Jerry’s Baddle, Explorer’s Paradise, & The NFC

The Bear’s Den

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Paddler: UnknownLocation: Green River Narrows, NC Eric Adsit Photo

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Location: North Fork Championships, ID Nick Gottlieb Photos

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Paddler: Tom W

hipple Location: G

reen Truss, WA

Eric Adsit Photo

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Paddler: Jared Seiler Location: Raymondskill Creek, PAScott Martin Photo

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Joe PotoczakGreen River Narrows, NC Regina Nicolardi Photo

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Paddler: Jordan PoffenburgerLocation T-ville Triple Crown, CTRegina Nicolardi Photo

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Jared Seiler hucks his paddle while looping at Scudders, NJ

Scott Martin Photo

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Editorin

ChiefEric Adsit

C o v e r Photo

Scott Martin

WordsRyan Scott

Adam HerzogJoe Potoczak

PhotosRegina Nicolardi

Scott MartinBrett BartonJeremy Cass

Keel BrightmanNick Gottlieb

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contributors

Eric Adsit Photo

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From The Source

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The Media and Whitewater: Why Crazy Must Go In case you missed it, WNYTV, a local news station in Northern New York jumped on the opportunity to cover whitewater kayaking after a cell-phone video of Dane Jackson training for the Whitewater Grand Prix on the flooded Black River went viral. And they did it in the worst way possible. In their search for the sensational,reporters cast professional athletes as “crazy,” who offer only “tales of risk taking,” before creating both a meta-phorical and physical barrier between paddlers and firefighters concerned for their safety.

If we ignore the (many) poor reporting techniques (bordering on slander), we’re left with two fundamental problems: First, Non-paddlers think we’re crazy. Second, as paddlers, we’ve done very little to dispell this notion.

The former isn’t difficult to understand. Whitewater paddling is a bizarre activity that often becomes a borderline addiction, driving us to pray for rain, drive hours or days at a time for the next river, and generally dive headlong into wild places some people don’t even know exist.

The latter likely seems of little consequence. Why contest someone’s opin-ion of a matter they understand very little of? In fact, doesn’t it make us more extreme, or cooler, the crazier we are?

The problem is, “crazy” and “extreme” are synonymous with “risk.” And more importantly, the majority of people (that is, non-pad-dlers) determine laws regarding access to and useage of the riv-ers we love so much based on how “risky” those resources seem.

If whitewater paddling is ever to join the ranks of such openly accepted “extreme sports” as snowboarding, skiing, surfing, or any of the other out-door activities that now encourage people to be active in and passionate about the outdoors, the crazy must go.

Eric AdsitDirtbag-In-Chief

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Eric Adsit Photo

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Jerry’s Baddle

NFC

The Bear’s Den

Explorer’s Paradise

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Jerry’s BaddleMore Than Just Class V

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Jerry’s BaddleMore Than Just Class V

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The Green River Narrows Race has been heralded as “The Greatest Show in all of Sport,” and with good reason- the Class V ~5 minute course dishes out massive carnage and inspires respect for competitors like no other, with a perfect natural platform for spectators at the crux of the run. So why does the Jerry’s Baddle race- located on the same section of river- continue to have such relatively low participation rates? Because there’s a whole lot more to it.

While Green Racers start just above Fran-kenstein and tag out after the last slide, Baddlers race the entire river… and then hop on a bike. After negotiating rapids like “Boof or Consequence”, “Nutcracker”, and the deceptively named “Sunshine,” racers start their 26 mile ride by climbing the infamously steep Green River Cove Road at the takeout of the narrows. All told, they will climb a cumulative 4,000 feet before completing the loop to the takeout via the scenic back roads of Salu-da. N.C. A better question might then be “Who would ever sign up for such a gru-eling event in the first place?”, and that answer is a bit more complicated.

Jerry’s Baddle began in 2006 as a way to honor Jerry Beckwith. Jerry was a pillar of the southeastern paddling commu-nity who introduced several people to the sport and inspired those he met to be their best selves. “He ran the Green at least two or three times a week, but he never once ran Gorilla,” says race or-ganizer Brookes Saucier, one of Jerry’s many friends. “He always said ‘I’ll run it next time…’ but he never did.” In 2005, Jerry was diagnosed with ALS Disease, more commonly known as Lou Gherig’s Disease.

The disease progressively degenerates neurons in the brain and spinal chord, increasing muscle weakness and atro-phy until death. “Jerry was always one extreme or the other- A beer might be THE BEST beer in the WORLD- So when he told me he had Lou Gherigs disease well before he was diagnosed, I just brushed it off,” said Saucier. In addition to his paddling prowess, Jerry was an avid cyclist. As the disease took its toll, Jerry focused his energy on bicycling, fulfilling dreams of traveling to France to complete one of his most difficult rides in July 2005. “The first time Jerry took me down the switchbacks leading to the Green, he told me how great he thought it would be to hold a race where you pad-dle the river and then ride up the switch-backs,” says Bríd Beckwith, Jerry’s wife.

Jerry witnessed this dream come true as well, the first Baddle was held in March 2006. A week later, Jerry walked into Hospice. “Most people with Lou Gherig’s need a wheelchair by that time. It goes to show how much he was fighting the disease off. He passed away just a few days after that… I think he knew it was his time,” remembers Saucier.

The Baddle, now in its 9th year had 36 competitors in the Biathalon, and 15 pairs as a relay team signed up, but fowl weather forced the race date to Easter Sunday, and lost 11 solo competitors and 4 teams. Still, morale was high, with beautiful weather and an atmosphere of friendly competition. Among high-fives and mutual congratulations, chatter about just how fun the race really is filled the air.

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Previous: Hunt Jennings enters Pencil Sharpener right on line. Clockwise from above: Gorilla might be the most famous Class V in the southeast, but the action doesn’t end there... an unknown paddler charges onwards into Nies’ Pieces. Half the paddle, twice the man; this section of the Green is called “The Narrows” for a reason. The Baddle is won and lost on the pedal, all you can do is put your head down and keep cranking.

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“Keep my spirit in your hearts and minds. Please think of me every now and then, as you run an amazing river

or ride a beautiful road.” - Jerry Beckwith

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The format of the race is es-pecially interesting because it’s not the best kayakers that take the top places, it’s the cyclists. “The dif-ference between a great time, and a mediocre time in the kayaking is probably only about four minutes,” says professional paddler Steve Fisher, “The differ-ence between the cyclists- that’ll be more like fifteen.” Jerry’s Baddle represents many things; the great chal-lenge Jerry faced himself, a way to raise awareness about ALS, and most impor-tantly, the sense of commu-nity among paddlers every-where. “I think this event is a great reflection of the com-munity involved in the sport and how much each individ-ual means to everybody. I’m sure if Jerry had been any other paddler, the reaction would be the same,” says Bríd. Saucier adds, “A good portion of the people here didn’t even know Jerry.” And what a great shame it is that we didn’t get the chance.

Words and Photos by Eric Adsit

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Ryan Scott examines the next horizon.Location: Tshletly Creek, WA Brett Barton Photo

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Explorer’s Paradise

By Ryan Scott

On day two at 5pm we were still in high spirits hiking across the snow at 2,900ft. To our right, Bear Creek pushed up to its headwaters near the top of our pass. After climbing up to 3,400ft a dark stormy mass of clouds built and started surrounding the Olympic Mountains, resting just beyond the pass. We were still more than 200 vertical feet below the pass and needed to get below the snow line on the opposite side to make camp before nightfall. Our fatigue was starting to set in. At the top of the low saddle we took a quick break before charging down the vertical cliffs as fast as we could, one rope length at a time.

The Pacific Northwest has some amazingly beautiful and unique plac-es. The Olympic Peninsula, The Cascade Mountain Range, The Colum-bia River Gorge, The Columbia Plateau… Clusters of mountains, water sheds through ancient volcanic lava flows, and everything from forest to desert to ocean landscapes in between. Adventuring in Washing-ton State alone is an explorer’s paradise.

During the 80’s and 90’s whitewater paddling took off at an astonish-ing rate in the Columbia River Gorge. Many rivers were run for the first time and many were instant classics that would draw paddlers from around the globe. The Little White Salmon River in particular was al-ways regarded as holding the most potential. It took a few years, bet-ter gear, and more experience to make that run what it is today.

In that period, various groups of paddlers had documented all of the easily accessible runs (bridge to bridge put-in and take-outs) and had essentially struck gold with their finds. The paddlers that followed were occupied with honing their skills on these classic stretches of whitewater, and they had an endless supply of whitewater, varying from easy class II floats with the family to hair-raising class V adven-tures with their closest friends.

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The book (Jeff Bennett’s Guide to the Whitewater Rivers of Wash-ington), had been written and this drew many paddlers into a com-fortable daily routine of paddling. They were content with having whitewater easily accessible and having the most bang for their buck.

Over the years only the individuals with the motivation to search out new areas and undocumented territory progressed into the remaining unknown first descents. If the access was fairly easy paddlers would put those runs on their to-do-list and eventu-ally it became a favorite. From the 1990’s to present day I have come across paddlers who have explored far beyond the reaches I thought possible, hiking in for days to access a single run, and haven’t said a word about their favorite discoveries. To put this into perspective, the last version of the Bennett’s Guide has 320 runs listed from class II – class V. Nine of those required a hike in and/or out. This alone is impressive, but jJust last year I met an exploratory kayaker who has a personal list of nearly 1,400 runs… in Washington State alone.

To give you an idea of how much whitewater is accessible in just the Columbia River Gorge, within fifty miles of the eighty-mile long gorge, there are 35 runs listed on its tributaries in the guidebook in Oregon and Washington. The Washington side holds wider valleys for gradual, longer runs down to the river while much of the Or-egon side consists of basalt cliffs and abrupt waterfalls. The main rivers and many smaller steep creeks descend out of the foothills of 12,000ft. Mt. Adams in WA, and 11,000ft. Mt. Hood in OR. Since the guidebook was printed 20 more runs (mostly steep class V-V+ creeks) have been found and run, and 8 waterfalls over 60-feet tall have been run. And the list is still growing. Much of this whitewa-ter runs year-round and if you were ambitious enough, with a little luck in the weather, you could run them all in a single year due to the winter snow pack in the higher elevations, and rain in the lower valley each year. No other region in the world has the ingre-dients that the Columbia River Gorge has, generating an unheard of variety of runnable whitewater, in such a condensed area. “...I met an exploratory kayaker who has a personal list

of nearly 1,400 runs... in Washington State alone”

Above, Ryan Scott adds another one to the list, for better or worse on the Muddy Fork of the Cowlitz, WA. Keel Brightman Photos

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“...I met an exploratory kayaker who has a personal list of nearly 1,400 runs... in Washington State alone”

Above, Ryan Scott adds another one to the list, for better or worse on the Muddy Fork of the Cowlitz, WA. Keel Brightman Photos

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Above: Scott Matthews in a rare flat stretch on the hike in to Tshletshy Creek. In Washington State, the Olym-pic Peninsula is well known as one of the most difficult zones to access. Within the OP, Tshletshy Creek is relatively unknown, because it is one of the most difficult creeks to access. This photo was taken on Scott’s second trip into the gorge, fifteen years after his first. Ryan Scott Photo. Right: Ryan Young and Scott Baker scout the 5th and final gorge on Tshletshy Creek. Brett Barton Photo.

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Exploring is in our nature. Just like the variety of people out there some like to push further than others and some look at things differently than the previous explorer. The Olympic Mountains are a good place to push further. The interior of the mountain range rests over 30 miles beyond any road. Trails are the only option to penetrate the rugged, roadless circular shaped mountain range.

Brett Barton and I took that challenge of the Olympics a couple years ago at Tsheltshy Creek, one of the lower tributaries of the mighty Queets Riv-er. We couldn’t find any updated information or anyone who had been in there in the last 10 years. The trail down to the Tshletshy had been long since abandoned and flood scars from the satellite images looked daunt-ing to say the least. We had to let the rest lie on fate. We gathered all the information we could, which was very little given the length of the trip, and decided to give it a try.

The seven mile hike up skyline trail to the low saddle pass was physical-ly exhausting, and by the time we started in the Tshletshy Valley the sun went down and we were forced to make camp in one of the only tree wells we could find that wasn’t completely full of snow. The next morning we thought we could get to the water and be in our boats in no time, but we were exploring and Tshletshy wasn’t giving up its secrets that easily.

By the time we reached the water it was mid-day on our third day of hiking. The creek held everything you could want and not want in a kayaking trip. Many downed tress and long portages around un-runnable gorges, black bears along those portages, and non-stop gradient locked into a seemly never-ending canyon. Once the whitewater started in the fifth and most intense canyon we were on cloud nine, picking our way through one classic drop after another. We found three distinct class V rapids, the last pinch-ing down into an hourglass shape canyon about eight feet wide just before Tshletshy fizzled out into the Queets River.

On my drive back to the Columbia Gorge I felt the same feeling for the Olympics that I had felt ten years ago for the Columbia Gorge. A new sense of adventure, challenge, and undivided interest in our new found play-ground. The Columbia Gorge is a great place to train and the OP is a great place to test the endurance of your training. The next year, Brett and I went back to test it again… but that’s another story.

“The next morning we thought we could get to the water and be in our boats in no time, but we were exploring and Tshletshy wasn’t

giving up its secrets that easily.”

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“The next morning we thought we could get to the water and be in our boats in no time, but we were exploring and Tshletshy wasn’t

giving up its secrets that easily.”

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The Bear’s Den

Paddler: Jeremy Cass Becca Asutin Photo

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The Bear’s Den

By Adam Herzog

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Paddlers: Miles Pullio and Jeremy CassMike Dowell Photo

“Now will you buy a jello shot?” The bartender asked us. It was more a demand than a question.

I tried not to stare, but I’m sure I looked as astonished as Nate and Brad. I could barely make out their fac-es through the cigarette smoke, but their expressions revealed thoughts similar to my own. “Is this really hap-pening?”

We were in Dover Foxcroft, Maine to run the West Branch of the Pleasant, also known as Gulf Hagas. Gulf Hagas is widely renowned as the best class V creek in Maine and we were brimming with excitement on the long drive there from New Hampshire. “Where exactly are we stay-ing? Are you sure someone is going to be there to let us in?” I asked Nate tentative-ly as we rocketed down I 95

The bartenders shrieking whistle pierced the smoky air of the Bears Den demanding everyone’s attention. “Show ‘em!”. She commanded a patron sitting across from us. The woman across the bar nodded obediently and lift-ed her shirt to reveal a pair of sagging, tragic, bare breast. They could have been pic-tured in an old National Geo-graphic magazine, minus the white skin.

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Mike Dowell Photo

“If they show up and wonder where the truck is, just tell the truth. Say ‘My friend is a jerk and he stole your vehicle. I told him not to.’ And tell them we will be back shortly.”

Paddler: Jeremy Cass Becca Asutin Photo

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earlier that night. We had not left New Hampshire until af-ter dinner and it was a six hour drive to the river.

“Oh, dude, the place is going to be going off” Nate replied assuredly. “When I told her we should be there around mid-night she said ‘you should make it before last call then’”. I was skeptical. Maine is known for moose, logging trucks and potatoes, not night life.

Hours later, when we pulled into the parking lot of the Bears Den, Nate was proven correct. The parking lot was over-flowing with rusty, beat up pick-up trucks. “Are you sure there are cabins for rent here?” I again ques-tioned his judgment.

“Well, let’s go check it out”. We stretched our cramped legs as we made our way through the dark parking lot to-ward a ramshackle building that pulsed with the distinctive sound of heavy metal.

A guy who looked like he belonged in a 1940s logging camp stopped us at the door. His stringy long hair and tattered grey beard covered his wrinkled face. He wore a flannel jacket against the damp northeast cold. “There’s a cover charge for the band boys” he said in a harsh, nasal northern New England accent, the r’s flattened out to nonexistence. “Oh, we are renting a cabin.” Nate replied. “Hmmmm. All right then, go on in.”

I walked through the door and felt like I had been trans-ported to 1985. A smoke machine blew white smoke across the stage. Flashing, multicolored lights danced across the walls. Loud hair band metal reverberated across the room. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Undulating bodies swayed on the dance floor. Most of the dancers wore flannel shirts and faded jeans. They had burly beards and worn out hair-dos.

A diminutive, stunted young man stood in the corner near us. “Hey man, can you buy me a beer?”

Someone felt pity for him and gave him a 24 ounce PBR. His eyes gleamed as he took it. He cradled it in his little hands for a moment, then put it to his lips. He chugged the en-

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Mike Dowell Photo

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Jeremy Cass Photo

tire beer and crushed it under his foot. He looked at it with a twinge of sorrow then turned toward us and said “Hey man, can you buy me a beer?”

A waitress sauntered towards us. Faded, dyed-blonde hair burst from her scalp. It was piled high, and added a foot to her already impressive stature. She wore skin tight leggings and a black miniskirt. Her halter top pushed her massive breast nearly into her chin. Makeup crusted her haggard face in an attempt to conceal the bags un-der her eyes and fissures in her skin. “You boys buying drinks or what”? She asked in a raspy cough.

We ordered a round of beers, but the equal-ly decrepit bartender began hassling us about the jello shots. After refusing mul-tiple times, she resorted to the seemingly

desperate exposure routine with her friend at the bar. We still refused the jello shots. The band began a rendition of Poisson’s clas-sic “Every Rose Has it’s Thorn” and drunken slow dancers swayed across the dance floor. “Sorry it’s so tame tonight. It’s going to get rowdy in here tomorrow night. You guys should come back then”. The bartender said. “Boys, I think this is our queue to leave. We have a big day tomorrow.”

I subconsciously held my breath as we un-locked the door to our cabin expecting the worst. It was surprisingly clean though, es-pecially for what I was beginning to suspect was a brothel. It was however, situated im-mediately behind the bar which was still in full swing. Luckily we all brought earplugs. I woke up early and went outside. I had slept surprisingly well.

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Nate joined me in the now empty parking lot. “Glad we got in before last call. I can’t imagine too many of those folks had desig-nated drivers. Kayaking Gulf Hagas is defi-nitely safer than driving around the back roads of Maine on a Friday night.”

“I think we can get breakfast over there.”“In the bar?”“Looks like it turns into a restaurant when the sun comes up”.

We walked in and took the same seats we sat in the night before. A bunch of guys crowded around a table, drinking coffee. They immediately began heckling us and laughing as we sat down. I ordered eggs and tried to keep a good natured attitude, joking around with them a bit.

“You’re lucky Sammy’s not here today” the waitress said to us. “He’d really give you hell. He usually comes in here on Saturday mornings with a four foot dildo. It’s got a cigarette burn on the end of it”.

I nearly spit my coffee out. I managed to choke out “I’m sorry we had to miss that”. Glancing at each other Nate, Brad and I all had the same thought. “Get us out of here”. We scarfed down the rest of breakfast and made a hasty exit.

Several hours later we finally arrived at our destination. Gulf Hagas was a perfect level and the temperatures were unusually warm for May. We made good time on the river, boofing the waterfalls and rapids that Gulf Hagas is known for. The river is a classic and it descends a deep gorge. Brown, tan-nin stained water poured over fifteen foot waterfalls and intimidating class V drops as well as fun, steep class IV rapids. Black cliffs loomed overhead and dropped straight

down to the water in spots.

The trip was over too soon. We wanted to do another run, but our mountain bike had been confiscated at the park entrance. “No bikes allowed in the park” the old gatekeeper said. I begged, pleaded and lied but she did not budge on the rule. We left our bike, and our shuttle, at the gatehouse.

“It’s too far to drive for one run, we will fig-ure something out” I said my buddies as we floated out of the grandeur of the gorge.

I was the first to arrive at the takeout and scrambled up to the dirt road, hoping to catch a passing car. There were no passing cars, but there was an old Toyota Tacoma parked at the pull off. I looked in the back and saw a broken paddle. The truck was rusted out and dinged up. “He’s probably cool” I thought. “Maybe I can find the keys”.

I reached under the back left bumper. Noth-ing. Front leaf spring. Nothing. Back right leaf spring. Bingo.

“I got keys!” I shouted gleefully, shaking the keys in my hands. “Whose are they?” Brad looked at me dubi-ously.

“I don’t know, but we are not driving 15 hours round trip to do one run on Hagas. No way. I’m taking this truck to the put in. We will be back in an hour, maybe a little more.”I left Brad, a mumbling stoner, at the empty takeout parking lot while Nate and I drove to get my car.

“If they show up and wonder where the truck is, just tell the truth. Say ‘My friend is a jerk and he stole your vehicle. I told him not to.’ And tell them we will be back shortly.”

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Jeremy Cass Photo

I drove fast up the put in road, bouncing along washboards and frost heaves. “I hope I get there before they do” I thought. I feigned confidence in the plan with my buddies, but I was a little nervous. I would not mind if someone borrowed my car for a shuttle, but some people take their cars more personally than me.

Nate and I arrived back at the takeout to find Brad still sitting in an empty parking lot. “Dude, I didn’t know what I was going to say if they showed up”. “Well, they didn’t. Let’s go boating.”

I left a few beers, a note of thanks, and a ten dollar bill on the driver’s seat.We made a final drive to the put in and made quick work of the river we were now familiar with. We caught up to the Tacoma owner as we paddled through the class III below the gorge. “Hey, how’s it going?” “Good, have a good run?”“Yeah, two good ones. Hey, is that your black Tacoma at the takeout?”“Yeah it’s mine”.“Cool. I used it to run our shuttle. Hope that’s okay.”“What?” He exclaimed, confused. “Well, they would not let us bring our bike into the park, so I used the truck to pick up our car so we could get two laps in”.“You did?” he said in disbelief. “Yeah, hope that’s okay”.“Where’s my truck now”?“It’s at the takeout. I would not take your shit and leave it at the put in. I’m not that low”.

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“That’s cool, I guess”. “Great. I left you some beers and gas mon-ey in the truck. Thanks.”We paddled off. “That could have been way worse”. “Yeah that was a ballsy move” Nate agreed. “Desperate times, man.”

On the way out we stopped to retrieve my bike. The old woman was still there. “How was it”?

She had seen pictures of kayakers in the gorge, she said. “Looks like fun”.

“Yeah, it is. Have you ever tried rafting on the Penobscot or Kennebec? It’s super fun. “Nate asked, making friendly conversation. “Son, I got married when I was sixteen. I have lived here since I was born. I have nev-er had a day of fun in my life”. Her husband worked at the gatehouse too. He looked defeated as he stared at the floor.

We reflected on her life in contrast to ours on the long drive home. It did not seem fair that we could have such unadulterated fun while she rotted away in a state park gate-house in the middle of nowhere.

The Gulf Hagas experience was unforget-table, not for the great whitewater or in-credible scenery, but for the purely cultural experience we had there. I hope to go back some day.

And if I do, I know exactly where I will stay-the Bears Den.

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North

Fork

Champ

a Photo gallery by nick gottlieb

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The North Fork Payette might best be described as

a freight train of whitewater

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Its roadside location and stacked rapids make the North Fork Championship a huge crowd pleaser. At right, Isaac Levinson charges into just one of many challenging gates while a safety volunteer looks on.

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Massive holes litter the race course, requiring a precise boof and honey badger-like reflexes.

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Nick Troutman’s boat whipping around on a big loop. Due to an elevated river level, the freestyle com-petition was changed from the conventional format to freestyle through the rapid. Cartwheeling and kickflipping their way downstream, most surfers didn’t waste much time getting to the best feature in the middle of the river, Babylon, which gave up every kind of trick possible along with some big air. The only problem was that this wave lacked any eddy service and an early flush didn’t leave much

opportunity to stay in the hunt for points in the freestyle.

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Triple Crown 2014

Joe Potoczak

Every year, competitive paddlers gather in the village of

Tariffville, CT to take part in a friendly battle on the Farmington

River. The Whitewater Triple Crown is an event that combines the

disciplines of wildwater, slalom, and freestyle into a single day

format that puts each participant through a test of paddling dex-

terity, and endurance. The competition takes place over two days.

Day one, Saturday, is the preliminary round. Points are awarded

based on how you finish each category. Then, the top ten men

and top five women are selected to take part in Sundays final;

where each competitor must go through all three labors once

again.

Legendary canoeist, Jamie McEwan, was the originator of

the event; which boasts a fun and refreshing format and brings

together the different branches of competitive whitewater. This

is where the question is answered – who is the best all around

paddler? But also where boaters of the different disciplines are

encouraged to stretch their comfort zone and learn new skills

– often in boats they have never used before. Local boaters and

residents have rallied behind the Triple Crown and given it the

support needed to blossom into a great success. The welcoming

atmosphere and generous cash prizes have drawn everyone from

local wildwater heroes to freestyle world champions. Year after

year they travel to be part of this perennial favorite. The Whitewa-

ter Triple Crown and what it represents have grown to be a true

asset to the paddling community.

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Men

1. Eric Jackson2. Danny Stock3. Nick Troutman4. Jordan Poffenberger5. Joe Potoczak6. Devin McEwan7. Keith Warner8. David Silk

WOMEN

1. Emily Jackson2. Jessie Stone3. Hailey Thompson4. Courtney Kerin5. Katelyn Green

TOP C-1

Jordan Poffenberger

Final ResultsSunday April 13, 2014:

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Nick Troutman cranking for the finish in his wave hopper. The wild-water race required not only pure power, but also patience. Slam-ming on the gas too early on the course doesn’t leave you much for

the bottom section.

All photos by Regina Nicolardi

Bill Hearn crashing into a gate on the crux section of the slalom run. The most difficult stretch of the race was left toward the end of the course, right where competi-tors’ arms felt like jello. A difficult ferry behind a powerful hydraulic was the make or break moment for

hopes of a podium finish.

David Silk blasting through a river wide hydraulic near the end of the downriver race. This hydraulic was the biggest obstacle for the unstable and difficult to maneu-ver wildwater boats. At this point in the gorge the walls have closed in around the river, creating funky boils and whirpools, the slightest miscalculation sent athletes into a spin-out or beat-down and ru-ined their chances of a first place finish in the discipline.

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To Running it next time...

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