Steve Fisher speaks at TEDxAthens

Photo: Screen capture TEDxAthens Live Stream — Steve Fisher

Filmmaker and world-class kayaker Steve Fisher gave a TED talk this Saturday in Athens, Greece, where he discussed the question, “how do you prepare for something that’s never been done before?”

In keeping with TED.com’s mission, “Ideas worth spreading,” the theme of TEDxAthens was “Uncharted Waters” and who better to speak on the subject than Fisher, a Redbull athlete and National Geographic Adventurer of the Year who’s led teams of kayakers through some of the world’s biggest whitewater.

Fisher talked about his tactics for taking on monstrous rivers and his approach to managing risk in deadly whitewater.

“We can mitigate risks purely by understanding them. And the way that we understand them is we take a seemingly impossible idea and we break it down into digestible parts and we look at each step individually and see if that is attainable.

What happens then is that we find that many of our fears are unjustified, and very often we find that what’s before us is far less risky than we thought.”

Fisher explained that kayaking, like other extreme sports, isn’t about being a death-defying daredevil, but practicing enough to develop the skills to make good decisions about when to push the limits and when to realize the risks are too high.

“As humans we are not inherently risk-adverse. We evolved by taking risks, so it’s ok if there are risks in what we do. We simply need to understand those risks, and once we understand them, we’re ready to take the first step.

“If I look at the whole rapid it’s far too daunting. So what I need to do is break it down into smaller chunks, into individual moves, and see that I can do each move individually. Only then do I figure out how to link those moves together.

“What we’re trying to do is establish the path, or line, that we’re likely to be on and the reason we’re doing that is to eliminate the parts of the rapid that don’t affect us, the parts of the rapid where we will not be. If we do that we can look and see if there are any deadly features; if those deadly features are in the eliminated part, we never have to think about them again. And if those deadly features are in our path and they’re unavoidable, well then we don’t go. It’s far too risky. That’s how extreme sports works—sorry to disappoint you.”

Fisher told the audience that there’s no shame in turning around and saying no when risks are too high, a lesson he applies to life in general, as well as his kayaking career.

“In kayaking, there’s no turning back, so what that teaches us is not to panic when things go wrong. When the unexpected occurs we have no choice but to solve the problem and keep on moving. But fortunately, as in life, if we zoom back just a little bit, perhaps to where we haven’t yet climbed in the kayak and made the commitment, we get to see that very often we can start down a path, realize we’re on the wrong path, turn back and reset the plan.”

He gave the example of a trip to Victoria Falls, pictured on his slide in the above photo, when he and his team decided their mission was too dangerous.

“We gave up, but we didn’t have to feel ashamed of it. If you refuse to give up on an idea, then you inhibit your ability to experiment. But if you’re willing to give up after a good effort, then when you do give up there’s no reason to feel guilty.”

For the full video version of Steve Fisher’s TED talk, click here.

Portaging Niagara Falls

Stories

Photo: Stephanie Park — Portage at Niagara Falls.

Portage.

That’s what lakewater trippers do—we portage. From lake to lake, into remote wilderness, we heft mounds of stuff, all intri- cately organized into wannigans, canvas packs and polyethylene barrels. Yokes dig into our tired muscles as 60-pound canoes balance precariously on our shoulders. We are like oxen plowing the last furrow of the day, ready to unburden our load.

Many sport enthusiasts willingly subject themselves to torturous masochistic prac- tices—boxers accept head punches, cyclists wear tight spandex and canoeists…well, we portage.

It’s no wonder the word portage is often synonymous with gruelling pain and agony. As renowned canoeist Bill Mason once reminded us, “…portaging is like hitting your- self on the head with a hammer: it feels so good when you stop.”

So, when it came to planning a 200-day ca- noeing expedition, my husband and I found a way to paddle days on end, enjoying wide-open views, endless scenery, crystal clear wa- ter and the full gamut of weather conditions with no portages. Well…except for one. I will get to that later.

If you are a serious lakewater tripper, you must travel some of the coastline of the five immense lakes that shape the heart of North America—the Great Lakes. Vast and diverse, they are the largest chain of freshwater lakes on the planet, holding 20 per cent of the world’s freshwater.

Over the last three summers, we paddled this ancient waterway, travelling the entire 4,000-kilometre coastline of the Canadian Great Lakes from the Pigeon River, west of Thunder Bay, to Kingston on Lake Ontario, where the Great Lakes flow out the St. Lawrence River.

Along the way, we paddled the shores of Lake Superior, Lake Huron, Lake St. Clair, Lake Erie and Lake Ontario.

Each lake lives up to its great reputation. Lake Superior is the deepest, its greatest depth at 406 metres. Lake Huron is home to Manitoulin, the largest freshwater island in the world. Lake Erie boasts endless sand beaches around Long Point, Rondeau and Point Pelee and supports the richest aquatic life of all the lakes, a total of 46 million fish. And Lake Ontario offers its own challenges when your route takes you right through the busy city waterway of Toronto harbour. Oh, and there is only one portage. It happens to be 25 kilometres long, around a pretty major waterfall—Niagara.

After two blissfully portage-free summers, preparations for our third summer had be- gun and we were inadequately prepared for the 25-kilometre hike ahead. The longest portage in our combined portfolios was a mere three kilometres, but we felt confident in the helping hands of friends and family eager to lend their support in what was soon coined, P-Day.

As P-Day drew closer, however, our helpers dropped faster than the 100,000 cubic feet of

water that flows over Niagara’s brink every second. We heard the full range of excuses, from dentist appointments to busy work schedules. Instead of a brigade, we were re- duced to three helpful saints, who made the one-day carry possible. Portage technology had also advanced since the fur trade and we were well equipped with a modern canoe trol- ley that proved invaluable. Some call it cheat- ing, but after a few kilometres, I call it smart. I’ll bet not one voyageur would rather carry a barrel of whiskey than roll it.

The Niagara Falls Review, the oldest news- paper in Ontario, reported that no one had portaged the route in recent history. It’s estimated that the last portage taken was over a hundred years ago. The ancient trail, however, is still intact—now paved and suitably bearing the name Portage Road.

As we approached the brink of Niagara Falls on foot, with our canoe in tow, citizens and vacationers sent worried glances in our direction. It was understandable consider- ing that, in their lifetimes, more people have paddled over the falls than portaged around them. Within minutes a police cruiser pulled up and out stepped two straight-faced uni- forms.

“I hope there’s no law against portaging, officer,” my husband said with a smirk. After telling our story, the police were delighted to help us out, making routine visits through- out the day. “I’m happy we weren’t the first portagers to be arrested,” I said as they sped away to another call.

The busloads of tourists filling the sidewalks proved no more difficult to navigate than overgrown balsam on a seldom-used trail. The crowds also made for an interesting portage, as we were an attraction ourselves, posing next to our canoe for hundreds of snapshots.

Stops at places like the Hershey’s Chocolate Factory and Candy Planet fuelled the journey. The 25 kilometres rolled on and by the end of the day we rested and dined lavishly at Peller Estates Winery. With a fine glass of private reserve, barrel-aged golden Chardonnay, we toasted our fun-filled day, a bit sad that it was all over. Because as Bill Mason also wrote, “It’s the portage that makes travelling by canoe unique.”

How To Get A Grand Canyon Trip

An epic 280-mile, self-support run of the Grand Canyon is a perfect way to humble your spirit and marvel at the vastness of one of our world’s greatest wonders. The question is: how do you get on the river without the wait?

Every year 8,000 rafters, kayakers and open boaters run the river, accounting for just one percent of total Grand Canyon visitation. In the off-season, regulations limit launches to one trip per day; in peak season, launches alternate between one and two trips per day. This includes both commercial and private trips. Still, in November 2011, our group put onto the mighty, 24,000 CFS Colorado River after waiting just three months for a permit.

Your best odds for a Grand Canyon self-support launch ticket are the supplemental lotteries for canceled permits. Plan to go in the winter months—October to March—when the weather is nippy but there are inevitably more open dates. If you can go on short notice, your odds are even higher. Supplemental lotteries are held five to seven times a year; get on the Park Service’s email list to be notified in advance of each lottery. Look at the stats for the most popular dates, and then avoid these when you enter your bid.

The lottery is weighted to give more points to those who have never been on the river or have not won a trip in at least five years. Find a trip leader who has never been down before, as he or she gets five bonus points for the targeted launch date. Each person in your group should independently submit bids for the same launch date. If you can organize 16 people (the maximum group size), each with five points, to submit for the same date, then the trip will have 80 chances of winning—almost a sure thing for a winter launch date.

Be careful with this system if you plan on running the river again in the next five years. A winning bid that you don’t use goes straight back to the bottom of the barrel and reduces your chances in the future.

It is crucial to know that the winning trip leader (TL) must go on the trip. If for any reason the TL doesn’t make it to Lees Ferry on the appointed date, your launch is canceled. Not all is lost if this occurs, Las Vegas is only five hours away.

List a few alternative trip leaders (ATLs) on the application. If the TL cannot make it, an ATL may be substituted as the permit holder and life floats on. One important caveat—the TL and all ATLs should hold the same number of points; if the TL has five points and one ATL has one point, the application is given a weight of one point. Good luck!

Learn more about Grand Canyon trips and permits here: http://www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/whitewater-rafting.htm

This article originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2012. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read the rest here.

Trips: 10 Worst Portages

Trips

No canoe-tripper can deny the feeling of satisfaction that comes at the end of a portage, when the watery destination sparkles through the trees and the trail tends downhill. Immediately the canoe or pack become light on your shoulders and struggles are forgotten—sort of. In assembling this list, we came to the conclusion that Bill Mason’s favourite saying, “Anyone who ever tells you that portaging is fun has got to be a liar or crazy,” was only half right. There’s a healthy dose of pride, humour and even happiness in all these tales, which goes to show that sometimes you have to go through a bit of hell to get to heaven.

Wet and Wild Wabakimi

Phil Cotton speaks with authority when he says, “the worst portage is not the longest one.” For the mastermind of the Wabakimi Project’s six years of documenting canoe routes in the wilderness of northwestern Ontario—and portaging 137,000 metres in the process—one carry stands out. In 2007, Cotton portaged from the Pikitigushi River to Cliff Lake, along Wabakimi’s eastern boundary, in a torrential downpour. “The final portion of this portage is straight down,” says Cotton. “We had a torrent of water cascading over our feet while we picked our precarious footing.” Th e team survived the billy goat path by floating the canoes down the trail, only to discover that the end of the portage “simply plunged into the water.”

Mountain Goat Mackenzie

Northwest Company explorer Alexander Mackenzie became the first European to cross the North American continent in 1793 by surviving a back-breaking route across the Coast Mountains to British Columbia’s Pacific coast at Bella Coola. When his native guides warned of hostile tribes further south, Mackenzie elected for a more northerly route, in which he climbed a 6,000-foot mountain pass, skirted a series of peaks and a wild river valley, and eventually descended to Bella Coola. In his grossly understated journal, Mackenzie described his feeling of accomplishment at the end of the portage: “I could perceive the termination of the river and its discharge into a narrow arm of the sea.”

The Case of the Stolen Canoe

Midway through the longest portage of his career—a 107-kilometre grunt across the parched foothills of Wyoming—the late long-distance paddler Verlen Kruger’s canoe was stolen from the side of the highway. Kruger, who was 60 at the time, was in the midst of his 45,000-kilometre Ultimate Canoe Challenge. A day later, Kruger and his occasional paddling partner and future wife spotted the stolen boat atop a pickup truck. A high-speed chase ensued for nearly 100 kilometres, in which Kruger dropped notes out the window asking for help, hoping that someone would notice the paper trail. Th e strategy worked. Police eventually apprehended the thief, Kruger’s canoe was returned and he was promptly ushered back to where he left the portage.

Short Man Complex

Participants in the 1967 Centennial Canoe Pageant from Rocky Mountain House to Montreal faced many challenges—not the least of which was the back-breaking toil of hauling 26-foot, 400-pound north canoes on the portages. Th e biggest problem, remembers Norm Crerar, a long-time marathon racer whose Manitoba team won the Centennial race, was the fact that not all his teammates were the same height. “Th ere was a four-mile portage from Cedar Lake to Lake Winnipegosis that was a killer,” says Crerar. “It was very hilly, and going downhill the guys in the front had all the weight and going uphill the guys in the middle could’ve done chin-ups from the thwarts.”

Discover six more of the roughest and toughest portages in Canoeroots and Family Camping’s Summer/Fall 2010 issue. For more expert tips, download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.

Off the Tongue: Fluffy Bunny

Stories

How is it that I can travel 2,000 miles from my home river to Vernal, Utah, be on a river I’ve never paddled before, with complete strangers, and hear our guide Charlie—a man 19 years younger than myself—reply “Fluffy Bunny” when a high-tech worker from San Francisco asks the name of the next big rapid? Sorry Charlie, that’s my line. Or at least I thought it was.

I’d joined a commercial rafting trip on the Green River’s Gates of Lodore. I was there to write and film a story for Rapid and Rapid Media TV (Easy Green, Spring 2012). I’d never paddled in the Southwest but I could have given the safety talk verbatim, jokes included. It was the same guide talk I’d given clients a hundred times when I was Charlie’s age. It was the same talk cameraman Dan Caldwell gave on the Kicking Horse and Illecillewaet rivers in British Columbia. How does this happen?

Throughout the Southwest, a hunch-backed, longhaired, flute-playing figure is painted or carved into boulders and rock walls. Kokopelli is perhaps the most famous of all ancient rock art; you’ve probably seen him on T-shirts and bumper stickers. Legend says that in his sack he carries seeds and songs from town to town. He is credited with the spread of agricultural technology, teaching villagers how to plant and grow corn. Kokopelli was also believed to be a fertility god, prankster, healer and storyteller. He could have been a raft guide and paddler.

Like Kokopelli, when we travel to rivers, we bring the changing of winter to spring. We bring the melting of snow and the rain. We play jokes. We help and heal those sick with smog and congestion. Some say Kokopelli was capable of detaching his penis and sending it down the river to have his way with the innocent young maidens who were bathing in the stream. I don’t know about that, but raft guides have been the source of many human conceptions—we won’t mention names. And wrapped inside our large duffels among our paddles, helmets and gear, we bring our own stories and traditions from river cultures far away.

Long before paddlers were friends on Facebook, we had our ways of sharing information and passing on traditions. We had guidebooks and adventure stories. We had club newsletters, journals and magazines. We had bars, take-outs and tailgates. And we had teachers, instructors and mentors.

Long-time raft guides like Rapid columnist Jeff Jackson bounced back and forth between guiding in the Ottawa Valley and working for NOLS on rivers in the Southwest. Jeff was trained by the best river managers and now, in a senior leadership and mentoring role, he passes all of what he has learned down to the next generation—the third generation.

Get a few dozen or so dirtbag guides like Jeff with international airfares and, sure as Kokopelli’s hunched back, there will be guides on the Sun Kosi, Zambezi and Pacuare telling their guests as they approach the big rapids, “This one’s called Fluffy Bunny.”

Scott MacGregor is the founder and publisher of Rapid.

This editorial originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2012. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read the rest here.

Kokatat Rogue Review

Gear

Photo: Courtesy Kokatat — Dry Top Review

The lightest of the tops we’ve tested, Kokatat’s high-performance expedition top offers an ideal mix of protection where you need it with breathability where you want it. High wear areas like the shoulders, elbows and forearms are Cordura-reinforced, while the side panels are made of ultra-breathable Gore-Tex XCR. Attention to details like a key lanyard in the self-draining chest pocket and a tasteful reflective logo make this one classy jacket.

High Sign: Unsurpassed fit that feels tough without any unwanted bulk.

Low Sign: No imported beer for an entire season to afford this one.

$425 | www.kokatat.com

This review originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2012. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read the rest here.

NRS Revolution Review

Gear

As soon as we got our hands on this dry top, we knew it was expedition-grade. The hefty 400-denier body and Cordura elbow patches provide protection from creek beds, canyon walls and overgrowth on portages. Redesigned for 2012, the Revolution is equipped with a standard neoprene collar and a Velcro, neoprene and nylon tunnel. Not so standard are the liquid-sealed seams. Rather than just using seam tape to seal the jacket, NRS has applied liquid rubber sealant to the seams and gaskets for extra leak-proof insurance.

High Sign: So heavy duty you may never wear it out.

Low Sign: Heavyweight protection means, well, heavy weight.

$330 | www.nrs.com

This review originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2012. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read the rest here.

Bomber Gear Bomb Long Sleeve Review

Gear

Bomber Gear splashes back onto the whitewater scene with a new line of dry gear including this flagship dry top. We found the Bomb’s highly water resistant, Sub-screen treated neoprene cuffs protected the wrist gaskets and improved fit, helping the sleeves stay put on our wrists. The sticky neoprene outer tunnel did a great job saving us from the crop top effect of bracing and rolling. The inner liner is a light and silky Tricot waterproof-breathable nylon that doesn’t bunch or chafe against bare skin.

High Sign: Bomber Gear’s gaskets aren’t glued; they’re chemically fused for longer-lasting protection.

Low Sign: No elbow or forearm reinforcement may lead to premature wear.

$390 | www.bombergear.com

This review originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2012. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.

Video: Nepal Kayak Adventure

Videos

[iframe width=”560″ height=”315″ src=”//www.youtube.com/embed/AKQ-jpej-10?list=UUsWXWGpi5ae_XihtNJUlCDg” frameborder=”0″ allowfullscreen ]

Join Ben Brown on a month long expedition to the Democratic Republic of Nepal to explore the high volume whitewater rivers of the Himalayas. Shot 100% on the GoPro Hero3+.

Thanks to Ultimate Rivers Nepal: www.ultimaterivers.com.np

Music Track: Kåm∆nd¡ – Wolf.Lord(Ookami)

From Ben Brown.

6 Steps For Building A DIY Backcountry Sauna

Person holding a jug of water and pot with blue tarp in background — True "glamping." | Photo by: Dave Quinn

The sauna (sow-na), or sweat, is a traditional pastime used for thousands of years. A sauna generally involves creating hot steam in a closed space by pouring water on a super-heated surface, and allowing the moist heat to relax muscles, ease the mind and renew your spirit. Whipping your friends with juniper boughs and leaping repeatedly into icy water are optional.

A sauna is an excellent way to pass a weather-bound day, while relaxing and getting clean in the bargain. After all, generations of First Nations people and Fins can’t be wrong.

[ Paddling Trip Guide: Find your next backcountry paddling adventure ]

How to build a backcountry sauna

Step 1: Choose site

The ideal sauna site is right next to a good deep-water jumping spot or swimming beach. You also want to be as close as possible to the spot where you will heat your rocks.

Step 2: Build the frame

Use driftwood or fresh-cut green boughs to create the sauna structure; set it up so there is just enough room for your group to sit inside without touching the hot rocks. Note: only use living trees if they are in the process of being washed away—do not cut trees from the forest. Drive the thick ends into the sand or block them with stones. Bend in and tie the thin ends together to form a small structure. The smaller the hotter!

Step 3: Add the shelter

Drape a large, four-by-four-metre tarp (that you don’t mind getting dirty) over the structure and seal the edges with sand, rocks or driftwood.

Step 3: Rock and roll

Collect grapefruit-sized or smaller stones for the sauna. Avoid softer, lighter, weathered and odorous rock and be sure to stay away from rocks that have been soaking in water, as they are more likely to explode. Look for crystalline igneous rocks or metamorphic rocks that are formed from igneous rock. For the geologically fluent, experts recommend peridotite, olivine, vulcanite and basalt. Stay away from sedimentary rocks such as sandstone or shale and collect your rocks from a dry area.

Collect a lot of firewood and light a large fire in an existing fire-pit or a low-impact spot. Let the fire burn down to a good bed of hot coals and place your rocks in the coals until they are red hot. Transfer the hot rocks into the sauna using a metal pot or bucket or pairs of strong, forked sticks. Add more rocks to the fire as replacements for those cooling in the sauna.

[ Further reading: Guide To Building A DIY Canoe Tree ]

Step 4: Bliss

Strip down as bare as you dare, crawl into your sauna and seal the door. Pour water on the rocks and—ahhh… To make it a sweat in the native tradition, enter clockwise and exit the way you came in. Don’t forget to bring in water for drinking and extra for sprinkling on the rocks.

When you’re ready for a break, make a dash for your swimming spot to complete the thermotherapy routine—hot and cold immersion gives you a natural high and is said to strengthen the immune system. The hot rocks should be good for two or three repeats. If it’s cold out, crawl back inside the lukewarm sauna to dry off after your final plunge.

Step 6. Erase evidence

The backcountry or beach sauna is not a low-impact technique. Save the sauna for special occasions and suitable places—think ocean beaches, not alpine lakes. Make sure you’re getting rocks from a place where they won’t be missed and throw any blackened or cracked rocks out of sight into deep water. Burn your fire down to white ash and put it out before you leave.

Sauna rules:

1. Stay hydrated—drink at least a cup (250mL) of water every 15 minutes.

2. Exit sauna to cool down every 10 to 15 minutes.

3. Try a cold-water dunk at least once!

4. Clothing optional.

These articles originally appeared as “DIY Backcountry Sauna” in Canoeroots and Family Camping‘s Summer 2009 issue and “Build Your Own Beach Sauna” in Adventure Kayak‘s Summer 2006 issue.Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions here, or browse the archives here.

True “glamping.” | Photo by: Dave Quinn