put in // MISSION photograph by maxi kniewasser
Giants of the Northland Rites of passage on B.C.’s Homathko River By Chris Gragtmans The rain has been hammering our little tarp
for hours, and shows no sign of relenting. Petey is shivering next to me, cursing as the rainwater slowly inundates his sleeping bag. I’m dry in my bivy, but can’t sleep either. My mind goes vertigo, imagining being swept off the face of the earth by the rising river. I’ve been paddling in British Columbia for two months and the walled-in, log-choked, continuous and deceivingly powerful rivers here have humbled me every day. On the Ashlu a few weeks back, my friends and I spent a harrowing day racing the runoff from a storm much like this one. The river was running a stout 700 cfs when we reached the takeout. Hours later, it spiked to 7,000. And now here we are, halfway through a four-day, 80-mile expedition on the Homathko, a river that has proved to be as challenging, physically and psychologically, as anything I’ve done in my life. Yesterday we were on the river 10 hours, thinking the whole time that if the water were any higher it would be impossible to continue. Then it rained most of the night. Everyone wakes early. The rain has finally stopped, and looking around the campfire, I’m thankful to be here with a crew I trust. They’re old hands on rivers like this one, these giants of the Northland, from which a hike out is impossible and a swim means helicopter evacuation, or worse. The six of us peel into the current. We soon pass the confluence with Mosley Creek, where the two rivers combine forces and barrel into the mist at more than 9,000 cfs. In the heart of the run, the dynamics of a good team The First Act: Scouting Tragedy Canyon Act I, the first of three major drops in the Homathko’s most committing gorge.
are fascinating to watch: Communication is minimal, and paddlers take turns leapfrogging their way down a given rapid, slowly working on nature’s puzzle.
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