Things in the next moments happened very, very fast. The sky did strange and awesome things. The air temperature plummeted to that of a blustery November day. Boiling clouds of purple and green rolled towards the surface and us with the action of an exploding fireball.

I fixed my eyes on my son and—wham!— at that split second, it hit! This force of air was so violent that it blew me over. I struggled to brace and roll up into the maelstrom.

The low, green sky said “take shelter” to anyone from the Midwest. We knew this, yet there was no chance of shelter. Ex- panding contorted clouds, looking as they would burst, only acted as a harbinger of worse yet to come. The sheets of rain found us and giant drops stung as they hit, then hailstones added blows to the head.

Again I swung my gaze toward Jason. One cloud beyond him caught my attention. An ominous spin had begun and soon a funnel hung. The father instinct kicked in and I sprinted toward my son. I yelled to him to raft up but he could not hear.

The funnel, for some reason, held at a distance above the water. Below it, spray began to blast up from the seas as if some giant, invisible food processor had touched the surface. Blasts of spray began to rise and spin. Then, for a short moment, it all seemed to stop until—“whoosh”—the spinning spray jumped up and joined the cloud. Georgian Bay was being sucked up into the sky. The birth of a waterspout, right before our eyes!

For such a giant in river conservation’s history, from the water he looks frail and diminutive—just a very old man sitting on a stool, in his thin and fraying best suit.

If someone were to write a book about me, I would want a title as good as the one written about David Brower: Encounters with the Archdruid. As a founding member of the Sierra Club, Friends of the Earth, and the Earth Island Institute, Brower was three times nominated for the nobel Peace Prize. He famously defeated the damming of the grand canyon in 1966, and in doing so launched the environmental movement.

David Brower has more to do with how we think about the environment today than any other factor

Written in 1971 by the incredibly prolific John McPhee, Encounters with the Archdruid is now in its 27th printing. It confirmed Brower as the articulate, driven and absolutely fearless spokesperson for the environment. At a time when the idea of “the environment” was only just beginning to have a place in public consciousness, McPhee somehow convinced Brower to spend a week rafting the Grand Canyon with Floyd Dominy, the man in charge of damming the west’s rivers. McPhee’s genius as a journalist captures the interaction between these polar opposites and ideological figureheads and captures Brower at his best.

One of the rivers where I guide is still flowing because of David Brower. In 1954, he made it his personal crusade to keep Utah’s Echo Park in Dinosaur national Monument from being dammed. It is a magical place on the Green River of serpentine sandstone canyons. It is a place that enchants clients and lifetime guides alike.

Before we reach the proposed dam location four days into a trip, I always make a point of stopping on a beach just upstream. In the sand I draw a big map of the west and make mountains and canyons and use blue cam straps for rivers, red ones for state lines. By the time I’ve finished, clients have gathered to see what’s going on. I use the map to tell the story of the damming of the west, and how the place where we are standing would be under water if it wasn’t for the impassioned defence of David Brower. People are always hooked by the presentation, and I hope it changes the way they view our endangered rivers.

There is one trip in particular I’ll never forget

The dam talk went as usual, with the usual client reaction of disbelief and anger and promises to do something themselves. Also, as usual, the next day and last on the river, the showers and thoughts of home replace yesterday’s resolutions. Except this time, as we neared the take-out, there was a commotion on the riverbank. there were drop screens, photographers and lighting assistants working around an old man hunched on a stool with his back turned to us.

My raft was the last to scrub to shore. Excited clients whispered the same urgent question back to me: “Is that David Brower? Is that the guy who saved our rivers?”

I couldn’t tell.

As we pulled to the boat ramp the old man was off his stool and gingerly over the rocks to meet us. he was pale and thin; his crystal blue eyes clouded with age. I’m not sure why, but I remember his cheap Velcro running shoes and threadbare suit.

Thank you for everything you’ve done

Before he had a chance to speak, my clients surrounded him. “Thank you Mister Brower. Thank you for everything you’ve done.” They lined up to shake his hand, and one by one all thanked him.

Brower’s eyes welled with tears. He just stood there, surrounded, flooded by an outpouring of appreciation. I stood at a distance tying up my raft. I was speechless and deeply regret not thanking him myself. Quite frankly I couldn’t. A little more than a year later he died at the age of 88. A giant indeed. I still don’t know how the clients knew it was him.

Jeff Jackson is a professor of Outdoor Adventure at Algonquin College in Pembroke, ON 

This article first appeared in the Summer 2008 issue of Rapid Magazine.

When hard-core hucker and Team Riot freestyler Karl Moser graduated from the University of Oregon in 2005 he wanted to get as far away as possible from the influences and demands his degree would bring. He was looking for greater inspiration than starting a career, but little did he know a short stint as a river bum would lead to so much work and reward.

“I was young and completely addicted to kaya king from watching Wicked Liquid [Steve Fisher’s 1999 playboat movie on the Zambezi River in Africa] and I would watch it over and over again until the tape finally gave out,” says Moser, now an award-winning filmmaker with Epicocity Project and a head coach with the World Class Kayak Academy. “I had this dream to go to Africa and huck my meat on the Zambezi. When I finally graduated from college—much to my mother’s lament—I flew to Africa for a two-month kayaking adventure.”

Knowing little about the Ugandan kayaking scene when he left, Moser says he was completely blown away by how good the local boat- ers are, despite poor-quality gear or sometimes no gear at all.

“It’s not uncommon to see local kayakers bombing down class III in a broken kayak, a makeshift paddle and no helmet. They just don’t have access to very good gear, but they have an amazing learning curve,” Moser says. “We literally had guys start rolling on Monday, and then trying donkey flips at Nile Special on Saturday.”

The seed got planted for a Christmas for Africa gear drive

He and paddling partner Aaron Rettig would meet up with local paddlers each day. They developed friendships and started to teach them skills like rolling. As the days passed, more locals collected to watch and learn and eventually an informal club began to take shape. Seeing the lack of and the poor quality of equipment they had, Moser began to think their skills deserved better.

So slowly from there the seed got planted for a Christmas for Africa gear drive. Moser returned home with his idea and spent a year or so hammering out how they could gather equipment and ship it overseas. After a few phone calls to potential supporters Moser realized his idea of donating gear would take off.

“The response was incredible,” he said. “NRS literally gave us a shopping cart and told us to ransack their warehouse.” Soon after Wave Sport, AT Paddles, Shred Ready Helmets and Astral Buoyancy jumped on board.

The gear was collected over the summer and shipped on a two-month sea voyage for delivery just before the end of December. In all, 14 kayaks, 21 paddles and lifejackets, 15 skirts, 18 sets of booties and 22 helmets made it into the hands of Ugandan kayakers living and working on the rivers.

“The big thing to understand is that kayaking for the Ugandans represents a way to better their lives. The average Ugandan makes $600 at par annually or about $2.50 a day for back-breaking labour,” Moser explains. “A safety kayaker on a commercial rafting trip can make between $2.50 to $5 per day, and gets fed. If they have medical training and speak good English, they can become a guide bringing home $20 per day. So kayaking isn’t just a sport to them; it’s a way to have a vastly better life.”

Christmas for Africa is also the title of Moser’s upcoming documentary showcasing last year’s effort, a film Moser hopes will raise awareness and further his charity work.

This article first appeared in the Summer 2008 issue of Rapid Magazine.