About a long weekend trip to Adirondacks, to the Raquette and Beaver.

First, for uninitiated, a bit about creeking. It's just like downhill skiing, only the snow is all melted. Or like rock climbing, only the objective is instead of climbing up the rock, to slide down one. On your butt. The rock should be at least somewhat damp, or even better, wet. For the butt to have better traction, it's squeezed into a plastik kayak. For the head to have a better traction, it's stuffed into a plastic helmet. For similar reasons, I add a plastic faceguard.

Now, about the rivers. In the days long gone, the rivers were called streams of water that flowed, more often downhill than the other way. In the modern advanced and modernised times, the rivers are those ditches, covered with boulders and dry grass, that start at the wall of the power station dam and follow the aquaduct.

Specifically, two such rivers are Upstate New Yourk, in Adirondacks, called Raquette and Beaver. Since modern times are advanced not only technically, but also morally and legally, the water from the aquaducts is sometimes let into the riverbeds. After long negotiations and court hearings. Not very often, maybe couple times a year. And not very much water. But the dry grass washes off.

Raquette

The Raquette is very close to my house. If you look at a world map, that is. If you look any closer, it's about fourteen hours drive through Canada. But I was able to cut some of the distance off by starting in Michigan. That left about nine hours each way. The drive was okay - there were three of us, Rex Dalrymple, Stu Koster, and myself - Boris Glick. We listened to audiobooks and watched the rural, urban, and other types of scenery.

Now, whoever is to follow us, heed this: First, nothing brings up a case of verbal diahrrea in a border guard, than a Xerox copy of a passport. Second, laminated naturalisation certificates cause a similar physialogical reaction. Thirdly, a border guard has a lot more power than your run-off-the mill policeman, so he is to be sucked up to, crawled on the belly in front of, and generally shown self-deprecation and luck of self-worth. We're so sorry, officer. We're terribly at fault and unworthy of your precious time. We shall never repeat this faul offence, ever. Are you really letting us through? You can't possibly be serious - I mean as unwashed and unseemly as we are? Oh what a joy. Oh please accept our humblest gratitudes. Could we be possibly allowed to lay our lips upon your boot?

Anyway, by midnight on Friday my hammock was swinging between two tree trunks, generously covered by poison ivy. About thirty miles away the Raquette was waiting for the water release in the morning. In Colton, it enters the Stone Valley - the very stretch of the river that attracts us kayakers, photographers and an occasional ambulance.

In the morning we took our little camp down, got some breakfast in a nearby eatery, and headed to Colton. By ten thirty we were there, I took my camera, and we went to scout the first rapid - Colton Falls.

(Raquette and Beaver are similar in the fact that all of the rapids are very easy to see from the banks. Often one can walk a slab of granite to within six feet of the crux of the rapid. Whereupon this piece of the rapid anatomy can be heard, watched, and smelled. Well, maybe not touched. Most importantly, the facial expressions of kayakers who are being worked in there, can be observed in great detail).

Colton Falls

This rapid is worth a good book of its own. Overall drop is sixty feet, just over a five-story building. I'd love to describe it in detail, but it's pointless - those who haven't seen it, are better off looking at the pictures, and those who have, the rapid itself will force a detailed study. I'll just say that a successful run requires four precise manoevers, and an error in any one of them will lead to, at best, bruises and a swim. The run, in short, feels like this: Start from jumping a six-foot drop on river left (it has a rock shelf in the middle, boof twice to avoid pitoning), then cross a tongue (that drops in the wrong direction), slide off the tongue and boof the next six-foot drop, only carefully, because at the boof should end up in a slot about a yard wide - missing the slot has bad consequences - and then go down a thirty-foot long slide, that gives just enough speed (if you're lucky) to punch between two holes on the bottom. After which you avoid a pourover, duck the undercut and land in an eddy to catch your breath and scout the next rapid. Or maybe run this one again.

When we got to Colton Falls, three Keelhaulers were already in the water - Paul, Duarte, and Dave. The pictures of their run at the album Raquette Sept 2003. After watching them run, we went back to the car to change. Suddenly, all dogs in the parking lot crouched and put their tails between their legs, and all the people grabbed at their ears - the power station's siren started to shriek. We got some more water. Now the Raquette was at the full promised 900 cfs.

We got dressed, waited for our hearing to restore, and headed for the river. Rex walked the drop on the river right, while Stu and I ran two approach and landed in the eddy before the main drop. For the next hour and a half we silently watched the Colton Falls. It was a worthy sight - the Raquette was very scrupulous about where to place the extra water. It patched up a few little things - a thicker tongue here, a whiter slide there - but most of the extra water was carefully wrapped into two white bundles and placed at the end of the main slide. Instead of one good-size hole, we got two hydraulics. The smaller one wasn't quite bus-sized, but it could definetely swallow a good SUV. The larger one... I'd say it was out of transportation realm now, we're talking small buildings. We watched them for a while and saw that everybody who got stuck there, sooner or later got out. Most of them, in their boats. At any rate, there was plenty to silently watch.

Finally (after about an hour of consideration Stu decided to walk, too), my turn came. (Actually, I just couldn't stand it any longer, and it was getting quite cold). The first drop turned out to be relatively easy, although I was worried about the thin bow of my Inazone. Got over the tongue without much mishap. After getting off the next drop, I lost my balance and my boat got stuck accross that all-important slot, but it was right side-up, so I was able to untangle myself and got through. The rest was easy: Pick a start spot and run the main slide. That's what I did, and the momentum carried me over the holes. I did flip in the outflow, but rolled quickly enough, so avoiding the undercut was easy. The whole adventure took less than thirty seconds (Raquette Sept 2003 - 2).

After that, it was easier. The rapids are still memorable though - except maybe Tennery Ledges, right after Colton Falls. After Colton Falls, it's hard to take a regular Class 4 drop seriously, so most kayakers bumble down it every which way, sideways and backwards, more often than not getting stuck in the bottom hole. That's river's way of reminding that the run is, actually, only beginning.

At the next rapid - Mashroom Ledges - we were again fully awake and full of respect for the river. Mushroom Ledges are called that not because of what grows on the shore, but because of what's in the water. The rapid is a riverwide slanting drop, with a single wave, shaped exactly like a mushroom. The trunk of the mushroom is formed by a three-foot tall boulder. We ran the sneak on the right - let Alice from Wonderland eat all mushrooms she wants, we were having none of it.

The next rapid - The Narrows - is split into three channels. The middle and right channels are reported to be scary, so we chose the left channel, which is still a lot of fun. It starts with a horseshoe-shaped drop. There's a good-sized hydraulic at the base of the horshoe, but the right hand of the horshoe is quite long, and it seems easy to paddle down the length of it and boof right at the end, avoiding the hole. However, to up the ante a bit, there's a small eddy just before the drop. That eddy covers a deep pothole. After gathering speed on the slanted approach, the boat suddenly dips forward. A flip here means falling of the lip of the drop upside-down or sideways and with no speed, right into the hole. Which, in tearn, means a good ear- and nose- flush with nice nothern water, tea-colored because of all the pines. But, because of the last year's eye- and ear- washings, this time it was easier to anticipate, so we ran the Horseshoe and the next drop without trouble (see Raquette Sept 2003 - 2", pictures hr_Raquette_17 - 19).

After The Narrows we came to The Tub. A few small holes are followed by a slide, where the main tongue drops into a good-size hole. The hole borders the second slide, that drops straight into the next hole, not as violent, but (in places) stickier. I was ready for that, but wasn't ready for what I saw. As I was getting back to my boat after scouting, the clouds cleared. As I got on the brink of the first drop, the water from yellowish-grey became sparkling-white, the main drop threw up a cloud of white mist, and right in the middle of my line there was an end of the huge rainbow! I was so awed, that even the extra-thoughral rinse in the bottom hole didn't seem like punishment. (See the album "Raquette Sept 2003 - 2 ", puctures hr_Raquette_20 - 22).