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Why The Gutter Park Is Idaho’s Best-Kept Secret

Idaho's Gutter Playpark | Photo: John Webster

North of Boise on Idaho’s Highway 55, with Old Chub beers in hand and a barbecue just big enough to manage a 12-pack of Oscar Mayers, a crew of programmers, veterinarians, marketers and business professionals ditch their suits for sprayskirts.

The magnetism that draws Idaho’s river-folk to an old fish ladder of diverted mountain runoff has held fast for decades. The Gutter is home to a tribe of grey-haired paddling people playing hooky from their desk jobs to immerse themselves in the humble pastime of gutterballin’, running figure-eights around the drops in the Gutter’s near-perfect whitewater year round.

Since long before the sculpted high-volume whitewater parks of Cascade and Boise—50 miles to the north and 25 miles to the south, respectively—the Gutter has been quietly nestled down a back road in Horseshoe Bend on the Payette River, attracting its own brand of dedicated work-dodging mischief-makers, looking for a slightly less sophisticated class of park n’ play.

The Gutter’s 100-yards of short drops, holes, surfable waves and powerful eddy lines are a tried-and-true destination for training in the pre-season, just a couple hour drive from home of the world-class North Fork Championship.

The real draw, the draw that keeps locals coming and out-of-towners tuned into Horseshoe Bend’s radar, is the massive wave that arises when a submerged air bladder—usually functioning as a dam—is partially deflated in the spring during peak runoff, diverting water through the four-tiered fish ladder.

Idaho’s Gutter Playpark | Photo: John Webster

The phenomenon is a rare sight; the last bladder deflation took place two years ago. As children whisper about the arrival of Santa Claus or a visit from the tooth fairy, the paddlers of Idaho wax poetic about the Bladder Wave that kicks off the paddling season in the earliest days of spring.

If the water level in the reservoir is high enough, the dam’s manager in Horseshoe Bend will make the call that brings paddlers from across the country. Along the Gutter they camp, in tents and under tarps, in the chilly spring air, waiting for the swell that will humble them for a new year of paddling.

“We surf on the wave, throw little blunts and do low-angle cartwheels,” says 17-year Gutter veteran, Mike Voorhees.

When Voorhees isn’t paddling the North Fork, he plays hooky from work and takes the long way home, stopping in Horseshoe Bend. He’s raised his three sons to be paddlers, starting them on the Gutter at age six before moving on to “harder stuff.”

Despite a feisty Hometown Throwdown hosted by Jackson Kayak in 2010, the Gutter has stayed outside the limelight of the paddling scene.

“They love dialing down their skills, trying different strokes or going backwards into eddies,” says paddling photographer John Webster, a frequent visitor of The Gutter.

“The older guys, that’s their jam.”


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This article first appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Rapid magazine.

Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.

Why The Portage Trail Connects Canoeists To The Past

person carrying paddles along a mossy portage trail with shoes wrapped in duct tape
“What seems to us bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.” –Oscar Wilde | Feature photo: Kristian Olauson

When you’re thigh-deep in muck on some godforsaken height of land, most paddlers would agree that portaging is right up there with toxic sea food and celibacy on their list of least favorite things. That is, until you stop to ponder who might have walked the same portage trail. It’s there that the magic of carrying your gear through bogs and over steeps from coast to coast to coast lies.

Why the portage trail, not the river, connects canoeists to the past

The beauty of living in a continent of lakes and rivers is that it is still possible to put a boat on the water almost anywhere and, with enough hard work and sufficient time, arrive at almost any destination.

While these waterways witnessed the march of history, the water itself is as modern as we are—swelled by today’s rains, runoff and melting glaciers. The portage trail is another matter altogether.

Change flows faster through dynamic river systems than it does over granite and dirt. Treading these ancient nastawgan, it is more than an idle dream to think that we’re walking—literally—in the footsteps of our forebears.

person carrying paddles along a mossy portage trail with shoes wrapped in duct tape
“What seems to us bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.” –Oscar Wilde | Feature photo: Kristian Olauson

However memorable the carries around canyons, rough water and falls may be, it is the arduous trails across the heights of land where canoeists have always lingered—whether for want or difficulty.

From one watershed into another

At the highest ground, waters flow, however slowly, in two directions. Invariably, that means to cross from one watershed to another is to travel through swamp. The boon of soggy feet is to come as close as a traveler possibly can to those who have come before. Height of land trails are not traveled nearly as often, the number of foot prints between ours and our ancestors is vastly smaller.

It’s on these marshy portage trails that history comes most fully alive.

In the west, along the continental divide, at Gibbons Pass, crossing from the Missouri to Columbia rivers, or vice versa, you can still sense Lewis and Clarke, more than two hundred years gone.

Further north along the Great Cordilleran spine of North America, at Athabasca Pass, you can walk with David Thompson or Sir George Simpson. You can follow their journals word for word and step by step from the east-flowing Whirlpool River over the crags and down to the mighty Columbia.

To the east, there is the legendary 19-kilometer La Loche Portage in Saskatchewan, connecting rivers flowing to Hudson Bay with Arctic waters. Here walked Sir John Franklin, on his way north to the Coppermine river in 1820, and Alexander Mackenzie, on his way to the Pacific in 1793, 12 years before Lewis and Clarke.

Perhaps the best-known place to wet your feet crossing a divide is at Grand Portage, crossing from Atlantic to Arctic waters, where the trails still ring with the silent cries of the voyageurs headed to or from the pays d’en haut.

The DNA of these men—their blood and sweat and struggle—lingers in the soil. Water flows and the river changes, but the trail never washes clean.

Cover of Canoeroots Magazine Spring 2015 issueThis article was first published in the Spring 2015 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.


“What seems to us bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.” –Oscar Wilde | Feature photo: Kristian Olauson

 

NRS Mambas

Photo: Dawn Mossop
NRS Mambas

NRS Mambas are thick neoprene pogies for protecting hands from cold weather and chilly water. A Velcro strip locks them onto the shaft so I can insert my hands and make direct contact with the paddle—there’s no loss of control like with gloves and mittens.

$47.95 | www.nrs.com

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This gear review first appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Rapid magazine.

 

Esquif Canoe Ceases Production

Esquif Canoe Ceases Production

On Wednesday, March 18 at 11 a.m. ET Esquif announced they had ceased production in their Frampton, Quebec facility via their Facebook page in a French and English message. 

The English message reads:

“It is with great sadness that we announce today that Esquif Canoes Inc. has stopped operating Monday, March 16th. Various elements forced Esquif to dispose of its assets and end production. 
For over 15 years, we worked hard to design and build the best canoes in the world and we want to thank all our customers and friends. Mission accomplished! Jacques and everyone from Esquif”

A representaive from Esquif was not immediately available for comment.

Whitewater canoeists had been especially excited about new material T-Formex that Esquif Canoes was manufacturing, said to be as tough as Royalex, but more abrasion resistant and lighter.

T-Formex would not have required any re-tooling for Royalex boat building operations, a boon for Esquif as well as other manufactuers that Esquif hoped to supply.

“It’s too bad, we were hoping he’d get that together,” says Tim Miller, owner of Nova Craft Canoes. Miller had planned to manufacture a number of models in T-Formex when the material became available. “It would have been great to have a product we could have molded like Royalex.” 

More to come as this story develops. 

Gear: Keen UNEEK Shoe

Photo: Kaydi Pyette
Keen's UNEEK

Keen’s new Uneek is a perfect summer sports sandal that can double as a city sandal for the bold and lacey. The super light and airy design is created using two parachute cords and a lightweight base. Survivalists love them. We love the supportive mold and custom fit the toggles offer, as well as the variety of colors.

“It’s a total love or hate shoe — people are like ‘that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,’ or ‘I hate that, I want to beat up the guy who designed it.'” 

The designer of the UNEEK shares how the new shoe came about here: 

 

$100 | www.keenfootwear.com

 

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This gear review first appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Canoeroots and Family Camping magazine.

Canoeroots – Spring 2015

Canoeroots - Spring 2015
This Spring 2015 digital issue of CANOEROOTS magazine has all of the canoeing content you crave from the print newsstand edition, including trips, techniques, tips, gear reviews and profiles of your favorite adventurers, as well as additional exclusive content, like extra photos, video and links, so you can get more from your issue.
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 What’s Inside?

Features:

Art and Soul: One week in the wilds of Wabakimi with bushcraft expert, Ray Mears

Who Owns the River? The simmering conflict plaguing America’s rivers.

Camping Cheats: 29 ways to make your kids love camping as much as you do

Departments:

Butt End: Kevin Callan worst wilderness nightmare

Campcraft: Carve your own beautiful blades

Gear: Best bug shelters for spring camping

Expert Tip: Stay dry in a deluge

Camp Kit: Best new gear this spring

Technique: Becky Mason’s sneaky stroke

Food: Perfect pancakes

Canoe Reviews: Old Town’s NEXT and Clipper Canoe’s MacKenzie 18’6

Canvas: Recipe for photographing a tundra wolf

Canoes: All-new Royalex alternatives

Tumblehome: James Raffan on why it’s the portage trail, not the river, that connects us to our past

Editorial: Editor Kaydi Pyette’s escape from the carnival of unnecessary inventions

Base Camp: Getting your kids into higher learning

Betcha Didn’t Know About … Blackflies

Bubble Street by the bearded and funny Paul Mason

Canoescapes: Gorgeous photos that will make you want to grab your paddle and hit the water

     

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Free Falling

Free Falling | Photo: Ciarán Heurteau

If you’ve seen another photo of Norway’s famous Flemming’s Drop, there’s a good chance it was taken from the river right shore.

The left is an inhospitable, moss-covered bank and since the take-out is on the right, there’s little reason to ever ferry across.

But with the frightening determination we’ve come to expect from some kayaker-photographers, Ciarán Heurteau imagined a new angle and knew he needed to get the shot.

A French and Irish slalom paddler, Heurteau turned to creeking in 2009.  A year later while nursing a shoulder injury, he spent more time with a camera than a kayak.

“I started reading books about photography, studying photo composition,” says Heurteau. He analyzed the works of Ansel Adams and decided he wanted to start shooting with more of a vision in mind. “I don’t want to take a photo for the sake of taking a photo,” he says, “but look at what is around, what I want and what I don’t want in the shot.”

Free Falling | Photo: Ciarán Heurteau

When he saw a little ledge two meters down from the mossy left bank, he knew it would be perfect the perfect vantage point to shoot paddler and diver Sven Lämmler, along with the full scale of Flemming’s Falls.

“The only problem was accessing it,” says Heurteau. “It was just an overhanging rock with a lot of unstable moss on top of it.”

Praying the ledge would hold, he jumped down and found his footing to set up for the perfectly composed photo he’d imagined.

The result is this composite image, in which Lämmler, 15 minutes after running the falls by kayak, pulls off a front pike to branny to back tuck, for a total of three rotations before landing in the Rauma River.


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This article first appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Rapid magazine.

Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.

Stop Obsessing Over Other Kayakers’ Adventures And Get Your Own

a group of people sit around a campfire while on a minor kayak adventure
Choose your own kayak adventure. | Feature photo: Gary Luhm

While I write these words, Sarah Outen and Justine Curgenven are wending their way through the Aleutian Islands as part of Outen’s multiyear London2London Via The World enterprise. Russell Henry is somewhere off Vancouver Island, attempting a new speed record. Lee Sessions and Jenny Johnson are dragging canoes upstream from Hudson Bay to Ungava Bay, portaging 21 waterfalls. Jon and Kirti Walpole are forging along 900 kilometers of Nunavut rivers.

Meanwhile, I’m struggling to squeeze in a week’s tour of the comparatively local and placid Discovery Islands.

Stop obsessing over other kayakers’ adventures and get your own

With hectic lives and little time to plan our own trips, paddling is becoming a spectator sport. We live vicariously through the blogs and SPOT reports of those with the disposable income, gumption and skill to spend months braving foggy Alaskan crossings or dodging mosquitos and polar bears across the Arctic. But I don’t envy them.

Besides being long, arduous, expensive and logistically complex, these trips share another characteristic: they don’t sound remotely fun.

a group of people sit around a campfire while on a minor kayak adventure
Choose your own kayak adventure. | Feature photo: Gary Luhm

They’re feats of athletic prowess and dedication, and I’m sure if I did trips like that I’d be a better person in some abstract way. But I’m not likely to. Mega-trips are impressive but not necessarily inspiring—the gulf between these journeys and my paddling is as wide as the Pacific Ocean that Outen spent 150 days rowing across.

At a recent sold-out lecture I attended by another mega-tripper, the audience left shaking their heads with both awe and a sense of irrelevance. The average paddler is fully aware they’re unlikely to ever embark on a trip with grueling 40-mile days, considerable danger and weeks of separation from their families.

To inspire, journeys must be possible for people without type triple-A personalities. Seduced by the extreme, even active paddlers can feel like slouches on their local routes instead of enjoying themselves.

That’s not the fault of the ambitious adventurers who are just following their muse. However, the voyeuristic Internet tracking of mega-expeditions is the paddlesports equivalent of trashy celebrity magazines that line grocery checkout lanes.

Just as following the glitz of the rich and famous can leave us dissatisfied with our otherwise fulfilling lives—why aren’t I driving a Ferrari and dating Taylor Swift?—the mega-expedition obsession robs more realistic trips of their own considerable grandeur.

woman in hat paddles past rocky shore on a less ambitious kayak adventure
Whatever their length, kayak trips work in the ways that matter to us as human beings. | Photo: Courtesy Delta Kayaks

From mundane to momentous, the right trip fits you

Though my paddling résumé lacks epics and even frequent overnighters, I’m not an armchair kayaker. I’ve been out for a paddle six times in the past week. They were all short jaunts near my front door, squeezed between deadlines, meetings and social gatherings.

The value of these so-called mundane trips isn’t that they’re the longest, fastest or most daring. It’s that they work: They renew our spirit, strengthen friendships and rekindle our love of nights spent under the stars and in wild places.

When I do manage longer trips, I’d rather camp on a wilderness surf beach for three days than chart an expedition that can be measured on a globe. I cover short distances, take layover days and tell jokes around the campfire. Friends stop following my SPOT updates when they realize I’m not moving much. I may have fewer stories, but I like to think I have more fun.

I’m not the only one to feel this way. A countercurrent to our romanticizing of the mega-trip is gaining steam. Shawna Franklin and Leon Somme of Body Boat Blade International are promoting the Jellyfish Award for the slowest circumnavigation of Vancouver Island. If I ever compete for it, I’ll seek sponsorship from a hammock company, Penguin Books and Clear Creek Distillery instead of a racing kayak manufacturer.

Regular Adventure Kayak contributor Neil Schulman is currently seeking sponsorship for a solo, unsupported circumnavigation of Ross Island—a four-mile expedition in downtown Portland, Oregon. He won’t be tracking his progress online.

Cover of 2015 Paddling Buyer's GuideThis article was first published in the 2015 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.


Choose your own kayak adventure. | Feature photo: Gary Luhm

 

Lure Of The Labrador Wild

Photo: Peter Marshall
Paddle Like it's 1905

Using only turn-of-the-century equipment, Peter Marshall and Andrew Morris set out to retrace a 600-kilometer route through the rugged Canadian province of Labrador last summer. Their proposed path followed the 1905 route of Mina Hubbard, a young widow who set out to complete an exploratory route along the then-unmapped Naskapi River, which had claimed the life of her husband. In what was one of the most anticipated expeditions of the summer, and with a camp kit that featured throwbacks like a waxed canvas tent, tin cloth rain gear and a cedar canvas canoe, the twosome struggled forward for 130 kilometers before turning back—here Marshall shares what went wrong.

WHO INSPIRED THIS EXPEDITION?

Labrador is wild and remote—it’s always been enchanting to me. After reading about the tragic expedition and death by starvation of explorer Leonidas Hubbard, I was even more interested. To my knowledge, no one has paddled this specific route since his widow, Mina Hubbard, who completed it in his honor in 1905. So there was the big historical element.

WHY USE TRADITIONAL EQUIPMENT?

I had paddled more than 10,000 kilometers in Canada’s North on several expeditions and I was looking for a new kind of trip. I had always been equipped with Royalex canoes, GoreTex, the most lightweight materials and top-of-the-line gear. When I read about historical expeditions, I sometimes felt like I was cheating.

WHEN DID YOUR APPRECIATION FOR EARLY EXPLORERS CHANGE?

It was Leonidas’ trip mate, Dillon Wallace, who chron-icled the tragedy of the expedition in Lure of the Labrador Wild. It’s written in classic man-versus-na-ture style. In comparison, Mina’s published expedi-tion journal is full of joy and wonder for the wild. I had always liked Mina’s perspective more, but we definitely had several of what we called “Dillon Wallace days”—hard and tough.

WHERE DID YOU TURN BACK?

After bushcrashing for three days we’d gone a mile and a half. I had developed micro fractures in one foot, and Andrew had obvious tendon dam-age. At that pace of travel, we would have had 10 days of food left for 400 miles after the portage. We had to separate our emotions from the facts. Labrador has a history of expeditions not turning back when they should—we didn’t want to make that mistake.

WHAT EFFECT DID THE TRADITIONAL GEAR HAVE ON THE TRIP?

It was wonderful traveling with non-synthetic equipment, even though it was bulky and heavy—us- ing modern equipment would not have affected the outcome of the expedition. Prior to the trip I had romantic notions that our traditional gear would bring us closer to nature, but, ultimately, it was just gear. The satisfaction of wilderness travel comes from being out there, not from the equipment we use.


This article first appeared in the 2015 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.

From The Gallery: South Fork Of The Payette

Photo: John Webster
From The Gallery: South Fork Of The Payette

“There’s a period in the early evening when the light on this stretch seems magical,” says Idaho photographer John Webster. “We paddled to the most secluded area to capture it.”

See this photo in our 2015 Paddling Buyer’s Guide here.