100,000 visitors annually • 3,000 ft of vertical relief • 2-5 million gallons of water per hour • 41.7 miles of trail • 9.7 miles of river • 0 paved roads But when a place captures the hearts of those who
homes here, and archaeological sites have revealed
or carries an identity all its own, we sometimes try to
Archaic periods. European habitation came in the
live near it, when it defines the character of a region offer it our best defense.
Building on years of determined work by concerned
citizens, organizations and then-Senator Mark Udall
(D-CO), President Barack Obama, on February 19, 2015, designated 21,586 acres of remarkably untouched canyons, rivers and backcountry forest
in central Colorado’s Arkansas River Valley as the
Browns Canyon National Monument. Invoking the Antiquities Act of 1906, he offered federal and state
protection to a zone beloved by residents of Chaffee County and enjoyed by nearly 100,000 visitors
a year. Stretching between the rural communities of Buena Vista and Salida, Colorado, Browns Can-
yon offers stunning views of the Rocky Mountains’ 70-million-year-old Sawatch Range. While the Mon-
ument itself contains elevations ranging from 7,300 feet to 10,000 feet, the peaks that surround it tower above 14,000 feet.
The focal point of the Monument is the Arkansas River
itself. Charging down from its headwaters in nearby Leadville and squeezing through the granite-studded
canyon below Buena Vista, it offers up rafting, kayaking, paddle-boarding and world-class wild trout
fishing. On shore, visitors can bike, horseback ride,
hike, camp. Human history in Browns is also consider-
able. For 13,000 years, Native Americans made their
stone artifacts attributed to Paleo-Indian and early
mid- to late-1800s when mining had its boom with Westward expansion.
The rugged nature of Browns Canyon makes it a place best viewed by raft and although many do, the area
remains separated from any road; only a handful of established trails access a small portion of the Mon-
ument, so the area’s remoteness remains a defining
trait. Which underlines the fact that sometimes the real value of wilderness is simply knowing it’s still out there.
Protection via governmental designation doesn’t immediately affect the physical wilderness, the ani-
mals, the wildlife habitat or the myriad invisibilia of a remote, difficult-to-access place like Browns. De-
spite steady human enterprise that has carried on
for centuries just a few miles away, the granite-spirelined drainages above the Arkansas have remained
remarkably undisturbed. They quietly mark a slower time with older, generally less capricious influences. Things there go on largely as they have for millions of
years, regardless of politics, proposals, designations, protections. Still, National Monument status, imper-
fect and vulnerable as it may be, does indicate a blip
on the canyon’s massive timeline when the humans who chose to explore and love it gave it all the protection they could. — Diane French
Browns Canyon National Monument, CHAFFEE county, colorado
After five days on the river, running Class IV naked seems rational to Spencer Lacy, if not downright genius. Selway River, Idaho. | ELLEN DAVENPORT
Badfish Magazine is produced by Zack Hughes & badfish in salida, Colorado design & edit: formfive.com | To receive Badfish Magazine, email: info@badfishsup.com