I awoke this morning to the rumble of thunderclaps in the distance. It's a major relief that the weather patterns here in the Southeast are moving back to the way it was when i was growing up, with a small rainstorm almost daily to keep the water table up (and therefore the rivers nearby flowing.) The previous two years of drought conditions has pushed many of the kayakers in the area to dive headlong into the mountain biking industry. For the optimists, this is a good thing. The manner in which the river pushes and sucks you along its path is so similar to the flow of the mountain bike trail, the transference can boggle the imagination. As speed and intensity driven outdoor enthusiasts, we are all powered by the drive to push the balance of the connection between the forces of gravity and momentum. This desire has made the transfer of concepts fairly easy from the boat to the bike. I think of the potential of a change in river currents, one where I can glide around a rock to gain speed for my next move. This very flow of the mind relates directly into the concept of whailing into a berm at a certain angle, to then be propelled out and down into the next obstacle in the line of my choice (or sudden availability.) It is this drive and this balance of conceptual learning that has brought me into the biking world, but it has also reaffirmed my deep love affair for the river. For not only in the trails do i see new lines - but the river has ways of enlightening the deep, committed thinker to the potential for a new move, a new way to slingshot around a boulder, a new way to link up drops smoothly and with style.
Laird Hamilton, when asked what he goes through when the waves just aren't coming, spoke of the feelings a dragon-slayer might have if all the dragons of the world had been slain; thoughts of purpose and meaning would overwhelm him. These are the feelings that have driven us southeastern paddlers to find fun ways to enjoy that balancing game of gravity and momentum, feelings and desires that keep us pushing for the rapid around the next corner, or the new rideable rock drop-off.
This search forces me into the role of the 'rain slave,' as my friend Drew Duval puts it. I have a bad habit that has formed over my years of being a southeastern born kayaker...where i tend to blow off prior engagements in the case of heavy rainfall. We're all individuals here spinning lap after lap around the sun, trying to make it a good ride. What better way to go about it than to be at the constant state of readiness. That state of readiness has the potential to open up new opportunities for each of us, and if those opportunities make you happy then by all means go get them!
The balance here is knowing when to simmer back. Ask my friends, many will agree that I have a tendency to dive headlong into something, and sometimes get going too fast. I remember early experiences with a plastic big wheel, rallying down my parent's driveway, with the one crucial turn if i chose to carry on past my grandparent's. That same turn scared the dickens out of my mom when i went sailing towards it on a sled, only to bail out and roll to the side upon her shouting of the classic Top Gun quote, "Eject! Eject!" The giggling that ensued with every little moment such as those were what has put me into this place i'm in now. The rivers are a wonderful outlet to explore an interconnectedness that one rarely gets the feel for, and trying to learn her moods and undulations at different rivers is an excellent game. I have river trips in mind over the years that have left me with feelings of extreme danger around every corner, where the next time i was able to paddle in that canyon, the mood or weather was different, and the experience totally changed. Doug Ammons wrote a powerful story in Laugh of the Water Nymph called A Line Worth Drawing. This (my last!) semester's philosophy class led me to re-read this (and other) stories of his many times. In it, he wrote of how easily we can get wildly off-track when we neglect to look at the small things that make up such a large piece of the puzzle of the rapid, but this metaphor can be used for so many aspects of life. For it is when the overconfidence rears its ugly head when we reach outside of our means. This can learn to a new type of experiential learning that would fit into the category of 'extreme trial and error' which, as we all are aware, sometimes leads to getting broken, or thrashed on the river into a rude awakening. The outcomes of the later type have a tendency to force the individual into deep introspection and slow motion, continuous review of the events that led to the awakening (or crash). It is like an edit that again and again rolls in the back of one's head that systematically shows you what mistakes were made, and the potential routes for unharmed escape, if we were ever to find ourselves in the same location. But there is also the cold, calculated outlook, where you end up kicking yourself for making that mistake, for walking up to go again, or for hesitating at the wrong moment. These all play in our heads to the point where they can be overwhelming, but when we try to remain in an optimistic mindset, so much can be learned from these experiences - for these (and the moments of success of course) are the ones that we remember so clearly, sometimes in that slow motion edit reel where so few seconds seem like long drawn out minutes of intense focus and reaction.
I will always remember the moment when things went wrong on the Gorilla. The water level was as high as i've ever seen on the Green River. Surrounded by Tommy Hilleke, Daniel DeLaVergne and Jason Hale. I felt the urge to challenge myself with the forces that carve out the canyons. The forces allowed me a safe passage, as apparent by my continued reality, but wanted to give me a little reminder of who (or what) really controls things. That day, my ego and pride brought me all the way up to the last two exit moves, called the Scream Machine. The flow was such that the v hole (that usually jacks up to a hungry monster above 200%) was now an exploding v wave. Coming out of the flume too fast, i was unable to get all the way left to avoid the explosion. i was backendered like a rag doll just above the extremely violent bottom hole. I found myself suddenly front surfing a small compression wave before the 'on ramp' into the maw that awaited. I tried the slalom style surf to rapid downstream motion, but my bow was denied when a slight miscalculation met with a big boil. Slipping backwards into the maw of the bottom hole, i remember taking one more really deep breath. I have no idea how long i was beaten. never before could i imagine such an out of control ride in a boat as big on me as the Nomad 8.5. Tricky-wu's, cartwheels, blasts-into-past-vertical-blunts to avoid being sucked into the pit on the players right; overlaid on each other which i had very little control. Occasionally, the hole would bubble me up to the top, where i was shown the promised land of the eddy...then the bubbling and sucking increased and back into the realm of no oxygen i went. I didn't want to swim at the time, because i knew it would be too high for any of my equipment (or myself) to flush into the 'happy place' eddy on the river right before the next few slides. I was running out of air and energy, but i had to fight out. In another coincidence that leads to later retrospection, it was right after i thought, "next time you get a deep breath, pull your skirt. you'll need energy for what will come next," when the river again showed me the promised land, my exit. Not wanting to succumb when given such a glorious opportunity, i paddled with everything i had. In the safety of the eddy, i vomited and tears welled up.
But to allow the self to be bombarded by such terrifying concepts, there must be incredible rewards. The moment i skipped into the pool at the base of Toxaway Falls, that 80+ foot wall of granite kickers, potholes and whiteouts of high impact, i knew that the years of visualization and contemplation had all come to the fruition of a truly aesthetic experience. The moves had been made, the ranger had been dodged, and the whole crew continued downstream to complete the run and have a wonderful day. The first time i saw the falls was with Tommy Hilleke, on the way to a Tallulah River weekend. I looked off the bridge as Tommy muttered something about there being a feasible line going down the beast. Age 15, i found myself studying the line more and more, as more attention came upon the Toxaway and its gorges downstream. During a moonlit night in my freshman year at UNCA, i found myself climbing about at the base, where i found a way to traverse over into the pothole that must be avoided (by the kayaker). There, from inside the pothole, i was looking up at eye level to the granite wall, where i watched the sheets of water rolling down the granite. the undulations of the rock were easier to see from this angle, and for the first time i could see where i would have to go. Funny the interconnectedness of the universe, as only a few months later i found myself with two of my best friends, Chris Gragtmans and Cooper Lambla, looking at this raging thing that all of the sudden had just the right amount of flow to get into the right line...if all things came together correctly. It was one of those moments where i was sure of only one thing, that i was about to give it a try - as missing this type of opportunity would always haunt my conscience. The ranger was yelling, but only the intended line through the roar below me mattered. Sliding in, i was surprised and terrified to get blown out into the middle of the flow - a very dangerous proposition. BAHDUNK went the hull of my boat as i landed sideways off the entrance ten footer, ricocheting off of the rock which forms the downstream end of the teeny tiny pool - the very rock that forms the start of the big fall. This upstream ricochet gave me just enough movement, that i was able to get in a few good strokes and past the kickers that i had to go around. Spinning back to straight to set up for the plummet down the near vertical rock face, i remember nothing but a sense of awe at the sublime view. Chris and Cooper looked so tiny. The rocks that litter the pool at the base looked so sharp and only a slight way under the surface. The houses and the river right wall looked so far below me. The seconds again played out in my mind as a much longer, mega-experience that i felt was certainly a highlight but also a risky attempt to roll the dice, with these powerful forces of gravity and momentum.
An experience (or place, rather) that i can always relate to the ultimate aesthetic line would be the illegal to "jump" Desoto Falls in Alabama. This waterfall epitomizes the type of rapid that i like the best, as a flurry of moves have to be done correctly to have a successful and exciting run. The first time i went to this place was in 07 with Drew Duval and John Grace, where high water, peak emotions, rainbows and late evening sunshine through rain clouds combined to give us this quality day that left us laughing and shaking our heads all the 6+ hours home.
Just a few weeks ago, the rain slave effect hit me again. Evan Garcia and the Seiler brothers, Graham and Jared called me as i was escaping poetry class with optimistic level updates at the Desoto. They were about to roll. I called into work and bailed on philosophy class to chase down the heavenly feeling of linking up the big moves. After a quick scout Evan and i made it off, both with stellar lines. Then the rangers showed up, haulting the Seiler brothers before they could get in above the falls. Later, the ranger didn't think my comment of, "Well, technically i didnt jump off the falls, i paddled my kayak over it," was funny - but amusing enough to not take us to jail. The ranger did make it very clear, though, that he didn't like the thought of people finding information on this falls via the internet, and having people come out and try their skills in such a dangerous place. I wanted to argue the point that the entrance ferry and 20 footer would weed out anyone who would not be ready, as it is a terrifying line - all while staring off the edge of this 70+ foot horizon line...but the situation wasn't right to push the limits, and i also know that the desires inside me to push my limits are the same ones that could get others in deep, and hurt, in a big hurry. His point continued to be the most valid, but it bothered me upon later contemplation, that rangers will not tell a climber that they can not make an attempt at such and such a peak, but with water as the unpredictable medium, the limitations of others become reasoning to convince the to be daredevil against the attempt.
The river has taught me who i am, just as clearly as how scars are a way of showcasing the innermost tendencies of us all. To bring it all back to the here and now, i am currently down with a fracture in the calcaneus of my right foot. Much inner contemplation has ensued from this very mountain biking wreck. My friends and i discovered a good-to-go rock dropoff just beside one of my favorite DH trails. The time had come and the friends who were there with me were down, so Peter Mills and i decided to give 'er a try. After only kicking the riding line out of the moss, Peter and i fired off of it. We both landed the drop, but we (i especially) had room to improve the runout. Walking up for the next decision, Peter and i decided to drop the rock again, rather than running out the high speed berm on the trail. Slower in than last time (i didnt want to send it down the limited runout). Popped off and stuck my rear wheel into the ground first, creating a rebound effect which compounded upon my panic braking, thus sending me slowly over the bars. Right at the point of no return, i shifted my focus to the tree that awaited to my right. I continued to veer closer and closer to the tree, never taking my eyes from it. In that last moment, i was able to jam my foot into the base of the tree, thus haulting most of my momentum via fracturing my right heel before head butting the tree. The way the wreck was headed, i was relieved to be pedaling out with one foot, rather than to be rushed out on a body board. Just days before, i had ordered a neck brace for that very type of potential situation.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is the here and now for yours truly. Ive turned in my last paper just two days ago, therefore solidifying my bachelors in Health and Wellness Promotions here at UNC Asheville, and i'm patiently awaiting the next adventure i will come across. The fracture seems to be in a good spot for speedy healing, and i have already gotten back out on the Ledges of the French Broad for some attainments, slowly working my upper body strength back up towards where i'd like it to be for the Teva Mountain Games. Another trip, another set of possibilities, another trip round the sun.
Photos for your viewing pleasure:
my trusty steed dialed in with the long-hike, skeleton set up...en route up Bishop Pass Cali 2007
a day on the Ravens Fork this fall...photo credit: Chan Jones
Desoto Falls...before i stuck the Teva logos on the fresh(ee) kayak. I'd just picked it up from the Dagger factory...Woo HOO! photos Evan Garcia
the bikes...trying to learn the secrets of Sam Hill, Greg Minnaar and Steve Peat...
hope to see some of you at the Teva Mountain Games!
thanks for reading.
until next time, keep playing with the balance of gravity and momentum!
cheers!
Pat Keller
Location: PostList
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