Traditional Paddling with a Punch

Skills

All photos this page: Reid McLachlan — Traditional Paddling with a Punch

“Keep your stroke short, it’s more efficient and relaxing,” Dad suggested as we paddled the flatwater stretches of the trip. It was 1983, and we were on the Nahanni River preparing me for a summer of guiding. I fondly remember my dad’s voice as I paddled in the stern of the canoe. Being a teenager, I rolled my eyes at his instructions and was determined to prove him wrong. With stubborn resolve, I pulled with both arms and lengthened my stroke. Dad’s stroke was smooth and relaxed even as he took two strokes to one of mine. I watched him more closely just as he had learned by studying a First Nations paddler. This short stroke, which I now call the traditional stroke, has become an important forward stroke in my flatwater repetoire.

Master the Traditional Stroke

Start with the blade in the water at your knee and your grip hand at your chin.
Punch your grip hand forward and down towards the onside gunwale creating a lever with your lower shaft hand as a travelling fulcrum. Rotate your torso to put some bodyweight behind the punch.
As your grip hand gets closer to the gunwale start to roll your thumb down setting up the blade for the correction stroke. Having your grip hand over the gunwale ensures that the blade is close and parallel to the hull throughout the stroke.
After the grip hand punch is accomplished relax your arms, let your bottom hand trail smoothly behind you and do your correction stroke.
Return to an upright position and feather your blade out on the recovery knife the paddle in toward your knee to start the next stroke minding that your grip hand doesn’t creep up over your head.

To get the feel of the punch with power, try this learning technique. Hook your shaft hand thumb onto the gunnel to force yourself to create a fulcrum, punch your grip hand from your chin all the way to the gunnel until your knuckles touch. Repeat this a few times and you’ll be well on your way to mastering this relaxing traditional stroke.

Becky Mason is a canoeing instructor based in Chelsea, Quebec. She has contributed to several books, produced an award-winning video, Classic Solo Canoeing, and presents workshops throughout North America. Find her at redcanoes.ca.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Red Riding Hood Beware: Keeping Wolves Away from Your Campsite

Skills

Photo: Dave Quinn — Red Riding Hood Beware: Keeping Wolves Away from Your Campsite

Few experiences embody the essence of Canadian wilderness like the haunting howl of wolves in the chill air of a backcountry night. Even better is a glimpse of wild wolves prowling a river’s edge or loping along a distant skyline. As paddlers we seek these encounters, like wolves on a scent.

However, our feral romance of wolves quickly fades when a 70-kilogram predator enters our campsite.

In 1996, a biologist was killed at a wildlife preserve in Haliburton, Ontario, while feeding captive wolves. In 2000, a kayaker was attacked on Vargas Island in British Columbia by wolves that had been fed by previous kayakers and most recently, a Canadian folk singer was fatally injured from a coyote attack while hiking Cape Breton Highlands National Park in Nova Scotia.

Once humans are associated with food, it is only a matter of time before curiosity and hunger overcome fear, increasing the chances of close encounters that almost always result in extermination for the wolf, and can result in injuries or death for humans.

Curiosity in wildlife is natural, and it is our responsibility to ensure that any interest in our campsites is never rewarded. The same principles used to protect wild bears from human carelessness should be applied to wolves.

Tips for Keeping Your Campsite Wolf-Free

Keep your campsite clean: locate your kitchen at least 100 metres downwind from your tent site. Hang all food and toiletries out of reach, or use animal-proof storage devices provided at some campsites. In treeless areas, stow all food and kitchen equipment in animal-proof containers. Do not burn food scraps in fire pits—pack them out.
Frighten wolves away: if wolves approach your campsite, scare them away with loud noises or by throwing sticks and rocks. While this may appear to cross the lines of wildlife etiquette, you are doing them a favour by convincing them to give humans a wide berth. In most cases, your simple two-legged presence should be enough to frighten them off.
Secure your gear: Wolves are very curious, and any unsecured gear—drybags, shoes, and jackets—is fair game. Clip dry bags to your tent and leave shoes and loose items in your tent. This will alert you if an animal is trying to sneak off with your gear.

The last unprovoked, unfed wolf kill in North America has been traced back to 1922. However, with an estimated 60,000 wolves roaming the untamed regions of North America, and an ever-increasing number of humans searching for solace deep in the heart of their habitat, encounters between our two species are sure to increase. It is up to us to ensure that our dances with wolves remain distanced and friendly.

Dave Quinn is a wildlife biologist and wilderness guide based in Kimberley, British Columbia. He has worked extensively with carnivores and has led many expeditions into the heart of wolf country.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Canoe Treasure Hunting

Stories

Photo: James Raffan — Canoe Treasure Hunting

Afew years back, a friend of mine in Calgary, Alberta, was looking through his weekly tabloid advertising supplement, The Bargain Finder. Beside the advert for Ab Rockets with As Seen On TV guarantees was a lonely ad that read, “For Sale: one good used birchbark canoe.”

My friend called the number. The woman explained that her late husband had purchased the canoe and she was hoping to find it a good home.

In a heartbeat, my friend was there, although sure he would find a beater, something with the aesthetics of a hog trough made by hands part of an offshore assembly line sewing up souvenir canoes to be titivated with dyed chicken feathers for sale in the tourist kiosks of Disney World.

What he found instead was a beautiful handmade 14-foot birchbark canoe. The ribs and planking were made of hand-split eastern white cedar, the shell was one large piece of birchbark and the gores were gummed with the exact mixture of conifer gum and tallow that you would expect on a traditionally handcrafted canoe. The sewing with split spruce root was exquisite, obviously done with great skill and care. Best of all, it was signed by William Commanda, renowned canoe builder and spiritual leader from Kitigan Zibi Reserve, near Maniwaki, Quebec.

HUNTING FOR CANVAS COVERED CLASSICS

If you are looking for a new canoe, by all means use the Canoeroots Buyer’s Guide. However, if you’re looking for canvas-covered classics or birchbark canoes try your local pawnshop—really!

In Edmonton, I was giving a presentation when a chap came up and mentioned that if I was really interested in canoes I’d best get myself to his local pawnshop.

In the Loan Star Exchange, just west of 122nd Street on 118th Avenue NW, hanging above the music section, over the knock-off Gene Simmons autographed guitar and the framed special-issue Jan Arden CD, was an absolutely beautiful bark canoe.

It was dusty, but the lines of this amazing canoe flowed like pure poetry. It was 16 feet long, made from one piece of birchbark. The woodwork was all hand done by a very practiced hand. The thwarts had a gentle curve, as if they’d been steamed and placed under pres- sure between the gunwales to give the boat even more vital life and tension. Lastly, there, on the outside of the hull, was a very familiar carved and painted ornamentation.

The shop owner, Mike Monaghan, was a little nonplussed by my enthusiasm for the item, which for him was just window dressing.

Turns out, the canoe had come with the store when he had purchased it. The bill of sale had included the promise that he never sell the canoe. Beyond that he didn’t know much about it except that along with a huge stuffed buffalo head it gave a kind of frontier atmosphere to his place.

With a stepladder and a dust rag, we found the name. Not William Commanda, this one said, “Henri Vaillancourt, 1989.” That would be the Henri Vaillancourt whose canoes are in the Canadian Canoe Museum and the Smithsonian Institute—the same Henri Vaillancourt whose canoe-building legacy is featured in John McPhee’s classic book, The Survival of the Bark Canoe.

James Raffan is the executive director of the Canadian Canoe Museum.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Stall Tactics for Regulation in Columbia River Wetlands

Stories

Renowned nature artist and wildlife advocate Robert Bateman calls southeastern British Columbia’s Columbia River Wetlands “one of the most precious things on a world scale,” and he is among thousands joining the call to protect this critical wildlife habitat from increasing threat of fast-moving, noisy, motorized recreation activities such as jet boating and jet skiing.

This 180-kilometre-long wetland complex forms the headwaters of the Columbia River and is one of the largest intact wetlands left on the continent. Filling the Rocky Mountain Trench between the towns of Canal Flats and Golden, B.C., these wetlands are particularly critical to both migratory and resident birds and wildlife.

The Columbia River Wetlands were designated wetlands of international significance under the Ramsar International Convention on Wetlands. They also join South America’s Lake Titicaca, Siberia’s Lake Baikal, Eastern Africa’s Lake Victoria and nearly 50 other water bodies in the Global Nature Fund’s Living Lakes Network, an international conservation network dedicated to the protection of water resources.

AN ACCEPTABLE COMPROMISE

In response to nearly 10 years of effort by local canoeists, hunters and conservationists led by a local non-profit, Wildsight, Transport Canada is finally poised to impose regulations to control unsustainable motorized recreation activities in these wetlands.

The proposed regulations include a ban on waterskiing and powerboat operation in the wetland portion of the system. However, pressure from motorized users has stalled protection measures for the Columbia River main channel—a central habitat feature of the wetlands.

The initial proposal, which included a ban on all motorized use of the river during critical spring and fall wildfowl staging and nesting periods, was shot down by motorized interests, who earlier launched a lawsuit to rescind a 10-horsepower limit imposed by the Province of British Columbia, based on the premise that the river is a navigable waterway, and therefore under federal jurisdiction.

Now up for debate is a proposal for a year-round 20-horsepower limit on the river.

“We see otters, beaver, heron, eagle, waterfowl with chicks, songbirds, moose and bears using the main channel, and it is one of the few remaining opportunities for non- motorized recreation in this region,” says Maryann Emery with the Golden Outdoor Recreation Association, who has been canoeing the Columbia for over 30 years.

“Our members would like to see a complete ban on motorized use of the main channel, but the 20-horsepower limit is an acceptable compromise,” concedes Emery. “This place is an unbelievable treasure, both from a wild- life and quiet recreation standpoint, and we need to act now to protect it, not just for us, but for the future.”

Transport Canada says they will make a final decision on the future of the Columbia River main channel and its wildlife sometime in 2010.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Group of Seven Painting Sites: Then and Now

Stories

Photo: Gary McGuffin — Group of Seven Painting Sites: Then and Now

After canoeing across Canada, around Lake Superior and through the wildest reaches of northern Ontario, acclaimed photojournalists Gary and Joanie McGuffin are now getting their adventure kicks closer to home. The McGuffins have partnered with Michael Burtch, the retired director of the Art Gallery of Algoma, to retrace the trails and photograph the painting sites of the Group of Seven.

“We grew up in homes and cottages with images of the Group of Seven,” says Gary McGuffin, “and now we live right in the heart of their favourite places to paint. We were working with Michael on another project and it hit us. Wouldn’t it be neat to find some of these painting sites of the Group of Seven?”

Burtch and the McGuffins piloted the project last summer with a canoe trip down the Petawawa River in Algonquin Park, in search of Tom Thomson’s Petawawa Gorges series of canvases. “Michael brought us up to speed on all the biographies of the Group of Seven painters,” says McGuffin. “It’s a great combination of art history and adventure.” The project will focus on the period between the group’s formation in 1919 and when they disbanded in 1930. When they find the exact site of a painting, McGuffin frames the scene in a photograph proportional to the artist’s original canvas.

A DREAM PROJECT AND QUEST

Currently, Burtch and the McGuffins are combing the Algoma Central Railway line, north of Sault Ste. Marie, for painters J.E.H. MacDonald, Lawren Harris and Frank Johnston’s most iconic subject matter. Since parts of the landscape have been altered by logging and hydroelectric development, a large portion of the project has involved identifying how scenes have changed over time, and poring over painters’ journals and letters for clues on directions to specific sites.

McGuffin was especially struck by MacDonald’s response to the landscape along the Agawa Canyon. “He was obviously overwhelmed,” notes McGuffin. “In his letters home he called it ‘the original site of the Garden of Eden’!”

Ultimately, McGuffin says he wants to produce a book of 100 then-and-now Group of Seven images from across Ontario. “The story would be how the painters got to these places,” he says, “and describing the investigative work we did to revisit the sites.”

A sideline project might be a “map-intensive guidebook to actually get people to find these spots on their own,” says McGuffin. “It’s turned into a quest…it’s a dream project for us.”

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Editorial: Urban Adventurers

Stories

Photo: Jonathan Pratt — Editorial: Urban Adventurers

I met Terry Bachmeier, a member of the Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, this summer as he waved to my husband Jonathan and me from a rusty breakwall elevated above the waters of the upper Detroit River. He motioned for us to land our 19- foot lakewater expedition canoe on a narrow sand beach—a public canoe and kayak launch site developed by the club.

Pointing to our story in his copy of the Windsor Star, he was enthusiastic to meet the couple “trying to canoe the entire Canadian shoreline of the Great Lakes”—a 4,000 kilometre journey from the Pigeon River on Lake Superior to Kingston on Lake Ontario.

Before launching our canoe back into the powerboat-infested waters, Bachmeier made an offer we couldn’t refuse: a paddle and pot- luck barbeque with club members 25 kilometres downstream. By this point in the trip, more than a month into the third summer of our expedition, our freeze-dried rations were reminiscent of paper-mâché paste and we welcomed all offers of real food.

Skyscrapers towered above on both sides of the river and our canoe felt insignificant compared to the multi-million dollar power cruisers that sent curling wakes crashing wide variety of species ranging from spotted Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, into the sides of our canoe. We felt like a Smart car on a transport-ridden highway.

THE ADVANTAGES OF THE URBAN WILDERNESS TRIPPER

The busy city waterway didn’t hold the same wilderness appeal as the remote and pristine areas along the north shores of Lake Superior and Georgian Bay and I found it hard to imagine why canoe club members would enjoy paddling along such an urban and industrial shoreline. However, it didn’t take us very long to discover the advantages of the urban wilderness tripper.

Where else would you have the opportunity to canoe beside a giant 1,000-foot bulk freighter carrying 60,000 tons of cargo, barter for fresh walleye on the commercial docks, enjoy a hot pizza for lunch on the Tiki patio of a waterfront restaurant and snuggle under a down-filled duvet at a neighbouring bed and breakfast.

If you have never tried urban paddling, I suggest you do. You might be amazed at the wilderness in your own backyard.

Later that afternoon, members of the canoe club guided us on a paddling tour of the lower Detroit River. Massive Carolinian trees stood tall along the shoreline, as they had for centuries, and natural wetlands hosted a wide variety of species ranging from spotted gar pike to green herons.

Our newfound friends were passionate about the region and its environment. They pointed to a bald eagle nest high on a treetop with a young fledging tucked inside. At nearby Fighting Island, a constructed reef was allowing sturgeon to spawn in the Detroit River for the first time in 30 years—all indicators that the ecosystem is healthy.

Needless to say, I shouldn’t have worried so much about water pollution disintegrating our Kevlar canoe hull.

It’s a fact that more of us live closer to urban waterways than wilderness areas. Thanks to local canoe clubs, such as the Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, you don’t need to leave the city to enjoy canoeing. Clubs are an excellent way to meet paddlers, learn about the natural history of the region, protect our historic right to navigate our waterways and enjoy urban canoeing adventures in your own backyard.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

The Beginner’s Guide to Downriver Overnighting

An overnight kayak trip may seem like a huge leap from downriver daytripping or park-and-play, but try it and you’ll discover that overnighting just might be the ultimate paddling experience. Packing your kayak with everything you need to survive a few days— or even just a single night between shifts—combines the fun and excitement of whitewater with a grander feeling of independence, exploration and river travel tradition.

Start with a few easy overnighters, dial in a system and then keep everything you need in a duffle bag by your back door…so you’ll always be ready when the levels are right, your friends are psyched and the river is calling.

Boat Selection

If you don’t own a creek boat or river runner, try to borrow or rent one. Larger volume boats with a high back deck are easier to pack, allow you to travel with a few additional camp items and are more comfortable.

For a summer weekend out, a river running playboat might do the trick, but keep in mind that a boat much smaller than 58 gallons will be a nightmare to pack. The exact volume you’ll need depends on the length of the trip, the weather forecast and your willingness to rough it with minimal gear.

The ideal kayak for a two- or three-day trip is a creek boat designed for someone 30 pounds heavier than you. I paddle a small creek boat (63 gallons) on daytrips, but with the additional weight of my food and camping gear, a larger kayak (72 gallons) performs better.

Experiment with a fully loaded boat on your local river—kayaks paddle quite differently with extra weight on board. You may find that your boat’s usually forgiving stern starts to grab on eddylines, and quick directional changes become more difficult.

Gearing Up

A mid-sized river runner or creek boat has about 40 to 55 litres (10-15 gallons) of usable storage space—that’s less than a typical trekking backpack. Accordingly, volume is the critical factor when selecting gear.

Most tents are too large to fit in a single kayak. Try sharing the load with another paddler—one packs the tent body, the other packs the fly and poles. If that doesn’t work, you’ll have to settle for a lower-volume shelter: a lightweight tarp or bivy sac—or, if heavy rain, mosquitoes or black flies are anticipated, a combination of both.

When the climate doesn’t demand a winter or three-season sleeping bag, you’re safer packing a synthetic summer bag. Down bags pack much smaller if you’re expecting cold temperatures, but they are a disaster if they get wet.

To save space on clothing, try to combine paddling and camp clothes if possible. In colder water, a full Gore-Tex drysuit with camp clothes underneath eliminates the need to pack anything but a toque. Merino wool provides the most warmth for the least volume, but polypro and fleece layers work fine and are less expensive.

Don’t bother with rain gear— keep your river gear on if it’s raining and use a versatile tarp for shelter at camp. Wear sturdy shoes on the river, but pack clogs or flip-flops to give your feet a chance to dry out in camp.

When it comes to menu planning, don’t skimp on hot meals. On frosty mornings, you’ll need a hot cuppa to get you fired up about climbing into your frozen-stiff farmer john. A small stove is handy—and a must where firewood is scarce or fires prohibited—but in most places you can do all your cooking and boiling of drinking water on an open fire with a single pot. Stick to a compact, backpacking-style menu of quick-cook pasta (ramen noodles or easy Mac are good bets), rice, salami, cheese, peanut butter, instant oatmeal, dried fruit and trail mix.

In your efforts to be efficient, it’s important not to cut back on rescue gear. In addition to personal throw bags, whistles and river knives, someone should carry a group wrap kit (webbing sling, prussiks and carabiners) and a decent first aid kit—and know how to use them. On longer, more remote trips, pack a topographic map and breakdown paddle as well. Figure out communication options in case you run into trouble. Will you have cell phone service in the river valley?

Finally, for simple equipment repairs, duct tape wrapped around a water bottle or the shaft of your paddle can be used to patch boats and sleeping mats, reattach seats or hip pads, mend a broken paddle, and perform a thousand other useful tasks.

Packing Your Boat

The kayak’s stern is the easiest to pack, so the challenge is to get enough weight forward to balance the trim of your kayak. You may want to start by moving your seat forward. Pack the heaviest items in front of your bow bulkhead or right behind your seat. You can also carve custom-sized holes into the foam of the bulkhead or support pillars to create storage space for awkward or heavy items like camera boxes.

Also consider the order in which you pack gear and food 1 items. Tapered dry bags are great for sleeping and camping gear because they take full advantage of the hard-to-reach packing space in the ends of your kayak. Breakfast and dinner food items that you won’t need during the paddling day can be squeezed past your bulkhead in individual double-Ziploc packages.

Pack your lunch, snacks, camera, headlamp, fire-starter, first aid kit and rescue gear last, so these items are easily accessible throughout the day. You don’t want to pull your boat apart every time you’re hungry. And you definitely don’t want to dig through Therm-a-Rests and tuna couscous to find your pin kit in an emergency.

Finally, do a dry run of your packing strategy before leaving home—the put-in is a poor place to realize that your dry bags don’t fit in your boat.

Steve Whittall has been organizing and running multi-day kayak expeditions from his home base in Whistler for over 15 years and works as a heli-ski guide during the off-season.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here.

Stand Up Paddling: Another Man Standing

Stories

Photo: courtesy Imagine Surfboards — Stand Up Paddling: Another Man Standing

The sight of some dude wearing body armour and wielding a long, single bladed paddle while standing on a modified surfboard may seem wildly out of place on a river, but it’s a scene that is becoming increasingly familiar on inland waterways across North America.

Stand Up Paddling (SUP) has been a fringe element of ocean surfing since its early days in the 1960s, when instructors and photographers used paddles to move around quickly on longboards. Over the past decade, Laird Hamilton—widely regarded as the all-time best big wave surfer—has popularized the sport by riding massive waves at legendary breaks like Jaws and Teahupo’o on a SUP board.

More recently, SUP has gained popularity with everyone from wind-skunked kiteboarders and fitness-focused hard bodies to veteran whitewater kayakers. The diversity of environments and users is giving rise to a wide variety of designs, including—in just the past couple of years—whitewater park-and-play and river running boards.

For long-time whitewater boaters like Dan Gavere, Corran Addison, Jimmy Blakeney and Jay Kincaid—some of river SUP’s leading innovators and athletes—the lure of running rivers on two feet is in the fresh challenge of learning a new skill set.

“SUP has made river running fun again,” says Addison, owner of Imagine Surfboards and Surf School in Montreal. “I reached a point where the only way to be challenged on whitewater was to be in mortal danger all the time, and that gets old. What SUP has done is make easy rivers a real challenge.”

THE FASTEST GROWING NICHE OF THE PADDLESPORTS INDUSTRY

Addison isn’t alone in his sentiments. The inaugural Whitewater Stand Up Paddling National Championships, held last May on the snowmelt-swollen Colorado River in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, attracted over 20 elite competitors from across the U.S., many of them professional kayakers or surfers. Dan Gavere, a world-class freestyle and creek boater who helped Werner Paddles develop their SUP paddle line, won the event and has been pushing the limits of whitewater SUP since he first tried it in 2006.

Gavere sees parallels between the nascent SUP boom and the early days of whitewater kayaking. “Currently we’re in the Dancer days of whitewater SUP and maybe the RPM days of surf SUP. My analogy for its potential is that SUP is to kayaking what snowboarding is skiing.”

Indeed, SUP is the fastest growing niche of the paddlesports industry. According to Werner Paddles’ sales manager, Doug Ragan, SUP paddle sales experienced triple digit growth in 2009. Board manufacturer Surftech’s marketing director, Duke Brouwer, put the number of SUP boards sold last year at well over 10,000.

“Whitewater SUP is not the bulk of the market,” Gavere allows, “but it does represent an exciting element.”

Even paddlers with modest abilities can ride a SUP board on small surfing waves too slow for most freestyle boats. Many of the river skills developed from kayaking or canoeing are transferable, but once on a wave the speed and carving advantage over a whitewater boat yields a completely different ride.

Beyond park-and-play, the downriver element of SUP is beginning to blossom as well. A handful of new 2010 models will substantially increase river running options.

If catching eddies in a Dancer seems like the dark ages, then river SUP clearly has some growing pains ahead. But with the greater weight of the surfing industry behind it, expect SUP design technology to grow at a much more accelerated rate than that of kayaking.

“It’s fun to be on the leading edge of a new, growing sport again,” Addison summarizes, “trying to see what the limits are—in skills and equipment.”

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here.

Himalayan Hijinks: Whitewater Kayaking In Nepal

two whitewater kayakers paddle down a rocky gorge in Nepal's Himalaya Mountains — Thule Behri, day two of five. Dave Mourier and Jon Combs probe yet another drop in the deep, monsoon-flooded canyons of the remote Dolpa region. | Feature photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

In the fall of 2008, I traveled solo to Nepal. I brought only my boat, my camera and a vague idea of the whitewater potential of a small country with the Himalayan Mountains as its backbone, but I was hopeful that would be enough. Nepal has everything you could want for whitewater kayaking: plenty of gradient, post-monsoon high water, and a mountain-dwelling populace intent on keeping adventurous visitors fed and comfortable.

Kayakers Witness Huge Avalanche Above Glacier Lake (Video)

two whitewater kayakers paddle through a rocky, monsoon-flooded canyon in Nepal's Himalaya Mountains — Thule Behri, day two of five. Dave Mourier and Jon Combs probe yet another drop in the deep, monsoon-flooded canyons of the remote Dolpa region. | Feature photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

Himalayan Hijinks: Whitewater kayaking in Nepal

I arrived just as the last monsoon clouds were clearing and managed to join a raft-supported trip on the high volume, low elevation Sun Kosi. Led by Dave Allardice, a new Zealander who pioneered whitewater rafting in Nepal, the trip celebrated 20 years of successful rafting in the Himalaya and reunited many of the first generation guides for one more run on this 300-kilometer, multiday beauty. The Sun Kosi trip also connected me with two keen and hilarious American boaters, Mefford Williams and Shawn Robertson, who became partners for ensuing paddling missions.

Meet you in Kathmandu

In Kathmandu, the frenetic capital of Nepal, Williams, Robertson and I regrouped at the Hotel Holy Lodge to organize transportation and figure out logistics for some higher elevation assaults. Walking into the Holy Lodge, a known kayakers’ hangout in the tourist ghetto of Thamel, we were surprised to see some familiar faces.

JJ Shepherd of South Carolina, a veteran of Himalayan kayaking missions, had just rolled in from a rafting trip and Norwegian huckster Benji Hjort was on a quick sabbatical from his teaching job. Seconds later, a distinctive voice announced the presence of Kiwi talent and young punk Sam Sutton as he emerged from his room with his usual larger-than-life charisma.

Most people have trouble breathing above 2,500 metres. Not these Nepali porters—they have plenty of energy for a game of volleyball at well over 4,000 metres in the Annapurna Sanctuary. With 7,000- to 8,000-metre peaks all around, the Sanctuary is just a two-day hike above the Modi Khola put-in. | Photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

You have to love Nepal’s whitewater kayaking community

You show up alone in a distant country and somehow find a solid team of old and new friends just in time for the first big mission. But what was that mission going to be? Shepherd directed our focus on the Modi Khola, a river flowing right out of the spectacular Annapurna Sanctuary.

Modi Khola, day two. Kiwi hotshot Sam Sutton was our team’s fearless probe in the steepest rapids and long, continuous stretches of the upper Modi Khola. On the easy run-out rapids of the lower river, beneath the gaze of sacred Machapuchare, Sutton styles a pillow rock with typical flair. The takeout, as with most rivers in Nepal, is at the first road bridge. You simply wave down a bus—no shuttle required. | Photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

We endured the six-hour bus ride to the Annapurna Conservation area from atop the rickety Tata’s roof, hanging on for dear life and ducking overhead power wires. The strenuous, one-and-a-half-day hike from the Annapurna Sanctuary trailhead up the Modi Khola valley rewarded us with one of the most spectacular river put-ins in the world.

Annapurna South and Machapuchare peaks loomed nearly six vertical kilometers above the steep mountain creek. A total of eight 7,000-plus-meter summits in the surrounding Annapurna Massif, including 8,091-meter Annapurna One, fed the Modi Khola.

A few initial kilometers of wonderfully continuous class IV soon evolved into stomping class V rapids as the creek gained volume and inertia. After a long day on the river, we walked to a nearby village for a dinner of Dal bhat (a Nepali staple of rice and lentils) and a comfortable bed in a trekkers’ lodge. On the Modi Khola, as with many rivers in Nepal, we could enjoy a multiday paddling trip without any of the usual discomforts.

Paddling trips from Pokhara

From the tourist town of Pokhara, Nepal’s adventure capital, we organized many more trips. Some classic rivers—such as the Seti, Kali Gandaki and Marsyangdi—could be reached with relative ease from Pokhara using public buses, cabs and ancient footpaths. Heading to a few of the more remote rivers required patience, perseverance, some major string pulling and even the odd bribe. But fly-in trips like the Thule behri and Humla Karnali reward determined paddlers with some of the longest, best class V multidays anywhere in the world.

Four people, a dog, and two yaks carrying whitewater kayaks, walking along a narrow path on the side of a mountain with snow.

Nepal’s Legendary Karnali River Is A Kayaker’s Dream

Rapid magazine spring 2010 cover This article originally appeared in Rapid’s Spring 2010 issue. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.

Thule Behri, day two of five. Dave Mourier and Jon Combs probe yet another drop in the deep, monsoon-flooded canyons of the remote Dolpa region. | Feature photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

Making History In Paddling Towns

In Kent Ford’s documentary The Call of the River: A Hundred Years of Whitewater Adventure, he traces the history of whitewater from its humble beginnings in Europe through its position today as a major outdoor sport.

Paddling as we know it here in North America began in the early ‘70s with an emerging counterculture of hippie adventurers. With topographic maps they headed for the hills in search of virgin runs landing in what are today’s best-known paddling towns. In this issue we’ve featured 50, including my own—Palmer Rapids. Like many others, it became a paddling town in spite of itself.

Person paddling on river with mist rising up

50 Of The Best Whitewater Towns To Visit Before You Die

Making history in paddling towns

Europeans first settled the rugged area in the mid-1800s, scraping out livelihoods with subsistence farming and logging. Hundreds of men drove logs down the Madawaska River each spring to the lumber mills in Palmer Rapids. Men died. “The river killed your father,” widows warned their children.

In 1931 Ontario Hydro (now Ontario Power Generation) rebuilt the timber crib dam constructed in 1881 to hold back water for the spring log drives. It was rebuilt again in 1957 with channel excavations completed in 1967, just in time for the 1972 release of the movie Deliverance and the subsequent first wave of Grumman canoes.

Palmer Rapids quickly became a training ground for canoe tripping summer camps, Black Feather and private groups planning longer, northern expeditions.

Meanwhile further upstream Hermann and Christa Kerchoff opened the Madawaska Kanu Centre on what is known as the Middle Mad section. North America’s oldest paddling school brought a European whitewater flavor to the area—specifically, kayakers.

In the early 1980s, the Ministry of Natural Resources proposed the creation of the Madawaska River Provincial Park. Local residents saw the plan as a threat to land ownership and motorized use of the river, and this marked the beginning of ill feelings toward “goddamned paddlers.”

The park was approved in 1987, but with boundaries scaled back to 200 meters on either side of the 22-kilometer whitewater section from Aumonds Bay to the village of Griffith. Then the recession in the early ‘90s gutted resource management in the province and the park management plan was shelved, downgrading it to a non-operating waterway park.

Powerful Partnerships in the Whitewater Community

Here’s where I come in—me and everyone else. With the introduction of the Perception Dancer and Royalex canoes, not only did the number of paddlers on rivers everywhere double; apparel switched from natural fibers to purple and teal synthetics. Remember the ill feelings toward paddlers? Now we stuck out like sore thumbs.

In 1997 Lee Chantrell, Shawna Babcock and I registered Paddler Co-op, a non-profit paddling school to teach no-frill paddling courses. In a bar after our first tradeshow I got the idea of a paddling magazine, moved to Palmer Rapids, and 11 months later launched the first 16-page sampler issue of Rapid magazine.

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A quiet acceptance

Today Paddler Co-op’s outreach program has made inroads. A two-day paddling program for students at Palmer Rapids Public School marks the first time in 200 years that local residents have actually paddled the rapids. Paddler Co-op operates an office and campground out of the facilities left vacant by the MNR in the ‘90s. It is on this site that Rapid hosts Palmer Fest, making a whitewater festival the second largest tourist event in the 700-square-kilometer municipality.

Jasper, British Columbia: The Second Coming Of A Paddling Town

A few of the 50 whitewater towns in this issue are investing millions in building whitewater facilities. Others are viciously divided on the importance of the natural, economic and recreational benefits of their rivers. Some, like Palmer Rapids, have resolved to a quiet acceptance of our mango Gore-Tex drysuits.

If whitewater is still a major sport at the end of the next 100 years I believe it will be because of these four reasons: Deliverance dies with VHS; we’ve gained the respect of politicians proving we are revenue-generating and pain-in-their-ass neutral; we’ve banded together to protect rivers from development; and we’ve grayed the line between local and boater through education and respect for those who truly call the rivers their home.

Scott MacGregor is the founder and publisher of Rapid, whose office remains in downtown Palmer Rapids.

Cover of the Spring 2010 issue of Rapid Magazine This article was first published in the Spring 2010 issue of Rapid Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Paddlers now welcome. | Feature photo: Scott MacGregor