World Cup? Not So Much...

THE DIRTBAG’S GUIDE TO WHITEWATER

The Bear’s Den

PLUS Jerry’s Baddle, Explorer’s Paradise, & The NFC

Paddler: Unknown Location: Green River Narrows, NC Eric Adsit Photo

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Location: North Fork Championships, ID Nick Gottlieb Photos

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Paddler: Tom Whipple Location: Green Truss, WA Eric Adsit Photo

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Paddler: Harrison Rea Location: Green River, NC Eric Adsit Photo

Paddler: Jared Seiler Location: Raymondskill Creek, PA Scott Martin Photo

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Joe Potoczak Green River Narrows, NC Regina Nicolardi Photo

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Paddler: Jordan Poffenburger Location T-ville Triple Crown, CT 12Regina Nicolardi Photo

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Jared Seiler hucks his paddle while looping at Scudders, NJ Scott Martin Photo

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Editor in Chief Eric Adsit

C o v e r Photo Scott Martin

Words Ryan Scott Adam Herzog Joe Potoczak

Photos Regina Nicolardi Scott Martin Brett Barton Jeremy Cass Keel Brightman Nick Gottlieb

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con tribu tors

Eric Adsit Photo

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From The Source

Eric Adsit Photo

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The Media and Whitewater: Why Crazy Must Go

In case you missed it, WNYTV, a local news station in Northern New York jumped on the opportunity to cover whitewater kayaking after a cellphone video of Dane Jackson training for the Whitewater Grand Prix on the flooded Black River went viral. And they did it in the worst way possible.

In their search for the sensational,reporters cast professional athletes as “crazy,” who offer only “tales of risk taking,” before creating both a metaphorical and physical barrier between paddlers and firefighters concerned for their safety.

If we ignore the (many) poor reporting techniques (bordering on slander), we’re left with two fundamental problems: First, Non-paddlers think we’re crazy. Second, as paddlers, we’ve done very little to dispell this notion.

The former isn’t difficult to understand. Whitewater paddling is a bizarre activity that often becomes a borderline addiction, driving us to pray for rain, drive hours or days at a time for the next river, and generally dive headlong into wild places some people don’t even know exist.

The latter likely seems of little consequence. Why contest someone’s opinion of a matter they understand very little of? In fact, doesn’t it make us more extreme, or cooler, the crazier we are?

The problem is, “crazy” and “extreme” are synonymous with “risk.”

And more importantly, the majority of people (that is, non-paddlers) determine laws regarding access to and useage of the rivers we love so much based on how “risky” those resources seem.

If whitewater paddling is ever to join the ranks of such openly accepted “extreme sports” as snowboarding, skiing, surfing, or any of the other outdoor activities that now encourage people to be active in and passionate about the outdoors, the crazy must go.

Eric Adsit Dirtbag-In-Chief

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Eric Adsit Photo

Contents 20

Jerry’s Baddle Explorer’s Paradise

The Bear’s Den

NFC 21

Jerry’s B More Than 22

Baddle Just Class V 23

The Green River Narrows Race

has been heralded as “The Greatest Show in all of Sport,” and with good reasonthe Class V ~5 minute course dishes out massive carnage and inspires respect for competitors like no other, with a perfect natural platform for spectators at the crux of the run. So why does the Jerry’s Baddle race- located on the same section of river- continue to have such relatively low participation rates? Because there’s a whole lot more to it.

While Green Racers start just above Frankenstein and tag out after the last slide, Baddlers race the entire river… and then hop on a bike. After negotiating rapids like “Boof or Consequence”, “Nutcracker”, and the deceptively named “Sunshine,” racers start their 26 mile ride by climbing the infamously steep Green River Cove Road at the takeout of the narrows. All told, they will climb a cumulative 4,000 feet before completing the loop to the takeout via the scenic back roads of Saluda. N.C. A better question might then be “Who would ever sign up for such a grueling event in the first place?”, and that answer is a bit more complicated.

Jerry’s Baddle began in 2006 as a way to honor Jerry Beckwith. Jerry was a pillar of the southeastern paddling community who introduced several people to the sport and inspired those he met to be their best selves. “He ran the Green at least two or three times a week, but he never once ran Gorilla,” says race organizer Brookes Saucier, one of Jerry’s many friends. “He always said ‘I’ll run it next time…’ but he never did.” In 2005, Jerry was diagnosed with ALS Disease, more commonly known as Lou Gherig’s Disease.

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The disease progressively degenerates neurons in the brain and spinal chord, increasing muscle weakness and atrophy until death. “Jerry was always one extreme or the other- A beer might be THE BEST beer in the WORLD- So when he told me he had Lou Gherigs disease well before he was diagnosed, I just brushed it off,” said Saucier.

In addition to his paddling prowess, Jerry was an avid cyclist. As the disease took its toll, Jerry focused his energy on bicycling, fulfilling dreams of traveling to France to complete one of his most difficult rides in July 2005. “The first time Jerry took me down the switchbacks leading to the Green, he told me how great he thought it would be to hold a race where you paddle the river and then ride up the switchbacks,” says Bríd Beckwith, Jerry’s wife.

Jerry witnessed this dream come true as well, the first Baddle was held in March 2006. A week later, Jerry walked into Hospice. “Most people with Lou Gherig’s need a wheelchair by that time. It goes to show how much he was fighting the disease off. He passed away just a few days after that… I think he knew it was his time,” remembers Saucier.

The Baddle, now in its 9

year had 36 competitors in the Biathalon, and 15 pairs as a relay team signed up, but fowl weather forced the race date to Easter Sunday, and lost 11 solo competitors and 4 teams. Still, morale was high, with beautiful weather and an atmosphere of friendly competition. Among highfives and mutual congratulations, chatter about just how fun the race really is filled the air. th

Previous: Hunt Jennings enters Pencil Sharpener right on line. Clockwise from above: Gorilla might be the most famous Class V in the southeast, but the action doesn’t end there... an unknown paddler charges onwards into Nies’ Pieces. Half the paddle, twice the man; this section of the Green is called “The Narrows” for a reason. The Baddle is won and lost on the pedal, all you can do is put your head down and keep cranking.

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“Keep my spirit in your hearts and minds. Please think of me every now and then, as you run an amazing river or ride a beautiful road.�

- Jerry Beckwith

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The format of the race is especially interesting because it’s not the best kayakers that take the top places, it’s the cyclists. “The difference between a great time, and a mediocre time in the kayaking is probably only about four minutes,” says professional paddler Steve Fisher, “The difference between the cycliststhat’ll be more like fifteen.”

Jerry’s Baddle represents many things; the great challenge Jerry faced himself, a way to raise awareness about ALS, and most importantly, the sense of community among paddlers everywhere. “I think this event is a great reflection of the community involved in the sport and how much each individual means to everybody. I’m sure if Jerry had been any other paddler, the reaction would be the same,” says Bríd. Saucier adds, “A good portion of the people here didn’t even know Jerry.”

And what a great shame it is that we didn’t get the chance.

Words and Photos by Eric Adsit

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Ryan Scott examines the next horizon.

Location: Tshletly Creek, WA Brett Barton Photo

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Explorer’s Paradise

By Ryan Scott

On day two at 5pm we were still in high spirits hiking across the snow at 2,900ft. To our right, Bear Creek pushed up to its headwaters near the top of our pass. After climbing up to 3,400ft a dark stormy mass of clouds built and started surrounding the Olympic Mountains, resting just beyond the pass. We were still more than 200 vertical feet below the pass and needed to get below the snow line on the opposite side to make camp before nightfall. Our fatigue was starting to set in. At the top of the low saddle we took a quick break before charging down the vertical cliffs as fast as we could, one rope length at a time.

The Pacific Northwest has some amazingly beautiful and unique places. The Olympic Peninsula, The Cascade Mountain Range, The Columbia River Gorge, The Columbia Plateau… Clusters of mountains, water sheds through ancient volcanic lava flows, and everything from forest to desert to ocean landscapes in between. Adventuring in Washington State alone is an explorer’s paradise.

During the 80’s and 90’s whitewater paddling took off at an astonishing rate in the Columbia River Gorge. Many rivers were run for the first time and many were instant classics that would draw paddlers from around the globe. The Little White Salmon River in particular was always regarded as holding the most potential. It took a few years, better gear, and more experience to make that run what it is today.

In that period, various groups of paddlers had documented all of the easily accessible runs (bridge to bridge put-in and take-outs) and had essentially struck gold with their finds. The paddlers that followed were occupied with honing their skills on these classic stretches of whitewater, and they had an endless supply of whitewater, varying from easy class II floats with the family to hair-raising class V adventures with their closest friends.

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The book (Jeff Bennett’s Guide to the Whitewater Rivers of Washington), had been written and this drew many paddlers into a comfortable daily routine of paddling. They were content with having whitewater easily accessible and having the most bang for their buck.

Over the years only the individuals with the motivation to search out new areas and undocumented territory progressed into the remaining unknown first descents. If the access was fairly easy paddlers would put those runs on their to-do-list and eventually it became a favorite. From the 1990’s to present day I have come across paddlers who have explored far beyond the reaches I thought possible, hiking in for days to access a single run, and haven’t said a word about their favorite discoveries. To put this into perspective, the last version of the Bennett’s Guide has 320 runs listed from class II – class V. Nine of those required a hike in and/or out. This alone is impressive, but jJust last year I met an exploratory kayaker who has a personal list of nearly 1,400 runs… in Washington State alone.

To give you an idea of how much whitewater is accessible in just the Columbia River Gorge, within fifty miles of the eighty-mile long gorge, there are 35 runs listed on its tributaries in the guidebook in Oregon and Washington. The Washington side holds wider valleys for gradual, longer runs down to the river while much of the Oregon side consists of basalt cliffs and abrupt waterfalls. The main rivers and many smaller steep creeks descend out of the foothills of 12,000ft. Mt. Adams in WA, and 11,000ft. Mt. Hood in OR. Since the guidebook was printed 20 more runs (mostly steep class V-V+ creeks) have been found and run, and 8 waterfalls over 60-feet tall have been run. And the list is still growing. Much of this whitewater runs year-round and if you were ambitious enough, with a little luck in the weather, you could run them all in a single year due to the winter snow pack in the higher elevations, and rain in the lower valley each year. No other region in the world has the ingredients that the Columbia River Gorge has, generating an unheard of variety of runnable whitewater, in such a condensed area.

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Above, Ryan Scott adds another

“...I met an exp of nearly 1,4

one to the list, for better or worse on the Muddy Fork of the Cowlitz, WA. Keel Brightman Photos

ploratory kayaker who has a personal list 400 runs... in Washington State alone�

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Above: Scott Matthews in a rare flat stretch on the hike in to Tshletshy Creek. In Washington State, the Olympic Peninsula is well known as one of the most difficult zones to access. Within the OP, Tshletshy Creek is relatively unknown, because it is one of the most difficult creeks to access. This photo was taken on Scott’s second trip into the gorge, fifteen years after his first. Ryan Scott Photo.

Right: Ryan Young and Scott Baker scout the 5th and final gorge on Tshletshy Creek. Brett Barton Photo.

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Exploring is in our nature. Just like the variety of people out there some like to push further than others and some look at things differently than the previous explorer. The Olympic Mountains are a good place to push further. The interior of the mountain range rests over 30 miles beyond any road. Trails are the only option to penetrate the rugged, roadless circular shaped mountain range.

Brett Barton and I took that challenge of the Olympics a couple years ago at Tsheltshy Creek, one of the lower tributaries of the mighty Queets River. We couldn’t find any updated information or anyone who had been in there in the last 10 years. The trail down to the Tshletshy had been long since abandoned and flood scars from the satellite images looked daunting to say the least. We had to let the rest lie on fate. We gathered all the information we could, which was very little given the length of the trip, and decided to give it a try.

The seven mile hike up skyline trail to the low saddle pass was physically exhausting, and by the time we started in the Tshletshy Valley the sun went down and we were forced to make camp in one of the only tree wells we could find that wasn’t completely full of snow. The next morning we thought we could get to the water and be in our boats in no time, but we were exploring and Tshletshy wasn’t giving up its secrets that easily.

By the time we reached the water it was mid-day on our third day of hiking.

The creek held everything you could want and not want in a kayaking trip.

Many downed tress and long portages around un-runnable gorges, black bears along those portages, and non-stop gradient locked into a seemly never-ending canyon. Once the whitewater started in the fifth and most intense canyon we were on cloud nine, picking our way through one classic drop after another. We found three distinct class V rapids, the last pinching down into an hourglass shape canyon about eight feet wide just before Tshletshy fizzled out into the Queets River.

On my drive back to the Columbia Gorge I felt the same feeling for the Olympics that I had felt ten years ago for the Columbia Gorge. A new sense of adventure, challenge, and undivided interest in our new found playground. The Columbia Gorge is a great place to train and the OP is a great place to test the endurance of your training. The next year, Brett and I went back to test it again… but that’s another story.

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“The next mo our boats in

orning we thought we could get to the water and be in no time, but we were exploring and Tshletshy wasn’t giving up its secrets that easily.�

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The Bear’s

Paddler: Jeremy Cass Becca Asutin Photo

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Den

By Adam Herzog 37

Paddlers: Miles Pullio and Jeremy Cass Mike Dowell Photo

The bartenders shrieking whistle pierced the smoky air of the Bears Den demanding everyone’s attention. “Show ‘em!”. She commanded a patron sitting across from us.

The woman across the bar nodded obediently and lifted her shirt to reveal a pair of sagging, tragic, bare breast.

They could have been pictured in an old National Geographic magazine, minus the white skin.

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“Now will you buy a jello shot?” The bartender asked us. It was more a demand than a question.

I tried not to stare, but I’m sure I looked as astonished as Nate and Brad. I could barely make out their faces through the cigarette smoke, but their expressions revealed thoughts similar to my own. “Is this really happening?”

We were in Dover Foxcroft, Maine to run the West Branch of the Pleasant, also known as Gulf Hagas. Gulf Hagas is widely renowned as the best class V creek in Maine and we were brimming with excitement on the long drive there from New Hampshire.

“Where exactly are we staying? Are you sure someone is going to be there to let us in?” I asked Nate tentatively as we rocketed down I 95

Mike Dowell Photo

Paddler: Jeremy Cass Becca Asutin Photo

“If they show up and wonder where the truck is, just tell the truth. Say ‘My friend is a jerk and he stole your vehicle. I told him not to.’ And tell them we will be back shortly.”

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earlier that night. We had not left New Hampshire until after dinner and it was a six hour drive to the river.

“Oh, dude, the place is going to be going off” Nate replied assuredly. “When I told her we should be there around midnight she said ‘you should make it before last call then’”.

I was skeptical. Maine is known for moose, logging trucks and potatoes, not night life.

Hours later, when we pulled into the parking lot of the Bears Den, Nate was proven correct. The parking lot was overflowing with rusty, beat up pick-up trucks.

“Are you sure there are cabins for rent here?” I again questioned his judgment.

“Well, let’s go check it out”. We stretched our cramped legs as we made our way through the dark parking lot toward a ramshackle building that pulsed with the distinctive sound of heavy metal.

A guy who looked like he belonged in a 1940s logging camp stopped us at the door. His stringy long hair and tattered grey beard covered his wrinkled face. He wore a flannel jacket against the damp northeast cold. “There’s a cover charge for the band boys” he said in a harsh, nasal northern New England accent, the r’s flattened out to nonexistence.

“Oh, we are renting a cabin.” Nate replied.

“Hmmmm. All right then, go on in.”

I walked through the door and felt like I had been transported to 1985. A smoke machine blew white smoke across the stage. Flashing, multicolored lights danced across the walls. Loud hair band metal reverberated across the room.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. Undulating bodies swayed on the dance floor. Most of the dancers wore flannel shirts and faded jeans. They had burly beards and worn out hairdos.

A diminutive, stunted young man stood in the corner near us. “Hey man, can you buy me a beer?”

Someone felt pity for him and gave him a 24 ounce PBR. His eyes gleamed as he took it. He cradled it in his little hands for a moment, then put it to his lips. He chugged the en-

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Mike Dowell Photo

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Jeremy Cass Photo

tire beer and crushed it under his foot. He desperate exposure routine with her friend looked at it with a twinge of sorrow then at the bar. We still refused the jello shots. turned toward us and said “Hey man, can The band began a rendition of Poisson’s clasyou buy me a beer?” sic “Every Rose Has it’s Thorn” and drunken A waitress sauntered towards us. Faded, slow dancers swayed across the dance floor. dyed-blonde hair burst from her scalp. It “Sorry it’s so tame tonight. It’s going to get was piled high, and added a foot to her rowdy in here tomorrow night. You guys already impressive stature. She wore skin should come back then”. The bartender said. tight leggings and a black miniskirt. Her “Boys, I think this is our queue to leave. We halter top pushed her massive breast nearly have a big day tomorrow.” into her chin. Makeup crusted her haggard face in an attempt to conceal the bags un- I subconsciously held my breath as we unlocked the door to our cabin expecting the der her eyes and fissures in her skin.

“You boys buying drinks or what”? She worst. It was surprisingly clean though, especially for what I was beginning to suspect asked in a raspy cough. was a brothel. It was however, situated imWe ordered a round of beers, but the equal- mediately behind the bar which was still in ly decrepit bartender began hassling us full swing. Luckily we all brought earplugs. about the jello shots. After refusing mul- I woke up early and went outside. I had slept tiple times, she resorted to the seemingly surprisingly well.

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Nate joined me in the now empty parking lot. “Glad we got in before last call. I can’t imagine too many of those folks had designated drivers. Kayaking Gulf Hagas is definitely safer than driving around the back roads of Maine on a Friday night.”

down to the water in spots.

The trip was over too soon. We wanted to do another run, but our mountain bike had been confiscated at the park entrance. “No bikes allowed in the park” the old gatekeeper said.

I begged, pleaded and lied but she did not budge on the rule. We left our bike, and our shuttle, at the gatehouse.

“I think we can get breakfast over there.”

“In the bar?”

“Looks like it turns into a restaurant when the sun comes up”.

“It’s too far to drive for one run, we will figure something out” I said my buddies as we We walked in and took the same seats we floated out of the grandeur of the gorge. sat in the night before. A bunch of guys crowded around a table, drinking coffee. I was the first to arrive at the takeout and They immediately began heckling us and scrambled up to the dirt road, hoping to catch laughing as we sat down. I ordered eggs a passing car. There were no passing cars, and tried to keep a good natured attitude, but there was an old Toyota Tacoma parked joking around with them a bit. at the pull off. I looked in the back and saw a broken paddle. The truck was rusted out and “You’re lucky Sammy’s not here today” the dinged up. “He’s probably cool” I thought. waitress said to us. “He’d really give you “Maybe I can find the keys”. hell. He usually comes in here on Saturday mornings with a four foot dildo. It’s got a I reached under the back left bumper. Nothcigarette burn on the end of it”. ing. Front leaf spring. Nothing. Back right leaf spring. Bingo.

I nearly spit my coffee out. I managed to choke out “I’m sorry we had to miss that”. “I got keys!” I shouted gleefully, shaking the Glancing at each other Nate, Brad and I all keys in my hands. had the same thought. “Get us out of here”. “Whose are they?” Brad looked at me dubiWe scarfed down the rest of breakfast and ously. made a hasty exit.

“I don’t know, but we are not driving 15 hours Several hours later we finally arrived at our round trip to do one run on Hagas. No way. destination. Gulf Hagas was a perfect level I’m taking this truck to the put in. We will be and the temperatures were unusually warm back in an hour, maybe a little more.” for May. We made good time on the river, I left Brad, a mumbling stoner, at the empty boofing the waterfalls and rapids that Gulf takeout parking lot while Nate and I drove to Hagas is known for. The river is a classic get my car. and it descends a deep gorge. Brown, tannin stained water poured over fifteen foot “If they show up and wonder where the truck waterfalls and intimidating class V drops as is, just tell the truth. Say ‘My friend is a jerk well as fun, steep class IV rapids. Black cliffs and he stole your vehicle. I told him not to.’ loomed overhead and dropped straight And tell them we will be back shortly.”

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I drove fast up the put in road, bouncing along washboards and frost heaves. “I hope I get there before they do” I thought. I feigned confidence in the plan with my buddies, but I was a little nervous. I would not mind if someone borrowed my car for a shuttle, but some people take their cars more personally than me.

Nate and I arrived back at the takeout to find Brad still sitting in an empty parking lot.

“Dude, I didn’t know what I was going to say if they showed up”.

“Well, they didn’t. Let’s go boating.”

I left a few beers, a note of thanks, and a ten dollar bill on the driver’s seat.

We made a final drive to the put in and made quick work of the river we were now familiar with. We caught up to the Tacoma owner as we paddled through the class III below the gorge.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good, have a good run?”

“Yeah, two good ones. Hey, is that your black Tacoma at the takeout?”

“Yeah it’s mine”.

“Cool. I used it to run our shuttle. Hope that’s okay.”

“What?” He exclaimed, confused.

“Well, they would not let us bring our bike into the park, so I used the truck to pick up our car so we could get two laps in”.

“You did?” he said in disbelief.

“Yeah, hope that’s okay”.

“Where’s my truck now”?

“It’s at the takeout. I would not take your shit and leave it at the put in. I’m not that low”.

Jeremy Cass Photo

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“That’s cool, I guess”.

“Great. I left you some beers and gas money in the truck. Thanks.”

We paddled off.

“That could have been way worse”.

“Yeah that was a ballsy move” Nate agreed.

“Desperate times, man.”

On the way out we stopped to retrieve my bike. The old woman was still there. “How was it”?

She had seen pictures of kayakers in the gorge, she said. “Looks like fun”.

“Yeah, it is. Have you ever tried rafting on the Penobscot or Kennebec? It’s super fun.

“Nate asked, making friendly conversation.

“Son, I got married when I was sixteen. I have lived here since I was born. I have never had a day of fun in my life”. Her husband worked at the gatehouse too. He looked defeated as he stared at the floor.

We reflected on her life in contrast to ours on the long drive home. It did not seem fair that we could have such unadulterated fun while she rotted away in a state park gatehouse in the middle of nowhere.

The Gulf Hagas experience was unforgettable, not for the great whitewater or incredible scenery, but for the purely cultural experience we had there. I hope to go back some day.

And if I do, I know exactly where I will staythe Bears Den.

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North Fork Champ

a Photo gallery by nick gottlieb

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The North Fork Payette might best be described as a freight train of whitewater 48

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Its roadside location and stacked rapids make the North Fork Championship a huge crowd pleaser. At right, Isaac Levinson charges into just one of many challenging gates while a safety volunteer looks on.

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Massive holes litter the race course, requiring a precise boof and honey badger-like reflexes.

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Nick Troutman’s boat whipping around on a big loop. Due to an elevated river level, the freestyle competition was changed from the conventional format to freestyle through the rapid. Cartwheeling and kickflipping their way downstream, most surfers didn’t waste much time getting to the best feature in the middle of the river, Babylon, which gave up every kind of trick possible along with some big air. The only problem was that this wave lacked any eddy service and an early flush didn’t leave much opportunity to stay in the hunt for points in the freestyle.

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Triple Crown 2014 Joe Potoczak

Every year, competitive paddlers gather in the village of

Tariffville, CT to take part in a friendly battle on the Farmington River. The Whitewater Triple Crown is an event that combines the disciplines of wildwater, slalom, and freestyle into a single day format that puts each participant through a test of paddling dexterity, and endurance. The competition takes place over two days.

Day one, Saturday, is the preliminary round. Points are awarded based on how you finish each category. Then, the top ten men and top five women are selected to take part in Sundays final; where each competitor must go through all three labors once again.

Legendary canoeist, Jamie McEwan, was the originator of

the event; which boasts a fun and refreshing format and brings together the different branches of competitive whitewater. This is where the question is answered – who is the best all around paddler? But also where boaters of the different disciplines are encouraged to stretch their comfort zone and learn new skills – often in boats they have never used before. Local boaters and residents have rallied behind the Triple Crown and given it the support needed to blossom into a great success. The welcoming atmosphere and generous cash prizes have drawn everyone from local wildwater heroes to freestyle world champions. Year after year they travel to be part of this perennial favorite. The Whitewater Triple Crown and what it represents have grown to be a true asset to the paddling community.

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Final Results Sunday April 13, 2014: Men

WOMEN

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8.

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Eric Jackson Danny Stock Nick Troutman Jordan Poffenberger Joe Potoczak Devin McEwan Keith Warner David Silk

Emily Jackson Jessie Stone Hailey Thompson Courtney Kerin Katelyn Green

TOP C-1 Jordan Poffenberger

David Silk blasting through a river wide hydraulic near the end of the downriver race. This hydraulic was the biggest obstacle for the unstable and difficult to maneuver wildwater boats. At this point in the gorge the walls have closed in around the river, creating funky boils and whirpools, the slightest miscalculation sent athletes into a spin-out or beat-down and ruined their chances of a first place finish in the discipline.

Bill Hearn crashing into a gate on the crux section of the slalom run.

The most difficult stretch of the race was left toward the end of the course, right where competitors’ arms felt like jello. A difficult ferry behind a powerful hydraulic was the make or break moment for hopes of a podium finish.

Nick Troutman cranking for the finish in his wave hopper. The wildwater race required not only pure power, but also patience. Slamming on the gas too early on the course doesn’t leave you much for the bottom section.

All photos by Regina Nicolardi

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To Running it next time...

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