put in // RETROSPECT Ben Stookesberry
y Kenn s n Loggi
I’m Alright: Go to canoekayak.com to see the rest of the drop that Robertson, left, says Ben Stookesberry “named Kenny Loggins due to his infatuation with the ‘80s contemporary artist.”
Committed to the Grind Lessons logged on the return to Yellow Creek By Taylor Robertson
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ooking back on 20 years spent kayaking, picking through grueling descents full of long hikes, intimidating gorges, and isolated wilderness, there’s one particular stretch that’s as dangerous and physically demanding as any one-day run on the West Coast. Yellow Creek lies in the remote California no-man’s land between the Sierras and the Cascades, cutting through sharp, unstable basalt instead of smooth granite. In the summer of 2003, I joined a group of Southeast kayakers—John Grace, Jason Hale, Daniel DeLaVergne and Matt “New School” Sheridan—for a long, one-day second descent. One waterfall stood out—a 30-foot drop with a log wedged at the lip slanting down to the pool of the falls. Nobody could figure out an easy or comfortable way to negotiate it. Yet Matt somehow maneuvered his boat onto the log, then dropped off into a back-deck airscrew that he nearly pulled around, landing halfway upright in the pool. We were amazed by his agility, and no one came close to duplicating his line. My hard, head-first landing knocked the wind out of me and peeled back my eyelids. And that was just one drop in a committing run through multiple deep, inescapable gorges where logs were as common as rocks in the riverbed. Many sections are so walled-in that scouting or portaging was impossible, especially the Yellow Gorge section in the middle of the run. We eddied out above this crux to talk it over, but I knew that someone would eventually have to make a move. As I entered the gorge first, I glanced over my shoulder, overjoyed to see Matt on my tail in fearless fashion. At the end of the day, many of us were left wondering whether we would we ever come back. Sadly, two of the paddlers in our group that day, Daniel and Matt, would not return. Matt was
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lost in a tragic river accident in 2003, and Daniel passed in 2006 during a film shoot scouting mission. Eight years later, I find myself again at the lip of this crazy drop, staring at the log, delusions of my own paddling legacy floating through my mind, wanting to ace the log drop and prove to all, myself included, that it could be tamed. Almost a decade has gone by, with zero interest from my paddling partners in a return journey. Finally, I talked Ben Stookesberry, Chris Korbulic and Josh Bechtel into attempting the third descent of Yellow Creek, promising them one of California’s most unique canyons. I can’t help but reminisce about my previous trip and all the hard hits that this drop dished out. After some discussion with this new crew, I’m ready. My plan is to maneuver my Jefe Grande up on the log and slide down nose first. I hear that little voice
in my head issue an imperative: “Stay on the log.” The consequences are severe. If I slide off the log to the right, it’s face-first onto a rock outcropping. Slide off to the left? Thirty-foot suplex into flat, non-aerated water. But I’ve had this line in my head for eight years. I know it’s doable. So I commit to my line. I take eight hard, forward strokes to the left lip of the drop, and reach for a left sweep stroke to propel my bow up on the log. Whoah. I’m on the log and start to spin right about 90 degrees. Rather than fight the turn and take the long fall to the flats, I get perpendicular like a skateboard rail-slide. Suddenly I’m sliding, down the log, free of the water and surrounding rock. Committed to the grind, I’ve got to stay on the log—no thinking about the rock outcropping. I react, adjust my weight forward and then back, to keep hull contact with the log. By the time my mind catches up, I’ve already splashed down softly in the pool below, processing that I just slid the length of the log. The rest of the group has some hard hits—no carnage—and we continue through the rest of the log-choked mank. Like eight years ago, I feel fortunate to see the end of the main gorge without mishap, and all four paddlers in one piece. “It sure is shitty dangerous,” is Josh’s basic assessment, laughing at the sight of a full-blown beach rave at the Belden Bar takeout. I know the run means something more, but I’m fixated on that drop. Did I nail the line because of quick reaction? Total commitment? Maybe the time I’ve been spending on my standup board recently helped me balance? After 20 years, I have to remind myself of the most crucial component to running any new, unique drop: total respect for it. And that’s the same way we approached the run, and the reason that we made it out unscathed. Our original group had such a difficult day on that first trip, and I know Matt and Daniel would have been proud of our re-match. Our success in committing to the run and never losing respect for it meant much more than my solo slide down a log; it was a tribute to two world-class paddlers and friends, and a true reflection of the legacy that they have left behind.