Hurd Peak

We decided to ski Hurd Peak in Roman's van on the way to the Eastern Sierra. It was about 10PM and we had barely left the Bay Area. This left us arriving at the South Lake trailhead at 3AM. After much debate we ended up sleeping in the parking lot for about an hour.

At 4:30AM jetboils were bubbling with coffee and Carleton was cracking the whip. The approach to Hurd Peak started on the same path as the hike into the Middle Kings and it was nice to be on it with less gear, if less sleep. The group split up in the first 20 minutes with Roman and Carleton going one way and me, Scott and Josh going the other.

As it happened my group chose poorly. The skinning was technical almost the entire way and I was happy to have installed ski crampons the day before. We even climbed an unnecessary knoll and had to hike down 400 feet to get back on track.

By the time we arrived at the main couloir Roman and Carleton were halfway up. We transitioned as fast as we could b/c the corn softness was approaching wet slide territory. It was not without bitterness that I saw Carleton and Roman hooting and skiing past unleashing thick wet sprays of snow upon us.

When I made it to the end of the snow at about 12.5k feet I climbed as far as I could w/o protection and photographed Scott and Josh topping out. The turns down were steep, soft and continuous. And the bitterness at splitting up quickly disappeared when we met up w/ them at the apron. The crankiness however did not. I had a splitting altitude headache and actually suggested that we take a nap in the snow for a while.

We opted to ski all the way to the lake which involved a long scree hike in ski boots. I wanted to cry at the end. I'm not sure I've ever bonked before but this was close. When we got to the lot we took turns drinking beer and sleeping on the asphalt. With our lines on Hurd Peak and potential future lines clearly visible we had a hell of an amphitheater in which to bask. And bask we did. It was going to be a good w/e.

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Dana Plateau - Powerhouse Chutes

Carleton rallied me for a totally unplanned overnight in the Eastern Sierra on fri afternoon. Armed w/ guidebooks, coffee and the Northern California Gazeteer we set out at 9pm on fri night to an unknown destination on the east side of the Range of Light. Our goal was to ascend to a place with lots of options, camp and ski as much as our legs would allow. We decided on the Dana Plateau b/c it had tons of chutes w/in our ability range.

A note on ability: Going to the Eastern Sierra involves realizing that you suck at skiing and possibly life. A 2000 foot, 30 foot wide, 55 degree chute requiring an 80 foot rappel over an extremely sketchy cornice is only rated a 4/5 according to the New Testament. The same source says that any descent where a fall isn't fatal is not class 5. So even though you dropped Dingle-Blaster chute at Squaw Valley on a powder day, you are at best a class III skier. If this piques your interest and you want to scale your athleticism across bigger challenges and longer forays , then purchase the guidebook and about $4k worth of equipment. If you are happy where you are, take the blue pill, go back to The Shammy to hit on SalesForce.com chicks and this will all be remembered as a strange dream.

At about 3am we pulled off into an ideal bandit camping spot about 30 yards off 395. We passed out instantly and we woke up three hours later to hit the trail. The jump off point was unclear so we chose what looked like a good chute to ascend. We skinned for a little bit and were quickly boot packing up a decently steep chute. Some bad route finding on my part led us to a thinly covered scree field that swallowed our legs. We retreated and Carleton broke trail all the way up to a long shelf. We ate lunch at the top and were glad to have a long, granite-tacular groove skin to the base of the upper mountain chutes. It's rare that a trip is, to steal a phrase, "exactly as I imagined." But once we were above tree line it was. Sharp granite teeth towered above and soft buttery corn snow lay below our feet. There was not a trace of wind or a cloud in the sky and the only sound was the pleasurable swoosh of a ski skin on perfect snow.

Our base camp sat at the bottom of a bowl w/ about 5 distinct chutes feeding into it. It was one of the most beautiful places I'd ever been and the skiing looked as if it would be very challenging. We were not where we expected but after some debate decided that it was awesome and it didn't matter. We set camp and climbed up to the apron of the main chute. It was one of the main powerhouse chutes and it had a huge cornice that had partially fallen leaving a messy trail of frozen Orc heads all down the fall line. We skied back to the tent and debated our options.

Both of the north facing chutes had all sorts of debris from avalanches and wind. So we looked at the east facing chutes. Almost all of them had nearly impassible (by us at least) chock-stones blocking access to the summit. We resigned that we would probably not summit but would have a great day skiing as much of every chute as possible. With that we both ate two mountain houses and went to bed at about 8 pm. It should be noted that the mac and cheese mountain house has the most calories of any mountain house.

We made up for lost sleep and conked for 12 hours. We awoke to the sun already cooking our east facing morning chute. Semi-frozen cliff bars and vitamin c water would have to pass for breakfast. In the next few hours I learned the difference between backcountry skiing and ski-mountaineering. If you're really afraid of falling, it's ski mountaineering, otherwise it's probably backcountry skiing. The chutes were much steeper than expected and, even though were weren't exposed to a fall on rocks, it was pretty nerve wracking to have so much air below our feet. As we got to the top of the apron it was clear that our first objective was going to be too gnarly. What looked to be 40 feet wide and 45 degrees was 20 feet wide and 55 degrees. One day I hope to be good enough to ski that one. Even skiing down the runout of the chute and the apron was sustained 45 degrees.

The next objective had a major cliff that blocked us from the top but it afforded a solid 1000+ feet of sustained vertical. It took a long time to climb it and I was nervous at the top. The descent was a long, 45 degree, right curving chute whose left flank dropped off a substantial cliff. It took a moment to wrap my head around the notion that I was about to ski what I was afraid of climbing. What followed were some of the most exciting turns of my life. I stopped at the apron to photograph Carleton coming screaming out of the chute with a huge smile on his face. So this is it! All the pictures in the guidebooks and trip reports coming to life for us. A perfect granite walled California couloir. So stoked!

We skied the remaining vertical back to camp, broke it down and headed back with heavy packs. I had forgotten that we actually still had a lot of great skiing ahead of us. It wasn't as steep or exposed as the previous stuff but it was still very legit. We got back to the car sweating like pack animals and loaded up for a long drive home. It hit us that the Eastern Sierra is where it's at and that we are essentially beginners again. It was one of the better wilderness experiences of my life.

My name is Willy Pell and I suck at skiing.

PS: We laughed hysterically when we drove past and mocked an obnoxious icy bump run at Heavenly.

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(Carleton took every pic w/ me in it)

Middle Fork of the Feather - Devil's Canyon

"And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so. And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day. And on the 16 billionth day God made the drysuit so that man could paddle the waters of early spring and be not wet and cold. When man beheld the drysuit he rejoiced, and dropped an abundance of boofs to please his creator. God smiled upon the boofing and saw that it was mint."

Louis rallied a bunch of former DC slalom and PDX folks to go run the Devil's Canyon section of the Middle Feather. I worked until midnight and drove to Brush Creek to sleep and meet our shuttle driver. With the newly paved road I made it in less than 3 hours. After piling 8 people and 7 boats into the tacoma (4 in the cap, 4 in the cab) we drove 3 hours to the p/u. The first day was pretty mellow whitewater so we packed our boats full of Guinness and red meat and set off for 3 days.

It was my first experience with a drysuit and yes, they are very mint. I didn't even bring camp clothes b/c everything I had was always dry. Total game changer for early season boating. We paddled down some warm up rapids for a few hours and made camp in a nice grove of trees. For some reason there are a bunch of grills laying around in various spots along the river. We took one to a less impacted campsite and began cooking and drinking. Most of the gang brought nice steaks, salmon and couscous. I opted for hotdogs. I figured that I was too clumsy to cook a steak over a campfire, but given 5 chances, I could probably cook a dog or two on a stick. It was great to catch up w/ everyone and meet new folks. We passed bottles of whiskey and bs'd about rivers until we drifted off to a rather cold night's rest.

The next day we had a calpine start and were on the river by 10:15. We had elevensies at a nice side creek and second breakfast on a granite slab in the sun. I think we finished off the day w/ 4 distinct food breaks. That's what the first two days of the Middle Feather is really about. Floating through beautiful scenery, eating, talking and lining up the occasional boof. Late in the afternoon we passed the PCT bridge and into the realm of sparse campsites. The "off the couch crew" was getting pretty tired and lobbied a reluctant Louis to stop for the night. I chose a crap campsite but Kurt found a spot on an island w/ some nice sandy crevices for sleeping. We set up, ate lesser food than the night before and most fell asleep rather early. Louis and I stayed up a while and saw a shooting start that lit up the sky like Baghdad during Shock and Awe. I was looking in the opposite direction and still managed to turn around and see it. Unreal. At about 3am a real ass-kicker of a wind storm blew in. My little 5x8 tarp stood tall throughout but we all scrambled to secure the scattered equipment. As I was placing rocks on drysuits and skirts the entire camp imploded. Bhando's tarp collapsed, so did Cody's mega-mid, Mike's tarp went down and Corey's one man came unanchored and almost blew away. Sand and gear blew everywhere and team bivy sack slept through the whole thing w/o noticing. It took a while to get back to sleep but I finally did. We had and early wake up b/c Bhando had a flight from PDX and Kurt had commitments in BC.

The last day has the best whitewater and it has an abundance of classic cali granite. In a few places you can see the v-slot character of Bald Rock Canyon, the run just downstream of the t/o, forming. After two days of paddling I began to feel like a boater despite a few too many flips and hole workings. Louis and I both had near misses on a long one w/ a stompy hole in the middle. Kurt and Bhando faired better. We scouted but walked the "portage" but vowed to go back w/ lower flow and hit it. It looked pretty sweet. It was a beautiful, fun day and many boofs were dropped. The whole run has many of the usual qualities of a cali multi-day, but one that is pretty unique: At the end you're not so worked that you wouldn't immediately go back up and run it again. Awesome meeting Cody, Corey and Mike and it was a real treat to have the DC slalom crew out west. Can't wait to do it again.

PS: Dagger continues in their long tradition of manufacturing gear that is built to the standards of an eighth graders backpack. A human life in the unforgiving environment of class V whitewater is as important to Dagger as my TI-82 was to Jansport. Thanks dagger! Should I encounter a slingshot wielding, red haired bully on a long portage I'm sure your outfitting will hold up fine. Kudos to Kokatat for making a quality drysuit and Watershed for making a stout stow-float that actually works.

My pics were pretty messed up. The moist air kept the lens fogged and there were a few other technical blunders as well. Cody Harris took pretty much every pic w/ me in it. Slideshow or gallery:

Sonora Pass Sled-neck Skiing

Roman Nelson and Rick Rice were kind enough to invite Johann and I on a snowmobile / ski trip in Sonora Pass. I had never snowmobiled before and it blew away a lot of preconceived notions. First off, it is a lot harder than it looks. It's easy enough to cruise around on flat ground, but to use one as a chairlift to access steep terrain requires a lot of strength, coordination and knowledge. They don't just go where you tell them and keeping it balanced on a ridge or an off camber slope is a touchy process. It's up there w/ kayaking as least intuitive activities. On top of it, to use it to access skiing we had to ride tandem, both people dangling off either side like windsurfers. Throw in a 40lb overnight backpack and I was thrown off the thing at least 5 times and I blew a dozen moves. Absorbing shock and staying balanced was also really tiring. Combine all this together and I was actually relieved to get off the thing and descend to the relative safety of rocky bulletproof chutes.

As for the skiing the Eastern Sierra Avalanche Report said it best:
"How could one wind event mess up every aspect for skiing and riding?"
It was largely bulletproof on every aspect regardless of sun / wind. But it was still skiing and skiing is always fun.

Roman and Rick were going to test winter camping setups for their trip to Alaska so we wanted to camp as high as possible. After a few laps on sat afternoon and some hard lessons about balancing sleds we set up camp at about 9-10k feet in a pocket of trees. Roman wanted to dig a snow cave and, anticipating high winds the rest of us dug pits for our tents. After setting up camp Johann took a sled out for a joy ride and didn't come back for a while. We got worried and radioed him and found that he was stuck so we rounded up the gang and went to dig him out. Johann's predicament was indicative of how difficult it is to operate these things. He is not lacking in the intelligence or coordination depts and he still lawn darted the thing into a dense grove of trees. I remembered how Rick told me that "Steering is suggestive." Yeah, I guess so. With the force of four men we extracted the sled and returned to camp for dinner and whiskey.

Roman spent the next 4 hours digging away at his snow cave and I ate cheese and chocolate in my tent. When he was done we all hung out in his cave and drank an amazing combination of Jack Daniels and powdered chai. Highly recommended. The wind was really picking up yet you couldn't hear it at all in the cave. Snow caves are quite possibly the most peaceful, comfortable places in the world.

That night the wind howled like and evil spirit. It sounded like those flying dragons from Lord of the Rings. You could hear it build up from a distance and inside my tent I'd brace for impact. The weather report and our estimates put it at about 75mph. Our tents all survived no problem but none of us got a ton of sleep.

The next morning we dined in the cave and took as many laps as we could before packing up. To optimize things Roman and Rick would ghost ride their sleds down the hill and then ski after them. It worked really well for about 7 laps then Rick's got the wobbles and flipped and broke a ski. Even after dealing w/ all that we still got many more laps than the folks skinning up beside us.

On the way out Roman and I got lost and I got fully sketched out with the technical snowmobiling we had to do to get back on track. Roman was a great pilot and I was dead weight or worse. Eventually we made it back and I have muscles that I didn't know existed that were sore. Good times all around but I think I'm more of a foot powered creature. I never liked riding horses b/c I don't trust them and snowmobiles may be more temperamental than horses. But lots of fellowship was forged and it was an awesome experience...

For a better writeup by Roman look here.
Photo by Roman Nelson = (RN)
Photo by Johann Schleier-Smith = (JSS)
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Mt Rose Backcountry

Eva and I skied around on a mountain near Mt. Rose on sat. I think it was the same one where I met Eric and Stacey though I'm not absolutely certain. Great conditions early and it got crusty at the end. Turns out Eva really likes powder :)
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Jakes Peak - Solo

I ended a fantastic work / ski week by soloing Jakes Peak early in the morning once the avy danger subsided from the recent storm.  It was unbelievable snow and I had some of the best tree turns I've ever had.

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Mt. Tallac - Cathedral Bowl

Last week Scott Fair and I conducted an amateur mission on Mt. Tallac.  It started w/ an almost 9 am wake up, became an aimless search for a snow park permit and evolved into a long trip up the wrong side of the mountain.  We had to park at the new snow park b/c the folks in the neighborhood now lock the gate.  Apparently they would rather get out of their car twice every time they leave their house all winter than deal w/ dirtbag backcountry skiers parking near their driveways.  

So the new route adds a number of miles each way to the trip and it sends amateurs like us up Cathedral bowl instead of the regular route.  Which is fine, it's just a lot longer than it used to be.  I also had left Eva at an XC ski resort and we were not even going to be close to picking her up on time.  

The weather was fantastic and we slowly made our way up.  Toward the top I disagreed w/ Scott on directions and took us on a decently long, post-holing boot-pack.  Unfortunately we were so tardy that we missed the brief corn window and skied hard snow and breakable crust down to the car.  We ended up traversing all the way back to the normal route and Scott had to walk a mile to the car.  No thanks the cold ass crew of luxury sport-utes who didn't pick him up.

Tallac this way is a wrestling match and we need to dial the new put in / take out.  All in all, Tallac is always stunning and it's ski season and that makes me happy.  Big ups to Eva's patience.  As a bonus, during the 500 foot boot-pack I composed this poem:

Carleton is my shepherd I shall not want.  

He maketh me ski down icy chutes.

He leadeth me through thorny manzanita.

He pisses me off.

He leadeth me in the path of indirection because he can't admit he's wrong.

Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of The Gnar, 

I will fear no evil, for though art with me;

Thy stinky polypro, it comforts me.

Thou preparest nothing in the presence of bad weather.

Thou annointest my head with terrible beta; my cup runneth over.

Surely manzanita and avalanches will follow me all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of The Gnarly One forever.  

Album or slideshow (Scott has a bunch of pics too but his camera has a wack connection and we can't find the cable.)

Death Valley

It's been a long time since I've updated.  This is mostly due to lots of work and surf season.  Surfing is impossible to photograph while you're doing it (more on this later.)  

In the meantime Eva and I went on a new years trip to Death Valley.  The place means what it says.  It's dead.  It is a scab on the earth with puss oozing out of cracks and blistering in the hot sun.  It is the most silent place I've ever been, you don't hear or see anything alive.  Yet it's absolutely a place everyone should visit.  Just don't expect the normal National Park experience.  It's a place to feel alone, small and helpless, but in a good way.  You emerge appreciating things like trees and water as never before.  

A 4x4 is necessary for a Death Valley trip.  The car camping is incredible and largely unregulated, but you need to get off the main drag to do it.  You can basically hide in plain sight.  The place is so big that you're pretty much guaranteed not to see anyone.  

On the first day we hiked around Zabriskie Point.  This place is killer and deserves a full day of exploration as the photos will show.  We then 4x4'd into Echo Canyon and attempted a few hikes.  There are no real trails and we opted for a few Lord of the Rings Mordor hikes over razor sharp rocks.  When we got to the tops of some small peaks we realized the main event in Death Valley was the valley.  

We celebrated New Years Eve with a bottle of champagne and some freeze dried food and were in bed by 9.  We woke up the next day and drove around to find a place to cross the valley floor.  Crossing the valley is about 5 or 6 miles one way.  Our plan was to hydrate and walk across and back.  

Everyone should do this when they go there.  The texture of the ground creates a new environment every 10 minutes.  You really can't see this unless you walk across it.   Dirt, salt and water can combine to form the most unbelievable formations (see photos.)  Afterwards we were very loopy and dehydrated --even in winter-- but it was fun and the pics were incredible.  

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NorCal and Oregon Coast

Late in the summer Eva and I took a road trip of the coast.  I had just demolished my toe at a wedding so we were unable to do very much in terms of physical activity.  But we had a lot of fun nonetheless.  We saw redwood forests, sand dunes and Jurassic Park beaches.  We even saw the place where the Forrest Moon scenes from Jedi were filmed.  

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Middle Kings - Unabridged

Preamble:
The Middle Kings is humbling. Not in the way feel when your dad spanks you for misbehaving, but in the way you'd feel after a major earthquake. In the end the Middle Kings is just another river, but every aspect is scaled up so much that conventional river running tools dull to uselessness long before you reach the takeout. Only the purest methods and mentalities can pass through these hallowed walls.

You can't escape the Middle Kings. You can't roll out of a hole, scuttle to an eddy and play it safe until you get to the car. When it does get its claws on you, and it will, you must realize that you went there to get worked. You need to remember that the happiest most exciting memories of kayaking come not from sticking a line but from blowing it and acing the plan C. I think every kayaker knows this in their hearts but most, and certainly for me, they don't realize it while it's happening. When I get worked a cold fear takes over. Like a test pilot pulling out of a spin I race through the handbook of moves trying to undo the disaster. Only after the fear is a distant memory can I appreciate the dynamic thinking that kept me intact.

That cycle needs to happen faster on this river. Actually it needs to not happen at all. While you're upside down after running a 30 foot slide on verbals getting stomped against an undercut wall with no safety in the middle of a thunderstorm, you need to be able to smile and thank the Middle Kings for swiftly correcting your flawed understanding of white-water. You need to savor the moments of total uncertainty and appreciate your actions as they happen rather than back at the office in front of a computer. When you get to the eddy you should be smiling b/c this is a chance to learn more about the sport you love. You should go through the events in your head and determine exactly what went right and wrong. You need to accept that with chaos such as white-water, you will always be the student and it will always be the master. After that, look over your shoulder and scout the next big drop b/c it's right below your eddy and, even if things go right, your car is still 4 days away.

Stats:
Shuttle = 260 miles...One way
Hike = 12.6 miles
Hike elevation gained = 2,000 feet
Hike elevation lost = 3,000 feet
Boat + gear + food = ~80lbs
Highest point (Bishop Pass) = 12,000 feet
Put in elevation = 9,000 feet
Take out elevation = 1,900 feet
River Miles = 40
Days of paddling = 5
Boats broken (out of 6) = 2
Pounds lost = 10


Day 1:
Organizing a Middle Kings trip is an event unto itself. But this is not a blog about Machiavellian maneuvering or intrigue worthy of the Elizabethan court. So... eventually we all ended up at the trailhead talking calorie counts and boat packing systems. We had tried in many different ways to get a permit to hike in but failed and decided to go for it anyways.

The hike is stunning but grueling. It rises steeply and then skirts alpine lakes a number of times before the switch-backs that take you to the top of Bishop Pass. I felt I had done pretty well until then but soon I was taking a break and gasping for air every ten steps.

Carleton had fallen badly behind and Jared had gone way ahead. But most of the group was ambling up the switch-backs when we all got busted by a Ranger. We tried to negotiate with him, but Ranger Waterfall (no joke) was feeling zesty. He sent us back down the trail to get a permit but allowed us to leave the boats there. He even made us take the food but we secretly slung a bear bag when he wasn't looking.

Jared was gone and Carleton wasn't going to finish the hike. So our broken and scattered crew decided it was time for happy hour in Bishop.

Day 2:
Much speculation surrounded the question of WWJD (what would Jared do?) We had sent word with some hikers that the rangers were out for him and that we would be back the next day. But most of us agreed that, not knowing what happened, he would likely merge with another crew of paddlers.

The boats and bear bags were unmolested and we made it back to the top of the pass in a few hours. We donned our burdens and cruised across the Dusy Basin stopping occasionally to relive the pain in our backs, drink fresh water and marvel at the serrated knife edge mountains called the Palisades.

The flats eventually dropped off the edge of the world down miles of switch-backs to La Conte Canyon. That was about where I met back up with Jared. He had finished the hike in record time and had heard from other hikers that we'd be back. He slept and came back sans boat to look for us. Hours later we all ended up at the put in. I immediately jumped naked in creek and felt like a new man.

We hung by the fire that night talking to Dave (Wombat,) a PCT thru hiker and former CO raft guide. His best gift was telling us to use runners glide on our feet to prevent blisters on subsequent trips. Our feet were pretty well demoed after that hike.

Day 3:
Yes, this is a paddling trip and it finally began. The beginning of this run is headwater mank of the lowliest kind. It is not as bad as Fantasy Falls but it goes on for longer and the scenery is better. Eventually enough tributaries feed in and the action begins.

The next day in a half was the best boating I've ever done in my life. It's basically an endless strings of 8 foot boofs with game on moves separating them. Were were all having a great time running pretty much everything that would go until the afternoon showers started.

Some folks were, ahem, not as prepared for high sierra weather as they might have been. So we pulled off and built a fire which kind of succeeded in keeping us warm. But the rain did not let up and we decided that a mad bombing session to the nearest camp would cure our ills.

The next mile or so of boating was a complete blur. We pushed the outer limits of no-eddy-boat scouting ie: drift to the lip and hope it goes, scramble if it doesn't. We ran a few biggies on verbals (that's where I got nicely worked on a wall.) And eventually ended up on a high campsite on river left building a fire. I'm glad Taylor and Jared remembered the run so well b/c otherwise I would have never gone that fast.

Day 4:
We woke to a 20 foot slide with a tricky entrance and another absolutely classic day. The "Cave Section" came up fast and set the tone for the afternoon. Big holes, clean boofs and a decent number of sieves kept us busy for the next 5 miles. What a trip. Every time I got out of my boat I was legitimately excited at what I saw. It wasn't a matter of "can I get down that," but rather "man I want to run that." This went all the way up to Devil's Washbowl. 

The Devil's Slide is a notorious site for carnage.  It is a 100 yard long slide with lots of moves that ends in soaring wall boof or a soul crushing hole.  One by one we each made it down w/o any carnage.  I'm not sure I've ever gone faster in a kayak without being in freefall.  

We had lunch and the made our way down to the ultra-classic Waterfall Gorge.  After the gorge most folks portage for 3/4 of a mile on the PCT. But Jared and Taylor 1'st D'd a 30 footer in there and they were keen to go back. I got worked again probing a stacked set of rapids that ended a double drop. It put me on my heels a bit and I decided to walk the newly named "Raw Dawg" gorge. (Going Raw Dawg refers to the practice of ignoring science and drinking straight out of the river without filtering. We had a number of lads and a lass going raw dawg in protest of what they call "the culture of fear." May the giardia pass through you without a fight my dear friends.)

Most of the gang fired up the gorge in fine style especially Taylor who so mercilessly stomped the boof that I felt bad for the waterfall. I think it takes the place of "best thing I've ever seen in kayaking" from Andy O'Reilly's savage drop into Triple Drop on the East Kaweah 3 years before. Dave and I opted for a retarded portage into a sieve that required interesting climbing to get down.

I was really feeling the fatigue at this point. I don't think I ever really recovered from the hike and we still had another major gorge until camp. This one was pretty closed in and it required a sketchy rock island scout at one point. Well led by Jared and Taylor.

Eventually the walls opened up and we paddled class III for a welcome few miles through Simpson Meadow. We camped at dusk and Thomas began "chopping" wood. Thomas has an absurd method of wood chopping that entails throwing huge rocks at logs to break them.

The dew at camp was bad and everything with a surface was soaking wet w/in a half an hour. Those w/o - ahem - shelters curled up as close as they could to the fire and groveled until morning.

Day 5:
"We are not even halfway through our kayaking trip." That's what Taylor said to me first thing in the morning. The third day on the river was supposedly supposed to be easier. It was not. It was definitely the least classic of all the days and I'd even go as far as calling it manky.

It did impart one good lesson for me. That really tight, steep maneuvering calls for way more rudders than forward strokes. Lizzy was instrumental in teaching me the art of low speed boating. It is hard for slalom people not to drive down the river.

I didn't take any pictures, I banged lots of knuckles and I almost missed tons of crux eddies b/c of ass-licking guardian rocks. It also rained again. The Beaver Drop is like "The Thing" on Fantasy Falls but w/ a worse hole and a worse swim. No takers this time. My butt had gotten so much smaller from caloric deficit that my waist prussock, which has fit for the whole season, fell off while scouting. My hip-pads were also loose. Next time I'm bringing more foam to account for weight loss.

When we got to Tehipite camp early in the afternoon we were greeted w/ rattlesnakes and the infamous Midtown Sac crew on their pre-bottom-9 layover day. They were catching fish and welding boats and we all BS'd, ate and went to bed early.

I was nervous that night. I did not like the character of the river that day and folks were saying the bottom 9 is the same but steeper and longer. Though many of the Midtown Sac guys said the bottom 9 was much cleaner and bore no resemblance to the last section, I didn't know who to believe. Best just to go to bed and deal w/ it in the AM. Unfortunately my fear prevented me from fully enjoying the glory of Tehipite Dome.

Day 6:
The Bottom 9 miles. If you don't know what the bottom 9 is the best description came from Taylor. "It's like the enemy boss at the end of a video game." That's goddamned right. I realized that, like Mario, all I had previously conquered were a cascades of automaton turtles who were written with three lines of code and who die with one jump. Now we faced a real foe with real intelligence and real stamina. It was the hardest day I've ever had in my life.

There are no pools, only eddies. For 9 miles. But the good news is that it's clean. Like the Midtown Sac crew said it bore no resemblance to the North Saint Vrain bullshit from the day before. We had a really good time in the beginning. We were operating as a unit and running the biggest V+ I've ever run on verbals. You simply can't scout all of this section. It's too much.

We passed the crew from the night before and were making great progress down classic rapids. Then we heard a whistle blow and we saw a boat careening downstream. A fog of carnage and bad communication between groups held us up for a while. The boat ended up passing us fast and pinning way down stream. We helped the swimmer pull it loose and it was badly broken. We left it up to them and pressed on.

Spirits were high at lunch but shortly afterwards the clouds began to form. I'm not sure if the bottom 9 was made dramatically worse by paddling it in a raging thunderstorm, but it didn't help. Everything from here on was about survival.

I can't express how complex a section of river this is. We usually had a scout at each side, neither of whom had a complete picture, and they would patch together their views and give the line to the shivering grovelers in the eddy. You never actually got through rapids. You just eddied out and scouted for the next eddy which was almost always 100 yards away. It was WW-I kayaking. We fought and bled for hours with barely any perceptible progress.

The rain was not letting up, it was getting dark and we did not want to be on that thing with a storm surge. We ran pretty much everything that wasn't class VI and portaged through sharp plants and THICK poison oak. At one point I near collapsed on a portage and, while resting, passively watched blood from my hands stream onto my boat and mix with the falling rain. I was so done. Done doesn't even describe it.

Eventually we reached "The Gates," the last major rapid of the bottom nine. After that it was mere class V all the way home. Riding high on emotions and definitely getting careless our trip almost turned into a disaster.

Taylor and I went down a rapid with a huge undercut sieve network on the river right side. We both eddied out below and waited for the others. Looking around we saw Lizzy's boat pinned at an awkward angle upside down. She managed to climb out of the sieve but her boat was stuck and we spent the next hour concocting complex z-drags that finally got it loose.

We camped where we were, w/ Team Oregon, at a terrible campsite dubbed "Camp Grovel." It was still pouring rain so Jared made a huge fire and turned the place into a steam room. We had a good time rapping w/ the Oregon boys but passed out pretty soon.

Day 7:
Instead of hiking out at Yucca Point we paddled the Garlic Falls section. I had a clumsy flip before the confluence with the south fork and smashed my head really hard. It turns out that Forrest flipped on the same rapid and hit his spine so hard that he had to get x-rays to see if it was broken. I believe it. It was a hard enough hit to leave a gash in my head through my helmet. Definitely time to replace that WildWater. My day was pretty much ruined at that point and I limped my way to the finish line.

It had come WAY up with the rain and we were really happy to be off the bottom 9. The boys had some exciting lines but we were thankfully finished with disasters at that point. On one scout Team Oregon and I decided that The Middle Kings was like something really good, say 1,000 cheesecakes, pureed in a blender and shot in your mouth for five days. Only while you're digesting this fire-hose of goodness there is a guy with a shotgun who will shoot you if you spill a drop on your shirt. You still like cheesecake?

I took no pictures and slouched to the car with a splitting headache and a broken soul. It was over. I didn't want to celebrate. I wanted to curl up in ball and get breast fed for the rest of my life.

Instead we just went to Chipotle and Coldstone in Fresno. I highly recommend this move. Shopping malls in Fresno are wack enough on normal days but they provide an amazing contrast to a Middle Kings trip. It was upon seeing us, dirty, bloody and haggard, juxtaposed with the rest of Fresno's mall-goers that I realized what we'd been through.

The whole group did not know e/o really well to begin with and we had become a small tribe. We had seen e/o at our strongest and weakest. We pulled the reigns when we were strong and accepted help when we were weak. After laying waste to thousands of calories at a disturbing pace it dawned on all of us that life was about to become normal again. Normal means you can get a burrito by swiping a credit card. Normal means you're not inches from drowning for 12 hours a day. Normal means, well normal.

At the heart of the bottom 9 in a ripping thunderstorm I begged for 3000 calories of burrito and ice cream in a soulless shopping mall. If there's one thing I regret about that trip it was that moment of weakness and escapism. B/c right here, in front of my computer, I would take a soggy cliff bar on an unstable pile of rocks with the Raw Dawgs over the best French meal in the world. The search for grace amid pain, suffering and uncertainty is what makes us tick. Discomfort has been systematically removed from everyday life and the unstated bond we felt was our realization that life is incomplete without it.

For more coverage check:

Dave's, Taylor's and Lizzy's blogs as well.

(P-TC) = Photo by Taylor Cavin

(P-DM) = Photo by Dave Maurier
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Middle Kings

I've been back from our 7 day trip (2 days of hiking 5 days of paddling) down the Middle Kings for four days now and I still don't know what to write.  All I can say is that it is an experience that goes way beyond beautiful granite canyons and navigating rapids.  I don't think I'll ever be the same again after that run.  As far as carnage, we had a near trouble free trip and we pretty much ran everything and then some. 

It is the hardest thing I've ever done.  It purified me.  It smoked out and ritually slaughtered all the unnecessary distractions and the empty space it left behind is both liberating and jarring.  Maybe I'll have more to say later...

Tioga Pass

As part two of the Middle Kings training plan we wanted to do a big climb and sleep as high as possible to acclimate for the put in hike.  So we went from Cherry Creek, through Yosemite, to Tioga Pass.  The smoke was bad and we were happy to be heading up and away from it.  I actually almost bailed and went back to SF but Carleton talked me out of it.  

When we got there Carleton scouted out our route that evening while I passed out in the drivers seat.  We bandit camped and skied a nice little chute near North Peak in the morning.  I've been wanting to see the eastern Sierra in all its silver, rugged, granite peaked glory for a long time.  It was everything I'd hoped for and I can't wait to get back.  A nice rough draft to be sure.  Fun to be on skis in late June as well...

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Cherry Creek

As part of our Middle Kings training plan, me and Carleton woke up early on Sat and went to Cherry Creek.  It was probably the last time of the summer that it would be running at 2k.  For those unfamiliar, the shuttle to Cherry Creek is brutal.  But the beautiful thing is that it's brutal for the people doing the lower section as well.  The take out for Cherry Creek is the put in for the Lower Tuolumne.  Which ever section you run requires a long drive down a switch-backed dirt road.  

We saw some rafters and pitched "The symbiotic shuttle."  That means that we drive to our put in, they drive to their put in (also our takeout,) when we're done we use their car to run our shuttle and we leave their car at the top of the long dirt road.  So we don't have to drive down the road to set our shuttle and they don't have to drive down to retrieve theirs.  It's a rare moment in nature where two antagonistic forces, rafters and kayakers, work together for common gain.

Once that was done we started paddling.  At Mushroom Carleton blurted out something like, "Scout the entrance--No just walk the entrance.  The water's dropping!  Let's just go!  I'm going."  I got out a bit confused and looked at the entrance.  It looked fine and Carelton got through the whole thing fine.  I don't know Cherry Creek well.  I've only run it twice, both at different water levels and once I boat scouted everything.  So I didn't remember that there was a giant hole at the bottom of Mushroom.  I got through the entrance, went left, almost got through and got tractor beamed back in.  I threw a few ends, almost got out and fell back in again.  This went on for a few cycles before one really nice ender pushed me downstream and out.  Definitely the most thorough working I've had in a while.

Toward the end of the run we became engulfed in smoke from the nearby forest fires so we moved quickly.  Lewis' Leap is one of the best rapids in CA.  It's a long confusing entrance with a big horizon line that you boof off of into a maelstrom of merging currents 10 feet below.  I can't believe it works as well as it does.  Later Carleton got worked in a hole above Tabletop and surfed his way out.  Overall it was a really fun day.  I can't wait to learn this one better.

When we got to the shuttle the rusted "hide a key" they left us didn't work.  We tried every door and finally got it to work on the passenger side.  We couldn't get the key to fit in the ignition either.  We tried for a while and eventually realized that GM cars have two keys, one for the engine, one for the door (another reason Americans should not make cars.)  We only had the door key.  We contemplated leaving with a group of rafters but instead we figured the the main set of keys was probably in someone's pockets in the van.  We hunted around and I eventually found an engine key at the bottom of a pile of shit in the console.  It was old and it looked like it had been soaking in petrified coffee but it worked fine.

Rule:  Whether it's his fault or not, no trip with Carleton ever has a smooth shuttle.  

No photos.  The smoke was nasty and we didn't want to linger...

Half Dome

If California were Italy, Yosemite would be Rome and this hike would be St. Peters. The downside of hiking Half Dome is that it's no secret. This 17 mile, 5,000+ vertical foot trip is almost as popular as St. Peters. But like St. Peters, there is a good chance that it will make you believe in God.

Eva and I crashed in my truck at the Happy Isles parking lot at around midnight the night before. We were worried about crowds so we woke up at 4:30am and were hiking by 5:30. It was quickly apparent that we were not up early enough. Even at a brisk pace we were passing plenty of people who had the same idea. We broke with them when they went up to see the waterfalls and we followed the sign to Half Dome.

We hiked alone to the top of Nevada Falls, a powerful cascade that drops 200+ feet down smooth granite. The raw energy you feel standing over this waterfall is something else. It's funny, I actually didn't recognize half dome from the back. I had to look at the map to prove that the vertical face I was looking at was our target. Half Dome looks like a half sphere from the valley but from behind you realize that it's just an illusion. It's basically flat on the back too. I felt ripped off and I think it should be re-named. I recommend Dome Slice.

After Nevada Falls we saw that we were deceived about the crowd. Their trail took them up a number of zig-zagged staircases next to the river but we went above it. There was also a campsite nearby and the waking crowd of overnighters was notable.

We followed the Merced for a while then started the zig-zag ascent to Sub-Dome, Half Dome's shoulder. This is the hardest part of the hike. It is a great big stair case and after so much ascending I was pretty cooked. Eva tore off and cast pitying glances down every now and then. At the top we stood exactly where we had seen an avalanche from the opposite side of the valley the year before.

The last pitch of Half Dome is too steep for normal hiking. So the Park Service has installed a cable and 2x4 walkway to help people up. The cables are an all American experience not to be missed. Picture riding a crowded NYC subway up a 45 degree hill. Only the cars are 4 feet wide, half the passengers are climbing toward the front and half the passengers are descending towards the back. Also you'll probably die if you loose your grip.

It's amazing the level of gaper that undertakes this mission. Fat people, old people, 7 year olds, leather clad Harley riders, computer programmers, and even a handful of drunks. I didn't see any late term pregnancies but that doesn't mean they weren't there. Many looked like they just came out of an airport. They were confused, ill-equiped, wearing jeans and sometimes flip-flops, carrying gallon water-bottles and zoned out on their iPods. I would never have guessed that most of them would be able to make the long steep hike and I was blown away that they would finish it off with this life threatening clamor.

If you want a refreshing view on the average American, go climb Half Dome. We are well known for our ugliness and stupidity but seldom (these days) for our ability to come together in a tight spot. People of all ages, races and religions were making way for e/o, giving up the good foothold to someone who looked tired, offering words of encouragement and even cracking decent jokes.

The top gives you the best command of the valley you can get. We traced our route from this winters trip up the Snow Creek Trail.  We looked around for future explorations and Eva enjoyed her first view of the High Sierra. Looking over the edge was cool. I can understand base jumpers' desire to launch out into the void in a way that doesn't kill you.

After talking for a while about the various peaks, valleys and rivers we decided to go back down. The cables were getting much more crowded and going down seemed harder than going up. Eva was a little bit nervous but she never looked all the way down and made it easily.

When we were back to the flats we went for a swim and general refresh in the river. Eva bravely took an army of mosquitos for the team and ended up w/ near 40 bites on her legs in 10 seconds. I've never seen such a thing. The swim felt great and we pressed on for the valley floor.

Instead of taking our initial route to the top of Nevada Falls we took the shorter steeper route down next to it. It was mostly uneven switchback stairs. The view from the side was awesome. I think that Tolkien got the idea of a river turning into running horses from this waterfall.  I could have sat there for hours.

Below was Vernal Falls, another 200 foot vertical waterfall. The trail wound so close to it that you got covered in spray as you went past. It was really crowded here. Kids were running up and down the wet stone stairs and I heard at least 12 different languages.  It was a circus but a fun one and I'm glad so many people enjoyed this place as much as me.  

We were soon on the valley floor talking about our next trip. Right when we got to the car it began to rain. Perfect timing...

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Fantasy Falls

Shuttle:

Our adventure began long before we saw the water. Carleton had the elusive flow dialed and Kurt was driving all the way from BC. Since Kurt's Civic would not make it down the dirt roads both Carleton and I had to drive from the bay. After getting gas I realized that my throw-rope, water filter and pin kit were not strapped into my boat. The rope and bottle were wedged in lucky places on my roof rack and the pin kit was gone. A flurry of cuss words prompted Carleton to get out of his car and immediately lock his keys inside. We were stuck in the Stockton gas station for 30 minutes waiting for AAA. I have never seen so many over the top fat people. Stockton is hell on earth.

Once we solved the car problem we went on to meet Kurt in Angels Camp and then pressed on to the dirt roads. I had scouted these roads on Google Earth a few years back but had totally forgotten how complex they were. As an afterthought I printed directions to Salt Springs Reservoir before leaving. But Carelton seemed to know what he was doing so I went with his instincts.

This meant taking a random stab at a left off route 4 and navigating by compass at night through a spiderweb network of 4x4 roads. This is what we were up against:

A pitcher of beer and a chinatown hand-job to anyone who can find a more densely packed rats nest of transit options in a place completely devoid of people or man made structures.

Throw in darkness, horrible roads and few signs and what should have been a 2 hour drive turned into 5. I will not expound further on how utterly shitty this shuttle is. But after putting together a series of clues anchored on the bottom edge of our forrest service map and a rotted wood sign, we made it to the reservoir at 4:30 AM.

Day 1:

We put on early the next afternoon with only a few hundred CFS about an hour after another crew. It started manky but soon got better. Carleton fired up an exceptional line on a 10 footer that I fired up perfectly backwards. It took us some time to get out of mank mode and stop looking at rapids with the attitude of, "can I put up with that," and start looking at them in terms of, "I really want to run that." We ended up walking a two drop gorge that had a pretty marginal right line.

At another gorge, the sun was going down and we could see the other crew's campfire going. Carleton and I went down a pinched right entrance and both got some kickback from a hole. The run-out was a nice boof and day one ended on a good note.

But Kurt, god bless him, is a slalom paddler and was not having a good first day. There are certain rules that true slalom paddlers live by no matter how reformed they become. A slalom paddler is not allowed to run class V using all of his own equipment. And if they have all of their own gear, it must be in disrepair. You get extra points if some critical piece of safety equipment only gives a tip of the hat to its intended purpose. A PFD that is no more than a wife-beater with some mini-cell attached or a leather French bike helmet are both good examples. A working car is not acceptable under any circumstances. Cars are half realized adolescent fantasies that emphasize speed, off-roadability and immature propulsion technologies. They are not a practical means for getting from one place to another. Most of my friends have come a long way but few will ever be fully healed.

Kurt drove all the way from BC, bought a used boat in Seattle, borrowed a paddle, had never been on an overnight and hadn't been in a creek boat in 2 years. With most people I wouldn't have considered bringing them, but with folks like Kurt, it's par for course. Him half asleep off the couch is still better than me at my best so we were happy to have him along. He actually was much more prepared than I expected. Yet, he was paddling a boat that was 4 feet shorter and 40lbs heavier using a paddle that's 10 cm shorter than normal. So he had a little trouble adjusting to what, through dramatic changes in dimension and mass, was essentially a different sport. It's a testament to his skill that it only took him a few hours to become himself again.

Day 2:

We camped above a long and major gorge. In the morning Kurt and I both pitoned our first drops and expressed our displeasure with concise arrangements of profanity. It was a stiff section of river and we were definitely on our heels a bit. Carleton was on the sharp end and even he was getting worked in holes and back-endered. We had a technical portage around a huge slide and soon after we were in the open again.

Carleton had a really nice boof on an 8 footer with a really big hole that Kurt and I had already walked. We both looked at e/o and floated the idea of walking back up to run it. "Nope," I said, "It's good to be pissed about one you should have run b/c it makes you hungrier for the next ones." That was probably the tipping point in the trip.

Up next was a deep boulder choked sievy gorge whose crux was a marginally scoutable entrance falls. We hiked high and saw the other crew drop in after scouting. It looked good for them but it was hard to see exactly what was needed so in we went. This was the story for a lot of drops on this run. You got a good general idea of where you needed to be but the details were often worked out at game time. We all penciled the falls and worked our way through the juicy boulder garden. A few other notable drops kept us busy as well.

Scouting the next gorge was even worse. The entrance was clear enough but the exit was a tight pinch between a HUGE fan rock and a wall. It was unclear what happened after that but it looked like it went. After a lot of repositioning and speculation I decided to go for it. In a run full of unreasonable portages there was really no portage option. The other group had gone and that was the only doable line. And it didn't look like it dropped that far after the pinch.

The entrance boof was no bullshit. It was only about 6 feet but it had a stomping hole. Afterwards I made my way through some busy water towards the fan rock pinch. The bedrock was slanted here and I almost flipped. The pinch was wider than I thought and a moment after I went through I was in a mach 3, nose up, Dukes of Hazard boof that ended in a soft pool. I blew a gasket giving Kurt and Carleton every possible indication of awesomeness. They followed and despite a brief hole working for Carleton, all got through happy.

We camped a while later at a choice beach and the altimeter and map showed that we had a good 6 miles and almost 1,000 feet of gradient left. Careleton recognized from his trip 2 years ago that we were above a 20 footer with bad consequences on the left. Unfortunately a diagonal hole and a sloping eddy really wanted to push left. It was a finesse move with, according to Carleton, deadly consequences. As usual you couldn't scout the bottom. I will never again scout a scary drop before going to bed. It kept me up thinking about how I was going to do it.

Day 3:
My 3oth birthday!  But I was still stressed about the drop.  We scouted again and Carleton and I decided to catch the eddy.  After that it was really easy to paddle downstream out of it to a nice boof. It was way easier than it looked.  Kurt came in direct and hot, dove the eddy and came down well right of the nastiness. Nice to have that one behind us.

There was a really nice continuous mile+ boulder garden that was some of the best no-eddy read and run I've ever done. It ends at Fantasy Falls. It is a testament to how good this run is that Fantasy was not in my top 5 favorite drops. It is fun, but there are many better ones even if they don't photograph as nicely. All of us came out upside down with clean nostrils.

At a notable horizon line I paddled up to the lip and couldn't boat scout. Kurt got out and just laughed. Carleton waved his rope to mock me. I didn't want to scout b/c I was exhausted and the line was pretty clear. They told me exactly what I needed to do and it came out as one of the best boofs I've ever had. Kurt stuck it too. Then came Carleton. He missed the boof, penciled, got worked and came up with no helmet. He wasn't out of the backwash yet and he had a confused look like he just woke up. He started looking around for his lid and I was yelling at him to paddle past the backwash. He eventually did and his helmet was not far behind. The three days of harsh whitewater had gotten to us and he had forgotten to buckle his helmet.

The last big slide that everyone swims is completely retarded. Photos don't do this any justice at all. It should be renamed "Holocaust Denier" or "9-11 Conspiracy" b/c it's that stupid. I couldn't even figure out how to get a paddler down to the epic hole for their mandatory beat down. I can't believe someone 1st D'd that thing. Horrifying.

After that it was still game on all the way to the lake. Fantasy is an incredible run. Every drop is hard, every scout is hard and every portage is hard. No teacups here. And it's a real river. We had 1200+ cfs for the lower 1/2 of the run.  The crew worked out spectacularly and it was good to have a hood rat reunion in Cali.  Unfortunately I didn't take near as many pictures as this run warrants.

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