OKC Kayak Word Soup

It was late afternoon by the time Kevin and I returned from our adventure up the side canyon. The camp was empty. Even Angela who had sworn that she was going to do nothing but enjoy some R and R, had gone up the canyon to the waterfall. As we neared the river’s edge, I spotted what would be the only piece of trash that I saw in the hundreds of miles of the Colorado River that we would encounter. Even your fire-pit ash has to stay in a metal pan, and thankfully, the type of folks who do this trip appreciate it enough to not leave behind beer cans, litter, and other debris.

This human artifact was likely once attached to the bow of a raft as some sort of mascot. It was a lanky Bratz doll which had obviously seen many miles and even more days floating rogue down the river. I plucked the doll from the water with the initial intentions to add it to our daily trash. The only problem was this old lady of the river was just not destined for the dump just yet. Like trash to treasure, I took a glance around to see if anyone was watching, then quietly unzipped Angela’s tent. Handy as it was, the doll already had a noose of twine around its neck, and a twisted head of hair laced with river debris. I used this to hang the doll form the center loop of the tent’s interior.

Kevin and I were on dinner duty again this night, so we began our kitchen duties without mention of the doll to anyone. It was long after dinner at the evening campfire, before word of our special treasure made the conversation. Angela beamed that whoever was responsible for leaving the voodoo like present would pay. I am certain that Kevin, myself, and Dave Meeks, were the first three to receive interrogation. Each of us retorted in surprise that we had no clue what she was talking about. Angela seemed particularly perturbed by the fact that the effigy was violent hung by the hang-man’s noose. By nights end everyone was suspect, but I am pretty sure that she had Dave pinned as the culprit.

The remaining weeks of the trip were marked with hours of dialogue between Angela and every member of our party, as she tried to get someone to leak. She was determined to crack the case, so she could delve out her revenge. At one point we even had her convinced that it was the most innocent and kind of camp members, Bruce. Later Bruce would threaten to spill the beans if he got fingered for the crime one more time. So it is with this Blog post that I will finally admit to Angela that the sadistic act was really perpetrated by…….. Whoops, out of time once again.

Here it is, the mother of all days in the Grand Canyon and we are not even talking the much feared Lava Falls. You have been warned!!! (Some language may be inappropriate for our less than mature readers!)

Damn It, Damn It, Damn It! Suddenly I instantly found myself underneath the crushing, recirculating waves of a monster hole. Darkness from the murky waters surrounded me and the uncertainty of my survival was at the forefront of my mind. The waters of the Colorado River are so cold that your body cannot override the gasp reflex. (The Gasp Reflex is the instinctive and shockingly uncontrollable, sudden inhalation of air like when you jump into a cold shower). Gasping air into your lungs is particularly bad when your face is already under water. Lungs in the water = bad. In addition to the pressure from the immense weight of the water, it is also noisy when you are underneath all the turbulence.

My faith was placed on the skills of Tom and the crew on his raft, because the rafts ahead of me could do nothing to come to my rescue now that they had already entered the rapid. Hopefully the raft following me saw me get pulled under. Still holding my breath, I ripped my kayak paddle through the violent currents, placing it in position on my best side. Of all the practice, back deck, combat, pool sessions, etc, this was going to be the one roll that counted. One flick of my hips confirmed what I teach in every Eskimo roll class. It is much better to end up upright seconds after you capsize, rather than having to pull your skirt, wet exit, swim, recover your boat and paddle, get the water out, and get back in. I made my roll and was quick to confirm that the hole had released me downstream, effectively granting me permission to continue on down her river.

Getting sucked under left me with more questions than answers. Our friend Angela, a quite competent rafter with many years of experience was helping Kevin and me to pick our lines. We were finally in kayaks today after purposefully postponing this until we could muster the confidence to brave the biggest waters either of us had ever seen in our lives. Up to now, Angela’s “read and run” techniques of picking the line as you enter the rapid rather than stopping to scout these from the shore, had proved effective. Kevin entered the rapid on the left as Angela indicated, with me following close behind. At the last second, she gave me the hand signal to go right instead. Let me repeat, she clearly indicated that I go right. I quickly corrected my course just in time to see that I was headed directly towards the biggest hole we had seen all day. Did I mention that my objective was to avoid holes at all cost? “OH @#$%, I was going right into the pourover created by an underwater rock ledge!” From the perspective of the kayak, the backside of this hole was a depression in the water akin to a meteoric crater. This Bermuda triangle of the river was followed by a wall of water from the giant haystack waves. Even after I made my roll I still had to maintain my composure to finish the last 500 yards of the rapid.

With much relief, I turbo charged my kayak to catch Kevin. “Did you see what just happened to me?” He had not. He was busy with his own challenges that the rapid had dealt. Still keeping on the speed, I caught up with Angela’s boat. “Did you mean to send my right into that hole?” Laughing her butt off, she exclaimed, “Yeah, I saw it was a friendly hole, and thought it would be funny to see you go into it.” K A R M A!!!!

Double blog special today!

Following in the footsteps of the likes of Rush Limbaugh, Lindsay Lohan, and many others, I must confess, I am an addict. Shocking, I know. Yes, folks, I need help. I am seriously addicted to a blog that my friend writes daily. I check it multiple times through the day, reading not only his fantastic prose, but also the comments from his many other loyal followers. I even check in regularly to see where his SPOT Transmitter satellite beacon has pinned down his current location.

What is so interesting about my friend Jake Stachovak, you might ask? Well, he is undertaking a 5000 mile kayak journey from Portage Wisconsin, down the Wisconsin River, over to the Mississippi, across the Gulf, around Florida, up the Eastern Seaboard, over the New York Canals and Great Lakes, back to his starting point. IN A KAYAK. This is no small feat in a much larger boat, but doing so self-supported and solo is nothing short of amazing. He intends the journey to take about 9 months to complete.

Jake is a wonderful guy who I know from my friends kayak shop in San Diego, Aqua Adventures. Not only does he have the kindest of spirits, but he is also an incredibly skilled kayaker. Thankfully he does a much better job of offering daily updates to his blog than I myself do.

He currently is in Florida heading south past the Crystal river, over 1300 miles into his journey which began in early December. His posts about his experiences paddling are pretty phenomenal, but the real saga are the challenges he faces when encounter some rather nefarious humans when he goes to town every week or so to fill his water bags, buy some more calories, and charge his batteries on his equipment. To date he has had all his many thousands of dollars of gear stolen (and miraculously recovered), nearly had his kayak frozen into a popsicle until spring, and been maced by two baggie pants punks.

The worthy objective and purpose for Jake’s trip is to delineated that his trip is a collection of trips that anyone along his route could be doing in their own backyard. Fellowship? Hmmm, ever heard me exclaim what it is about paddlesports that I enjoy most? I was even lucky enough to see Jake at the start of his trip as he passed through Oklahoma on I-40. Everyone he encounters has to sign the Seda Ikkuma kayak that he is paddling. This has become quite the collage of signatures.

So, if you find yourself craving another piece of chocolate cake, or one two many smokes, dial up your internet, and check out www.portagetoportage.com instead. I can assure you, if you take the time to start reading from the beginning, it will be more than worth your time. Go Jake, Go!!!

Depending on whose groundhog you have been talking to, we may or may not have six more weeks of winter. What better time to get your kayak shopping done than a grey day of winter? Bring your tax refund money by for some outstanding deals (on the web page under kayak specials!)

Much has been happening around the shop. I am only about 12 months behind on blogging about these happenings. I could let the Grand Canyon Adventure Story drop off, allowing me to move on to other exciting topics, but I just cannot do this. We still have many exciting stories to tell from the GC. If you have not read the beginning of the story, visit the archives from last spring. Here we go…..

Grand Canyon continued……

From the day Kevin and I met up with the rest of the group, Angela had been lobbying hard for a layover day. This was understandable since she had been on the water for well over a week, battling hard winds, snow flurries, and cold temps. But, I was still fresh in the saddle and chomping at the bit to see more river miles. Day after day, the winds continued to hamper our downriver progress, which would continue to delay the layover, for yet another day. In a mini-tirade (well not actually), Angela put her foot down and insisted that we would be taking a day or two hiatus from the water.

After reminding us that we were a guest on her much prized permit, we gratefully agreed to a day of rest, water filtering, laundry, and R and R. The day had dealt us brutal up canyon winds, the sun was setting and it was time to make camp. We pulled over to shore just above a rapid where Angela had previously flipped a raft. None of us wished to deal with this scary beast at an hour in which little light was left to dry our bodies out, much less deal with righting a flipped raft. (These rafts weigh tons when all the gear is strapped to them). One by one, we lined our rafts at the most remote campsite. No other rafting parties were using this, and we were so deep in the canyon that no hiker could access this. ….Or that is what we thought.

Our much needed layover site already had an occupant. Unbelievably, a lone backpacker with not much more than a climbing rope, a small pack, and nor much of an inclination to share his campsite with a bunch or rafters, had already staked his claim to our site. This somewhat odd individual had climbed weeks into the backcountry for some solitude. He informed us that there was another camp below the rapid and we WOULD be running the rapid in the twilight. This was not what we wanted to hear.

We loaded back into the rafts, sent Randall in his cataraft down first as our sucker, uhm, I mean guinea pig. After seeing that he did not die, one by one, the rest of us continued. Angela cried just a little bit out of fear of again flipping her raft, but thankfully the rafts were self bailing, draining her tears out the bottom of the craft. Four rafts made the eddy and were now parked for more than one night.

Layover days are a great time to explore the endless number of side canyons that feed into the canyon. Hikes up these offshoots reveal amazing waterfalls, wonderful geology, and plants and critters with incredible adaptations for survival in the tough desert environment.

Will, Kevin, and I opted for a hike up to some falls. Will was a very quite, but introspective individual. You could sense his deep appreciation for the canyon and for the emotions one experiences in a place like this, just by feeling his spirit. Will opted to leave our trio after the falls in an attempt to spend some time in solitude and do some writing inspired by the mother of all inspiration. Kevin and I chose to climb a ridge for a dramatic view of the surrounding landscape. Our hike was a herpetologist’s dream, as nearly every rock harbored about 4 different species of lizards. One highlight of the trip was seeing a Chuckwalla. This lizard, about the size of a large iguana, has a special adaptation. If something is threatening it, this reptile finds a rock with a narrow crack in it, goes inside and inflates his body with air to wedge himself, preventing removal by the predator. Other members of our group were lucky enough to see rattlesnakes on their journeys.

Desert beauty was everywhere. From pastel colored spines on cactus, to flowering plants, brightly colored pollinating moths, hummingbirds, or bighorn sheep, a photograph awaited you at every step. Sunsets in the canyon were more than amazing as well. What would begin as a rest day, really had become a much greater opportunity to see the canyon in depth. I now would eagerly await the next “Rest Day.”

I am at the Tulsa boat show this week, so I promise to do loads of blogging. Come back later and I will reveal the culprit behind mysterious mischief in the canyon. Find out what happened when idle hands in the canyon decide to prank another in the group.