Annually, I have visited Canada for differing amounts of time to boat over the last 10 years. Over the past 3 years I have tried to write up a trip report for all of my longer trips. Maybe you won’t even read this because sometimes I post them and other times they get “accidentally” lost to protect the innocent (last summer’s report for instance). So as I write this you don’t even know if this report exists or doesn’t exist and it is sometimes hard to believe in something’s existence if you haven’t seen it.
This summer’s trip began on a slower note then in the past. I suppose my financially-minded decision to work this summer partially tainted it (only a teacher or an unemployed pothead could complain about working Mondays and Wednesdays for 7 weeks in the summer and only having a 5 week vacation). There where also a number of other pertinent circumstances that I won’t mention here. “That’s the way things are, life only gives you two days and given the number of people who only live a day and a half or even less we really can’t complain.” Over the last four years I have lost my ability to concentrate. It’s been decreasing at an increasing rate. My decision to accept a new dose of Lithium and Latical regained my ability to think. This trip was kind of reminiscent of my first Canadian trip 10 years ago where I sat and studying for next terms math classes most of the trip. While John slept in every morning until 9, I read Jose Saramago’s last book about transcending Plato’s Cave, John Gribbons introduction to Quantum Physics and reality, and contemplated the meaning of Modest Mouse lyrics with Carrie and Mike. These colored my view of the trip and thus will appear in places in the write up. Also I really have no intention of keeping to any time sequence. When Einstein’s relativity theory says that a particle traveling at the speed of light from the sun “experiences” absolutely no time, while our world feels an eternity, when electrons can jump backwards and forwards small amounts of time, it seems like there is no reason to order a trip report. Also some of the stories will be symbolic and hidden; partially because the only people who write non-symbolic biographies are Christian rock stars, porn stars, and athletes with cancer; and partially to again protect the innocent. Don’t worry though, this story will stick to all the themes important to kayakers: truth, beauty, freedom, and most of all love; oops scratch that; drinking, bar fights, big water, new boats, cute girls, dive bars, creeks, cute nurses, wildlife, drunk tourism, emergency rooms, cute grocery store employees, sword fights, giants, porn stores, wolves, and drunk taxi cab drivers. Actually there weren’t any drunk taxi cab drivers, but damn that would make a good story. This was truly a summer without class 5. I suppose my regained ability go think clearly has something to do with that (I’m hoping that part fades a little).
We are going to start in a strange place. Because I started the trip reading a book using the symbolism of Plato’s cave, I would like to explain it really quick. If you have seen the first Matrix movie, you already know the story. In the allegory, Plato likens people untutored in the Theory of Forms to prisoners chained in a cave, unable to turn their heads. All they can see is the wall of the cave. Behind them burns a fire. Between the fire and the prisoners there is a parapet, along which puppeteers can walk. The puppeteers, who are behind the prisoners, hold up puppets that cast shadows on the wall of the cave. The prisoners are unable to see these puppets, the real objects, that pass behind them. What the prisoners see and hear are shadows and echoes cast by objects that they do not see. Such prisoners would mistake appearance from reality. Plato would like people to break free of this and leave the cave, but it is not at all clear in Plato’s writings what becomes of them after that (that’s why both sequels to the Matrix sucked in a philosophical way).
Let’s start the story somewhere near the beginning. Brett, John, and I stood on the banks the Chilco River at Lava Canyon. We where looking for Bidwell rapid. My book said, “experts-only stretch, difficult scouting, hypothermia and exhaustion prey on swimmers.” It is also the sight of a rafting accident in 87 in which 6 people drowned on a guided tour. The guy at the kayak shop said good to go, take your play boat. But this is from the same shop that gave a group of Germans the wrong put in info on the Caribou, sending them off a class 5 plus drop blind. What we could see of the river was fast and eddy less, but very runable. John finally found Bidwell rapid, but he also found some fresh grizzly bear shit, so Brett and I opted not to go look. Here we where and a decision needed to be made. We had just bumped our way down a long ass road and we either needed to get on the river or drive back out. Brett was ready for it, John could have been swayed either way, and I decided to chicken out. In Quantum physics there is a weird consequence of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle that allows multiple worlds to exist at right angles to each other (bear with me here, I’m only reading a 20 year old introduction to the Quantum world, I’m not an expert, but its kind of fun). Each time a decision is made the world goes on in both directions as if the decision had been made both ways. The two universes are not parallel like in sci-fi movies, you can’t jump between them, but both exist. This implies that lots of different worlds have to exist. It is really human consciousness’s role that we perceive one of the paths. The math behind this is solid; the part that isn’t clear is if this math really models the real world. We can actually never really know this. Classical physics has the same flaw, the math is solid but we can’t be sure if it fits the real world. With classical physics it is easy to believe that it is the right fit because it comes up with the right answers. Einstein didn’t belief in Heisenberg’s principle. Some people thing that if Einstein could see the current evidence he would accept the Quantum world. The only thing I need here is the thought that there is some universe where I made the other decision. It would have been a summer of class 5 and semi-exploratory boating, but that world is at a right angle to the one that I’m on. Instead we stuck with class 4 (and some classics let me add!). I can think of at least four such recent decisions that I made or that were made for me. I can almost see all the different possible branches life could be on.
Can’t fail to mention the Quenel River. We did the run with two Seattle boaters we met at the takeout. Their mountain bikes and kayaks where worth 10 times the price of their car. A half mile into the river Brett announces that he forgot his throw bag. The couple announced that they never carry them and they won’t be of any use on this big water river. Flashback to the day before on the Caribou: tossing John a rope that would have otherwise resulted in a lame swim. The Quenel is big water Lochsa like classic rapids saving the biggest for the last: Devil’s eyebrow. I followed Brett down and watched him sub out into the first hole. From their on it was a wild ride and large standing waves, missing holes, down to the 8 foot wide exit slot. Then there was the Kalum in Terrace. Had to ask Jo-Bob’s wives’ permission to drive down their back road to the put in. Jo-Bob’s place was so sweet we just hung out and played Frisbee for a while. He has an annual blue grass festival on his property that probably rules. We followed a 14 year old that we met at the put in down the river. I felt retarded for being scared of the big water feel of a river following a care free youth. It was pretty awesome though to have him tell me the lines. It had some classic play waves. One of the waves is supposed to rival Skookumchuck, (shh!! that is a secret) but the river was too low because of lack of rain.
Don’t forget the town of Smithers. Don’t try to find a shop that is open after 5 and definitely don’t expect anyone to be around on Sunday. But we did find all their cars in the church parking lot and ran into them on the trails with their church groups. Weird but I though that was the same town that we partied with into the wee hours of the morning on Saturday night. Speaking of which, don’t get into a bar fight in Smithers, the cops aren’t coming anytime soon and I would hate to think how long an ambulance would be (mind you the locals didn’t seem to care). Recent note: I saw more cops within 30 seconds of a street fight in San Diego then I saw the entire 5 weeks in Canada (wonder why?)
Some highlights about partying in Kamloops five different times during the trip: parked next to the same street walker each time, she promised to watch the truck; drunk 18 year old tour guides rule; cactus jack’s most successful tune: “save a horse ride a cowboy”; the River’s favorite band: Black Eyed Peas (they played to whole album and one of the songs twice); 20 for 20 at Magnums (20 shots for 20 dollars); 19 year old bouncer at the Factory who didn’t seem to mind letting everyone in; waitress at The Daily Bread (Cheers!); and pushing my sister back to the truck in a shopping cart.
Back to Whistler: Stood on the banks of the Ashlu. We wanted to hit the play run, but this years flood had washed out the gauge (as well as tons of bridges, Premerton was land locked with bridges out on both sides, and rivers like the Elaho-Squamish and Chilliwack have entirely different rapids and take outs). I hadn’t been able to find anyone who had done the easier run on the Ashlu and the only thing that I knew was that the river that it feeds into, the Squamish was extremely high and all guided trips on it where cancelled. Found out later that it would have been fine but John ran into a tree limb and we had to make the first trip to the hospital. No stitches necessary. But the next night Brett tried to get stitches by cutting his foot open. (This is where the cute nurse part of the story happens, but I will let you imagine that for yourselves). Again no stitches necessary but I’m pretty sure they would have given him some in the states. The phrase for the rest of the trip: “Is this good enough?” We met some boaters on the way out of town. They had just run Callahan creek, the same river Lori messed up here ankle on. They said that their where supposed to be 2 portages but they couldn’t find them (By the way one is a 20 foot waterfall that lands either on a rock or in the hole backed up by the rock, and the other is a 5 foot drop into a undercut room). They said the Ashlu was good to go; we didn’t listen. This brings me to an important point, when boating in BC beyond the spectrum of the guidebooks, be careful who you listen two. Twice near Whistler I’ve received significantly more then I expected. I still want to know what the line is on Deep Throat at medium-high levels. UK boater Mark Rainsley who ran the Little White with no guide was told by a Squamish boater to run the mine run on Ashlu and that it wasn’t committed. Mark and his buddies walked off. So the story goes: don’t believe any trust-funded, whiskey drinking, sons of skiers that kayak with hockey in their blood.
Bought a new play boat after subbing the skip out on the Kalum and deciding that’s it! I hate that my credit card company only calls me when I buy something other then food, gas, and alcohol. (their computer knows me too well).
Then there is the good old Clearwater. Really a great river at any flow (below 7 feet, there is supposed to be this whirl pool feature called M80 or something that I want no part off). I ran it three times this summer and really had a ball. The rains brought it up to 3.5 feet which really added some punch. It is a stepped up, more continuous version of the Wenatchee. The only problem is some of the play features require walking. We also ran the Chilliwack and Nahatalatch a couple of times in the trip.
Then there was the forgetting to pay for the campground on the Thompson. Came back from a hike and my stuff was all gone and I thought that it was stolen (I was pretty livid). We went down to the camp host to tell him and I saw that he had it all behind a locked fence. I was so mad that I jumped over the fence, threw all the gear into the pickup, and took off. Hopefully he forgets me before next year.
If in Jasper stay away from the tourist covered Maligne trail and walk Beauty creek featured in the twitch videos. You’ll be the only one on the trail. Saw a wolf. He was taking a shit. He was damn happy, wagging his tail, as he ran back to his pack in the woods. Some great irony, only time we’ve seen a wolf and it was taking a nature call. Don’t miss out on drunken tourism (carry beer as you walk on all the popular trails). Scares the tourists about as much as the bears do. Actually most kayakers already know this trick. Driving the back road back into Jasper, throwing beer cans out the window Edward Abbey style; Carrie, Mike, and I psych-analyzed the meaning of Modest Mouse lyrics. Went to the bar and looked them up over another beer at the free internet access (novel idea an internet-bar: sweet!).
“Well we sat on the edge of the river,
the crowd screamed, "Sacrifice the liver!"
If God takes life, he's an Indian giver.
So tell me now why, you'll tell me never.
Who would wanna be?
Who would wanna be such a control freak?”
If we keep this up next year Carrie, Mike and I will be trying to decide the effects Neitche’s philosophy and bi-polar attitudes has had on the post modern extreme sport youth of America (still drunk). Who knows, Carrie might take it up as her thesis.
Found the second best thing to do to boyfriends who hit their girl in a 7-11. Stumble up to him drunkenly and very loudly mention that the other night was by far the best you’ve had and you’re really disappointed he has been ignoring your phone calls.
Don’t forget to check out cute girls with new tongue rings in Williams Lake. And window shopping for red heads at Sav-on foods in Prince George; all the while learning to measure our days by the number of different types of pasta it is possible to make on a tailgate.
I can’t forget the log trucks so big they use tractor tires on the Lillouett road. Luckily they only go 1/2 the speed of trucks on the Squamish (mind you those trucks are twice the size of US trucks, carrying 80 footers instead of 40). I have nightmares about them, especially when they are making night runs and I parked too close to the road. Saw one run off the road and flip over this year, pretty crazy. So if a truck 3 times the size but 1/2 the speed hits my Toyota truck then … I’m buying a CB radio before next year.
A little advice when you burn bridges, use a match not a blow torch. Also burning historic buildings with kerosene is rather unnecessarily destructive.
The Ashlu river box canyon trail is fairly scary on a dry day; it was down right scary the second time when it was wet. I’m still amazed people kayak that canyon. It was worth it to see the look on Mike’s face and to imagine Knapp, Smith, and their buddies running it.
Ah and then back to Portland and down to San Diego for 3 weddings before school started. I would complain but these where 3 weddings that I was excited about. Congratulations !!!!.
Perhaps I will have already turned 30 by the next time I cross the border into Canada – perhaps I will give up boating for winter break and go boarding up in Canada instead of boating in California for my 30th:
“I grow old .. I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
Let us go then, you and I”
I’ve began to grasp somewhat who the puppeteers are in the allegory. In the end part of me is glad to walk out of the cave. I’m not really sure what changing my chemistry and perception will do. If I was in charge I would have left the clay men and women outside the cave perceiving the sun and thunder. As Vonnegut would say, “and so it goes.” I’ll keep you posted with Christmas break, spring break, and summer 2005 reports. If one of the reports is missing, remember I’m just protecting the innocent. I’m not quite sure why all of you are going back to school to be doctors, engineers, and basket-weavers, teaching is the second best job for kayakers (slightly nudged out by unemployed pot smoker). True I can’t afford a television, radio, window shade, computer, video recorder, new bed, and my most valuable possessions are 4 kayaks-1 cataraft – 2 sleeping bags – 1 paco pad- and a truck that needs a lot of work after this summer’s abusive roads. Suppose we all make sacrifices and break some ideals to hold onto what we find most valuable.
Take Care,
Shane
