It had been four months to the day since I had sat in a kayak. My last time paddling had been in Chile, on the Rio Palguin, drunk as a skunk, and soaking up the summer sun. I was now in a drysuit, frantically stuffing makeshift hip pads into a broken Jefe which had been graciously given to me by my good friend Orion Meredith. The clouds overhead threatened rain, and a cool breeze rustled the trees. The Green Truss, the site of our evening paddle, was running at a juicy 4 feet, the highest I had seen it. Putting the butterflies aside, I strapped on my balls, and headed for put-in. All I could think about on the way down was, "What if I forgot how to kayak?". Four months is a long time, plenty of time to forget. I slowly tightened my backband and slid on my skirt, then pushed off into the silky green water. Immediately, I felt great. We rallied on downstream, Orion calling out beta over his shoulder, and routing me through the run. Two days later, we found ourselves at the put-in for the Little White Salmon, a juicy 3.8 on the gauge. Once again, Orion led the charge, bombing away through the goods. It was a perfect sunny day, with the perfect flow. Enjoy the pics of Boulder Sluice and Wishbone.
Orion Meredith portaging around an all to scary looking Spirit Falls.
O-Face, Boulder Sluice boofin.
Martin Belden Boulder Sluice.
Wishbone falls.
Martin hittin the boof at Wishbone.
Tomorrow we leave for Northern California on what promises to be another epic trip. Three people, one dog, enough margaritas for an entire Mexican village, and all the shit talking a person could ever hope for. Hope to see you all out there!
