Happy New Year!

Hey everyone, Ben here! Happy New Year, Feliz ano nuevo! So, after some time spent in quepos, which was slightly unenjoyable, we went up to Turrialba. There we found hospitable people and good water to run. Our first day in the Turri was spent on the Upper Orosi, where we found some mank and some good boofs.... I talk about all of this in the video, so hopefully it will work and it'll be sweet! So, check out the video post and enjoy some tropical land pictures! We'll be posting up again after we go to La Virgen. Once again, Happy New Year, and we Miss all you folks back home and in Montana!




P.S. - we have a sweet satalite tracker device that Bradford brought. It locates us whenever we use it down to a 'T' on Google Earth. It sends whoever wants it an email notifying them of the cooridinates with a link to Google Earth. So, if you're interested, send us your email in an comment at the bottom of the post, and we'll get you on the email list so you can see where in the world we've been boating! We hope you enjoy this new feature and feel free to post comments, questions, or anything other nonsense. We want to hear from you guys, whoever you are! SWEET! Adios!

The Greatest Adventure Is What Lies Ahead

After our source to sea Pacuare adventure, Bradford and I decided that Ben and Pat would want to adventure back to Turrialba, so we would move on and return later. We headed to San Isidro de General to check out what that place had going on.

After a sweet excursion in San Jose involving a very bonita tica girl name Veronica, (you may have talked to her if you called Scotiabank for customer service. She is required to say that her name is Amy Sanchez, and she prentends to be from the US.) we found ourselves in a sweet hotel in San Isidro. Veronica´s grandmother hung up on us when we tried to call her, so we had an uneventful night.

The next morning, we were off to rio Chirripo Pacifico. We thought the intense class V and VI section would suit us so we put in. The technical difficulty wasn´t surprising, but the arduous, sugarcane hacking scouts with other multiple hazards made us want to run rapids that were not suitable for running. A while later, we were back on the road pulling wasps out of our hair... All of our hair! We hitched a ride with Rodger to the lower put in and bumped down a couple miles of junky read and run Class IV which brought us to the 1 mile hike back to the main road where we scored another free ride back to San Isidro.

Early the next morning which happened to be christmas, we woke up and got a ride to the town of Savegre Abaho which was high, and near the source of Rio Division. Low water made it a little chunky, but we found several miles of class IV boulder drops of the highest quality. We made it down the Division to the Savegre to within about 6 miles of the ocean that night. It was a good way to spend Christmas.

The next morning, we made the trip to the mighty Pacific Ocean, where we planned to make the 8 hour paddle to Quepos to save some money. After getting thrashed in multiple overhead waves trying to get past the surf, we were a bit discouraged and we only made it a couple hours before I got seasick and needed to call it a night. We were nearly out of water when I remembered being sold pipas at the beach last year. we got out the machete and went in search of some young coconuts!

This morning, we woke up after a very wet rainy night and got on the ocean bright and early. Several hours later, I was very seasick and we finally made it to Manuel Antonio beach where Bradford and I spent the next 3 hours trying to hitch a ride to Quepos because we were sick of the ocean. After an incredible lack of success, we turned down an 8 dollar taxi ride, and paddled two hours on the ocean to Quepos.

Once in Quepos, we found that our meeting point hostel for Ben and Pat had no vacancy. Bradford sat with the boats while I checked prices on hotels. When I returned, I had had a huge double take when I saw a Giant Red Rocket of a boat and Ben sitting with Bradford on the side of the street. After the great reunion, we set out to the hotel, and here we are. We plan to run the Naranjo with our new friend we met on the beach named Kanutto tomorrow. Hasta Lluego for now!!

-Casey

Rio Pacuare

We flew into San Jose 2:35 on the 18th. Once the bus dropped us off in San Jose from the airport we realized our Turriabla bus was 20 blocks away. Since our funds are limited we started walking. A good while after dark us and our 80 plus pound boats finally reached the station, and away to Turrialba we went. Once there it took four tries to find a suitable hostel as our barganing skills are not so hot yet. Next morning we wake up exchange some money buy some bags of beans and off we go to the source of the Pacuare. Still keeping our funds in mind we have decided to link the pacuare into a multiday trip, saving expensive shuttle costs. Also keeping the funds in mind we decided to go with human power to get our boats from the furthest point a truck could make and on to the river. Unfortunatly this means traveling over an extremely steep and muddy mountain pass. We had heard two hours via horse along with someone saying only 45 minutes of steeps. We stared at 1pm, and again it was not until dark did we finally arrive at the river. We quickly ate our rations of food that were not even close to filling set up the hammocks and went to bed. Sleeping in a healthy amount after the not so restful, but lesson filled first night in the jungle we put on late the next morning. The late start was not helped either when my largest dry bag split along the seam. After lots of rearranging and a random local kid happy to have a nice new bag we finally set off on our first tropical river.

Here is a short update brought to you from the heart of the Upper pacuare gorge just after blood hydrolica day two of four:






Our camp sites for the evenings have been everywhere from relaxing and senic to a constant soaking and bug infested. We float by a spot that looks inviting and beach our boats. There is not much time before it gets dark so we set up the tarp and hammocks fast. Even so we still have time for the constant repair of gear, or the eternal search for exotic and delisious tropical fruits. It rains every night, but thankfully we keep mostly dry. For a little bit a least.
This morning we woke up to our last day on the Pacuare. Took off around twelve and spent the next few hours getting to Turriabla for some food, and dry bed. Tomorrow we head out for San Isildo where we will try and run the Charripo Pacifico and possibly Naranjillo section of the Naranjo.

We are almost there

Casey and I leave for Costa Rica in less than a week and will start boating immediately. Ben and Pat meet us there ten days later. For the next 3 weeks we will boat together as much as possible. Running everything from the local stretches to 3 and 4 multi day expeditions. Mid January Pat and I say goodbye to Ben and Casey as we take off on the next leg of the adventure. I actually do not know where we will be going when goodbyes are said but one of these three locations will more than likely be it.

Chiapas/Northern Guatemala
Northern Honduras
Maya Mts. of south central Belize

For the next month and a half we plan on scouring maps and local beta with the intent upon finding remote and unexplored drainages. Lastly we hope to end up in Nicaragua's western coast for a bit of spanish school and surfing. Pat then leaves in time for the annual Cataract trip and Stillwater organizational time. I stay behind and continue learning spanish till April. When we finally are all reunited again it will be just in time for Montana's steep and deep spring runoff!

There it is. So keep The Shuttle Rig as your start up page, because very frequent updates are about to start flowing in!

Out With A Bang

3:45AM - The cell phone alarm startled us after a less than rejuvenating night's sleep. Hot water for coffee, some donuts for breakfast, and we headed off from our base camp for the 2 hour drive to the put-in.

6:30AM – We were all dressed and very conspicuous looking when Ben saw headlights coming. The four of us shouldered our boats and scrambled down the trail in the ambient light to hide just over the hill from the parking lot. Tensions were high, and we couldn't be seen, we couldn't be stopped. Not this early, not without at least a taste of this fine river. We watched with relief as the headlights passed. The girls came down to bid us farewell and take a group put-in photo before driving off to play for the day.

We made our way cautiously down the dark, muddy slope to the river where we put on as the morning became barely light enough for us to see each other.

7:15AM - “It looks runnable, but I think a portage is the best option” said Pat from shore after scouting the first major rapid we had come to. Ben thought otherwise and decided to run the BIG boof over a deceptively sticky hole. The book had spoken of kayakers catching a “free rodeo lesson, in the pre-dawn light.” Ben very nicely illustrated this when to all of our amazement, his 92 gallon mega-rocker was cartwheeling and doing all kinds of rodeo moves in the hole with Ben. After his extensive beatdown and swim, Bradford, Pat, and I decided to portage.

7:35AM – The sun was rising, Ben's boat was recovered, everyone was surprisingly warm, and although tensions were still running high, so were spirits, and excitement.

8:45AM – Some flatwater, a fun boof, and a boulder garden behind us, a big rapid with a sheer wall on the left and some nasty sieves on the right faced us. Just downstream was a footbridge over the canyon, at which each of us took turns casting nervous glances, hoping no one would be hiking on such a cold, October day. We decided that it was definitely class V but we were up for the challenge. Bradford went first, got squirted and flipped in his suboptimal craft, and headed straight for the sieve. Luckily Pat sprinted down to help pull his skirt and recover his boat. I'm pretty sure his paddle and pogies are still in the sieve. Needless to say, the rest of us decided to portage, Pat had a spare paddle for Bradford to use, and we passed under the bridge over a 8 foot ledge drop, and around the corner.

10:40AM – The second gorge petered off after numerous fun rapids, 2 of which we scouted, and another we should have (Pat was the only one who remembered the line). Our hands were cold, but our spirits were still warm and ready for more action. We were passed our creek landmark and soon found ourselves deep within the mysterious third gorge.

12:25 PM – Lots of scouting, rapid running, and one drop portaged by everyone led our crew to the conclusion that the third gorge had been the best so far. We were too cold at this point to step up to all of the challenges this amazing stretch had to offer. We came out of the canyon somewhat regretful that we had portaged such quality drops, but happy to be there and glad to escape it's clutches with no carnage. There now remained a lot of flatwater, another footbridge, and 2 more class V canyons in the run.

2:10PM – The flatwater was over, we still had yet to see a soul, and the fourth, California style gorge was among us. Bradford and Pat were too cold from the flatwater to hold their paddles, so they began hiking. Ben and I stuck to the water and with one portage, we enjoyed the few other rapids before beaching at the falls where we met up with the other two.

2:50PM – The falls portage and flatwater between canyons was over. An excited Ben grudgingly agreed with the group consensus of portaging the first three crux rapids of the fifth and final gorge. The portage in the afternoon sun warmed us up and we enjoyed the miles of very fun class III and IV which led us down toward our hiding spot.

4:10PM – After randomly coming across a trickle of warm water dribbling into the river, I hiked up to find a moderately disgusting, waist deep, hot spring pool in the weeds in which we huddled together and tried to stay warm in our wait for dark.

7:15PM – A shared pot of black bean ramen noodle soup, bagels dipped in refried beans, some chalky coffee, and a short hike had kept us warm enough so far, but we were all restless and it was finally starting to get dark enough to continue down to the takeout. We called the girls and gave them the one hour heads up. We were headed to the most exposed and potentially consequential part of the river.

8:00PM – We made it successfully through town, under the bridge, and were on our way to freedom. It was pitch black, but we didn't care at this point. We boogied on down through the darkness, bumping off unseen rocks and noticing that class II is kind of challenging when you can see absolutely nothing.

8:40PM – Headlights and warm hugs greeted us after what had seemed like an eternity (it pretty much was) since we had left the girls smiling faces at the put-in a whopping 14 hours earlier. We had done it. We are all now proud members of the YLA and can't wait to return. What a great way to finish out an awesome season.

Right Side of Mesa...Its pretty friggin' stupid.

For those of you who don't know Mesa Falls is a waterfall on the Henry's Fork of the Snake River near Island Park ID. Lower Mesa Falls is a magnificent display of power. It is hard to stand next to it and not awe in the beauty of the cascading waters. I personally revere it for its breath-taking riverscape. Lower Mesa Falls, like its name hints, is the product of the Snake River's decent from a high mesa in central Idaho, in two spectacular displays of nature's power. The Upper Falls is unrunnable, but worth a look, as it will get you pumped for what lies merely 3/4 of a mile downstream. The lower falls is a a two tiered drop on the left and a one shotter with a big bounce on the right. The falls crash down into an almost perfectly vertical canyon, with lush grass and towering butresses giving it the feel of Middle Earth rather than middle Idaho. In essence, Mesa is a huckers paradise.
Three weeks ago our crew of boaters made the 2 1/2 hour journey to Mesa Falls for Wes's birthday celebration. It was a beautiful sunny day, and the water levels were perfect. The left side line, which consists of a 15 footer shortly followed by a 30 footer, was prime and just pleading with us to huck. The huck fest was started in fine form by Pat, who hopped in his boat for the first shot at the drop. After his flawless line the rest of the crew followed eagerly into the sweet bubbly bliss.
After many minutes of deliberation Bradford and I decided that the right side was perfect for dropping on this particular day. With safety set and hearts pounding Bradford and I scouted, rescouted, and scouted again. We went step by step through the strokes up to the drop, the boof, the tuck, and the impact. As go time came nearer I could see the determination in Bradford's eyes...mixed with a healthy dosage of trepidation.
Bradford waited in the eddy above the drop veiled by an outcropping of bushes. I anxiously awaited his pealout on the shore just 30 feet away. I feared for my friend. I thought about the shear rock wall just 10 feet to the right of his drop zone. I pondered what would happen if he was off line by a mere 3-5 feet on his left and dropped into the deep seam that disappeared into a thundering abyss 65 feet below. What if he hit the boulder and went over vertical? What if he pitoned? Would he hit his line? Was he ready for this? Before I could think more on these questions I saw Bradford's boat patiently waiting at the edge of the eddy 30 feet above the lip. A few more moments of contemplation, and Bradford pealed out of the eddy heading for the largest drop of his kayaking career. The lip approached, and Bradford was on line. He took one last late boof stroke and plummeted to the rock "bounce" 20 feet below.

He sprung from the rock with impressive force and fell the remaining 45 feet to the chunder below. Without even a seconds falter he was up and paddling away from the drop unscathed. Pat and Jake erupted in triumph from the safety rock below the falls. I could see the exhalation in his face from my perch. His smile beamed ear to ear, and I knew he had laced his line. I bellowed my response to his sick line down to him over the deafening roar. But for me it was not time for celebration. I was up next.
As I got into my boat I remembered how this drop had been my dream since I first laid eyes on it some 3 years ago. How it had kept me up at night thinking about the most significant boof I might potentially ever make. Three years ago I was not ready for the right side of Mesa, but sitting in that eddy starring over my shoulder at the largest horizon line I'd ever contemplated, I knew I was finally ready to give 'er. As I pealed out of the eddy I felt as if the water were slowing down, as if I had a keener sense of things about me. I could hear the roar of the falls, but it somehow felt surreal. Each stroke felt like it was perfect, like the water was controlling the blades, not me. 15 feet from the lip I made contact with my one reference point, a small wave, and mentally smiled; I was on line. 10 feet, I watched the mist approach, and heard only the cacophonous waters. 5 feet, I took my last stroke on my right side and prepared for a left side boof hopefully placing me perfectly on the bounce rock sending me into a pencil in the pool below. As the lip rolled away from my boat I pulled on my left blade, grabbing the rock slightly, boofing the 65 foot waterfall. I had a moment of panic, as I thought I was oververtical, and would piton on the boulder 20 feet below, but instead I felt the watery recoil hit the hull of my boat and the then...darkness. An instant later I felt powerful impact that stunned me momentarily. I rolled up and was at the bottom of the falls. My face was pounding with pain, and my vision was blurry, but I could only feel satisfaction. For lack of a better word I was STOKED. Pat and Jake greeted me with cheering and high fives as I rolled into the eddy. As my adrenaline flowed out of me I began to smile, and then laugh. I had done it, I had dropped the "Right Side". My dream of sailing off the right side was finally realized. It was an indescribable feeling, like none I have had before.
The reunion between Bradford and I back at the top of the left side was awesome. I could see the excitement in his eyes, and I felt it in my own as well. We had bothed nailed our lines, and celebrated together. As we spoke, Bradford told me "...this drop has changed how I am going to paddle. I feel like I can harness my fear now, channel it down into something I can use."
Bradford's words ring truer than ever. I now feel like we've made a leap forward in our paddling. No, hucking your meat doesn't make you a good paddler, and if you are not ready it appears to mean quite the opposite. This drop represented our drive to push ourselves mentally and control our wits. I now look forward to the next challenge that lies ahead.
As we drove off that day I felt more satisfied than I had in a long time. I'm not going to run that drop again. I don't think I'll ever run that drop again, and I don't think I'm ready to, but I anxiously await the next kid stupid enough to think he is.

The New Sensation Sweeping The Nation!

Marginal Mondays



It's the new mostly legal hazing ritual for for anyone hoping to call them self a Bozeman paddler. With ample low water, rocks, and debauchery for all the greater Bozeman area has never been so fired up to boat the Gallatin late in the cold evening as we are now. With two successful descents so far we are now gathering fliers and stickers to spread the good news throughout town. Our goal is thirty strong, though our last turnout of eleven is by far an unprecedented number for a fall run. Boaters of all levels; and I do mean all, convene at the rally point in the mall parking lot and head to the river. We arrive dancing to the good music and begin the hair run. Once on the river everything goes: crashing your buddy out of a wave, skirt pulling, rescuing you neighbor from a swim, boofing on people, forced swims, guiding a first D'er down. It will all be done in the name of good river fun. It is always dark at the take out when we arrive. The conversations are always planning what will be paddled that next weekend, who wants to go again the next few days and everything of the sort. We will most defiantly report future marginalness to come. please hold no fear.

River Snake....No...Snake River!

Labor Day weekend came and went this year with a slight diversion from years past. The past few years we spent the three day weekend hucking it on the Kootenai, but this year was different. The kayak scene in Bozeman was stronger than I had ever seen it in the fall, and people were coming out of the woodwork to try their hand at boating. With the monday previous to the trip being a huge success on the Gallatin with "Marginal Mondays" it only seemed appropriate to skip on the gnar and stick with the groovy. With the horde formed, and Luke at the helm, we convoyed to Jackson Hole for epic play, ferocious drinking, and lots of debachery.
The weekend festivities went down without a hitch... aside from the cops being roused twice for the rave that went down on friday night at the campgrounds, or Casey's face being burnt in a splendid game we lovingly call "Fire Facing", or even the paddle Luke broke when he got a little extra cheese on his taco when he had an extended stay in the Burrito hole. Despite the fact that the river was at a in between level, there was no shortage on fun. The sun was shining, the booze were flowing, and the bigginess was all too present. Needless to say the trip was a perfect way to start the dreaded school year in appropriate river rat fashion.
And how could I forget to mention the female kayaking posse that somehow manifested in Bozeman like a SPD in math class? These ladies were throwing down in style. With a group of girls all in kayaks on the Snake, it was no wonder Bradford couldn't keep his pants on! I salute you ladies for gettin' out there and keepin' it real. Surfin', swimmin', and looking drop dead sexy in neoprene! OW OW!!!


Check out the blog soon for our post on the right side of Mesa Falls!

Check ya later Honkies!

Catalyst Trailer

Over the past summer Pat, Bradford, Casey and I have been filming our adventures with waterproof handheld cameras. Without high quality camera equipment, crew, and camera knowledge we have created this trailer for our movie that will come out Spring 08. Sit back and enjoy... and look forward to the real deal this spring!

Summer Lovin'

Howdy Partners! The summer is coming to a close and most of the rivers are dry. It is now time to fill you all in on what's going on out here in Montucky. Pat and I started up our summer with a somewhat successful roadtrip through CO for some boating. With poor weather conditions and Pat's need of a truck our trip was cut short. Upon my arrival back in Bozeman on a more than regular Gallatin run I slipped and fell on a rock, breaking my hand, and putting myself out of the game for 8 long a grueling weeks. The creek boat season drifted by as I fell more and more into depression. But don't fear! Pat kept the flame lit by hucking his meat continually on the greater Bozeman's creek scene.
The first ever Big Timber race went down in June, with Pat placing 5th and #1 from the Americans, proving that the young guns and rip it up with the good ol' boys.
With my hand starting to heal we decided to check out the Kootenai at a high flow of 17 grand. Needless to say, it was a wild wild time, with massive surf sessions, big waterfalls, and epic river running through a scenic gorge in Northwest Montana. The Kootenai river offers (in my opinion) the best playboating in the state, with blunts, backstabs, and airscrews being the norm on the big bouncy surf. The wonderful thing about the Kootenai is that it is always GOOD. While some rivers are prime at only certain flows, the Kootenai is prime no matter what level you hit it at. So, it really doesn't matter when you're there... it's gonna be sick. At low flows it turns into big holes with good looping spots and endless surf sessions. At higher flows it turns into massive wave trains and rowdy waterfall hucks culminating with surf sessions that get ended when you swallow too much water and puke in the eddy. If you get the chance, go to Libby Montana and marvel at the "Montana's Zambezi".

Oh yeah, one more thing. Pat and I decided that school would have to wait till spring sememster because Africa is calling... and we're going to answer.

Granite Creek!

Whammy!!! That's right, the feeling that you get after finishing a two day exploratory project in Northwest Montana. First D?, Second D?, 100th D? Who knows, or for that matter, who cares. A winter's worth of research, several day's of driving, hours spent bush whacking through the woods, getting’ bit by mosquitoes, slipping through soggy, snowy, rainy, and muddy forests, having thorns ooze blood out of your skin, without gettin' wet, it wears on you! Once you take that first stroke in the crystal clear waters of a beautiful backcountry creek you know it's all worth it. The water may be clear, but the outcome of an untested drop is cloudier than Billy Bob's vision after sippin' some montucky moonshine.

Northwest Montana is littered with hundreds of creeks anywhere from rippling brooks to bone crushing mank, all backed by some of the lushest mountain ranges in all the Rocky Mountains. We had spent several day's working our way North from Bozeman, exploring run's that were new to our crew, as well as hitting up classic such as the Kootenai. We had spent the first few day's driving around on a wild goose chase for boatable creeks, they were either too low, too manky, or heinously wood infested. Our crew was breaking down from the lack of actual boating; we started getting at each others nerves, until I dragged everyone up the trail for one last chance to explore. Things were looking mediocre from the trail head, but we had hope. That's right! We had heard rumor of a waterfall 2 1/2 miles up the trail that squeaked through two giant boulders, and plummeted into a deep pool below. We made our way up the trail, poking our heads in and out of the creek bed to scan for drop's and potential hazards. Our pace steadily began to increase until there was a steady pounding amongst the trail. My pulse began to race, my mind drastically started zooming past my body with imagination.
Desperate eagerness clung to our smelly tattered clothes as we screamed around each corner, the creek transformed into this incredibly clean, oh so boofable haven with drop’s stacking up one after another. We quickly came to a halt and all agreed that rushing back to the truck’s to grab our gear would be the only way to satisfy four lonely dudes. We haven’t gotten any action in a while, and this was definitely going to satisfy our H2O addiction.

Trip Report:

Coming Soon!

Carnage Fest

Trip Report:

April 27th we arrived at the Lochsa river in central Idaho around 7:30 pm. We immeadiately headed for "Pipeline", a retentive wave that holds true to its name. After an hour of surfing the sun began to melt beneath the horizon and it seemed our surf session was coming to a close. It was at this time that Jay had an exquisite idea to shine his car's fog lights down onto the wave.
With this beautiful idea we were able to surf the wave well into the night until our stomachs won us over and sent us back to the "Ghetto Gateway" campground.
The scene at the campground was ludicrous. There were close to a hundred people making their home at the usually empty campsite adjacent to the river. It resembled a festival more than a campsite. After a solid night of partying saturday morning was spent prepping 4 rafts and near 20 kayakers. It was quite an impressive sight to see our posse streched from one bend in the river to the next with no significant break. As the temperatures began to approach 80 the river began to swell, and the raft carnage became imminent. The highlight of the day was Lochsa Falls, where 3 out of the 4 of our rafts were flipped (spectacularly I might add). As for the kayakers there seemed to be an unlimited amount of surf waves to be caught and laughs to be had.
After a second run down the 9 mile non-stop wave train/big water lower section of the Lochsa we victoriously returned to our campsite to celebrate Blake's 21st Birthday. Everyone in our group (30+ people) enjoyed stories of raft carnage and big moves and sweet lines in kayaks.
Sunday was a similar scene as we got back on the river for another rowdy fun day. The water continued to rise and it was apparent as the waves became huge and rowdy surf sessions on Lochsa Falls were had by a few piss and vinegar paddlers.
In the end the weekend was a huge success, with our entire group leaving the river with thoughts of summer drifting through their heads. It was a great feeling to spark the summer flame at such a unique and fun place as the Lochsa for so many people who would otherwise have spent their weekends drinking in the bars in Bozeman. The weekend was spent soaking up the rays, cheering as rafts flipped, hooting as a kayaker surfed a gnarly wave, and laughing as someone did a booty beer. It truly was a weekend for the history books.

The Easter Keg Hunt!

What does kayaking and keg's of PBR have in common? A three day weekend at the Lochsa with 20 boaters, Chainsaws, Shotguns, surfin', and boofin' in the beatiful backyard of Idaho's epic boating scene, that's what. We set on a mission to the Lochsa area a little weiry, the weather was cold and drizzly in Bozeman, and the Lochsa was low. We were clinging on to the hope of the weather channel actually being correct. The forcast called for weather in the 70's, and a warming trend throughout the weekend. We decided to give it a whirl, and eventually conjured up a crew of 16 boaters from Bozeman to rally up there Friday morning. The afternoon was spent surfing the dozens of catch on the fly waves that the Lochsa has to offer at low flows. I truely love that feeling of good old fashion surfing with a huge grin on my face. I felt like the Lochsa isn't about trying to prove who can do the best freestyle manuevers, it's all about good times with friends, sunshine beaming down on us, and one of the most beaufiful roadside runs anywhere.


Saturday was a day full of adventure! a group of 6 paddlers went over to the S. Fork of the Clearwater for a day of great IV-V river running. We started the morning with a flat tire on one of the Subies, and eventually got it fixed in the town of Kooskia ID. While we were waiting we decided to entertain our selves at was by far the most interesting attraction of this small podunk town in the middle of nowhere, We went Garage Saleing! We ended up with a few goofy hat's, some old Johnny Cash Records, and a semi flat volleyball. We quickly got extreme with our volleyball, and made ourselves a court in the middle of a gas station parking lot, it was a good time, Oh yeah! The Clearwater was great, we finally put-in at around 3pm, and ran ten miles of classic bump and grind river running. Ben sacked up and made Coyote Falls look like class III, which in fact is a chunky piece of v+ that started up the run just right. The rest of the run was perfect read and run action that didn't really let up for the whole 10 miles. Their were two scouts on the run, which were solid V's, but were very forgiving at these flows. The level was great, it opened up new lines, and a boched line wouldn't really get you in trouble. When the day was done we had one swimmer, and a crew full of satistied paddlers, Whoa, I love that run. Super stoked to know that it's still a riot even at lower flows.


Saturday night was spent back at the Lochsa with a keg of beer, and 20 stoked paddlers ready to get down! The whole group quickly became very silly, and before we knew it 4am rolled around, and the keg was finally emptied. The next morning we woke up slowly, sipped coffee, surfed pipeline, and soaked in Jerry Johnson Hot Springs before we made our journey back to the real world. What a way to spend Easter!

How we play in MANtana

March 31st. After the most epic party this side of the mississippi, still drunk and for the most part lost, we (Jay, Pat, Jordan, and I) set out to find some rarely run creeks in the Northern Crazy Mountains. We were quickly scrubbed on acount of snowy roads. We then turned out attention towards the Absorka Mountains and the Boulder river. The Boulder was only running at 250 cfs, but when Pat, Joe Booth and I ran it last summer at 3000 cfs we portaged a class VI that was huge and manky.
Our mission on this warm sunny day in March was to find a boatable section of the manky class VI that we could have fun with. Along the way we got into some Montana style shennanigans. Rock trundling, Heavy machinery, and hang-over curing beers were all in order.
After our fun was had off the river we decided to scout out the gnarly section of the Hells Canyon of the Boulder. It was amazing how different the run looked at low flows. It was a different river. We quickly found the class VI portage and were stoked to find that there was a beautiful 10 footer nestled in the chunky boulder fields with a notch landing that had to be boofed just right.
For a few hours we sessioned the drop, trying out new boofing techniques and continuing with the shennanigans theme of the day. Jordan and Jay (Jay's first big boof) both did awesome, lacing their lines and making it look like easy mac with some hot sauce on top. All in all it was a fun day in Montana, with plenty of boofin', rocks being pushed down hills, and logging equipment being driven.

Kootenai Creek

March 24th. Our first trip of the year north to Missoula, MT. Our plan was hit up Kootenai Creek, Alberton Gorge, Brennan's wave, and possibly Bear Creek. The flows were low, but we were all itching to get out there. Saturday the weather was gorgeous and the water pretty low, which was actually a blessing in disguise. We had some first time creekers who did great stomping down the class IV Kootenai Creek. With some more flow this run turns into a great season warm-up with some good boofs and decent rapids. Its a beautiful creek in the Bitterroot range just outside of Missoula with a hiking trail that runs parallel to the entire run. The run consists of about a 1/4 mile of class IV action culminating with a fun little slidy thinger. All in all it was a fun start to the Montana boating season with many more adventures to come!
Oh yeah, and saturday night we slept in a boxcar...it was sweet.



Over and out.

Cataract Canyon Raft Trip

Spring Break. The phrase incites feelings of ridiculous shenanigans and classic good times. This spring break just so happened to be one of those times. After deliberating for some time Pat and I decided to go kayaking for break rather than the normal, and expensive, skiing option.
With some thought Pat found Cataract Canyon. Cataract Canyon is on the Colorado river in Utah near Moab, nestled in the heart of Canyon Lands National Park. With beta flowing in at a steady pace we sold the idea to as many people as we could. By the time the trip was set to launch we had 17 people, 5 rafts, 4 kayaks, $1000 in food, and $450 in booze ready to rock Cataract Canyon.
The energy was high the day we put on, with all 17 of us milling about getting the rafts geared up. 15 minutes after the trip was underway the first beers were cracked (luckily it was two days of flat water). The first two days were spent meandering through the canyons enjoying the sunshine and each others company. By the time we got to the rapids the group had begun to embrace the "river-hippie" attitude. Farting, burping, nudity, and copious amounts of alcohol were all encouraged (safely of course). With our riverness kicking in the fun level sky-rocketed. Campfire stories, rough-housing, and general shenanigans were not in short supply. Drrrrr....ok, pause the story for a moment, I'm exhausted. We'll continue this exhilerating epic at a later date. As a closing thought I will leave you with some pictures to ponder.
Ben-



Trip Report
The Colorado River from Potash to Dirty Devil boat ramp is a great early season multiday raft and kayak trip. The weather is usually in the 60's and 70's during March, which makes for a great jump start into the boating season. The trip is a total of 96 miles, and can be done in 5-7 days easily at low flows, and much quicker during peak, which is usually early June or late May. The first 48 miles of scenic flatwater can be done in two long days, and is well worth it in order to spend more days in the rapids. Lathrop canyon makes for a great camp the first night at mile 24, and Spanish Bottoms is a great camp for night two. The Doll House area is a great hike! Once below Spanish Bottoms boat 5 miles of whitewater down to rapid #10. Keeping track of the rapids is easy at low flows, they are distinct pool drops. Camp 10's beach is literally a stones throw from the Brown Town, which offers some of the best surfing in Utah. There is a large eddie on river right, and is hard to miss. The dynamic breaking wave/hole offers endless surf sessions. You'll want to plan at least 2 days to session the wave, it's really that good! After Camp #10 there are about 9 more miles of rapids. Scout when even you feel necessary, About 6.5 miles below Brown Town a rapid named Big drop #3(class IV) has a small line for rafts, scout river left. Most of the other rapids are big frothy class III+/IV's that make for great fun in both rafts and kayaks. Float to Gypsum Canyon or farther, to make an easy day's float to the take out the following day. With current low reservoir conditions on Lake Powell the last 28 miles is now moving quickly, and a motor boat shuttle is no longer necessary.
Pat-

Playin' with the boys

That's right. Neoprene, 90 degree wood paddles, and of course Dry Tops are for Pansies!

¨¨It´s ok, we´re on vacation!¨¨

Hello friends, once again reporting to you live from Ecaudor. We are now rokkin it out in Banos (and yes, its the same word as bathroom)greatly anticipating our last run of the trip; Rio Topo.
Well, let´s see, what´s been going on since we last updated ya´ll. Pat and I ran the Hollin, which was an overnighter filled with fun.
The first day started with a 40 something foot waterfall followed by some awesome rapids, one of which went through a cave. After a failed waterfall attempt in a raft (not the 40ft one)and a 2 hour long raft pinning incident we had to push hard to get to our intended sandy beach of a campsite. As we came around a corner we were amazed to find a virtual resort left deserted. This place was exactly what you think of when you picture Gilligan´s Isle mixed with Tarzan complete with thatched roofs, multiple rooms and bedrooms, and a view from the front porch to kill for. With a decent nights sleep in our hammocks behind us we set out for the second day. The second day was hardly as entertaining as the first, but it was a beautiful canyon and anytime we became bored with the whitewater all we had to do was look up.
There are many more stories to be told, and in due time they will all be unraveled, but for now I must be going. The streets of Banos are calling us!

Keep on Rokkin
-Ben