The Main....

The trip started with a potential invite for a permitted stretch on the Selway River, the Lochsa’s big sister over in Idaho. The couple days previous to the trip we started noticing the rain and weather, the gauges began rising. If I remember correctly, the personal safety cutoff was about 5 feet on the Selway gauge, anything higher and youre pretty much out of luck on having a successful safe trip. The gauge kept rising.

In preparation for the trip someone loaned Matt a copy of some video explaining the details and rapids on the Selway. Almost immediately we noticed and commented and laughed at the ridiculous nature of these boaters, especially the kayakers. One guy in particular would approach the rapid, fall over, run the rapid upside down and then swim immediately to shore, leaving all his gear to float downstream where somebody else had to deal with it; multiple times. Quite funny.

2 Days before the trip was to leave, the Selway gauge exceeded the 5 foot mark. Everyone bailed. There was a pretty cool option lining up, though, and the trip and most of its participants were to head to the Main Salmon River, an 80 mile stretch of river described as a fun class III-IV between the Middle Fork and the Lower Salmon. Little did we know what was about to happen.

We started picking up new team members and grocery shopping and driving the 8 hours to the put-in at Corn Creek. Driving next to the river we notice how massive a lot of the holes and waves are. Excited. That night we dine on pre-prepared burritos and beers. The whiskey is already half gone. Its raining.

Me laughing: "were so screwed"

In the morning the Corn Creek Shoe gauge reads 6.7. We were to head out and meet three other boats later in the day and have dinner ready for em when they arrive. They never show. We set up a plethora of tarps and ready for the rain. It comes and we get cold so we fire up the best accidental idea Ive ever seen: a 3 hour instant light log. It seems like the river is rising.
In the morning our campfire seemed quite a bit closer to the water than it did last night. I think the water came up the bank 15 feet or more. We estimate its close to 9 feet now, and confirmed that when the giant trees coming downstream started having rootballs. That’s what the ranger said is the indicator for 9 feet. River still rising. With the trees and debris coming down in 5 minute intervals we decide to sit this out instead of rowing with 60 foot trees. This is about the same time I get made fun of for commenting on the burnt trees coming from a burnt area. It never ends.

Later that same day we meet with the other 3 boats that camped 45min above us. With us being out of beer and them having two kegs and a lot more we try and persuade them to our best ability but to no avail. We take note of their gear; shorts, sandals and rain jackets. Our drysuits hanging on the line suddenly seem warmer than they were the day before. They take off, and we learn later, flip a boat and lose some gear and beer. Swimming in 38 degree water doesn’t sound very fun.

Before and after (9ft). Later the
next day the water was
above the downed tree in the foreground (12ft)

Around 7pm that night we witness something quite freaky. A yellow Hyside raft drifts by us, no people and no gear, just a frame. 30 minutes later a purple Maravia floats by, fully loaded and geared but upside down. Fuck. Night time falls fast and the water still rises. Were out of beer.

A nice 50 footer

Our tarp city at Blackadar

The next day we pack up as the debris flow has stabilized. Water still high. Like 12 feet on the Corn Creek gauge high. Like 84,000 cfs high. About time for diapers high. (Note: the biggest water I ever ran before this was in the Grand Canyon at 12,000 cfs in an 18 foot raft) As we head down the river at 12-17 mph we notice all the rapids are gone and the flats have monster eddies and super monster wave trains. Now in 14 foot boats we play everything extra safe. as we near Salmon Falls we see it, a purple boat caught in a eddy. We manage to eddy out and rope it in, remove the debris, drink the remainder of the found whiskey, fix the oar locks and I hop inside. After a few very fast miles, horizontal rain, and dodging wood we find ourselves headed right into one of the largest and longest wavetrains I have ever seen. Tim's 15.5 foot raft disappears and seems like its never going to reappear. Matt freaks out as his son is on that boat and is invisible for seconds upon seconds. It finally reemerges at the next crest. Holy shit.

Im solo rowing the purple boat and find out how easy it is to almost flip on a continuous scale. We make it. I wish we had beer.

We end up at Yellow Pine Bar and see a road from teh river to a nice little house on the cliff. Stopping there we inquire about what we should do with this boat and find out our friends fates and that one is waiting below at the campground so we head there. Turns out one of three boats is there as the flipped one was chased down by the second because it had wallets and keys in it. Bad choice. Drysuits were the deal maker today, thank you NRS!

The Gang: Matt, Levi, Michael, Chris, Timmy, and Mr Stinky

As we start setting up camp we notice the outfitters we spoke with earlier but nobody is there. No customers, no guides. Turns out as the water was showing no signs of receding the company flew its customers out, as the next class II rapid, Whiplash, was way too big and dangerous to continue without getting crazy and tying the boats together in a diamond rig and drifting through somehow. I didnt get it. Something about a giant tongue and 8 foot eddy fences and never escapeable eddies. I get it. We need beer.

When the guides returned from their hike to whiplash a beautiful blonde walks over and introduces herself. Turns out shes the daughter of "old man river" and was on the cover of our river maps. Nice. This chick is tough as nails, and appareantly not to impressed with us. As she walks back to her camp I chase her down for a "very important question"..... "do you guys have any extra beer that the customers left?" "No", she responds, as everyone there was extremely Mormon. Damn, stumped again. It begins to rain again.

The next day one of the boys and I get to hang with the awesome couple watching the Yellow Pine Bar awaiting radio communications from Whitewater ranch about our proposed road evacuation. We got to sample a ton of Homebrew and tour the property. The only way into this place is via jetboat or small plane for which theres a private landing strip that is far from flat and all grass and rocks. Neat.

After unloading and taking out at the awesome Whitewater ranch, we somehow borrow a 3500 and trailer and drive out with the rest of the yahoos. Life is good. Somewhere on the drive out we drive next to 40 miles of amazing high class IV creekage. Life on land is pretty good, and freezing wet. What an awesome trip! Going again on Sunday!

Salmon Story Might be Coming Soon....

....as I sit here and wait for Hannah's email, I goof off and try and refuse everything from Garrett. Even the snickery. Especially the frogs. So I present a probable repost:

Where did this guy go?

I know where he is, I think? These government jobs are a total bitch.

Still Nothing....

....and theres not gonna be till the seasons over. Sorry.

Teaser....

On our way back from the Salmon, we stopped by Lochsa Falls and witnessed this:


Note the swimmers, kayaker, and 20 second surf!

Where am I....

Touring my Favorites....

While I was up in Moscow for the job interview, I remembered that NRS, my favorite gear outfitter was based outta there. I MUST examine more closely.

I poked into this small shed looking thing and began browsing. Not much. I then began talking with an associate Ted, I think, and started prying. Of course I would like a tour....let me grab my camera.


Lets just say when I entered the back, I almost pooped my pants. This building has to be a mile long, full of gear, and operated by boaters. Who'd guess?

It just kept going and going and going. The farther back you go the wider the building became. I was pretty happy in here to say the least.

We walked past a piece of paper on the wall with the accuracy stats for the organizing of the gear and its shipping. It said they had a 98.9% accuracy. This meant of the 80,000 something individual items ordered in May, they only had 31 errors. All done by hand, and working well, very well.

We then enter the call center, all the way in back, not in India, not that I have anything against Indian call centers....

A posh big room, full of all the happy people I talk with on a regular basis. I have to say Im super stoked with the way NRS has turned out. They say Bill Parks, who was wandering in the lobby, started the business in his garage, with $2000, a long time ago. If you get a chance, order a ton of awesome straps, at the least, and be stoked at how applicable this whitewater gear is to everyday life in the flow....

All in a day at the Maki House....

.... so I need to have my camera ready, at all times, or I miss it, just barely.

So "Commander Data" (thats my old boss' name for me when I worked in Texas hating my existence) was at the Mapp house doing some painting and general tweaking to the establishment. These included examining the well pump and casing for signs of contamination and methods to get bleach in there for a thorough flushing and finishing painting Laurens sweet new RED room.
Now realize that this whole room used to be aqua green before we put that primer grey on there. I swear that edging all the sills and door frames takes forever. Lauren was able to pick her own color for her room at the hardware store. Sweet choice. This reminds me of Dan's apartment in Lincoln when he tried to break every rule on the lease.

The Illness!

At some point in the evening Garrett arrived and brought some more stuff to shuffle in. This is where I come to terms with a Murphy living in the neighborhood. Obviously he deals in Law. Actually it starts the evening before, when I warn G about the dog dish in the dark of night, and then he steps on the edge of it soaking his whole right pant leg. I cry laughing like the asshole that I am.

The first load of gear comes in, but the new badass lightbulbs dont. They sit broken and shattered outside by the pickup door. And after mentioning we should clean it up before Zambi steps on it, guess who is sitting on the shards?

We paint and take a well deserved beer/porch/pellet gun break for the sunset moonrise overlooking No Business peak and plink and watch the clouds rumble past. At this point something weird happens again. A friend arrives and yawns repeatedly at our lack of interestingness:

I bet he weighs a maximum of 15 lbs. We think he may live under the porch. Luckily the Zambinator was sleeping.

We head back inside and break some more lightbulbs, and one that G changed has completely popped the glass off. Why nobody will ever know. Not knowing whether the power is on or off now G ends up welding the little wire jobbies to the tip of his circuit tester. Check, its on.

Before the night and weirdness is over we examine the well pump in the basement:

This little guy and his extended family might give reason to the light contamination of the well. Lets just say he was promptly removed with some light serenading, wine, biscuits, and chortling. After all that he still whined and defecated in my hand.

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch" has new meaning now. Be careful....

Austin, NV....

So the drive North was an epic fourth gear wonder. Just slap it in 4th and go. Plenty of power for the hills and not enough speed to actually warrant paying any sort of attention. I was fortunate to avoid both Reno and Vegas, though I could have gone for a nice park and play at the Reno whitewater park, but that issue is mute now. I headed NE on some of the loneliest highways and actually ended up on the "Loneliest Highway" taking me right into Austin where I was in need of refueling and the Apocalypse was thirsty. I found this cafe/bar on the corner boasting something about "Serbian", and me not knowing whether this is good or bad just barreled in with my $20 in hand.

First thing, I had to fight. I really had to argue with the cafe cook for some food not labeled pizza. I wanted a burger. He didnt want to make it. After him asking me "Pizza?" and me telling him "cheeseburger" about 6 times, he folded. I then headed to the bar for something to wash the Nevada dust away. Not that it was remotely dusty.

I first noticed the big back bar thing that hold the giant mirror and liquor. Attempting to get a glimpse of the towns history I start asking questions that should naturally lead me toward the monstrosity of wood behind the bartender. "So what do people around here do?" is the vagueity (a new word) that exits my brain and mouth. In less than 42 milliseconds the Serbian bartender answers: "We eat, drink, and fuck". My bud light almost comes out of my nose, as he points to this 40 something lady who winks at me as the bartender mentions in a very loud tone: "shes ready!" Something tells me that if the food were to arrive now the awkward situation might focus itself elsewhere. It doesnt. I never did get the answer.

Way back in the day people came and made Austin bc of a silver boom. Now, that ore mining is quite dead due to the price of silver being so low and the cost of production being quite high. When this little bar was packed with miners (not talking about major politics of the last four presidential administrations) it acquired the awesome bar back it has today. Apparently from the UK in origin, it was shipped over in '27 and trained from the East coast to 'Frisco and then wagoned up to where it is today. Over the years I bet this thing has seen many a thrown beer bottle.

I highly recommend getting in a political debate here. The bartender is some political oddity of knowledge and secrets.

(I failed to mention why this story starts out in 4th gear. 2 days before my actual departure from LA I was going up a hill and 5th gear just stopped being there. Fortunately theres a 4th. That means I can cruise and gawk at a stunning 56 mph)

Lochsa or Bust!!!!

Lochsa Falls at about 6000 something cfs. Were in the ARA boat, and I got the red suit and green helmet.

Munched

El Returno

...?....

Lose Your Shorts....

....This is why you need to czech you parts.

Through one way or another one may have heard that I ventured to the most interesting land of Lost Wages. It was my friend Nat's 30th birthday and getting pretty close to mine as well. On top of all this, Ive never been there, making me a Vegas Virgin. All I can say is I was completely unprepared for what happened thereafter. What happens in Vegas should most definitely stay in Vegas. But heres a taster:

Las Vegas means "the plains", although there is nothing plain about it. Strangely for the first time in years the entire area was green and fairly lush for a complete wasteland. Go earth cycles!

The global flavor

Under the influence of friends

Frazzled and happy
in the sun

Photo-bombing is actually
quite fun

Overload would be a excellent label for the weekend. I still havent fully recovered, and almost never want to go there again. My gastrointestinal tract is pissed off. Internal clock is broken. Theres a plethora of external wounds, mostly attributed to the "Nightstand". I hate the nightstand.

Imagine waking up and feeling abused. Feeling violated. Sore. Then you look up all hazed from the corner of the room where you slept. You see something ominous. Something looking down upon the evil deeds it has done the night before. Theres 4 partially empty bottles, some spilled sitting atop, the built in shade is half broken. It stares at you, smoldering cigarette perched out of its slightly ajar drawer. You come to. Realizing "the nightstand" is to blame. Violated and ashamed, you crawl into the shower, never to look back, hungry for breakfast....

Epicness....

Different from Loch Ness. Different from toe jam. Different from Godzilla. Pure Awesome.

If you havent figured out where the last two weekends were staged, then youre out of luck, becasue Im still not telling, even though the baby is in the bathwater, or dont throw the proof out with the pudding. Something like that?

This episode is called "Epicness" because if the pureness of epic that it is (metaphysically). I mean, Pipestone was fun. Maybe termed "Epic" at one time. But at no time did I feel all the things I felt here. Ive been tired. Stoked. Covered in mud, and unable to feel my hands. Cant breathe. Cant stand. Back hurts. But my butt doesnt? That was the part that made no sense.

6600 ft

After watching the helmet cam I realised I need to come back. But this here is a bit of mystery documentation. Mysterious place. Obvious documentation.

Under the same tree
where we left off last time...

At some point in the massive ride, I realized that my chest protector was really rubbing me the wrong way. It could have been the new morning garage workout was building my pecks, but I think it was the cool breeze. Either way Brian had to fashion me up some electrical tape pasties to protects my glass cutting gems.

We made it alive. Gnasty hill climbs and exhausting descents. I definitely feel I learned how to ride a bike that day, if not just a wee bit better.


Im gonna work on compiling some of this massive gopro footage and see if we cant get a sick amateur video of the trails up...stay tuned....

Life Above Lava....

A great place it is. And youre almost always there.

The night before we had to run Lava Falls on the Grand Canyon, we had to make some ritualistic homages or sacrifices, offerings you might call them. One of which was the "painting of the nails". That was early December. Now its almost May and the anthropological evidence is still there:


But just a scotsh....

More Gooder....

Please examine:

Weekend 1

Weekend 2

Fast Food Nation....

Via Brad....

When Its Hot....

....one must enforce creative diversion from productivity:

The Giant Suck of Taxes Actually Blows....

Done, with refund this year. It actually pays to make less money. Weird?

Exploratative....

So this last weekend turned out to be a total win. Brian, Sean(SOB) and I headed up into a river valley that I have always want to go to, since I heard about it in Costa Rica. Its in the Sierras.

Im just gonna have to the leave the name out for the safety and security of my recreating future, as this place kicks all ass and theres no one around. Theres a sick river (class III,IV,V,VI) thats super fun and super serious. Theres a bazillion trails for dirtbiking and the grassy rolling california granite hills look so beautiful to the hungover human eye.

We had a bit of a multi-challenge going on here. I suited up for some kayaking fun on a nice class IV stretch while B and SOB suited up for a sweet dirt exploration ride.

Some dork pretending he knows
how to do nose manuals

The kayaking was choice. The water was an expected lower flow that turned out to be tons of fun. Lots of blind horizon lines and mystery mini waterfalls amidst the plethora of bouldery choose-your-own-adventure routes. I smiled. Lots of scouting and Moose was nearly impaled by was moistened scimitar log poking out of the current. Scary.

I loaned my camera to SOB for their ride and from what I heard and saw, it was amazing and gnarly. Gotta love dirt.

Apparently there was a lot of trees down from the winter. They made it to the snow line too.

Unsynchronized flash blinding the masses as we drove in the canyon. I was fairly certain the Apostle (camper's name) was gonna get torn off by all the overhanging ledges we drove by.

Overall: a sick weekend in the sticks!