Cost: $5

Address: 1865 Bill Frey Dr. NE, Salem, OR 97301

Website: http://www.salemkroc.org/

Phone Number: 503.566.5762

1. Tao Berman           10:00.45
2. Darren Albright    10:12:45
3. Ross Henry            10:17.52
4. Todd Anderson    10:23.24
5. Paul Kuthe            10:25.84
6. Luke Spencer       10:42.38
7. Dave Hoffman     10:43.84
8. Jesse Becker         10:51.31
9. Nate Herbeck      10:53.27
10. Marco Colella      10:57.20

K-1 Men Expert

1. Drew Eastman      10:27.24
2. Nick Hinds             10:32.84
3. Dan Rubado          10:33.91
4. Scott Waidelich    10:34.56
5. ? Bib #24                10:38.77
6. Josh Knap              10:48.06
7. Danny Young         10:51.95
8. Matt Kurle              10:54.27
9. Kenny Kiley             10:57.64
10. Willie Illingworth   10:59.45
11. Tom Decuir             10:59.51
12. ? Bib #26                 10:59.63
13. Dan Parnell             11:02.41
14. Chris Bensch           11:03.55
15. Michael Gordon      11:09.88
16. Shaun Rasmussen  11:12.00
17. Eric Foster-Moore  11:12.98
18. Pat Lynch                 11:15.34
19. Joel Fedar                11:17.49
20. Ryan Young             11:21.85
21. Paul Kelly                11:31.64
22. John Cramp            11:46.66
23. Bart Hemminger    11:51.90
24. Phillip Kast              11:52.37
25. Brian Schulz            12:15.51
26. John Edwards        12:45.24
27. Ty Overeem            16:02.95
28. Josh Grabel            21:28.52
29. Rob Anderson        50:?

K-1 Women Pro

1. Kim Russell                  10:38.33
2. Christie Glissmeyer    10:52.20
3. Katie Wagner              11:26.63

K-1 Long

1. Tao Berman               9:21.95
2. Darren Albright        9:29.44
3. J P                                9:40.06
4. Marco Colella            10:07.24
5. Luke Spencer            10.19.82
6. Ryan Young               10:37.24
7. Christie Glissmeyer   10:44.51

K-1 Fun

1. David Pool                      11:17.52
2. Luke Maddox                12:04.49
3. Brandon Bloomquist   12:28.16
4. Christine Broniak         12:41.06
5. Michael Braun              12:54.35
6. John Bodaly                  17:42.93

IK

1. Riley Baxter         12:12.52
2. Brad Haveman    14:29.68

R-2

1. Dan McCain/Jacob Cruser          13:17.59
2. ORT        Tim/Matt                        13:26.20
3. ORT        Bruce/Tyler                    13:29.56
4. ORT        Trey/Jeff                         14:20.24
5. ORT        Bryan/Evan                    14:42.35
6. Sledge    Mattkin/?                        14:45.49
7. Stan Rules    Brad/?                      14:46.52
8. Last Place    John/Rob                  16:19.95
9. ORT        David/Karl                     16:57.91
10. ORT        Ben/Josh                        24:44:11
11. WOW 2(#11) Kim/Lori                35:51.60
12. WOW 2(#12) Kim/Lori               36:22.63
13. WOW        Heather/?                    37:51.60

At the top of Peacock Mountain Pass from Dave Hoffman on Vimeo.

China was….very Chinese. The cities were hectic. The countryside was wonderful and the people among the most inviting I’ve every met. It was cold and windy, and, at times, surprisingly hot.  Not speaking anything other than a few basic words of Chinese, I spent a lot of my time wandering around, looking, watching, seeing.

The trip wouldn’t have been possible without Ben. He’s a close, good friend, a kayaking buddies and a former co-workers. He’s been living in Beijing for the last 8 months and studying Chinese for years and years. Ben had a month off for the Chinese New Year. I had enough cash to get there and barely enough to get back.

Ben’s command of the language was amazing and impressive. I met a few foreigners who couldn’t speak much Chinese. All planned to stick to the cities, following the tourist track from Beijing to SE Asia. None planned to venture far afield. With Ben’s skills we were able to experience truly unique places in Yunnan, places that are just being discovered by Chinese tourists.

During a twelve day portion of the trip, we met only one other Westerner. Towards the end of the trip Ben got us out of snow-bound town faster than a professional guide from France. We were stoked; and not just cause that was the only option for me to make my plane flight home.

Below is another quick video, taken on our exceedingly hectic trip back to Beijing. The battery cuts off at the end, the lighting is poor and the volume is low, but I think you’ll get the ideal. My advice to others who want to have an adventure in China: 1) If it isn’t in Lonely Planet, that’s probably where you want to go. 2) Never look like you are in a hurry, when the opportunity comes, strike fast. 3) If someone invites you to go to church, you really really should attend. That was one of the most special experiences of my life.

Waiting for a bus in the dark & cold from Dave Hoffman on Vimeo.

I’m currently writing a longer piece about the whole adventure. A lot happened and I want to tell the story. You will like it. Thanks for reading.

All photos courtesy of Benjamin Liotta

Dave Hoffman, Hagen Gorge, WA. Photo by Andy Lictenheld.

Writing this blog, I struggle with how to tell stories about kayaking. A little bit of me wants to appeal to my hardcore kayaker friends, to show them what I’ve done, to get them stoked and maybe a little jealous. A larger part of me wants share things that all kayakers can understand and appreciate. But most of all, I want anyone to be able to read what I write and understand what kayaking means to me. I want my family, girls I like, and my non-kayaker friends to get why love kayaking so much. And yes, I do have non-kayaker friends.

Fitting these desires together into a coherent narrative is highly challenging. Often I just can’t do it. Sometimes I do.

Saturday I paddled Hagen Gorge, a fun creek just outside of Portland. I took headcam footage of one of the larger rapids, Euphoria Falls. You’ll find the video unique. It captures a particular aspect of whitewater kayaking – running drops on verbal beta. In the right situation, kayakers will drop into a rapid with just some quick words to describe the moves and no scouting to get a closer look. There’s little I find more thrilling than running a rapid blind. Coming around a corner, seeing the rocks and the water and making decisions in quarter-seconds. Decisions that determine whether you are going to have fun or get hurt.

In the eddy above Euphoria, I give lingo-heavy information to Andy, in the blue boat. He’d run Hagen about 3 years ago but didn’t have a clear memory of the rapids. We charge off, I style the rapid, as does Andy. Below, we share exaltation at our good lines, the friends who surround us, and the special places we visit.

This is what I do. I hope you like it.

A little warning: During this video, I continue my awful trend of cursing up a storm while the headcam is recording.

Euphoria Falls, Hagen Gorge from Dave Hoffman on Vimeo.

Follow me on Twitter @riverlifestyle

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.

Scouting the top of Flight Simulator.  Mike points to where, an hour later, things will start to go wrong.

Mike Swims & Almost Drowns from Dave Hoffman on Vimeo.

Since June, I’ve spend a lot of time thinking about that day on the river.  The video explains a lot of what happened but below are some additional thoughts.

• No matter how bad a rescue situation gets, there is always something a victim can do to improve the outcome. Mike was exhausted.  He spent about 4 minutes swimming through more hundreds of yards of icy class 4/5 and he still managed that last burst of energy to drive himself to the shore.
• Towing a swimmer to shore is hard.  And in the situations you might think you most need to do so, it is even harder, if not impossible.  This episode reinforced my belief in the paramount importance of self-rescue.  Friends are great to back you up, but if you end up in the water, you are you own best rescuer.
• Despite all that was happening Mike was calm.  I still smile when I think of him apologizing for causing me to get momentarily stopped by holes.  That was the worse swim I’ve personally witnessed and the calmest swimmer.  He kept his head and it made a huge difference.   I think a lot of that calmness was due to how much time Mike has spent (intentionally) swimming in whitewater while teaching swiftwater rescue and kayaking.
• Paddling rivers at high water is inherently more dangerous.  The lack of eddies and the continuous nature of the EFSF made rescue incredibly difficult for Mike once he ended up in the water.  I don’t think the river was too high to be paddled that day.  It was not flooding.  But it was certainly more risky than paddling at a moderate flow.
• A side point to mention is our complete disregard for Mike’s gear. No one was going after anything until we got him to shore.  We ended up getting his boat, lost the paddle, but these things are a minor part of the big picture.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen seven or eight folks charge after a boat when only one is going after the swimmer.  Don’t do that!
• Flush drowning is a real, legit hazard, even when paddling with a well-trained, close-knit group.

Defeated, broken-down, but alive.

The East Fork of the South Fork of the Salmon keeps going.

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.

El Dub Headcam from Dave Hoffman on Vimeo.

The Little White Salmon River is heaven on earth for whitewater kayakers.  It has it all – technical boulder garderns, fun ledge drops, an epic waterfall, the clearest and bluest water I’ve seen and complex never-ending rapids, all set in a beautiful remote gorge that tumbles down to the Columbia River.  Many kayakers have moved to Hood River, OR for this river alone.  The Little White, LW for short (say “el dub”), is an addicting stretch of water.  I have several friends that pretty much refuse to paddle anything else;  if they can’t kayak the LW, they might as well not kayak anything at all.  I put together this short little video to show how amazing this place is.

But the LW is very hard.  I believe it to be the hardest commonly run river in North America.  Pretty much every day the water levels are right, several people kayak this river.  Water levels are good generally from late fall or early winter through mid summer.  There are a lot of days with many river miles being logged on this run. And the LW is dangerous, with nasty spots lurking in nearly every rapid.  At least five kayakers, and probably more, have broken their backs running Spirit Falls, the signature waterfall of the river.  This summer, a local paddler and all-around awesome guy, Ryan Morgan, lost his life on the LW.  Unfortunately I had only paddled with him once and didn’t get to know him well, but he had a great reputation for being full of life and joy to kayak with.

The Little White is a special place.  Those who have paddled the LW know.  I hope many more get to paddle this river safely and know it like I do.

Under the best of circumstances, swimming through whitewater can be disorientating.  Even though I’ve done so many times, every time I end up out of my kayak and in the water, it’s a little overwhelming. Currents pull and twirl my body, water rushes over my face, I float and spin and even sink for a little bit.

These thoughts are running through my head as I’m about to take 32 vets rafting on the Deschutes River in Central Oregon.  In town for a national conference of disabled veterans, this group is from the BVA.  That’s the Blind Veterans Association.  I’m about to take dozens of guys rafting, most for their first whitewater experience, and they can’t see.  Some of them fully lost sight in the last few months.

They lost their vision serving our country, fighting in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Vietnam and other fields of battle.  And now I’m being trusted to share my love of whitewater with them, and keep them safe, alive and happy.  I hear their stories and see their sacrifices.  I feel the strongest connections with their wives and family members. My best friend, himself a whitewater kayaker, left for Iraq last week.  Man, do I want everything to go smoothly.

We had a dry run of sorts a few days ago on the Willamette River, a flat section of water in downtown Portland.  Things went well, or rather, not poorly in the ways that I expected.  We had a nice, long safety talk and tried our best to understand the new challenges we faced.  Simply getting folks, and their gear, down to the water was the most challenging aspect.

We even took a few guys out kayaking, some just legally blind, others fully.  Travis, who lost his remaining sight this winter, paddled with me.  He and I developed a great system:  I kept talking, he followed my voice and bumped my stern to know where I was.  Wakes from motorboats provided a thrill. I made bad jokes and he smiled.

Now, three days later, as a group of 30 guides, kayakers and safety rafters stand in the baking desert sun, we get ready for the river.  Rafts are pumped and lifejackets are fitted.  We make some basic plans to coordinate rescue.  The closest guide will be the only one to give directions.  We expect the incessant noise of whitewater to be a significant hindrance to our ability to communicate with any vet who ends up in the water.  A delicate dance of rescuers will take place as each member of the group does their best in situations we can’t predict.

We split up into 3 smaller groups, both to follow BLM regulations and to ease management on the rapid.  In my group, the first, we have 3 rafts, 3 kayakers and 2 catarafts running safety.  The last group has 3 talented kayakers piloting tandem whitewater kayaks, a blind vet in each bow.  I am somewhat relieved to have a limited level of responsibility in regards to that group.

We hit Wapinitia, a big class 3 wave train.  I grab a small eddy on the right side of the rapid, watching and waiting.  Nervous quick breaths.   Shouts of excitement and peals of laughter reach my ears as the rafts blow past me.  Everything goes smooth as butter.

(The group of tandem kayakers runs into its only problem here.  Mike Long and his vet, Simon, flip at the very top of the rapid, run most of it upside-down and take a swim. Mike, a fantastic instructor and former collegiate swimmer, pulls Simon to safety and saves the day.)

At Boxcar, another big class 3, again all rafts have great runs.  The class 1 and 2 rapids that follow allow the myself and the other kayakers a break.  We paddle up and chat, talk about where we are and how each of us came to this sport.  We break for lunch and all the guides can’t believe things are going as well as they are.

Back on the water, several miles later, we reach Oak Springs Rapid.  Here the Deschutes splits into a small channel, dives down, then runs over shallow, sharp volcanic rock.  It is the place we most worry about a swimming blind vet.  It’s also the place we find would be most difficult to rescue a swimmer.  Here the raft guides have the biggest responsibility and the hardest move of the day.  Its the crux rapid of the Deschutes.

I lead the kayakers, down and we grab our safety eddies, sprinkling ourselves throughout the drop.  I stay high, nearest where a person is likeliest to come out of a raft or, God forbid, a raft might flip.  The safety cats come down and grab positions on either side of the river.  Some folks hop out and grab ropes they’ll potentially  throw a swimmer.  I realize we never told the group how that would happen.  I hope the guides did.

The first rafts come down. Again, smooth lines abound.  One raft goes backwards but loses no one.  Another one taps the wall turns sideways, and loses a wife.  Ben, the guide and veteran himself, pulls her back in the raft within seconds.  I wait with the other kayakers and safety cats for the rest of the groups. No more swims, no more flips.  Even the tandem kayakers have smooth lines.

Below Oak Springs the river mellows out.  We relax.  I float down to Sandy Beach, our takeout, with a sense of wonder.  I surf waves and say thanks, again and again, to no one in particular.

This experience is over.  No one got hurt, everyone had fun.  Its the standard we expect and I’ve never been happier to have met it.

[Photo: Erik Boomer, Flickr]