Christie Glissmeyer on Yellowjacket Creek.

Finding a rarely run section of river, about which I had heard nothing, just doesn’t happen that often. It started off quite simply. During July of 2008, a huge snowmelt year, Mike G and I headed up to paddle McCoy & Yellowjacket Creek. Driving up and down NFDR 28, in search of the access, we spied a big waterfall from the road. I also noticed on our WA Gazetteer that the road got close to, and appeared to cross, the creek further upstream. We found the put-in, which the Bennett Book describes as Class V. During the subsequent hour it took us to get down to the creek, loose soil and rock avalanched down around us as we clutched thin tree trunks. The steep terrain forced us to improvise several rappels, lowering boats to one another. Dirty, sweaty and tired we made it to the creek, where I slipped and cut my knee open.

After a great couple of hours on the Yellowjacket, we reached the take-out and I resolved to find an easier way to the creek. And, perhaps, run that waterfall. A week later Mike and I, along with a crew of paddlers from Portland and Hood River, headed north to explore.  We drove on NFDR 28 2-3 miles past the Bennet put-in.

We put-in just before the turn off to 7713

Just before the road veers across the creek (at least on the Gazetteer), a slightly over grown dirt road veers off to the left, down towards the creek. Follow that for a hundred yards and you are new, higher, better put-in. It is less than 30 seconds to the river.  Below, lies a great section of river.  Several class 3s, lead to a logjam and the subsequent portage.  After the medium-hard walk, up and over on river right, be ready for the horizon line.  This is the waterfall viewable from the road.

Dave Hoffman in the lead-in... (Photo by Christie Glissmeyer)

...and on the drop. (Photo by Christie Glissmeyer)

Pat Sherwood in the pool.

Turin Hill

Turin stoked on a good line.

Mike Gottlieb

Exiting the pool below this drop is a fun little slide.

Christie Glissmeyer

Someone was a slalom racer.

Keep an eye out as you head downstream. The next horizon line is big. I caught an eddy right at the lip and wouldn’t recommend doing that again. The waterfall is about 40 feet high. At the medium-low flow we had, a visible rock shelf extended 2/3rds of the way into the landing zone from river right. It may go further. As the lip wants you to be on the right of the drop, this one might just not be runnable. At this point you can do one of two things – hike around, which takes 10 minutes or jump into the pool below. Our group did a mix and lowered boats into the pool after some folks were below to recover them.

Jesse Becker looks downstream.

Turin could have done a better job of jumping.

Lowering boats past the (probably) unrunnable falls. (Photo By Christie Glissmeyer)

Now for a super fun set of slides!

Jesse Becker

Fairly gorgeous, hunh?

Dave Hoffman on the slides. (Photo By Christie Glissmeyer)

Turin

This was a really really fun rapid.

Around the corner from this rapid, we reached the place where Mike and I put on during our first paddle of the Yellowjacket.

To sum it all up, by using the higher put in for “Upper” Yellowjacket Creek

• You get a few more good class 4 rapids and one sweet waterfall. This makes the run a little harder.
• The adventure of a big portage.
• A tighter, more scenic gorge than the rest of Yellowjacket
• Eliminates the sketchy put-in
• Much less work for more miles of river.  It took us an hour to get down the ‘original’ portage, though I imagine it could be down much faster. It took us an hour and fifteen minutes to paddle down to our original launch spot. That includes a lot of photos, the 1st portage and the throw-and-go/hike.

I hope you have fun on Yellowjacket!

A golden sun lights up the river as we near Squirres and the end of the Rio Pacuare.

Wow. Costa Rica is awesome. Every day there is a day well spent. Living is slow and easy in Costa Rica. Warm rain and warmer water. Sunshine and jungle shade. Fresh fruit(guanabana anyone?), casado con pescado and gallo pinto. Ocean waves and tropical birds.

Of all the places I’ve traveled in Latin America, the traveling and the kayaking is easiest in Costa Rica. Lack of Spanish skills won’t greatly limit what you can do. Crime is low and mostly limited to property theft – a little vigilance is all thats required. If you’re looking to paddle abroad, or just escape the bitter northern winter, give CR a look. You won’t be disappointed.

These photos are just a fraction of what I shot during my 11 days in the country. More will come as I churn through, along with a story that connects them.

Snowmageddon 2009 led to some flight delays.

Did you hear about this new sport called whitewater rafting?...

....Apparently its 100% safe. Isn't that great?!?

Cacho, Patty & Betsy at the put-in for the lower Pacuare.

Dilapadated shack on Cacho's property in the montains near Volcano Poas.

Cacho leads the group down to the river and on a burly hike.

Riding thermals upward, vultures soar above the Rio Sarapiqui.

Fisherman's shack on the Pacific Coast.

Costa Rica is filled with curious, friendly little dogs. Take-out for the Pacuare.

Betsy chills at our riverside camp on the Pacuare

We stayed here for a night. This was the kitchen. I loved it.

Linda & David gear up for a cold and beautiful day on the Bruno Mountain section of the North Santiam River. The weather and the scenery made this one of the most memorable days I spend on the river this year. We were paddling this day as part of the Advanced Whitewater Seminar that I love to teach.

Patty charges through Spencer’s Hole during an OKCC trip to the North Santiam River, OR. The OKCC leads a number of great trips every month and I was happy to be a part of this one.

Mike Gottlieb drops one of many great waterfalls on Copper Creek, WA. Watch the video from this day.

Mike charges around the corner on the SF Yuba. We paddled this run with just the two of us, with little prior knowledge about the run. It was the biggest day of the year, with huge scary drops and complex portages. Ready the rest of the story.

Unknown paddler drops Pauley Creek Falls in Northern California. Read the story.

Another view of Pauley Creek Falls. Dan fires it up while Mike and Scotty watch.

Josh blasts through a narrow slot on the upper part of Opal Creek. This was the first day I hiked an extra mile and a half upstream from the usual point. Completely worth it.

A beautiful waterfall on Opal Creek, OR.

I love a good campfire after a hard day of kayaking. We paddled 30+ miles of the SF of the Salmon River, through the River of No Return Wilderness in Idaho.  It was high and we had a bad swim at the end of the day. In the morning we paddled out to the main Salmon and back to civilization.

Surfing the heck out of Spencer’s Hole during July’s Advanced Whitewater Seminar. Paddler: David. More photos.

Andy waits for his students below the final drop of Shippard’s Falls, Wind River, WA. Taking the Advanced Whitewater Seminar down their first waterfalls was my favorite day of teaching kayaking last year. More photos from this class.

Caitlin hikes a sand dune along the Columbia River. I just can’t believe how good we’ve got it in the Pacific Northwest – The best whitewater in North America alongside fantastic multi-day sea kayaking trips. Check out some other photos from this trip.

The McKenzie’s brilliant fall colors surround Dee. More photos and the story.

Matt & Mike paddle through the run-out on the Lower Wind River.

Mike N. charges out into the biggest surf I’ve ever seen. These photos were hands down the best I took all year.

I have good timing. The world’s longest-running and most prestigious big-wave invitational, The Quiksilver in Memory of Eddie Aikau, known informally as the Eddie, is only held when the big swell at Waimea Bay reaches 20 feet Hawaiian – meaning at least 40 foot faces. I just happened to be in Hawaii last week when the conditions were right for the first time in five years.

Wave faces were easily 30 feet all day long, with most competitors trying to drop into the occasional 40 and 50 foot wave. Waimea was packed with at least 8,000 spectators – kids skipping school, Hawaiians skipping work, die-hard surfers in awe and dumbfounded tourists like me. A few talented surfers rode took waves all the way in, knowing the beach break would pummel them, as the crowd went wild. We held our breath as a competitor dropped into a huge face, exalted when they made it and cringed when they failed, all in one voice. The Eddie undeniably the best sports competition I’ve been too.

I’d thought about running Metlako Falls for a while.  But only just thought about it.  I’d never even hiked the mile and half up to take a look at it, though I’d driven past the Eagle Creek trailhead dozens of times.  A handful of my friends ran it this spring and pronounced it amazing.

Metlako is a perfectly shaped waterfall.  A gently sloping slide launches down into a deep pool.  There is no entrance move to make, there is no exit to navigate, no cross-currents pushing sideways, nothing but a beautiful freefall to the deep pool below.  What holds me back is the same thing that inspires others to kayak it – Metlako is a huge waterfall.

The Forest Service sign states that Metlako is 150 feet tall.  It’s been measured from pool to pool at 101.  The height of freefall is often mentioned as 82 or 86.  I feel comfortable calling it in the range of 90.  Metlako is a huge waterfall.

Saturday, as I paddle Opal Creek, thoughts of paddling the more challenging Eagle Creek, home to Metlako, begin to creep into my mind.  At the takeout, someone asks if I’m going to run it.  I respond, “I am considering it,” but I don’t really know if I am.  I like to put myself in a position where I can say no to the drop and walk away if it’s not right.

That night I talk to Paul.  He wants to “run laps on Metlako.”  I find that sentence absurd and somehow wonderful. Paul is a badass.  We plan to meet the next morning at 9:30.

I am at the trailhead 20 minutes before Paul arrives.  I try to prep my gear.  I pace and pace and pace.  Ryan Scott pulls in with Paul and Ben Hawthorne in tow.  We confirm that we will just be going after the big one today. Metlako. Mentally, my momentum towards deciding to run the waterfall grows.  I begin hiking with my friend Josh, who grabs my camera and some of my gear.  With a kayak strapped to my back, sweating, I forget what I am doing and begin to enjoy myself.

We reach the overlook for Metlako and regroup, setting up positions for stills and videos.  Paul and I hike further along to where we’ll drop down to the creek.  Ryan heads down to the lip of the drop with Chuck.  They fix a rope so Chuck can safely get video of us launching into the abyss.  Paul and I wait until they are set.  It’s horrible.  Paul is pacing, as best he can over the uneven ground.  His hands shake.  Ben’s girlfriend asks us why we do this.  I say it is about fulfillment and challenge and some other nonsense.  I put my gear on and have trouble with zippers.  I fidget.  Ryan comes back up.  Chuck is set.

Frantically, I question Ryan about the pool directly above the drop.  He assures me that I could probably make it up and out if I don’t want to run Metlako.  This calms me immensely.  Paul and I head to the river.  We launch into Eagle Creek.

I botch the first warm-up rapid, Paul does the same on the second.  Even with these mistakes, it’s soothing to be kayaking.  Paul stops just above the drop. I exit my kayak and pull it up on the rocks.  It is so far to the bottom the distance is lost on me.  Stepping over it to get a better view, my toe stubs the cockpit rim and I stumble.  I grab the slippery rocks to keep from falling. My heart thunders in my chest.  I imagine bouncing down the rocks, then flailing for 100 feet before hitting the pool.  I make eye contact with Chuck.  His eyes are huge.

I give the thumbs up to Paul.  With little hesitation he charges off.  Several long seconds later, over the sound of cascading water, I hear screams of joy.

I ask Chuck questions:  How was did it look?  How was his landing?  Is he alright?  I receive slightly positive responses but, like me, he couldn’t see much from his angle.

I get in my kayak.  I tell Chuck that I will paddle upstream and come back down when I am ready.  I paddle up the narrow, verdant green walls of the canyon above Metlako.  I know am ready to run Metlako.  I don’t know if I want to run something this high.

Stay forward, be smooth.  Do I really want to do this? A boat-length above the lip I commit.  I am all focus.  Stay forward, be smooth.  Complete, unyielding focus.

Right stroke, left stroke, right stroke in the air to balance.  I look over my bow, see my paddle to the right and the pool far below.  It must be 60-feet down.

Hmmm, I guess I have time to let go of my paddle.  I open my hands and it flies away.

A pause.  A perceptible pause as I wait for the hit.   I see whiteness.  My vision goes blank as I impact.  Not black, just blank.

I am in the pool, trying to hand roll.  Yellow plastic blocks my vision.  Water falls on me from high above.  It is noisy.  My face hurts.  I realize the visor on my helmet has exploded downwards into my nose and left eye.  I try to rip it away as I hand roll.  I fail at both.  I see my skirt has imploded and my boat is full of water.  I push out of my boat, rip my helmet off and look upwards at the water cascaded downwards.  It is perfect.

Paul paddles over with my paddle as I find his in pool next to me.  I talk loud and fast and throw out a lot of “AWESOME!”s.  (Later, watching the headcam video, I remark that I sound stupid.  My friend says I sound like a little kid and I like that.) We share this special moment together, a unique time and place and emotion with another person.  Everyone else in the world is experiencing something different.  But we are sharing this amazing moment.  This is the first time Paul and I have gone kayaking together.

An hour ago, as we hiked up the trail to Metlako, the fear and nervousness had consumed us.  Directly above the drop we calmed.  As Paul charged off, I thought more and more clearly about what I was doing.  In the instant of commitment, everything comes into clarity.  Then you fall.

Kayaking Metlako Falls – Headcam from Dave Hoffman on Vimeo.

Paddler: Erik Boomer. Nov 2007. Photo copyright Dave Hoffman.

This weekend the largest swell so far this winter hit the Oregon Coast.  Sidelined by an injury, I trekked to Cape Meares with my roommate Mike to check out the scene.

The waves were mushy, disorganized, and huge.   They just kept coming.  Just standing on the beach I was intimidated.  There’s something about the vast enormity of these waves that hits me in the chest.  Watching Mike charge out in his 15+ year-old Perception Saber was a humbling experience.  He got throttled several times, called it quits as the sun set and came out of the water with a huge grin on his face.

You can just barely see Mike’s paddle blade to the right of center.  He was buried.

The water was low and the weather was cold.  It was beautiful – there is just something magical about cool, crisp autumn air.  We paddled the McKenzie and surfed some great waves. I ate well, shared many laughs and spent many nice hours by the campfire.  All in the audience of changing leaves, bright reds and yellows, framed by evergreens.  Is this really the off-season for kayaking?

The line up at Redsides

Allen surfs it up

Patty charges

Dee at the bottom of Fishladder.  I couldn’t love these colors more.

Josh

Someone might have been just a little bit hungover.

Don and Toinette made the best gumbo

Campfires are nice

Christine was stoked

Check out the rest of the photos here

In early summer I took a trip to California for some Sierra whitewater awesomeness. This is my last trip report — just a little delayed.

High water on the South Fork of the Merced ended our last opportunity for a multiday trip in the Sierras. With the Merced spiking up uncontrollably, our friends and their friends telling us it would be terrifying. Jesse and Forrest thought the same.

Looping through Yosemite NP, we followed Jesse and Forrest towards the Toulumne drainage. Initially we looked at the Clavey River; it too was running high. Moving westward we hit the North Fork of the Toulumne River. This tiny creek wound itself steeply into a jagged ravine seemingly overflowing with brush. It didn’t even look that kayak-able. As Mike and I geared-up, I reminded myself that I had paddled much less aesthetically pleasing runs on the East Coast. Putting on the creek late in the day, Mike and I both carried overnight gear, just in case and because, man, did we really want to do a multiday. Jesse and Forrest were to drop our truck at a bridge on the Main Toulumne, a few miles below where the NF entered.

The NF Toulumne left quite a bit to be desired. The creek had two types of rapids. The first was easier class 3 running directly through bushes. The second was chunky shallow bedrock slots in short gorgers. The creek didn’t have quite enough flow in it – the only one that we’d seen in the last week that was such. Though if we had more flow, several of the bedrock rapids would have been no-eddies, out-of-control affairs. It was great to get back in my boat but the idea that permeated my thoughts was that I’d really missed out on some great rivers during this trip. My shoulder was feeling unbelievable well though. As the day wore on, as we took more hits, Mike and I just wanted to move downstream.

One mile above the North Fork’s confluence with the Main Toulumne, Mike took another errant hit and broke his kayak. We patched his boat and made our way to the take out where Forrest and Jesse waited with the truck.  Our California trip had been a disappointment -  an injury, water levels and lack of a coherent plan. Worn down and defeated, we laughed, loaded up and began the long drive home.