Finally on Tuesday I got a chance to tackle the Lower Willow river, a run through a canyon that had been on my mind ever since I first saw it in the Spring.
On that occasion, I was on my first kayak class and we were on our way out to the Upper Willow, a nice beginner-friendly class II run. We stopped on a high bridge and looked down into the canyon, where a swirling, foaming mass of whitewater smashed it's way through a maze of rocks, culminating right under the bridge in a scary-looking waterfall. Oh dear, I thought, I'm dead. I was relieved to find out that we weren't going anywhere near that lot on that day... and then amazed to learn it was Class III. What must Class V look like??!!
Of course the water levels have dropped greatly since the Spring. When we arrived at the same bridge on Tuesday everything looked remarkably tame, at least from a distance. I could see the bottom even. There were big rocks. Oh.
We put in below a huge log that effectively cut off the Upper Willow from the Lower. The idea was to run a section for a little while, practicing some skills, before heading down the canyon. I'd been working on my roll in the lake for weeks, and had a good reliable roll on both sides, so I was crossing the current from eddy to eddy with some confidence when I made a mistake and got pinned up against a rock and flipped over. I went to set up for a roll and realised there was a rock in the way, which the current was forcing me into... ok no problem I'll set up and roll up the other way, I thought. That was when my left leg popped out of the thigh brace. I tried to roll but without my leg in place it wasn't really going to happen. I had to bail out and swim.
Great, I thought, we haven't even got to the rapids yet and I've already had to swim out of my boat once. It's going to be one of those evenings! It started to occur to me that there is a big difference between rolling practice and a "combat roll" - one done under pressure after being unexpectedly flipped in a rapid.
After a while the group started to move down the canyon, and we spent some more time practicing ferrying across the fast-moving current. It was substantially different to the easy water I'd encountered so far on the local rivers and lakes. The more experienced guys made it look so effortless, while I flapped about trying to stay upright. At one point, I got swept into another paddler and the two of us got jammed against a rock. I forgot to lean into the rock (and paddler) and so got flipped again. This time, after managing to extricate my paddle from under someone else's boat, I hung in there and rolled up. The combat roll was coming together.
The rain which had been setting in during the afternoon started to come down in earnest, and looking up the steep canyon walls it added to the sense of remoteness. It was hard to believe we were almost right by a main road, albeit some hundred feet or so above us. By the time a couple of less experienced paddlers had taken the last opportunity to walk the trail out rather than run the main rapids, it was starting to get pretty dim. Soon it would be dark.
Rick, the paddler leading the group, explained the only way to run the next part of the river - there was a chute between huge rocks that made a hard right, then a sharp left, before plunging over the small falls called "Freak My Beak". The rocks were so large that it was impossible to see what you were heading towards. One by one the group disappeared down the chute.
When it was my turn, I just kept trying to remember where it was I was supposed to do the "must make" stroke to turn my boat around the hard right turn. Naturally, I fluffed it and shot too far out around the bend, caught an edge trying to turn back and went over. I missed the next part of the chute as I did it all upside down, just trying to hang in there and get enough clear space around me to roll up. When I finally managed to roll, I opened my eyes to see Rick right in front of me, although several feet below. Freak My Beak was between us. Rick was frantically shouting "back paddle!!" so I gave it my best backward strokes, lined up the fall properly, and dropped straight over it. I paddled hard out the other side grinning, and coughing up the mouthfuls of water I'd ingested.
The rest of the group made it down mostly unharmed and by the time we'd all portaged the kayaks out around the last rock to have another go at running Freak My Beak, it was dark.
We managed to find the trail back to the road in the dark, the only remaining concern being bears as we walked through the forest. Plenty of people were making noise, I noticed!
On the drive back into town it occurred to me I hadn't had a rush like that for a while... what a fun evening, and what a great sport.
Frase.
Below: Rob runs Freak My Beak. In the dark.
