Yesterday I boated with Curtis
Elwood, former SLU Kayaking Club president and one of a handful of people who
taught me to paddle a few years ago. I was anxious to get back in my
slalom boat because last Saturday just wasn’t my day (check out the alterations
to the stern of my boat if you don’t believe me). Yesterday was better.
Curtis and I put on at 72, late
afternoon. Roselle gage read 10 feet and some change. The upper stretch
really comes in to its own above 2’ over the bridge and it’s a treat to paddle.
Entrance rapid had this gradually sloping lead-in like high-volume,
western rivers have. There were even a few small rolling waves on the
descent down the tongue before you reached the first standing wave.
Yesterday, it was green and glassy, maybe 4 feet tall. This is the
one that grows into the legendary BGW (big green wave) with a few more feet of
river. The wave felt like it was made just for longboats. Terrific.
I peeled off after about 40 seconds
of front surf and made for river right with a pivot turn in the trough of the
wave. I was feeling great until I saw Curtis go left instead. Last
time at 4’ over, I wrote about a diagonal breaking wave and hole combination,
one almost right on top of the other. It was discernibly bigger today and
I felt very alone over there when I first saw it. I punched the first
hole diagonally, steadied myself with a downstream brace, then turned the brace
into as much of right stroke as I could manage before hitting the diagonal head
on. I reached the opposite blade as far as I could over its backside and was
through, overjoyed but sputtering muddy water.
We stayed in the current and were
soon shot through Kitten’s Crossing, just a class II boogie at yesterday’s
level. We followed the flow around the bend and arrived at Land of Oz.
This rapid might tie with Big Drop for favorites at high water.
It’s simply a long wave train of what I consider the highest quality
waves on the river. I find myself thinking of Tablesaw on the Ocoee – how
it’s startlingly big relative to the rest of the river, but also fairly simple.
The waves are mostly regular and only curl at the very top. Most
are smooth and steep, the big ones are 7-8 feet tall. I didn’t measure,
but I know they looked at least as tall as any river waves I’ve paddled. Big,
easy, and fun. I’d place a boof stroke at the top of each. When I
got it right, ¾ of my boat would air out over the trough before the next one.
I had planned to move down the river
right side through the Tiemann Shut-ins to catch some of the big waves I missed
at 4’ over last time. When I rounded the bend, I hardly recognized any of
the features from that run. The waves were mostly medium sized, chaotic,
and many of them were white-capped. They were substantially larger than I
remembered. Somewhere between push and shove. I ran the center instead and was
happy for the alternative. There’s something very cool that happens when
running big water. For me, it unifies two distinct aspects of the boating
experience that are usually quite distinct. Bear with me here.
One part is rational or scientific.
That’s the part which practices strokes and skills in the pool. The
pragmatic part that reads water, analyzes hazards, assesses ability, and makes
decisions about safety and such. This is the element that develops with
practical experience. The one that looks to fluid dynamics, physics, and
personal ability to better understand the rules of engagement - the
physical constraints of the river’s canvas. It’s absolutely essential to good
paddling.
The second part is the obliteration
of all those thoughts in favor of the immediacy of the Zen, the flow, the
emotional connection to environment - the artistic element. This is the part
that comes alive when you’re jammin’ on a great surf wave. It transcends
the technicality of edge control, spin momentum, paddle dexterity, and ballast
– the things that keep you surfing there. Instead of those composite
elements, a singular aesthetic experience emerges from what feels like a
separate consciousness. This part makes any number of necessary
adjustments automatically, and in complete isolation from the technical
consciousness. It’s this dimension that gives quality and richness to the
same experience. This is the element I chase. The scientific aspect
furnishes the requisite materials, which in turn lets the artistic element
flourish. Least that’s the way it feels.
Above Big Drop, I could feel both
spheres merging. You approach the rapid with the first kind of thoughts in
mind (I go left or center, watch out for the scary pour-over I know is on the
right but can’t see, watch out for the man-eater hole in the center a little
ways below the drop, etc.). In the midst of executing all those plans, you’ve
got to deal with 100 yards of chaotic waves, holes, boils and swirly eddy-lines
above the rapid. When you’re looking a few waves ahead, thinking and
anticipating your next move, you rely on the autopilot of the “surfer”
consciousness for the here and now. Yesterday both were operating
seamlessly. It felt so cool that it made my legs shiver in the cockpit.
At the actual drop I was a hair too
far left. I rode up the side of a diagonally breaking wave before it
dropped me off. After recovering, I made for the eddy on the left.
The man-eater from C. Ahler’s video (linked elsewhere on this page)
was only half there. The river right portion looked like nowhere you’d
want to be, but the left was just a tall, steep wave. Curtis moved left
at the last moment, though mostly for show I think.
He led through Cat’s Paw. I
started river right and moved steadily to center. I didn’t want another
mix up with funky eddy/pour-over on the right. I crested the first big wave
with good form, but was slapped pretty hard by the second. It knocked me
to the right and I got a healthy dose of spray in my face. The brace was
there automatically, and I was very happy for it. I knew the rapid was
over, but was very uncomfortable for the split second before my eyes confirmed
it.
Double Drop looked scary. They
all looked scary, but Double Drop you could boat scout from safety and that
made it worse. There was time to think about it rather than simply to
respond. Two huge diagonal wave/holes meet asymmetrically in the center,
one from each side of the channel. Curtis ran the right, was shoved to
the left as he topped the first wave, then was pushed right back on line by the
left wave behind it. It was so cool to watch. I was feeling good
and punched through the meat of the wave on the left. It seemed like a
great idea until I was right in front of it and realized how big it actually
was. Fortunately, my paddle found good water on its backside, and I
was through.
That was the last of the rapids.
Rickety Rack was gone, and we took out at Turkey Creek so as not to
portage the dam breach. Last time, I couldn't help breathing a sigh of
relief when we finished the shut-ins; this time I wanted more. I just
about begged Curtis to drive back to the top with me. Missouri whitewater
paddlers don’t have much in the way of choices, but we do have a fantastic river
in the Saint Francis. The fact that on the same river you can safely
teach II-III fundamentals, surf till your heart’s content between 15” and 25,”
or push your comfort level on big water IV+ (or higher), is pretty cool if you
ask me. It makes me feel very fortunate.
See you at the river,
Rory
February 26, 2013
Upper and Lower
5.25' Over
6500 cfs?
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