So STEEP “It is almost like flying.”
Posted by Kühl Editor | Filed under News, Skiing
Clip from feature documentary film STEEP, written and directed by Mark Obenhaus. Sony Pictures Classic. STEEP was shot on High Definition and on film in Alaska, Wyoming, Canada, France and Iceland.
Favorite Quote from this clip:
“But anything that produces this much joy in people’s lives is worth a certain amount of risk. Physical risk, emotional risk…whatever. But how much risk it’s worth is… is an open question.”
Willing to find your own answer to that? Welcome to world of STEEP!
The Labyrinth: A story about surviving Costa Rican heartbreak and whitewater, by Bridget Crocker
Posted by Kühl Editor | Filed under Mountain Culture, News
From The Best Women’s Travel Writing 2011 – an excerpt from “The Labyrinth,” a story about surviving Costa Rican heartbreak and whitewater by Bridget Crocker. Bridget and fellow BWTW11 contributors will be reading at Diesel, A Bookstore in Malibu on Sun., Dec. 4 at 3p.m.
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“This upper section is called ‘The Labyrinth,’” Roland says, cinching down his frayed lifejacket. “It’s been run maybe three or four times before today. I’ve seen it a couple times and I’d say it’s pretty solid Class V. Lots of steep drops through tight chutes. There are a few slots we have to make—it’s not an option to miss them. I think I can remember them all, but we’ll have to scout as we go. There’s no way out of the gorge once we start.”
Normally I would be anxious about taking a flaccid shredder down a little-run Class V boulder garden without the safety of other boaters along or even an evacuation route. Plus, Roland forgot his helmet and we have no throw bag. Oddly, I couldn’t care less. I feel no hint of the usual Class V jitters or concern for our lack of preparedness. It occurs to me that I may be spared a trip to Cathedral Point, as our little daytrip down the Labyrinth is suicidal enough.
We climb into the tiny craft and immediately drop into a sizeable chute cascading onto exposed rocks. It’s continuous maneuvering from there; the maze is relentless and we’re teetering and spinning off boulders, fighting each other’s rhythm. We catch a small eddy and Roland, who’s sitting on the left side of the shredder, shouts out, “Do you guide from the left or right?”
“Left,” I say.
“I guide from the right, let’s switch sides.”
We start to click after switching, powerfully stroking across current lines and straightening out for the drops. Paddling becomes like meditation; there’s only the hum of frenetic water and our focused concentration on the line.
We park on a rock cluster above the first big rapid, “Stacy’s Lament.” Roland explains that the last time he ran down the Labyrinth, he escorted some kayakers from Colorado who were insistent that Costa Rican Class V was really like Class IV in Colorado. After spending a good portion of the upper section upside down, the group became disheartened while scouting the first “real” rapid. One of the more intrepid Colorado paddlers probed it first, hitting the narrow, eight-foot drop on the far left side next to the gorge wall. Just below the drop, he inexplicably veered and smashed headlong into the curving monolith. He swam out of his kayak and was pushed by the funneling current into the collection of sieve rocks stacked against the right wall of the gorge. Submerged for some time against the rocks, he surfaced in a pool of blood minutes later, his face badly lacerated from the impact. That’s when Stacy, the least experienced of the group, began to cry uncontrollably, realizing that there was no way to portage our line around the rapid. There was only one way out: through the guts.
“Don’t swim here,” Roland warns as we push off the rock island and head for the left side.
We make it to the slot and straighten out for the drop, noticing too late that there’s a doinker rock poking out next to the wall. It grabs the left front tube of the shredder and spins it so that we smash full-on into the jutting left wall with the force of the waterfall folding the boat in half against the rock. As the angled boat floods with water, I spin around and slip two of my fingers through the back D-ring, and my feet flutter outside of the boat in the downstream current. From the corner of my eye, I see Roland flush out, propelling headfirst into the rock sieve below. He disappears underwater, exactly in the spot where the lacerated Colorado boater had been.
Hanging from a keychain-sized metal ring by the inside crooks of my knuckles, I tuck my long legs up to my chest against the current and wrap them firmly around the pinned back tube. Legs secured, I use my hands to push the boat away from the rock wall, inching the plastered shredder along the wall slowly until it unwraps and pops free. Somehow, my paddle has survived inside the boat, and I use it to draw-stroke my way across the current until I’m downstream from where Roland has surfaced. I quickly yank him into the shredder, spy an eddy and draw us into it while Roland fishes his floating-away paddle out of the drink.
We sit in the eddy, breathing and looking up at Stacy’s Lament; Roland’s rubbing his head with an eerie, frozen grin on his face.
“You hit your head?”
He nods.
“Did you see stars?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Do me a favor and bring your helmet next time,” I scold. At least there are no bloody lacerations to deal with; we didn’t bring first aid supplies or even duct tape.
With miles left to go, the sun slides below the canyon wall. We push on through the twilight, navigating the maze of downed logs, bus-sized rocks and steep chutes. We do our best to read-and-run from our low vantage point, not wanting to waste any of the dwindling gray light on scouting.
Near the bottom of the run, we come to a severe horizon line; white froth shoots skyward from the force of the drop.
“This might be the rapid that has a big strainer blocking the entrance on the right,” Roland yells over the roar. We park on a flat rock at the top and climb around a house-sized boulder to get a full view.
Roland’s remembered correctly—there’s an enormous, fallen ceiba tree braced across the only feasible entrance in the rock-riddled rapid. Everything looks distant and two-dimensional in the flat light. We scooch like crabs across a series of mostly submerged boulders over to the downed snag and try to kick it free without success. Standing next to the drop, we study the current, noting that there’s more clearance if we pass under the tree on the right side of the chute. If we hit the left side, we’ll be tangled in the scoured ceiba branches and either get pinned against the knotty obstacles or swept out of the boat. Below the chute, there’s a nearly river-wide death sieve of rocks that’s completely impassable; a swim here would be heinous at best. We simply have to clear under the tree on the right, then haul ass over to the left side of the river to drop down and out of the Labyrinth.
I start to feel it then: adrenaline buzzing in tune to the thumping of whitewater, flooding my body until I want to thrash out of my skin, kicking and punching. Looking down at the water rushing under the tree, I realize that more than anything I want to live. My survival switch has been kicked, and I suddenly become the girl who highsides huge oar boats on strainer islands, who hand-walks shredders off rock walls to rescue friends. I am the creation of all the rivers I have known and the knowledge they’ve instilled: I am constant, adaptable, and strong-willed.
I lean out and put my hand in the water as I always have, and ask the Naranjo River for safe passage. “My hands are your hands,” I say. “Use them.”
Read More Here
Check out this positive (and funny) review from Good Reads
Tags: Costa Rica, Kayaking, Women's Travel Literature
Eric Hjorleifson “The Way I See It”
Posted by Kühl Editor | Filed under News
Kansas Kindness
Posted by Hiking Humanitarian | Filed under News
Through Kansas the American Discovery Trail follows the Santa Fe Trail. Occasionally we would see monuments to pioneering women and preserved wagon ruts. We also experienced Kansas wind, surpassing 40 mph five days on our trek across the open prairie. We came across two different bison refuges as well, the second one with a warning for folks not to get out of their vehicle (what vehicle?).
The greatest spectacle of nature was Cheyenne Bottoms, the largest marsh in the country and a major migratory area. There were hundreds of thousands of birds as we passed through, mostly Canadian and snow geese, but also pelicans, herons, ducks and blackbirds. Redwing blackbirds were everywhere in Kansas, gathering in huge flocks.
We came upon two neighboring towns in Kansas that helped hit home an important ingredient of any community initiative. In Larned we learned about the Helping Hands Ministry and Prairie Land Foods. Both provide food with expectations. The expectation for Helping Hands is that those being helped will in turn donate to the food pantry when they get back on their feet. The expectation for Prairie Land Foods is community service. Both are quite satisfied with how people respond to these expectations.
In the next large town, Great Bend, they have a community garden. Some people come for some of the produce without ever working in the garden. Unlike the programs in Larned there is no expectation they have to work, only some hard feelings when they don’t voluntarily choose to do so without such expectations.
This hit home for me that a real community initiative must have expectations in place or else it’s just another program where a few of the more fortunate help out the less fortunate. There’s nothing wrong with that in reaction to the wealth disparity that now exists, but a proactive community approach needs everyone in that community to feel like they are a contributing part.
Towards the end of our trek through Kansas I began formulating the key ingredients of a community initiative to share with the folks we would encounter in Missouri.
Tags: Cheyenne Bottoms, community gardens, great bend, helping hands ministry, larned, prairie land foods, wildlife refuge
Thru-hiking is not simply a longer version of a backpacking trip.
Posted by Kühl Editor | Filed under Hikes, The Hiking Humanitarian
Kuhl Clothing Company is currently a sponsor of The Hiking Humanitarians, a married couple hiking across America West to East to learn and spread lessons on community activism.
Considering thru-hiking a long trail? Make sure you know what you’re getting into and set yourself up for success.
by Francis Tapon | 2011-09-20 00:00:00-06
Backpacking versus Thru-hiking – 1
Introduction
Imagine kissing your job and your friends goodbye to thru-hike a long trail over six months, then quitting the trail in just a couple of days. As loony as that sounds, it is what happens to hundreds of people every season as they are surprised by the reality of a thru-hike. About one in five prospective Appalachian Trail thru-hikers quit within the first week!
What’s even more surprising is that most of those who quit don’t do it because they suffer an injury. In fact, most who quit have no ailments and they adore backpacking. Their love for the outdoors is what motivated them to thru-hike a trail in the first place. They love backpacking and figure a thru-hike is a natural extension of that love.
Such reasoning is flawed, because backpacking and thru-hiking are different species.
People don’t discover this pre-thru-hike because they simply rely on their limited backpacking experience, their gut instinct, or Uncle Harry who supposedly knows everything. This article is for people who are considering thru-hiking a long trail and want to make sure they know what they’re getting into.
Gear Selection
Everyone who attempts to thru-hike a trail that’s over 2,000 miles long learns that there is a big difference between backpacking and thru-hiking. For example, compared to a successful thru-hiker, the typical backpacker brings far more and far heavier items:
A Typical Backpacker Brings A Typical Thru-Hiker Brings
Multiple pots and pans to make gourmet meals One ultralight titanium pot
Fresh clothes for each day outside Extra pair of underwear – no extra clothes
Large, comfortable tent Tarp
Full-length deluxe inflatable mattress Thin foam pad
Heavy-duty sleeping bag Light sleeping bag (sleep with your clothes if it’s cold)
Gigantic expedition backpack Small, lightweight backpack
Camp shoes and lightweight chair Neither
An MP3 player Ears to listen to nature
Bringing a sleeping bag that is one pound lighter than a typical sleeping bag may not seem like much, but the differences begin to add up. Even little items, such as a minuscule knife versus a full-size Swiss army knife, can have an impact if you do it across the board.
Indeed, if you consistently pack an item that weighs 25 to 50 percent less than the typical version of that item, your pack weight will decline 25 to 50 percent. As obvious as that sounds, most of those who plan a thru-hike don’t think about this, nor do they heed the lesson of those who have hiked before them. Instead, hikers look at their heavy-duty compass and think, “What’s the big deal? It’s only an ounce or two heavier.”
On the other hand, a prepared thru-hiker will search for a lightweight, accurate compass. In my case, for example, my compass is integrated in my watch. In fact, the Appalachian Trail is so well marked that you could even leave your compass at home. I learned that carrying a compass does not guarantee that you will not get lost – I managed to get lost on the Appalachian Trail even with signs all around me.
The Backpacking Paradox
The paradox of backpacking is that the more distance you walk, the less you should carry. This is counter-intuitive, and the best way to learn the lesson is through the experiences of others, though statistics prove that many learn in a more expensive and frustrating way: through their own experience.
A smart thru-hiker carries the bare minimum to be safe and walks 10 to 30 miles a day so that he avoids backpacking in the winter (which requires far more gear and is more dangerous than hiking during the other three seasons). If a thru-hiker desires additional comfort, she can usually buy it or have it shipped to her next resupply point, which is rarely more than four days away. Such a lightweight strategy lets her minimize both body stress and calorie burn.
The weekend backpacker, on the other hand, is often in no rush, so he can afford to carry the kitchen sink because he’s usually not walking very far. The casual backpacker loves having the pancake griddle and the comfy chair in the middle of nowhere. He walks five miles, sets up camp, and enjoys relaxing with his espresso. Although that is great fun, it can cloud your ability to understand the backpacking paradox that one should carry less the more one travels.
Learning from Trail Lore
Hundreds of people have completed the Appalachian Trail and several people have written books about what you should bring and how to minimize your pack’s weight. Nevertheless, every season, over half of the hikers ignore trail lore and repeat the same errors of the previous year’s hikers.
Visit either terminus on the Appalachian Trail and you’ll find people starting their thru-hike with gigantic 50-pound packs. By the end of the journey, nearly everyone will have trimmed down their packs to half their starting size. To do this, thru-hikers frequently abandon hundreds of dollars of gear, buy hundreds of dollars of new gear, and get back on the trail again. The abandoned gear in hiker boxes testifies to the expensive lesson of what separates thru-hiking and backpacking.
At least a few people benefit: one thru-hiker I met was able to hike from Georgia to New York on $20. He didn’t start with any gear, but he picked up most of of what he used from the castoffs of hikers before him. He acquired almost all the gear he needed in just the first 30 miles! He also lived off the food that hikers didn’t want because they learned that eating the same food every day gets a bit old after a while.
History not used is nothing… and if you don’t use the stuff – well, it might as well be dead. – Arnold Toynbee
It’s important to learn from history. Before you thru-hike, talk to those who’ve gone before you. One guy told me about hiking 10 miles a day and carrying 70 pounds – this same guy would later tell me about his chronic back problems. Many outdoor shop salesmen (who often know little about thru-hiking) encourage beginning thru-hikers to get an “expedition” backpack, even though most thru-hikers would be better off with the “day packs.” Getting a small backpack is a great way to discipline yourself. With so little storage space, you have no other choice but to get rid of unnecessary items and to find lighter versions of the necessary ones.
When I talked with the thru-hikers, they all wished that they had minimized their pack weight from the start. In other words, they all wished that they had learned from trail lore. This lesson applies to life off the trail too. The goal is to learn from other people’s experiences so that your experience is the best it can be.
Fortunately, most of the readers here already practice the concept of lightweight backpacking. Nevertheless, they undergo their own transformation during a thru-hike, and they should anticipate and prepare for it accordingly. What often happens is that they go from being lightweight backpackers to ultralight backpackers. Help avoid the transition in the middle of the thru-hike and make sure you have truly pared down your gear list.
Backpacking versus Thru-hiking – 2
Physical and Mental Preparation
Typical backpackers can be out of shape and don’t need much mental fortitude. If it’s pouring rain, a backpacker can just postpone the trip or stay in camp for the day. A thru-hiker has no such luxury and must press on. This ability to wake up early and break down a campsite during a rainstorm is uncommon in backpackers, but common with thru-hikers.
The related difference is the physical conditioning. Many thru-hikers start out of shape. That’s OK, but to increase your odds of successfully finishing a thru-hike, get in shape. Doing so will result in a crucial side-benefit: you’ll develop your mental toughness.
For instance, before doing my first thru-hike (the Appalachian Trail), I would take a vacation day on a three-day holiday to make a four-day weekend. Do the same and try to hike at least 15 miles each day. Get up the next day and do it again. And again.
If you can do that, then pick a weekend that has a weather forecast of challenging weather. Doing back-to-back 20 miles days under nonstop rain is different than doing it in ideal weather.
After a couple of long weekends of doing that, you’ll have a good idea if you have the physical and mental fortitude required of finishing a thru-hike. More importantly, pay attention if you are truly enjoying the experience. Surviving isn’t enough – the goal is to survive with a smile.
Food Selection
Another example of the difference between backpacking and thru-hiking is food selection. Backpackers often buy expensive packaged freeze-dried meals. Or, they tend to favor gourmet meals and attempt to reproduce Wolfgang Puck’s cooking in the woods.
Thru-hikers have a far different diet. First, all but the wealthiest thru-hikers avoid expensive freeze-dried meals because they will break their budget over six months. Second, a thru-hiker’s cooking habits are more about efficiency than about being a five-star chef. That means simple meals that can be made in one pot. Boiling water is about as complicated as it gets. Third, thru-hikers have paradoxical dietary requirements. On the one hand, they need healthy, nutritious food to power their body for months and help with recuperating after each hard-working day. Without such healthy nutrition, many bodies (especially older ones) will have trouble somewhere along the way. On the other hand, thru-hikers have a peculiar (and seemingly insatiable) need for junk food. Chocolate bars are a thru-hiker’s currency.
Therefore, beginning thru-hikers often need to simplify their cooking gear and food preparation habits. They can’t afford to ignore their long-term nutritious dietary needs. And yet, they need to consider the psychological benefits of tossing in a bone (or in this case, a sweet treat) into their supplies to keep morale and motivation up.
Conclusion
Every thru-hiker loves backpacking, but most backpackers wouldn’t like thru-hiking. Thru-hiking is not simply “lots of backpacking.” It’s a different sport altogether. Traditional backpacking has a pattern of hike-rest-hike-rest. Thru-hiking’s pattern is hike-hike-hike-rest-hike-hike-hike.
For many, the monotony and rigor of thru-hiking can turn backpacking into a job and not just a simple walk in the woods. That explains why a whopping 50 percent quit within the first six weeks of a thru-hike that normally takes six months. Get prepared with your gear trimming, trail lore reading, physical and mental exercise, and food selection and bump yourself up into the 50 percent of FINISHERS!
Big
Posted by Kühl Editor | Filed under Uncategorized
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This day at Teahupoo- Aug 27th 2011 during the Billabong Pro waiting period is what many are calling the biggest and gnarliest Teahupoo ever ridden. Chris Bryan was fortunate enough to be there working for Billabong on a day that will go down in the history of big wave surfing. The French Navy labeled this day a double code red prohibiting and threatening to arrest anyone that entered the water.
Kelly Slater described the day by saying “witnessing this was a draining feeling being terrified for other people’s lives all day long, it’s life or death. Letting go of that rope one time can change your life and not many people will ever experience that in their life.”
January 22, 2012 Storm
Posted by Kühl Editor | Filed under Mountain Culture
Superior Avalanches 1.22.12 from samuel forsyth on Vimeo.
Mt Superior near Alta, Utah
