Grand Canyon Day 1: The Way to the Whitewater

Hugh Lipham, David Long, James Clinkscales, and I Hiking down the Cargo

Ain't Life Grand: The Gift of the Guru (The Canoe Guru, that is)

I've been feeling a little bit of pressure to get something posted about my trip through the grand canyon; mostly from myself, but nonetheless I wanted to write something since my whitewater adventures have been many as of late but my posts have been few. So this narrative may appear as multiple installments.

Getting sick of waking up to frost at Rock Island, me and some friends, Sam Fulbright and Chris Wing, decided we would escape the late winter chill and head south to Folly Beach in Charleston, SC for some ocean surf kayaking/canoeing.

That started out great, until the cold decided to follow us down there. Snow!?!! In Charleston, in March??? Give me a break!!! Chris had some video editing to do so he stayed back at his pop's place and Sam and I decided to kick it back up to North Cackalacky.

Needless to say I was a little bit disappointed with the weeks endeavors. But you know what they say: For every door that closes...

My roommate, Eli Helbert (www.thecanoeguru.com), was fortunate enough to fall into a spot on an 18 day permit for a private raft/canoe/kayak trip down the grand canyon section of the Colorado River. Lucky guy right? Not so much. Conflicts with work left him unable to attend at the last minute. So I roll back into Asheville on Wednesday to "Hey Jake, wanna go to the Grand Canyon?"

"Um...no thanks...that sounds like a terrible opportunity, Psych!"

"Everything's already packed and out in Arizona. There will be a Spanish Fly waiting for you."

"Awesome lets get that plane ticket transferred."

"Nope, sorry, the ticket you purchased is non-transferable."

No Worries. Time to hit the road. Sorry Cutter you gotta stay in Asheville and watch the fort, no dogs allowed (even though he's probably run more whitewater than half the people who raft the canyon).

It's Thursday, drab and dreary; storms are coming to the Southeast. Probably one of the few times I didn't even think twice about leaving town with storms moving in.

"When do I have to be there?"

"You're mmeting up with some people at the South Rim Saturday night and hiking down Bright Angel Trail as the sun rises to meet the rafts just below Phantom Ranch."

"Awesome! A sweet sunrise hike to introduce me to the trip." Easier said than done.

Turns out our trip was overweight (who knew beer was so heavy). As a result, they had to leave my boat at the outfitters. NOOOOOOOOO!

This is where I have to give a shout out to my new friends Hugh Lipham (who I would hike down with) and Jerry, the manager of Babbitts Backcountry. Hugh came through with some strong to very strong bids arranging for me to be able to hike my 8', 50lb canoe down that switchbacks. This was not exactly an easy sell considering we had to deal with a half frozen trail, hide from the passing mule train (so as not to spook the beasts with my large unfamiliar cargo), and the unforgiving Arizona climate. Not a problem, as long as I have a boat, it'll be worth it, I thought optimistaically.

No airplane ticket transfer, no problem. I'll just drive the 2000 miles, by myself, in 36 hours.

I leave Asheville Thursday night, drive the 12 hours to Oklahoma City , sleep in my car, on top of a kayak for 4 hours, wake up, drive for 15 more hours to Flagstaff, where Jerry had arranged to stash my boat at a friends house, sleep for 4 more hours in there side yard next to my boat, wake up, drive two more hours to drop my boat off at the lodge on the South rim, and drive back to Flagstaff just in time to meet up with Hugh and catch the shuttle into the park. Wheww! What a journey!

There at the South rim Hugh and I met up with 2 more members of our crew and readied for the morning hike.

GC trip day 1 coming soon.

Between a Rock Island and a Hard Place

Its hard being a boater in such dry times; add to that the rather cold winter we've been having down here in the southeast, and hard becomes painful. I just finished spending the last few weeks at Rock Island State Park in Tennessee; one of the few dependable places for winter training in the Southeast. The experience , if anything, was bittersweet. My first afternoon out there began with much anticipation. I was excited to see that the main playspot, which had recently been running low due to generator issues was at a fairly good level. Billy Harris and his wife Carly, both of team Jackson Kayak were out there braving the near freezing temperatures.

It was my first time on the water in months. I had underwent LASIK surgery in the fall and was hence unable to paddle. Then selling Christmas trees in November and December extended my drought (wouldn't you know the only time all fall/winter that all the SE rivers and creeks came up was while I was spreading holiday cheer in Atlanta). I then felt obligated to put some facetime with the family back in Wisconsin, extending my dry spell to over four months. So needless to say I was excited to get back on the water.

Well, the spirit was willing, but the body was not able. My first few surfs amounted to a few spins and ends, but mostly window shades and flushes. No big deal, right? It's been four months I just need to regain my sea-legs. Then disaster struck. You see haulin Christmas trees for 16 hours a day for the last month had left me with a mild case of carpal tunnel. The result being that my grip strength had been diminished. You can probably guess what happened next. Within an hour of being on the water I went in for my ride, window-shaded, and as I completed my back-deck roll, I lost my grip on my paddle.

So there I am surfing in the wave and I realize "shoot, I better chase that, cause its getting dark." I bail off the hole, swim after my paddle, only to realize it's long gone. Billy races downstream to try to find it. Unfortunatley, Werner Carbons, while great paddles are incredibly difficult to see, even in the best of light conditions. No Luck.
Let's take stock:
4.5 hours from home
+1 hour into my trip
-1 paddle
+0 spares (why would I bring one? who breaks a paddle while playboating?)
=one screwed Jake

Canadians to the rescue!

"Hey don't worry about it, I've got a wall full of paddles at Clay's house. Grab any one you want for as long as you need." says Billy

What a guy! But in all honesty it's what I've come to expect from the Jackson crew (Billy was not the only one who offered me use a paddle that week) who, without fail, continually prove themselves to be amzing ambassadors of the sport.

What a start to my trip! I am grateful, but nonetheless retired from the day feeling rather deflated. Being the spontaneous captain of adventure, and oh yeah, poor (well ok, a bit cheap too) guy that I am, I refused to pay full price for a camping spot and thus had no place sleep.

Not a problem. Wal-mart being the gracious corporation that they are, permit RV's and campers to park in their lots overnight. Well as I came to learn, a young man and his dog, sleeping in the back seat of a Lincoln Mark VIII, does not qualify for this privilege.
Again:
Jackson Kayak to the rescue!!

The next day I paddled the river (with one of Billy's paddles) to look for my paddle (again no luck). Upon returning to the wave I meet my soon to be friend, Tom. Tom is a former Jackson employee who lives in the area and frequents the park. It didn't take long before Tom offered me a roof over my head that didn't involve four wheels underneath. From that point on things went quite well (besides the cold that is). Tom even found me a couple days of work doing some roofing while I was there. The wave never ended up running with two generators after that first night, but poor surf is better than no surf.

All in all my trip turned out ok, even though it was nothing like I had hoped. Fortunately though, thanks to the amazing people at Rock Island, a potentially disasterous trip turned into a great adventure involving new friends, the end of a paddling drought, and a great learning experience.

Thanks again to everyone, I'll see you soon.