The Dirtbag's Guide To Whitewater Issue 9 by Eric Adsit

THE DIRTBAGâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S GUIDE TO WHITEWATER

GRAND

Misadventure

Chetco Opalescent Columbia River Gorge

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

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

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

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

Clockwi Cliff Ma Joe Poto Sam Gra

ise from left: ailloux drops the Virginia Spout, Great Falls of the Potomac. Regina Nicolardi Photo oczak, Dave Meister, and Greg Ceilosczyk take a closer look at Rock Run, PA. Regina Nicolardi Photo afton in the midst of classic pacific northwest gorgeousness, Canyon Creek, WA. Eric Adsit Photo.

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

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

Somewhere in the Grand Canyon. Nick Gottlieb Photo

Paddler: Scott Martin Location: Grand Canyon, AZ 12Eric Adsit Photo

Paddlers: Robert Murphy & Joe Potoczak Regina Nicolardi Photo

Paddlers: Matt King & Dan Rubado Location: Little White Salmon, WA Eric Adsit Photo

Paddler: Sam Grafton Location: Canyon Creek, WA Eric Adsit Photo 15

Editor in Chief Eric Adsit

C o v e r Photo Nick Gottlieb

Words Jeremy Cass Ryan Scott Scott Martin Nick Gottlieb Brian Vogt

Photos Regina Nicolardi Scott Martin Keel Brightman Nick Gottlieb Brian Vogt

With additional design work by Eric Warner and Katie Lei 16

con tribu tors

Eric Adsit Photo

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 shuttles can provoke. Wildfires like those described by Brian Vogt can destroy access 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 second 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 Adsit Dirtbag-In-Chief

Regina Nicolardi Photo

Eric Adsit Photo

Contents 20

Chetco:The Gem of The Kalmiopsis

From The Gorge

A Grand Misadventure Behind The

Shutter

Opalescent 21

Chetco: The Gem of the Kalmiopsis By Brian Vogt

The Kalmiopsis. The Siskiyous. The Klamath Knot. This region of southwest Oregon and northwest California 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 Illinois and Rogue. But the region is also home to some tremendous lesser-known small rivers and creeks, often 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 temperate forest that once covered North America. Carnivorous 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 Siskiyous and all of the access trails (but little of the canyon).

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 Babyfoot Lake trail for a flatter, more maintained 9-mile approach. The longer walk is on a better trail, and traverses 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 supply. Upon reaching the river, after descending 2,000 feet through a blooming carpet of Azalea, the work is over and an immersive scenic wonder 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 Brookings gauge as a minimum and go when the weather is nice and the trail snow-free.

“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.” 25

â&#x20AC;&#x153;the river consolidates, the fire scars recede, the walls grow steeper and ever-closer together, and the rapidsâ&#x20AC;Ś well, they just keep coming. â&#x20AC;&#x153;

The run is tiny and shallow above Slide Creek, carving through the Magic Gorge, a serpentine and peridotite canyon of lush pools and waterfalls. Once Slide Creek enters, the river consolidates, the fire scars recede, the walls grow steeper and ever-closer together, and the rapids… well, they just keep coming. Boulder slalom after blind corner after steep ledge, it’s as continuous as pool-drop can get. Gradually 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 camping near Slide Creek, and plentiful camping below Tincup Creek. Bearfoot Brad will run your shuttle with a smile (and it’s a doozy!). As with the Illinois, be cautious 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 Salmon or Jarbidge-Bruneau.

Ryan Scott on his latest gorge discovery, Cable Choke Falls, OR

WP AA T R E A R D F I AS L E Words by Ryan Scott Photos by Keel Brightman

On May 2004 I waited below Metlako Falls on Eagle Creek in Oregon. I wasn’t there simply hiking 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 hundred feet above me David Grove was leaning forward 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 Priestley Brothers opened local paddlers eyes to the potential in the area and by the time Metlako became 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 runnable 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. Metlako 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 waterfall 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 every 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 Howard made descents on the falls as well. At present day, just like Metlako, it has become a favorite visited 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 Howard four days in early July opened up two descents on the creek. The upper boasted a 70 foot intimidating 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 standard to snap a couple pictures while he claimed the first descent. It has been a decade since David Grove descend 29

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

"We are surrounded by falling water and beautiful pristine creeks."

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 become another test piece for top paddlers to practice their skills on and take that to other more technical falls. Tyler Bradt practiced 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 Washington. Now that the obvious falls with easy access have been run paddlers 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 waterfalllined Upper Canyon on Rock Creek was first explored a couple 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 notable 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 Oregon and Washington continues to grow.

Erik Boomer claims another First Descent. Outlet Falls, WA

Cody Howard sizes up Metlako Falls, OR

A Grand Misadventure

Words & Photos by Eric Adsit Illustrations by Katie Lei

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 adventure 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 bladders, or those pesky things called speed limits. We blew by the numerous waterfalls cascading into the Columbia Gorge, resisted the temptation 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 temperatures near Salt Lake City. We piled gear and people into spaces they probably weren’t meant to be piled, and found ourselves ringing in the new year at Zion National Park. Awaking hungover and leg weary from a demanding 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 compatriots, 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 transportation for that matter, but when I did, it was with a hint of concern. My Mazda B2000, affectionately known as Maria, is older than I am, which is only one of the similarities she shares with women I’m generally interested in. Another 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

we attempted to drown our sorrows in 32 oz mojitos, multiple 6 packs, and pint sized bottles of mid-shelf liquor... 38

was concerned the hired shuttle drivers might not appreciate all her quirks- namely a finicky starter, lack of dashlights, and broken gas gaugeas much as I do, and be unable or unwilling to deliver her to our takeout at Diamond Creek.

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 doing our best to hydrate ourselves. A grocery store trip the following day followed by a few Needless to say, it was with great relief that I hours in the park playing Powerade/Trashwatched her coast into the dusty takeout. That can basketball left us with high hopes that Marelief was replaced by puzzlement, and then frus- ria would be ready to rock the following day. tration as she refused to start again. A couple push starts later, Maria was running happily as She was, and we hightailed it to Salt Lake City we loaded her up for the long trek north. Hoping to stay with friends, paying for our lodging with a it was just a fluke with the battery, I turned the currency worth more than its weight in gold in the key off, and tried to start her up again. Nothing. state of Utah- real full bodied PBR. We arrived in Boise at happy hour, with plans for a quick We piled in, once again exceeding the appropri- beer with a friend, but found ourselves eddied out ate human/seatbelt ratio and began our slow with the prospect of free concert tickets, a place to climb out of the canyon. We drove through the crash, and perhaps most importantly, more beer! desert until we had no choice but to stop for gas. We held our breath as I turned the key, Spirit and mind revitalized, we set out on hoping the most disappointing thing about our our last leg of the journey. But the trip wasn’t stop would be the gas station’s beer selection. over just yet… only three and a half hours from Portland, Maria kicked out of fifth gear and Nearly an hour passed as we solicited help from refused to go back in. Fourth kept us going motorcyclists from the UK, big bearded biker until we had to downshift to make it over a types in ancient pickups, and grease covered me- pass. Horrible grinding ensued, and we found chanics; determining the issue was most definite- ourselves back in fourth, struggling to climb. ly the starter, and finally getting a tow-start and coasting into a motel parking lot in Las Vegas. We coasted into Pendleton, with the knowledge that, no matter what, we’d be spending Committed to a night and at least an afternoon, more time there than we’d like. Our new mewe attempted to drown our sorrows in 32 oz mo- chanic informed us that the transmission was jitos, multiple 6 packs, and pint sized bottles of totally shot, and it would be at least a day bemid-shelf liquor. Our sorrows turned this into a fore it could be replaced. Harrison offered an pool-party and invited all their friends. I awoke extraction, which we accepted with much aphungover and robbed, while my friends suffered preciation. He drove 200 miles one way to pick through the various stages of what can only be us up, turned around, and bought us dinner called the drunkover-waking up still drunk, and when we got back to Portland. Some people… slowly, painfully transitioning to a severe hangover. Over the next few days, we all parted ways, Our AAA tow truck driver informed us there reminded that sometimes, the destination would be no way for the starter to be re- really is more important than the journey. placed for another two and a half days. I don’t know if it was the drunkover or the thought of

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 couple nights with friends at Whitman. As of this writing, shesuccessfully reached the Southeast US, with hope for many more long drives to rivers, and many more nights spent sheltering me from the elements.

Behind the Shutter

Shooting the Big Ditch With Scott Martin Scott Martin spent his first few weeks of 2014 roaming the American Southwest and paddling through the Grand Canyon. 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 Polaroid Land 350 and a canon Ae-1 with some slide film. For lenses, 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!

What would you TDBG: What where the biggest chal- TDBG: lenges on a 16 day trip during winter? change on the next trip? It all comes down to battery life! I Keeping batteries charged. I did would try take a battery charger and not take a solar panel as there is a solar panels so I would not worry lack of sunlight in the canyon dur- about the battery life so much.Â ing winter and I was trying to keep my costs down. I took 4 batteries and slept with them in my sleep- TDBG: What did you use to camera equipment? ing bag at night to keep them from transport losing their charge in the cold. I used my trusty Watershed Ocoee The fine sand was a major chal- dry bag as a lap bag and then had lenge as well; it got everywhere. my film camera and polaroid with My one lens made a crunch batteries and cards in a Pelican sounds at the end of the trip!Â case. I liked this system, it worked well. My lap bag was super heavy though.

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.

The Waiting Game 46

Words & Photos by Nick Gottlieb

It was perhaps just the wrong amount of skepticism that led us to the side of the Opalescent River in NY state’s High We’d been gazing at the 55’ Hanging Peaks huddled around my jetboil wonSpear Falls for over an hour going back dering what had become of our compaand forth about whether it might go at triots. more sane (lower) flows. Our friends Matt Young and Bill Frazer had been missing The trip began in an auspicious manner. since the put-in, we were on our third pot Confusion regarding meeting times and of coffee, and the water was only getting locations found us at the trailhead just higher. in time for a crack of 5pm start. A hiker showed us a picture he’d taken that afFlash back to the previous winter, ternoon of Hanging Spear Falls at a perhunched in front of my laptop perusing fect level. We stoically chose to interpret the internet’s vast supply of waterfall it as good news, despite the warm and photos. My interest had become piqued steady downpour lifting fog from a deep by some hikers’ photos of Hanging Spear snowpack. We shouldered our boats and Falls and an eight year old forum thread began the five mile trek up towards the initiated by none other than the WhiteFlowed Lands, the lake that marks the water Outlaw, Dennis Squires. putin of the lower gorge of the Opales“If you’ve never postholed Any northeast kaycent -- our target. aker with chest hair in snow with a loaded kayak has heard of Dennis strapped to your back, I highly A couple hours later Squires. He passed found the A-Team at recommend it.” away paddling in the Flowed Lands, in New Zealand seven years ago, but his the dark, cooking dinner inside the leanlegacy has lived on through his NY state to to stay out of the rain. There was guidebooks, rambling tomes filled with snow on the ground and it was still earobscure creeks no one has been brave ly spring, so we weren’t too concerned, enough to repeat since. but the High Peaks are known for very aggressive and sneaky black bears, A lifetime could be spent squandering so we were sure to be careful with our paddling days going after all the creeks food: overnight, Christian kept the block he wrote about, but if you read with just of cheese by his side and the bacon the right amount of skepticism -- not under his head in his sleeping bag so too much, but not too little -- you’ll find a that the bears wouldn’t make off with handful of runs that are genuinely entic- our breakfast. ing.

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 before 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.

By the numbers: 5

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/forum/general-paddling/first-descent-in-the-high-peakswilderness/ 50

Class 4: Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s BIGGER than you think By Jeremy Cass 52

Walker Fletcher Photo

Chris Hull Photo

Over the years Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;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, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;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 whitewater community.

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 Whitewater (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 “… paddlers motivated by ego, image, being cool, etc., who are not in touch with their abilities and can’t identify a safe rapid from a dangerous 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 assumption became that Class III was an automatic doorway or entitlement into harder rivers and rapids. Class IV virtually disappeared from the discussion, alienating a portion of the paddling community and stifling the imagination of whitewater kayaking in general. Consequently, Class IV lost its identity and was taken for granted.

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 rapid and or river. In fact, there are many superb published interpretations of benchmark class IV and V rapids and rivers, including those established by American Whitewater. Other examples 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 dialogue 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 consequences, but on the Alsesseca it was Class IV. Variances in scale at the local and international levels celebrate diversity and further interpretational dialogue amongst the community. Terms such as Norwegian, B.C., or New Zealand Technology, technique, swiftwater rescue and Class IV are commonly described to be larger

Jenna Blish Photo

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 prerogative, 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 greater 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

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 Vâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;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 Vâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s I have run, and more prepared for the ones I aspire 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 sportâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;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.

To Embra Unexpe

acing The ected...