Growing Pains

Carl Schneider, Mark Hanna, and Don Smith.

These names were in the past 6 months added to an unfortunate list that includes John Nickolas, Scott Hasson, Whitney Shields, Jeff Mayfield, Tim Gavin, and perhaps many others. It's our own regional list, and each mountainous region undoubtedly has its own list to which names are added at varying frequencies. However, to add three names to our local list of Highly Skilled Whitewater Kayakers Who Drowned on a River They Knew Well in such a short amount of time will cause those of us who run the same rivers they paddled regularly to have a deep and reflective look at our priorities.

I have written quite a lot lately about how I now feel while paddling and how my paddling has changed since Carl's demise on Tucker County, WV's Blackwater River (the same river as Tim Gavin, but at a different rapid). Many of our friends have responded similarly and have seen little water time. Since then Don Smith drowned on a solo run of the Blackwater's North Fork, a stretch of whitewater one ridge away that perhaps nobody knew better. When each accident happens, an obsession takes over and I read everything written -- fact or opinion -- about the event. It's my attempt to control the uncontrollable and I'm not the only one. Regional online forums were abuzz for days about Don's accident, just as they had been after Carl and Mark died 9 days apart last October (Mark drowned on the Gauley River, a few hours south).

I think that Don's situation feels the ugliest, though. He was a really freaking good boater and he paddled the North Fork all the freaking time. It's been suggested that Don had more runs on the North Fork than anybody else, anywhere. He was the guy who notified the boating community about shifts in rocks, about down trees blocking passage, about the water level, and about shuttle road conditions. He posted information about his backyard run only a few days before it claimed his life, saying on the online forum BoaterTalk that the "north-fork went to highest level in last 4-5 years today and its likely that there may be some changes, so be heads up on your next run. a number of other northern wv streams also went extremely high and there's likely to be rocks in different places and new wood." He signed the post simply, "d."

I heard more than one boater exclaim, "If I ever decide to run the North Fork, I'd have Don Smith lead me down." Apparently this was the position Tim Gavin held when he drowned on the Upper Blackwater in March,1998, and the gravity of it all feels awful. Others have been affected and wrote about it.

Allow me to amplify this. That Tim Gavin -- who by 1998 knew the Upper Blackwater better than anyone, and who had even designated the slot in which he was to drown "Matter of Time" -- and Don Smith, who virtually lived at the North Fork put-in and who was acutely aware of the new wood danger this week . . . that these two men constituted the first two fatalities on their respective home rivers speaks very strongly about the risks inherent even for the best-informed, most highly skilled among us. - Alden Bird, author of Let It Rain, a whitewater guidebook to the Northeastern US and Eastern Canada.

And this.

"it's miserable to keep losing friends, peers, to what is essentially play. Some people paddle for fun occasionally, some people paddle a lot for the experience and the joy. Some people paddle so much that it's a major, if not THE major component of who they are. . . . is [the coincidence of their fatality] only because they have a higher exposure." - JB Seay, blogger at Creek West Virginia.

Recently, well-known expedition kayaker and author Doug Ammons suggested that 'he died doing what he loved' is a cliche that needs to be retired. As it is certain that none of these guys loved being stuck underwater in a compromised situation, holding their breath and spending every ounce of energy they had trying, unsuccessfully, to free themselves, it is a reasonable proposal. That Don was solo also leaves open the possibility that he was breathing with his head out of water for a long time while he struggled, eventually succumbing to fatigue or hypothermia.

I know that what feels to me like an epidemic of dead boaters is not, and that nobody is out to get us. But, as I process these events, I sometimes think in probabilistic terms. The fact that Don paddled the North Fork as many times as he did may have increased the likelihood that he'd have a fatal accident there. But didn't it also make him better at reacting to accidents when they came? The mind swirls.

They call it Ten-Foot Falls, but it is more like Eight. Laurel Creek, WV

It would be enough to stop boating altogether, but there's just too much in it for me. I've never found an activity to provoke such intense focus as paddling whitewater. The consequences of not initiating the right sequence of precise moves within the setting of roaring whitewater in the bottom of a remote canyon bring on that focus. The world and its responsibilities are, for a moment, not there. In fact, they never were there and never will be. It's living in the present with no past and no future, just doing what I am doing, Zen-style.

When that focus is incomplete, runs are spoiled with swims and nasty inconveniences. I have never been witness to a river fatality and so those inconveniences have at worst been pinned kayaks, broken ankles, bruised elbows, and broken boats or paddles. But, what can possibly replace the intensely profound place I find myself when I'm queued up to run, and then running, a big drop on a steep creek? Somewhere between quitting altogether and arrogantly ignoring the risks there must exist something. Something that can invoke the intensity of an all-day creeking expedition on a snowy February day or the controlled chaos of a big-water river run after a summer downpour.

Each year, just before the annual Cheat River downriver race, my approach to boating undergoes a temporary change. I may pass up a trip down a juicy creek for a flatwater workout. Or, better yet, I might paddle upstream through some gentle, class 1 whitewater. With a few of these training runs under my belt, I usually feel ready enough to race. Even though this spring has been the best creeking season in more than five years, I still passed up my pick of any local intense runs for gentle streams twice this week in the name of training. The Cheat Race is next Friday and I wanted to get in some extended workouts. I feel that I got the training I needed, but I also have been discovering something else. The focus may be there, too.

Attaining is good for you

Going downstream on class 4 or 5 water and going upstream ("attaining") in class 1 or 2 water have more in common that I remembered. A requisite sequence of precise moves. Complete boat control. Intense focus. A beautiful canyon. And, to spice things up, I paddled creeks I'd never been on before. So, the exploratory nature was there (kind of). The more I attained this week, the more I realized that there are only a few things that the two styles do not have in common. The roar is subdued and the power of the water diminished, but the risk -- THE RISK -- is reduced dramatically. I'd do it alone without even thinking twice, and there's no need for a shuttle!

Attaining is a more intense workout than paddling downstream, and the consequences of a missed line are obvious. I simply drift back and try again. Ultimately it's not going to replace river running or creeking, but it just might get me what I need on the water while I contemplate the risks of paddling the way I used to.

Git r dun.

***Note: There's a longer and more unfortunate list that includes many more names, including the recent deaths of Isaac Ludwig and Ed Gaker. These guys happened to pay the ultimate price on a stream they didn't know well, but were elite boaters nonetheless and were not attempting the impossible.

***A little self-promotion: In 2008 I wrote an article titled The Upstream Afterthought for the American Whitewater Journal after I'd competed in my first attainment race.