Finally, back to the Pit River. The whole run is fun creeky whitewater but the majority of us are there for one major reason, Pit Falls. As I stare down the drop I know it’s easier than it looks but the sound of water freefalling 30 feet from a constriction no wider than two kayaks deafens the thought process enough to intimidate, probably because my two previous runs last year resulted in one spray skirt implosion and one upside down huck over the falls clipping my shoulder on a rock halfway down. I start sliding my oversized piece of tupperware off the island that barely supports the boats of the people scouting the drop, and place it onto the shallow reeds offering a smooth transition into the current. The seat is frigid as always reminding me I’m going to be uncomfortable when I huck it down this 30 footer ahead. I secure my skirt, and do one final check of all my gear. The gear is good to go so now it’s time for my ritual before running anything that gives me heart flutters. I spit out into the current to make sure I can produce saliva in my heightened state of agitation and three splashes of water on the face to wake any sleeping nerves. One final check with my friend Kenzie at the lip of the drop to make sure the landing is clear. She gives me the signal with an ear to ear grin. The smile reminds me that what I’m doing is fun so I mirror her grin and paddle out. Locked into the current, there’s no chance of getting away from the grasp of the falls now. I see the boils in the current that threw me offline last year. With a casual stroke on the right side I carve through them like butter. I can see my line as perfect as ever while I’m approaching the void. I leave the right paddle blade in the current and it keeps my line perfect through the last part of the constriction. My gut drops out from under me as I feel the familiar pull of gravity. The paddle is tucked to the right, my torso is hugging my cockpit as much as possible, I lower my head, and I’m ready for my rebirth. As I get slapped sideways on the face I realize I should have tucked harder, but so it goes. My paddle blade catches water as it’s wrenched from the side of my boat. All those previous miles of paddling instinctually tell me to not fight it unless I want a dislocated shoulder. I brace with ease on the extended paddle blade and emerge at the surface in a perfect high brace much to my surprise. Adrenaline races through my veins and I can’t help but smile at my friend Caleb waiting at the bottom. Naturally, we cap off the run with the highest of fives and beer to celebrate.
Why I Adventure
10/10/16
Adventure will cause you to lose your mind and find your soul putting you in flow, your optimal arousal between boredom and anxiety. This is the ultimate form of stimulation. It can be found in anything that gives you these types feelings. For me, this is the Oregon tuck into the hardest hit of white water you have ever taken and hoping your paddle doesn’t rip out of your hands. It's the crux move right before your arms are so pumped that they tell you to let go, sending you on a twenty foot whip at the end of a climbing rope. We all get a natural high off of whatever stimulates us as individuals. Sooner or later you’re going to stop getting that high from the same old thing so you have to push it to keep chasing that high. I used to be able to tell my parents “I’m being totally safe, don’t worry,” and I could believe it. Now when I say that to them I use George Orwell's double think to trick myself into believing that I actually said “I’m being relatively safe given the circumstances and we will see how it goes when I’m in the thick of it.” Why do I bend the truth? They would flip out if they could see the carnage that comes from these sports. Why make them worry? Most of the time I come back with no real injuries anyway. Why chase the dragon? I’ll lose my mind if I don’t. Every day in between trips to the crag or trips to the river is a day without stimulation, without flow, and without my passion. Until that next adventure, here I sit slaving away in a classroom, in front of a T.V., in front of a computer, going through the motions until I can take off on the sharp end again, or paddle back into the current. Nothing else gives me that thrill anymore. Love has come and gone, friends have faded away. Other than family, all that has remained constant and something I care about every day are my adventures. Every day I feel like I can’t wait until that next climbing project, or that next rapid that I have to spit before running just to make sure I have it in me to paddle it. The most captivated I’ve been in the past few years is when I’m scouting a rapid that scares the hell out of me. I ask myself how I’m even going to get in the damn kayak. That’s the hard part, getting in and paddling out. Once you’re in the current and past the last eddy above the rapid, you have to run it. Then things become easier. You can focus on paddling because there is no way out but through the meat, and nothing else makes me feel like that. That’s why I adventure.