“Here we have an Underwood typewriter. Still in the case. Looks in fine shape. She’s a real beauty. We even have some spare ribbons. Let’s start at 10 dollars. How ‘bout five dollars? Four dollars? okay ma’am, we have four dollars. Do I hear five dollars?”
I walked solemnly between the folding tables. Laid out on the tables were a man’s worldly possessions, all his livelihood and his passions. Auction sales happen where I live almost every weekend all summer long. The owners of the stuff are either too old, broke or dead to need them anymore.
Next on the block was a vintage Kodak Brownie and burned into the leather camera case was the name Don MacKay.
In his younger days, judging from the camping gear being carried out, Don was an outdoorsy man. And judging from his old typewriter and cameras he was also a two-way man—what they used to call a journalist who worked as both a writer and photographer. The locals say that in the mid-’60s, he launched an award-winning men’s magazine. He was, in many ways, a guy just like me.
I thought about buying Don’s typewriter and camera for sentimental reasons; I thought they’d be nice to set atop an antique bureau. Imagine the technological differences between this simple brown box camera and my titanium-shelled, eight-megapixel digital SLR, or any of the others used by the pro photographers whose photos appear in this year’s photo annual. I realized that in 45 years, our fancy cameras will be auctioned off, like Don’s Brownie, for less then the price of a cheeseburger.
But the images themselves, the whitewater images between the pages of Rapid, will live on. They are archives of the year’s latest tricks, hottest boats, trendy gear, top dogs and the popular spots to paddle.
Rapid’s photo annual is a time capsule, a snapshot if you will, of whitewater paddling to- day. The photos are historical references for the next generation of paddlers.
Unlike Paul Mason, the fortunate 10-year-old who I watched shooting Little Thompson Rapids on the Petawawa River in his dad’s film, Path of the Paddle, I didn’t start paddling until I was almost 20.
But the new generation is getting an early start. They’re already riding mojo with their parents on wilderness river trips, they’re learning to rip in Jackson Fun kids kayaks and grabbing their own eddies in the new Splash—the first open canoe for kids. Whitewater camps and whitewater high school credit programs are springing up all over the continent. Go tripping and it’s not uncommon to pass babies on remote portages, all swaddled in their little baby carriers.
Never before have parents been more excited about getting their kids out of the mainstream and into the rapids.
I’ve been swimming my son through class II rapids since he was six months old. This summer, at a year-and-a-half, he giggles as we carve into eddies and then points back toward the current for another go. When he and his generation are grown ups, my laptop and camera will be long obsolete and worthless. But these photos will show future generations that whitewater paddling has roots, and it has soul.
I didn’t bid on Don’s camera afterall. I bought a cheeseburger, handed in my auction number and walked out Don’s driveway to my truck.
Instead of going to the office that Saturday morning, I grabbed my camera and took my kids to the river.
This article first appeared in the Fall 2006 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here.
