Hector styling a Callaghan Drop
The Callaghan Creek race has been in my sights for a long time. Endless Adventure usually attends a few white water festivals throughout the year but never a full on creek race making it a hard sell to the marketing department (my lovely wife). This year I got the green light to promote our Ecuador tours and represent our company at the event. The plan was simple -- Hector my Harry Potter look-a-like kayak instructor and rad paddler would partner me in the race. We leave Thursday night and plan to practice on the Callaghan a few times before racing it on Saturday. Weeks leading to the event Hector and I got a few free passes to go and paddle Summit and Koch Creek for “practice”. We managed to get on Summit at near flood levels and certainly got the feel of consistent gnar paddling. Some may say the “practice” runs were just a way of getting out paddling for fun and some may be correct but either way we were mentally preparing for racing some class 4+/5 and needed it.
I was experiencing a pretty hectic week leading up to the race with our summer season coming into swing and my wife's parents visiting with my seven year old niece. I had to complete the “honey do” list before I left which involved various items that were all being checked off. It was a surprise and unplanned task that really got me prepared for the coming weekend's events. I just got back from a long day of kayak instruction and retail jail when I was informed that my Dad, who lives in the basement suite, may be in need of my help. I walked down to see how the old man was doing when I found him inside with his kitchen with furniture strew about the apartment, he was doing some major cleaning. After a quick scan I noticed his fridge being absent from the mix. My Dad informed me that the fridge was outside and he had been cleaning it with his trusty super duper high horse-powered gas power washer. Hmm, I didn't really notice it coming in so Dad accompanied me outside to explain what happened. He had the fridge stationed just outside his patio on the edge of a pretty steep hill that rolls down about 200 feet to the Columbia River, the hill is mostly wild cottonwood trees, raspberry shrubs, and some old garden plumbing pipes. Apparently, my dad was giving the fridge a thorough cleaning with the washer when the force of the water blasted the fridge over the bank of the hill rolling down until it stopped against an old shed about a fifth the way down. My dad managed to get some old rope around it and hook it up to a come-a-long that was at the end of it's chain, the fridge dangled resting on an old water pipe waiting for rescue. I have had experience extracting wrapped canoes, rafts, and pinned kayaks but the fridge was a first, why don't they have solid grab loops anyway, does this not happen to anyone else? I was up for the challenge so I got some webbing and went to work. My dad did a great job on setting up an anchor and getting it most the way up but I had little faith in the 20 year old rope holding it in place so I used the webbing to secure a new hold on the fridge and repositioned the winch to get it to the surface of the hill. What does this all have to do with our Callaghan Creek Race in Whistler you may ask? Well considering the weekend's three pinned boats we experienced it all weaves together to a trip I will always remember.
We left on Thursday night after saying goodbye to our loved ones and checking on the status of our victimized fridge. It is a superb feeling to be heading out on the road with my trusty Subaru Forester, a couple of fridges on the roof, I mean kayaks, 300 pounds of gear, food for a few days not to mention a to go Boston Pizza that my awesome wife ordered for us. Hector was sitting pretty in the shotgun position DJ-ing some hip hop and electronic beats, pretty much standard for a paddling trip. I was poised on getting to Hope that night at very least so we could rally an area paddle in the morning. We were making good time and once I convinced Hector to put his stinky layers outside in his kayak the smell was greatly improving.
Hector and his stinky gear
Dirtbag Camping!
We rolled past Silverhope creek near Hope at around one in the morning it was now time to find some dirtbag camping. I noticed a little creek with a logging road going over it and I decided to head on up for some camping recon. The road took us up to a clearing with numerous downed logs around an we set up camp in minutes. We had a little fire, which was no problemo given the abundance of wood, and drank a beer beside our cozy fire. 5:30am came pretty quick and we awoke to the fact we were in the middle of a HUGE clear cut. The lads would be out slaying more trees in the next hour so we snuck out and headed to the house of Ryan Bayes. Mr. Bayes was just waking up when we rapped on his door, he had to work pretty early that day but was keen to let us use his kitchen for breaky and brewed us some coffee. Ryan Bayes is a stand up guy and THE man to contact if you are paddling the Frasier Valley. Before I crunched my first piece of bacon, Ryan had us set up with some paddling partners and a run on the Seymour Canyon. We arrived at the put in to meet up with Annie, Denny, and Bill, the level was just under 3 perfect for a chill run. After a quick paddle with friends we were itching to get to the Callaghan and maybe get a run or two in before the race the following day.
The drive up to Squamish was beautiful. I was starting to doze a bit at the wheel and Hector pretty much falls a sleep any chance he can get so I made the call to pull over just outside of Squamish at a cool rock climbing wall. We made up some gourmet italian sausages on the camp BBQ and chilled for a good hour resting. Feeling recharged we sped up to Greg Dashpers house in Squamish a little after three in the afternoon and spent some time drinking coffee and catching up. I had not seen Greg since his name was Diesel back when we all first arrived in the promised land of BC. I was so excited to get the goods on Callaghan creek from someone that paddled it almost every day. We rallied for our first run around 5:30 and the creek was stomping high! I was feeling a little crazy to think I could race the Callaghan at that level and was starting to question the whole deal. Stomping the drops and continuing my streak of not rolling sure helped my confidence by the end of the run. Hector decided to go out for another while I rested my body for the next day. That night we feasted on pasta at Greg's house with some more famous italian sausage and had a few brews with old and new friends. It was that night that Hector shed the unwanted guise of Harry Potter and emerged as Canadian Icon Bubbles from the Trailer Park Boys. Since I met Hector in Ecuador he was consciously trying to become Canadian in appearance. Sporting a mullet, lumber jack shirt and a fear of bathing he was half the way there, now that he was being referred to as Bubbles the transition was complete.
Bubbles
Race day, wake up at 7ish, fire up an awesome breaky of eggs, french toast (not eggy bread), avocado, and of course a lot of bacon, Listo! We made the call to get at least two runs prior to the race and it was a good one. Thankfully, the level had come down a little making the sections in between the falls and larger drops less scary. On our last “practice” run before the race a boater from Vancouver that had been on the run quite a bit and was thinking of racing it later that day showed up. Mikkel and his team mate Mark Basso joined Bubbles and I with the semi local paddler. Everything was going peachy until the unnamed boater had a little dance in a massive hole that left him and his kayak separated. His swim was brutal, we lost site of him several times before he was pulled out of the raging whitewater. Mikkel and I chased his boat down and at one point his kayak hit a rock and rolled up to expose his throw line attached to the back of his seat. I pulled out my best talon claw and was able to grab the rope while signalling to Mikkel to eddy out. I tossed Mikkel the rope but he did not have enough time to exit his boat and anchor the rope safely so we watched the boat float down stream. Mikkel was keen so he got back into his boat and we were on the chase again. Right before a gnarly drop aptly named Old Dirty Bastard the boat self pinned just above a river right log jam. I saw the flash of red from submerged kayak and eddied out right behind it with the rope dangling down stream. Mikkel watched from the adjacent eddy on the river right shore. I sketchily got a carabiniere on the dangling throw bag and Mikkel launched his throw rope to me so I could clip it. I then joined Mikkel in the eddy and we proceeded to try and pull the boat loose. No amount of pulling would work from any angle, that boat was pinned real nice. After a few attempts of mindless tugging Hector and Mark were coming down stream to meet us. We frantically tried to signal them into the above eddy since there was a rope from our eddy to the pinned kayak blocking the line. Mark was coming fast and did not get the memo on which eddy we were referring to so we had lift the line up over his head as he was approaching. Hector pulled into the eddy above and the swimmer was visible portaging down the same side of river. After a brief safety discussion we decided the best course of action was to set up a 3:1 mechanical advantage from a high anchor since the kayak needed to be pulled from above. With four guys pulling it did not take long before the boat popped free. With the kayak pendulumming into shore Mikkel gave it a slight tug to land it in the right eddy when the rope came loose. Basso ran down to grab the boat just before the huge log jam and we got some hands on it. The throw rope was “secured” to a 3 mm accessory cord located behind the seat of the boat. The cord holding up after all that tugging and a Z-drag was unbelievable. With the paddler and boat reunited he decided he had it in him to continue on after his vicious swim through class gnarly big volume creeking. We made it to the race with minutes to wolf down some cheesy tortillas and head back up to the put in.
Organizer Steve Arns Dropping the bigger of the two drops
Mark Basso in the moment
Race time! About half the intended racers dropped out of the event before the competitors meeting. I was pretty keen to race despite the fact that the race organizer asked me 5 times whether or not our team would race, not very confidence inspiring. Simple format-- A team of two leaves the start eddy and the next team leaves three minutes later. You have to safety for your own team but there are spectators set up along shore with throw bags and one safety boater was elected after he decided not to race. Hector and I were racing in the fifth position while the safety kayaker followed the fourth team down. GO! Heart pumping, eyes wide, and adrenaline maxed, here we go. Hector lead from the start since he was a couple of runs up on me leading to the race. Everything was going well, our plan was certainly not to sprint race but to make it down in a controlled method and do so upright and safe. The first fifteen footer went real smooth with both Hector and I nailing our boofs. Shortly before approaching the next 20+ footer I noticed a flash of red in the river and the safety boater standing near his pinned kayak looking tired. By the time I knew what had happened it was time for me to launch over the bigger drop.
Pinned JK VillainS never to be seen again.
I ran that puppy the same as I did the previous 3 times but landed on a boil which lurched me back into the curtain. My face was underneath the curtain looking up, the sensation of a thousand midgets (little people) punching me in the eyes and face was all I could think about. Something I had not felt since my days in the Mexican Wrestling Federation. I pulled the hugest sit up I could muster to clear my face of the cascading water and after a few moments of complete vertigo I was able to empty enough water from my brain to continue. Allrigthy, back at it-- sit up, forward leaning, pulling water, giver! Our next foible occurred ODB, a rather large hole at the bottom was munchin on Bubbles just as I was about to boof it. I could see a large orange hull getting worked as I boofed on top of it's stern probably releasing Hector from the hole. He rolled up eyes at the back of his head and face red looking like he had just taken a drink from a fire hose. We took a few seconds to chill and regain composure and we were back at it. By the time we reached the finish line I was spent, happy faces, frothing beer cans and a half dozen camera's met us at the takeout. A feeling of completion and accomplishment swept over me and I was fired up!
While others drank beer and waited for their times to come in, Hector and I decided to head back up to the river with organizer Steve Arns in hopes of retrieving the pinned kayak. We arrived to even higher water on the Callaghan as the hot sun had brought down some more pow in the form of class V whitewater. We tried hard to get something on the grab loop of the boat and set up a mechanical but the force of the water and the nature of the pin made it impossible. The red Jackson Kayak VillainS was going to hang out for a while, the bow pinned against a rock the stern as well and a log holding the side in. Experience would predict the kayak coming out in pieces before the water actually drops enough to retrieve it.
Hector, Steve, and I headed out to dinner with a bunch of the other racers to enjoy mass amounts of pulled pork. The night brought out the party pants and everybody was feeling the groove. It seemed that every paddler had the same idea and brought a case of beer and a random mickey of the hard stuff perfect ingredients for the sausage soup that was brewing. Without a doubt just as things were winding down we imported some Ecuadorian culture to the party with a dancing circle. Dashper on the ipod providing the right mix and Bubbles showing us the latest in brake dancing technique-- dizziliy spinning in the gravel dance floor. We decided to leave the party when there were only three ginger irish lads left playing with an axe, check please.
Day Three-- Time to explore the region and make the most out of the day. Step one-- go out for a enormous alcohol absorbing breakfast with three different kinds of pork to prepare for the three different creek runs planned, yes we were going tackle the Whistler Triple Crown- Callaghan, Upper Cheak, and the Soo. Upper Cheak was first on the list after some motivational speaking to get some of the more groggy headed paddlers present. Arriving at the takeout with a motorcade of small 4X4's loaded with plastic was a phenomenal site, with over ten paddlers the shuttle confusion increases but we all figured it out and were still on track to finish the mission. Wow, what a fantastic run, starts with a waterfall and finishes in endless boogie water sure to please any creeker, next up another run on the Callaghan. A smaller group of paddlers came out for this run as most in attendance were still battling last nights demons. This was the run to clean up all our lines and hit every boof possible since it would be a while before we would revisit. A brief stop at the pinned Villain above the bigger drop only reconfirmed out diagnosis- the kayak was fish food. We continued on downstream and nailed it with true Kootenay, the ice cream count had Hector in the lead owing about 12 ice creams (one for every roll) and I was still staying upright with a count of 0. Now it was time to tackle the Soo with the little scraps of energy we had left.
Big Drop on the Soo
The Soo is a little further north of Whistler near Pemberton and the drive was gorgeous. Mikkel, Bubbles, and myself were chauffeured by John Mason while two young rippers followed. We arrived at the put in and got right to business. The level seemed pretty high with the abnormal hot weather and the rapids were looking stout despite the fact that the Soo is considered the less difficult of the three. Experience was lacking on the trip with only Mikkel having run it before years earlier. The crew picked our way down stopping at an impressive rapid with a few boater hungry holes. Some debate on the line to take ended in all of us taking a different one and me ending my clean streak with a roll. There were a few rapids left but with the higher water all of them seemed to flush out and the end was in our sights. About a kilometre from the take out a log perpendicular from shore clothes lined one of the young rippers and grabbed onto his kayak serving up another rescue scenario. The swimmer made it to shore and his boat eventually wiggled free with only a bootie claimed by the river gods, or so we thought. The rest of the run to the take out was un eventful so we lazily chased his boat down river. On a wide open stretch with no obstacles present but a few exposed rocks the boat floated to them like an old man to a Canadian Tire sale. Pinned boat numero three!!! After a few creative attempts spearing the boat free Mikkel live bait swam out the the eddy behind the boat and got a beaner attached to the grab loop. Pulling the kayak free was difficult but made possible with three of us while Hector safetied in his kayak below. Being a Pyhrana boat, it was twisted and mangled from the force of the water but amazingly not cracked. A few drop kicks and punches got the kayak almost to it's original shape enough to paddle the rest of the class II to the take out. Triple Crown doneski, No Big Deal!
Pyranha Plastic!
Mikkel and Peter going fishing for Pyranha
Taking down camp and wolfing some left over food was a tad depressing, we were leaving the mecca of big volume creeking and heading home to our gentle Slocan River. The plan was to meet up in Abby at Bayes' house to watch Trailer Park Boys the movie in order for Hector to embrace his new role. The trip there was painful with weekend traffic, aggressive city drivers, and Bubbles' less than stellar navigation techniques. I am pretty sure that the process to become a kayak instructor in England is much more intensive than learning to drive or read maps. We pulled up to the house at about 11:30 after patrolling the neighbourhood and making every wrong turn possible. At one point I grabbed the map from Hector's hands, crumpled it up, and threw it in the back seat as it was clearly no use to him. We got out of the car and proceeded to practice our mixed martial arts on each other. After a few minutes in a head lock I decided to let Bubbles free as staff murder is not usually my style. We were greeted by Ryan, Tristen, and Sandra who were all well lubricated so the addition of our mickey of Tequila was appreciated. After a half hour of Trailer Park Boys we were ready to turn in.
The morning came fast and we headed to SilverHope creek to get one last run in before embarking on the long journey home. Levels were lower than awesome but it was just what we needed after a super long huck fest weekend. We left after the run feeling satisfied that we indeed paddled as much as humanly possible in the four days of our boof fest. Back to reality, private course in the morning, retail jail in the afternoon, dreaming of Whistler kayaking another day. For all those concerned, the fridge is all good and still chillin'
Silverhope Creek
See you in the gnar,
Chris Ryman
No comments:
Post a Comment