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.

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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.