In the world of whitewater kayaking, there is (loosely) a river by which all other rivers are measured: the Stikine.
Flowing through the depths of the Grand Canyon of the Stikine, the river is squeezed between walls hundreds of feet high. At the base of those walls, at runnable flows (around 15,000 cubic feet of water per second) boil through some of the most impressive whitewater and landscapes imaginable. Kayaking aside, this is a sacred place, and combined with the whitewater, every descent is nothing-less than a spiritual journey into one of the most powerful places on earth.
For me, it had been 15 years since my first, and last time paddling the river. So many years... I had lost track, but memory has a funny way of surfacing at the precipice of another journey. With thoughts of mountainous whitewater in our immediate future, anticipation grew as the Alcan highway slipped away beneath the tires of Todd’s truck.
Often, in these situations, I find myself with frighteningly inspiring people. Todd Wells and Jules Domine, two of the sport's most savage operators, both veterans of the Stikine, were casually riding towards what was about to be a historical trip, something hard to accomplish on this river. For me, my goal was simple: paddle the river, be present for every moment, and survive.
22 hours, some lively conversation, and numerous road naps later we crossed the metal bridge spanning the river in the middle of the night, strung up a tarp, and found sanctuary from the mosquitos in our sleeping bags. At that moment, the river was low and our plan was to "put on" as soon as possible the following day.
At this time of year, dusk arrives late and dawn comes early in the Northern latitudes. We were soon opening our eyes to take in the kayaking camp at the put in. A couple friends who'd already spent the past few weeks paddling the river, Blake Miller and James Shimizu, were camped between laps. With some coffee, hugs and high fives, discussions immediately turned towards the river, and plans of putting on.
The shuttle is long, and without much delay we began packing for the river to send the truck around to the bottom. I opted to stay at the put-in and wait with the boats, while Todd and James ran the shuttle. Our goal was a two-day descent, followed by a one-day... and possibly a three-day to finish things off. While the river can be paddled in a day with light boats, spending time in the canyon is a true gift and as long as water levels were stable, there was little reason to rush.
The truck left and as the day progressed, I watched the clouds float by, building into towering cumulus as the day heated up. It became evident the development was going to cause more than we bargained for. As the boys returned from the shuttle, the rain began to come down in sheets with rivulets forming in the sand. The Stikine is incredibly sensitive to rain, and already... the river was beginning to climb our gauge sticks stuck in the sand.
It rained hard for the entire paddle to the entrance of the canyon, but we were now in the flow, riding the bubble, whatever the river was: it was. And on that exact portion of water, barring any long stops, we would ride it to Wolf Tracks, a place of sanctuary in heart of the canyon.
Blake and James had already done five or six laps before our arrival, and with the memory of the river fresh, they led us into Entrance Falls where the full power of the Stikine becomes evident, it’s also the point of no return.
My boat felt good, buoyant and nimble, but the style of the Stikine is challenging. Boils, or currents coming up from underwater, create crosscurrents and seams in the rapids, making the whitewater unpredictable. The river surges are huge, and it’s often ‘luck of the draw’ if a river feature will be open or closed as you arrive to it. It’s an intimidating style of paddling, and on rising water, heading into the heart of a very powerful canyon, it was the classic mind game of remaining calm and focused in a wild and unpredictable environment.
The river wastes little time in getting to the point and quickly the rapids began to build into one of the cruxes of day one: Pass or Fail into Wasson's Hole. We stopped for a quick scout of Pass or Fail, saw the line, and one by one slid back into the river. The move is center to right and back to center at these flows and I found the line I was hoping for, with maximum energy output. It was clear I was giving it everything I had, finding breath between moves, and making them as efficiently as possible. The margins were growing thin.
Wasson’s Hole comes directly on the heels of Pass or Fail, I watched Jules get swallowed in boils in the entrance ahead of me and barely make the line. I came in fast, caught a better surge and threaded the needle between two huge offset holes, then back to the left to avoid the wall.
Excitement was peaking as we turned the corner into more rapids down to Site Zed, the largest rapid on the river. Jules and Todd had both run the rapid in years past, but it had since changed making it into even more of a beast. It hadn’t been run since it changed and today wasn’t going to be the day. We shouldered our boats and made our way through the jagged talus and scree to the bottom of the rapid.
Next up was the Day One Narrows and today was exceptional. The cliffs rose into the clouds making it look like they went up forever, mist hung in the cliffs and rain created waterfalls all around us. It was a stunning scene, anchoring us deeply in the present moment as we again found lines in huge whitewater. Wall One is another rapid which has changed and had been dishing out big beat-downs and surfs in a couple of violent must run holes. It’s mostly not scoutable and we rolled in, spacing out, and one after the other took our medicine in the two stacked holes. I made it through the first, but took a big hit and slowed down, dropping into the second without speed. I was flung upside-down by a wall of water, lost the grip on the paddle with one hand, but managed to pull everything back together and roll up. We turned the corner into Garden of the Gods One and ran our last big rapid down to camp at Wolf Tracks.
I love kayaking, but there’s also something incredible special about spending the night in river canyons. We cooked steaks directly on the coals of a roaring campfire under an overhang, made ourselves comfortable, and enjoyed some world-class lifestyling.
The next day, some of the biggest rapids of the river await downstream. Rowdy Flatwater, Wall Two, Scissors, The Hole that Ate Chicago, V-Drive, Guard Dog, and finally Tanzilla Slot. We fired into all of them, getting tossed by the giant whitewater, watching sheer canyon walls fly past us. The team was in a rhythm, and we had good enough lines to make it to the bottom in one piece. It was purely blissful with slightly terrifying moments mixed between and incredible elation paddling away from the last rapid.
We got to the takeout and made our way back to the top. The river had continued rising, so we decided to give it a day to drop. After a day, the river was still high, and I opted to run shuttle for the boys as they dropped into the canyon for a one-day at 600 cumecs (cubic meters per second), the highest the river has ever been run.
Later that day they came out the bottom with stories of incredible whitewater, and at least one close call. We drove back to the put in, and the next day put on again for a three-day, lifestyle focused run at perfect flows. I managed to put together my best lap yet... running the river without flipping and spending an entire day at Wolf Tracks, soaking up the sun and hiking in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.
While none of us know what the future holds, I intend to do everything I can to ensure another 15 years doesn't go by without experiencing the Stikine again.
Much love and gratitude to the team: Jules, Blake, James, and Todd. Thanks for the great times, good lines and KAVU Days!
Tyler Bradt
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