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Video: Substantial TV Episode 7 “Squamton”

“In the far north lies the place with glacier fresh Kokanees, Tim Hortons, and some of the best whitewater on planet earth. This episode features the whitewater close to one of our favorite destinations, Squamish BC. The locals call it SQUAMTON! With footage from rivers like Ashlu Box Canyon, Mamquam Falls, Lions Bay Slide, Dipper Creek, and Fear Canyon of the Elaho let this episode guide you through a whitewater paradise where cougars roam free, bears s*#t in the woods, and kayakers are in eternal search of Simpler Times. 

Shot by: 
Evan Garcia, Fred Norquist, Eric Parker
Amazing Zipline Footage courtesy of Reel Water Productions, Sea to Sky Cable Cam
Edited by: Fred Norquist and Evan Garcia
Titles by: Ben Dann

Keep your stick on the ice…. EH!”

From Substantial Media House. 

Jim Coffey Lands 18-Meter Canoe Drop

Photo: Screen Capture Cross Strokin' 5 - Pushing The Limits
Jim Coffey Lands 18-Meter Canoe Drop

 

It’s not everyday whitewater news makes mainstream media, but yesterday Quebec-based paddler Jim Coffey was interviewed by the CBC about his record-breaking canoe huck on the Alseseca River in Mexico.  

In this clip, he talks about what was going through his mind as he approached the lip, the extensive hiking and rappelling it took to approach the waterfall, and he answers the question, “why would anyone want to do this?”

 

Click for video of Jim Coffey dropping the 18-meter waterfall. 

Why I Paddle Alone And Why I Am Unafraid

Photo: Aleksey Kupriko

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible to cry so much and for so many days on end. I cried because it never became easy. I cried because I had no one with whom to share the beautiful moments, and no one to encourage me. I cried because my resolve, my strength, my resourcefulness had to be enough and I was scared they would eventually be inadequate.”

This is one of the more thumb-sucking passages from Going Alone, a collection of essays from women adventurers. I read this and 19 other deeply personal accounts of solo wilderness experiences in preparation for my own extended voyage—seven weeks on the open coast, alone.

I felt ready. Ready to be lonely, fearful and weepy. But beneath the forlorn blinking of an automated lighthouse, alone on a tiny island far offshore, I felt more perplexed than distressed. I waited for the crushing loneliness that would constrict my chest, stealing my breath and my confidence. I fed warm carrot soup into a hollow stomach and watched, quite dry-eyed, a heartbreakingly beautiful northern sunset.

“Aren’t you scared?” asked nearly every person I encountered. It was not an unreasonable question. I knew all too well the hazards of coastal touring in remote areas by oneself: unpredictable, fast-changing weather and sea conditions, long stretches with difficult or no landings, frigid waters, defensive mama bears, lost or damaged equipment, making poor decisions. In my years on the lake, I’d lost count of how many times I had watched the search and rescue Hercules circling the steely skies above foam-streaked waters. I had witnessed forensic divers searching for the body of an experienced solo paddler who’s final decision – to go rather than to stay – had proved deadly.

But when I inventoried the dozens of emotions I experienced every day, fear was seldom amongst them. Most of the time, I felt calm, at ease. An expedition, I have always believed, is open to anyone who dares to depart with hatches and imagination full. Even if your boat—like my own 16 feet of rotomolded yellow plastic—is more weekend warrior than devoted tripper. Even if so are you.

I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I didn’t lie awake fretting over the night noises beyond the walls of my silnylon sanctuary. Even the unpredictable moods of the great, restless waters didn’t scare me. But I scared myself a few times. In six-foot waves on a remote five-mile crossing. In a clumsy slip beside a two-story drop to unyielding bedrock. In the reflection of a mirror in a campground washroom after 43 days on the water.

Perhaps solo kayak expeditions would enjoy broader appeal if more people learned to differentiate between irrational fear and actual risk.

My gut twisted and my skin prickled the evening a man appeared from the bushes near my tent. My hands were so numb on the aforementioned crossing I wondered if the paddle would slip from my grasp. Falling to my knees on the far shore, I thanked the evergreen hills, the copper cliffs and the howling wind for sparing my foolish self.

It’s healthy to experience fear in these situations, as long as you can rein it in and keep enough wits to make your way back to safer circumstances. Our fight-or-flight response—unchanged through millennia of evolution—is what has kept us alive in the face of saber-toothed tigers, thunderstorms and Simon Cowell.

It is an irrational fear that is problematic. The clamoring, claustrophobic fear that doesn’t bow to fight or flight. Fear of the dark beyond your vestibule. Fear of being alone. Fear of growing old, or sick, or even just less willful. Fear of being afraid.

Fear is a strange bedfellow. Like a good story, a carefully crafted paranoia is rarely hampered by the truth. I have friends from the country who are terrified of the city. And urban friends who fear if they venture too far beyond city limits, they are sure to meet a slow painful end, if not from wolves or exposure than from an equally silent killer, boredom.

Photo: Aleksey Kupriko

This fear of nothing to do is a surprisingly prevalent one. Or perhaps it is not so surprising. After all, we live in the most hyper-stimulated, over-programmed place and time the world has ever known.

Here’s a typical conversation, this one with a curious passer-by I met outside a campground office:

“You’re out here alone?” asks curious. “Yes,” I reply.

“By yourself?” curious confirms. “Uh-huh.”

“What do you do all day?” A refreshing break from the “Aren’t you scared?” line of questioning.

“Well, I paddle until late afternoon, then I make camp, cook dinner, explore the beach, jot down my thoughts…”

“Sure, sure, but after all that—don’t you, y’know, get kinda… bored?”

“Nah, I like having time to just sit and think and quietly observe nature,” I say.

Open-mouth stare.

“Besides, I’m quite tired by the end of the day,” I continue awkwardly, “I go to sleep pretty early.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” curious nods. It’s the first thing I’ve said that makes any sense. The ability to quickly summon unconsciousness is evidently the only thing that’s kept me alive in the absence of smartphones, Twitter feeds and Duck Dynasty downloads.

As Annie Getchell, a fellow solo sea kayaker, writes in Going Alone of trying to describe her experience to friends post-trip, “How do I explain about returning to stimulation instead of being?”

Perhaps solo kayak expeditions would enjoy broader appeal if more people learned to differentiate between irrational fear and actual risk. If you need evidence our sensors are screwy, look no further than the millions of dollars spent every year preparing for a zombie apocalypse. How is it acceptable to worry about the un-dead, but I am crazy to paddle by myself?

The dawn of the dead notwithstanding, most of us face relatively few mortal threats in our day-to-day lives. Immersing yourself in a wild environment, develop- ing the mindfulness to safely negotiate its hazards, finding the awareness that comes without constant artificial stimulation, acknowledging your apprehensions and calmly setting them aside—all of this is immensely and uncommonly rewarding.

In the words of another solo woman adventurer and writer, Jill Frayne, “To be in undisturbed places is good for humans and, at least once, you have to go alone. Nature brings us to ourselves.”

On the subject of fear, Frayne continues, “Sometimes camping alone puts an ache in my throat, a feeling close to homesickness. But I don’t think fear explains it. I think the feeling has to do with nature herself, the force of her presence. Nature gets us down to size, disquiets us, makes us anxious and lonesome and thrilled.”

Am I scared? The only thing I truly fear as a kayaker is the day that no one paddles alone because it’s too dangerous—or worse, too boring.

Editor Virginia Marshall does have another fear: tripping without chocolate. But she insists it is completely rational. 


AKv14i1 cover300This article first appeared in the Adventure Kayak, Spring 2014 issue. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.

No Guts, No Glory

Photo: Courtesy Rich Swift
No Guts, No Glory

 

This year’s Muskoka River X challenge will feature two new participants who are raising money to send kids with ostomies to camp.

The 130-kilometere single-day expedition race includes 20 portages and involves grueling night navigation and paddling.

Jim Fitzgerald and Jason Boyd of Ostomy Toronto, a non-profit charity, have signed up for the Muskoka River X to raise awareness about the medical condition and raise funds to send 20 kids with ostomies, or similar urinary or bowel diversions, to camp.

“Every child has the right to go to a camp where they can play with their peers, without the fear of embarrassment or being made fun of,” says Boyd. “Many of these children have gone through sometimes multiple surgeries and their parents have missed time from work, or even quit their job to care for their child, and so the cost of sending a child to camp can be overwhelming.”

Their goal is to raise $25,000, which will send about 20 kids to UOAC Ostomy Youth Camp in Bragg Creek, Alberta, a full service camp that offers paddlesports as part of its programming.

“It’s a life-altering surgery with a negative stigma,” says Boyd.

Both teammates have ostomies and decided a great way to raise funds and awareness would be through competing in this adventurous challenge themselves. They named their team No Guts, No Glory. “One of the perceptions is that this is a condition for old men in a nursing home in a wheelchair,” says Boyd. “We’re working to change that.”

JimandJason.jpg

Fitzgerald, who us an avid kayaker and canoeist, talked Boyd into forming a team after hearing about the race from a 2013 participant.  Boyd hasn’t been in a canoe since he was a 16-year-old camper and has started a fitness plan to prepare.

“One of the reasons we’re doing this is for awareness. We see so many people that say they can’t do this or can’t do that,” says Fitzgerald. “It’s true that I’m medically disabled, but I can still be active—I might not be able to win but I can still compete, and that’s the important thing for me.”

Find out more about this cause and donate here or visit their Facebook page.

See Canoeroots’ Spring 2014 feature story on the Muskoka River X here

 

Stock Your PFD With Rescue Essentials

Photo: Screen capture Stock Your PFD With Rescue Essentials
Stock Your PFD With Rescue Essentials

  

A few small items and a bit of training can go a long way. Check out what Rapid’s editor has with her every time she gets out on the water. 

 What are your must-haves for a paddling session? Leave a note in the comments below!

 

 

 

Gear: Woolrich Portage Plaid Rain Cape

Photo: Kaydi Pyette
Woolrich Portage Plaid Cape

Turn heads on the trail with Woolrich’s new cape—though the poncho-like design is unique, it’s the combination of three plaid patterns that’ll really catch the eye. Pull it on while paddling and portaging and get protection from the elements. For the brave gentleman, a men’s anorak version is available.

Features:

  • 100% Polyester
  • Machine Wash
  • Hood with adjustable draw cord
  • Center front zipper closure
  • Packs inside front pocket
  • Water resistant
  • Center back length: 29 inch

$145 | www.woolrich.com 

 

CRv13i1-30 This article originally appeared in Canoeroots and Family Camping, Spring 2014. Get more great gear reviews by downloading our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it on your desktop here

 

Contest for Lovers

Photo: Courtesy Canadian Canoe Museum
Contest for Lovers

 Did you meet your sweetheart on a canoe trip? Did you paddle up to the altar to get married?  Did you honeymoon in Algonquin?  Were PFDs and paddles a normal part of dating life for you and your partner? If you answered yes to any of these questions then this contest might just be for you!

The Canadian Canoe Museum looking for your ‘canoe love’ story, image or video and you could be featured in their newest exhibition Can I Canoe You Up the River?  The Story of Paddling and Romance

Spring love – 30 days of prizes in April!  They will be giving away great daily and even bigger weekly prizes including a camping hammock built for two, an AeroPress camping espresso maker, Nalgene water bottles, a pair of camping wine glasses, a picnic basket, books, clothing, chocolate, Canoe Museum Family Memberships and the grand prize – a pair of paddles. Winning entrants will be selected at random from all entries submitted. The grand prize winner will be announced at 9:00am on May 1st. 

You can enter your story, image or video by tweeting it to #CanoeLove, posting it on their Facebook page here, or by emailing your submission to [email protected]. The contest ends April 30th at 11:59 p.m.

 

RIP Hobie Alter

Photo: courtesy Hobie
RIP Hobie Alter

An icon in the watersporsts world, Hobie Alter has passed away at age 80. The waterman who invented fiberglass surfboards, Hobie Cat sailboats and developed Hobie kayaks paddled out past the bar on March 29. Read the family’s rememberance below and check out “Hobie: Master of Water, Wind and Waves” at this link: http://goo.gl/0i9nS2. 

 

Hobart “Hobie” Alter, who started out shaping surfboards, and ended up shaping a culture, passed away peacefully at his Palm Desert home on March 29 surrounded by his loving family. Born on October 31, 1933 in Ontario, California, he was 80 at the time of his passing.

The recently published biography “Hobie: Master of Water, Wind and Waves” reveals the story of this true Renaissance man. The son of a second-generation orange farmer, Hobie flourished spending time at his family’s Laguna Beach summer home. And it was here in the family’s garage back in 1950 where he began his somewhat accidental career by combining his two loves, wood shop and water, crafting handmade 9 foot balsawood surfboards for his friends. Business was good, and his father had grown tired of the sawdust, so in 1954 Hobie would open the area’s first surf shop in Dana Point. But as demand continued to grow, balsawood was becoming scarce, and even with Hobie’s creative assembly line, the wooden board building process was cumbersome. This is where Hobie’s extraordinary gift for self-taught, “outside the box” engineering rose to the challenge. Through a top-secret trial and error process, and along with friend and employee Gordon “Grubby” Clark, Hobie pioneered the development of the foam surfboard. With the lighter and more responsive boards, and his gift for design and commitment to uncompromising quality, Hobie quickly became the number one surfboard brand in the world. The list of legendary surfers and shapers that worked or rode for Hobie is a virtual Hall of Fame and his success is widely considered the launching point for California’s iconic surf industry. Hobie himself was a top surfing competitor.

In the late 1960’s having achieved great success with surfing, Hobie turned his attention to another of his water-based passions. And after much on-the-water R&D, he unveiled his namesake “Hobie Cat” catamaran. This fun, lightweight and affordable craft is credited with bringing high-performance sailing from the yacht club to the masses. “The Cat that Can Fly” could be launched off any beach and soon became one of the world’s top selling sailboats. But his curious mind and constant tinkering didn’t stop there. A few of his other inventions include creating the “Hobie Hawk” a high-performance remote controlled glider (another of his lifetime passions). He also designed the hugely successful Hobie Super Surfer skateboard, sculpted a revolutionary 33-foot mono-hull sailboat, pioneered a “Float Cat” for fly-fishing and built the “Katie Sue” (named for his mother Katie and his wife Susan), an awe-inspiring 60-foot power catamaran from scratch.

As the result of this serial innovation, the name Hobie has come to mean a great deal to the world. But it is the integrity of the person behind the name that has meant so much more to family and friends. A humble man of incomparable character, he made it clear that the one thing of which he was most proud, was his family. His sister recently recalled that their father taught Hobie early on to always tell the truth, no matter the consequence, and that any deal worth doing could be done with a handshake. It was a lesson that Hobie incorporated into every aspect of his personal and professional life, and one that he passed on to his own children as well as those that interacted with him in his various enterprises. He was incredibly giving of his love, his time, his resources and his expertise. Always the first to do whatever was necessary to help those in need. Yet he never wanted any accolades or recognition. His kindness, sage counsel and generosity literally transformed countless lives. But as he was quick to say, “A lot of people helped me along the way, I’m just trying to return the favor”.

In discussing the future with friends as a young man Hobie declared that he wanted to make a living without having to wear hard-soled shoes or work east of California’s Pacific Coast Highway. By “Making people a toy and giving them a game to play with it” he was able to realize this dream. And in the process, he introduced an active outdoor lifestyle and collection of products that made the world just a bit more fun. Hobie’s passing will leave an incredible void in the world of surfing, sailing and watersports. But as with any great author, actor or artist, the legacy of his work, and the strong wake of his innovations will live on forever. And for his family and friends, the lessons he taught, the quiet, moral and ethical example he set and the lingering warmth of his abiding love will comfort them as long as they live.

With his loving wife Susan at his side, Hobie lived life as an adventure spending years on the lakes and ski slopes of McCall, Idaho, navigating the Katie Sue through the channels near their home in Orcas Island, Washington and hitting the links at Ironwood Country Club in Palm Desert, California. In addition to Susan, he is survived by his sisters Carolyn and Lillian, his daughter Paula and her partner Ian, son Hobie Jr. and his wife Stephanie, son Jeff and his wife Laurie, grandchildren Cortnie and her husband Dylan, Brittany, Scotty, Cody, Ashlyn, Tyler, Noelle and Justin, great-granddaughter Serena, and many close friends that were always made to feel like they were immediate family.

Hobie received the Waterman Achievement award from the Surfing Industry Manufacturers Association in 1993, was inducted into the Huntington Beach Surfing Walk of Fame in 1997 and admitted as an inaugural member of the National Sailing Hall of Fame in 2011 alongside Dennis Connor and Ted Turner.

Details of Memorial Services are pending, and in keeping with the tradition of the Waterman, there will also be a surfer’s “Paddle Out” in front of the family’s Oak Street home in Laguna Beach, where it all began. Date/time TBD.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests that you consider a donation to either:

 

Sport of Kings Foundation – in Memory of Hobie Alter

PO Box 2499 Capistrano Beach, CA 92624

http://sportofkingsfoundation.org

Surfing Heritage Culture Center – Hobie Alter Scholarship Fund

http://www.surfingheritage.org

Orcas Island Community Foundation – Deer Harbor Volunteer Fire Department– in Memory of Hobie Alter

www.oicf.us

Paddle For The North

Photo: Paddle for the North
Paddle For The North

This article was first published in the March issue of Paddling Magazine

The six-man expedition team, Paddle For The North, is entering the final stages of production for a documentary based on their 1,500-kilometer journey through northern rivers. Last year’s two-month trip took the team through the northern Yukon, Northwest Territories and Alaska, and found them paddling the Yukon and Peel river watersheds, filming as they went.

“The main goal of creating the documentary was to show how beautiful and unique the North is, so that people who don’t have the chance to visit those places connect with what’s up there,” says team member Gabriel Rivest. “The North is a very fragile ecosystem,” he adds, “and if development is done thoughtlessly, it could create irreversible damage.”

Many of the rivers the team paddled entered a new stage of fragility in January when the Yukon government recently announced that they’ll be opening a large portion of the Peel watershed to industrial development, against considerable environmental and First Nations opposition.

Rivers that could be affected are dream destinations for many canoeists, including the Wind, Snake and Bonnet Plume rivers.

“It’s definitely frustrating, it’s been a real political battle,” says Rivest of the announcement. “But the news wasn’t a big surprise. The First Nations communities had seen it coming, and now the whole case will be brought to court.” It makes the conversation message of documentary that much more important, he adds.

Filming along the way definitely slowed the pace of the expedition, and added about 200 pounds in equipment.

“Often the best shots are taken in times when things aren’t necessarily going well or easy. Everyone needed extra patience to be able to capture those moments,” Rivest says.

That patience was sorely tested in Aberdeen Canyon, on the Peel River, the most difficult section of the trip, according to Rivest. The group traversed a five-kilometer portage using a swampy, muddy game trail full of tussocks and tight willows. “It took us over five hours to get the canoes through and three trips in total for all the gear. It was a great accomplishment, but I don’t think any of us will want to be back there soon,” Rivest adds.

The first few days on the Rat River were equally challenging. They group had been warned that the Rat was torture, swarming with mosquitoes, and the group expected to push their canoes upstream for 12 to 16 days.

“It started rough, on our first night we got flooded and lost six paddles. We got stuck in camp for three days and needed to carve a paddle from a spruce tree. But after that, it cleared up and got really warm.

It was hard work, but the area was incredibly beautiful and peaceful. Big rolling green hills, tons of caribou, and the view, once we reached the top, was breathtaking. That’s what we want to share with the viewers.”

Get up-to-date news on the documentary at www.paddleforthenorth.org

 

 

Watch the trailer:

 

Video: First Descent: Michoacan Episode 4

Episode 4 – Repelling Into Unexplored Rapids

“Success at Rio Hoyo del Aire gives the team a boost of confidence as they go into their first descent of the Rio Cajones. The group’s sureness quickly fades when the river shows its strength and forces the team to rappel into an unexpected river basin.”

From Red Bull.

Catch the first three episodes here:

First Descent: Michoacan Episode 1 – The Journey Begins

First Descent: Michoacan Episode 2 – Scouting Uncharted Waters

First Descent: Michoacan Episode 3 – What we came for