The end of a journey: Goodbye BC

After an epic and wondrous experience on Tatlow Creek, we lingered at the takeout in hopes that the rain would hold off and we could get another run the next morning before heading home. Unfortunately, it rained all night and we woke up to a creek on the rise, and figured it would be too high by the time we got to the top. Disappointed, we packed up and headed downstream, hoping the mine would not have responded yet. Alas, the tributaries had all risen substantially, and with it still raining hard and the Ashlu running really high, we abandoned the idea of running a cranking mine run with no guide.

We rolled out of the Ashlu Valley, intent on returning, and Bryan Smith suggested that some of the coast huck stops might have some flow from all the rain. We checked Brittania Creek and found a low but doable flow for the double 20 at the bridge. Everyone else had little interest, but I would never pass something that clean and quality up back home, so I rolled the wet gear on and warmed up before dropping right into the set.

The first one is really only 15 feet, but the second one felt like a little more than twenty. It is a great drop and a good cap to our travels in BC. Fitting that it should end with a few clean waterfalls.





The drive along the coast on Hwy 99 was beautiful and the usual feelings of sadness that it was over, but also anxiousness to get home dominated the rest of the day. We spent 3 hours at the border, as this time we elected to cross at an interstate checkpoint. After finally rolling into Seattle and grabbing a room, we took a soak in the warmest water of the trip, the hotel hot tub. A few winks and 2000 miles later, we were back in Tennessee, and the trip was over.

I will never forget British Columbia. It has the best whitewater, most beautiful environments, and most intense and enjoyable gorges of anywhere I have ever paddled. It is hard to not want to just go back next year, but the call of the new and unknown is distant but clear. Everyone signed a roll call for Middle Kings at the bar in Nashville, but I don't think I can swing the time next year. Who knows where we will go, but I can tell you a few things. It won't have a road next to it, there will be overnight gear, there may or may not be a long hike in, and there WILL be waterfalls.

Till next time,

Steep Creek Shangri la: Tatlow Creek

If it wasn't for the internet, I don't know where kayaking would be. Sometimes we wish that we could go back in time to the pioneer days, when nothing was known, and everything was to be gained. Various forms of media have accelerated the development of paddling and its ever growing reach into the great unknown. Meteorological prediction tools have taken off, the boating industry is well rooted and supported, and the knowledge base has fully been shared via the many forms of getting info out there, mainly the internet.

It is due to this environment, its potential, and the people willing to share the information with all of us, that we owe thanks and appreciation to. Because without this structure, we would never have been able to board a plane to cross the continent and then proceed to strategically and confidently knock off the best creeks in the SW BC area, one by one, cold and calculated, to achieve true whitewater euphoria. The phone calls, hydrologic beta, weather info, and logistical and practical specifics published on the internet allowed this experience to happen, and Tatlow Creek was to be the grand finale of this celebration of being alive in the modern age of boating. This is the time we are in, and there are great things to be had.

But this post isn't about our era, but one single day on Tatlow Creek. It is impossible to name the best mile of creekboating, simply for the fact that not all of us have done all the creeks. So until the age of the streamlining and equilibration of our collective consciousness, this will just have to suffice as one single attempt from one angle, to make the uberstatement of what THE best mile of creeking in the world is.

There are many paddlers with much more place to determine such truths, but I can safely say that the best creek run I have EVER done is Tatlow Creek. Its kinda hard to follow the same trip report format of previous posts, when the stoke behind Tatlow would really be better explained in loud shouting, or more likely some type of higher art form that I have yet to master. So in standard blog prose and style, here is the account, in chronology.

Once the Callaghan had dropped out again, it was time for the peak of the trip, and we loaded up with enough food for the rest of the trip. We were heading to Tatlow, and were praying levels had dropped out enough to allow our passing through the gorge. Callaghan's quick draining overnight had us optimistic, but every watershed is different, and wanting too much and not getting it is always devastating. Driving over, the best mindset was that we would "settle" for a world class high flow Mine run. But after checking in with Ledcor and driving over the double bridge, it was clear that flows were looking perfect for Tatlow to be in. We took a short look at the 50/50 bridge area, much more realistic looking with lower levels, and made quick work of the drive up to Tatlow, catching another crew on the drive up.

The other group turned out to be none other than the guys who had given us all the information we needed to have such a bomber trip up to this point. Bryan from Squamish was taking down some guys from Nova Scotia, and along with Chris and Ryan of Belingham, there were already more than a few paddlers getting fired up to get into the canyon. Not wanting to waste time, I got my act together and geared up with the others so as to not slow everyone down. The hike up to the end of the drivable road wasn't too bad, though if you got the rig for the road, it makes it less work in the end. From the start of the hike, one can look North back towards the Ashlu, where it can be seen quietly meandering down through the play run far down below.

Bryan and Chris finished running shuttle and we began the short hike up the road before breaking off to the left at an open area to begin the drop in to the creek. It can be difficult to follow the path, but it is getting more matted down every year, and the key is to keep yourself directly across from the tributary cascading in on the other side of the valley of Tatlow.

Much thanks goes out to the locals who put in good hours keeping the access roads and trails groomed for us out of towners. The hike in wasn't as bad as Rogers Creek, but still took a solid 20-30 minutes. If you got off the beaten path, this number would go up big time.

photo by Chris Tretwold

Finally we broke out of the bush into the open valley bottom. Looking upstream yielded a typical sight when putting on a micro creek of this nature. Unrunnably low levels. Immediately downstream though, the creek channelized to 1/4 its former width, and would hold this clenched fist all the way to our takeout pool.

Upstream view from our put in.

Looking down from our launch point into the breach.

The last 50 feet down to the creek was a steep unstable mess of avalanche debris, and the remains of various materials unfortunate enough to get caught up in this grand display of mass wasting.

During the first descent of the upper reaches, a group hiked out here, as when the upper is adequately padded, the lower gorge is not advisable. Wanting to hike out light and come back later, Jonaven Moore left his Jefe in here, in hopes that a few weeks of summer would bring the level down to return and paddle the boat out. It got cold, the creek dropped out, and one winter season is more than enough to render a kayak no longer a kayak. Maybe they can pull a Johnny Cash and paddle it out one little piece at a time.

After the junky final rapid of the upper creek, we were hurriedly ushered into the unmistakable beginning of the next 350 feet of verticallity. After about 100 yards of comfy warm up we hit the first series, and what a perfect entrance it makes to the run. I apologize about the bad pics, but many of these were taken while bouncing up and down in an eddy, so the quality is lower than desired. No footage was taken either, in hopes that the next day would be the media frenzy style float trip.

The entrance series is three drops into a 20 foot falls. The first is a ramping boof through a big hole on the left wall, then a nice uniform sloping ledge, and then the final sluice to line up the big drop. The twenty has a nice extended lip on the right side and care should be taken to not interact with the wall on the left or the huge cave most of the water charges into on the right. Landing on a stroke with some direction should be sufficient. What a start to a run. You are locked in at this point, and there isn't a better feeling on earth.

Bryan and Kelsey soaking it in.

After this vertical initiation, its time for more of the same, as right around the bend the creek enters another set of great drops.

The staging area for the next set.

Here Tatlow drops down a 25 foot waterfall on the right with a unavoidable and epic meltdown waiting at the bottom. It is a great move, riding the line between getting too far up on the launch pad, and not enough. Driving it greedily but hanging on your stroke to pull it back in is the technique, shortly followed by some type of crash position, so as to travel as deeply and slowly into the depths below.

above two photos by Chris Tretwold

Watch for skirt implosions here, as the pool empties right into a 15 foot double drop with holes.

Bryan Smith, local fighter for what is right and good in the Ashlu Valley.

After these fun drops, and around the bend, Dave's Rapid looms. This one is tricky and has a scary hole at the bottom. It can be portaged on the left, up and over, with an easy launch back into the pool at the base. Everyone who ran it had no problems though, and next time its a must do.

From here to the next big one is the only set of boogie inside the main run, with a nice 100 yard set of class 4-4+ boogie water with some boofs and slots. Its read and run, but knowing where to get out above the next portage is really important. There is an eddy on the right here, and missing it would be bad. This rapid changes every year, but the basic gist is that you don't want to blind dog into it, because more often than not it is a portage. This year there was wood in it and a new rock shift, so we portaged.

This involves handing boats up a few platforms before traversing around a point to where a fault plane creates a 40 foot shaft that drops straight down back to the creek. I would NOT want to solo this climb. So you set up the line and lower boats then paddles. Then people climb down, and ideally you have two ropes so you can pull the other one down once the last person gets down. Not a good place to be in a hurry, but you could get this walk down to 15 minutes easy once you know the drill.

Once back in the creek, you will notice: A)you are totally walled in, and B) all you can see downstream is where the creek drops right in front of a wall, and allot of mist shooting up in the air.

You are now at Wall Drug, the highlight or main problem of the run, depending on your attitude and or water levels. It is a 30 foot sliding waterfall that lands in a huge wall. The clearance gets tighter the more left you are, and with a vertical wall on the right preventing a crisp top move, you are faced with the classic late move critical moment. Add to that the fact that you can't portage or even look at it for all practical purposes, and you have one of the most classic drops ever. It goes well, and you can even keep your head dry if you are patient. Keep it quiet in your head as you roll off, plant the left stroke and wait for the halfway point, where you will suite your stroke with a nice kick from the rock beneath you, performing a full body sweep stroke to the right, rolling right, with your hull to the wall. This could be the best drop on the run. It is a true head game move, and it feels awesome to hit it right, fully concentrated.

A bad shot of an incredible drop, Wall Drug.

Immediately below Wall Drug, the creek s-turns down a smooth rapid into a 10 foot boof off of the left wall. It is a great move, necessitating a switch of the hips mid air so as to have a stable drive away from the left wall at the bottom. Eddy out right below for the biggest rapid on the run.

Drop between Wall Drug and the big one.

Here you can see the top of Wall Drug, and in the foreground the 10 footer. This picture was taken from the top of the next huge drop. This run is stacked!

Right below this boogie drop, get out on the right to check out the biggest drop on the run. Here the creek necks down and charges off of a 10 foot spout that runs left to right. Crossgrain it a little to keep it in the middle, as there is some serious recirculation here. Then float the fuzz carefully into the next 40 foot drop, making SURE to be on the right channel. The left channel is some BC class 6.

This is a view of the lip of the 40 foot slide. Stay right here!

This is another highlight, with a great boof to slide. The slide is not super steep, but builds the speed enough to where you want your weight forward and to keep the bow down upon landing. Keep the wall at the bottom in check with a nice left ruddered landing. The immediate drop below is a common portage.

photo by Chris Tretwold

Below the big slide, the water pushes right into an 18 foot falls with bad caves, and a poorly placed old growth log in the entrance, creating less room than one would wish to make such a move. A number of people have run it, but the portage is fun too, a slippery and careful throw and go into a cauldron against the left wall. Get good clearance on the jump.

After reuniting yourself with your boat, watch for the next drop, which as of 2008 is still a portage, though the bottom is now runnable. Walk the first little part on the right and then slide in for a little manky class 4 drop at the bottom.

View of the last portage

After this last bit of dealing, you are 4 drops from freedom. The first is a seldom seen double drop that is quite fun. You drive off the center left side of a ledge dropping around 6 feet, turning mid air 90 degrees to the right, and then finishing with another 4-5 foot boof. Next, eddy left for the last great boof, a clean and pristine drive back right with a big stroke. The final two foot drop through the notch into the takeout pool is a proper ending, trifle to the big stuff hidden upstream. It can give up some excellent cartwheels too.

So that is Tatlow Creek, top to bottom. It is the best creek I have ever run, and hopefully it won't be the last time I run it. There is a license pending that would put a diversion at the put in and a powerhouse at the takeout pool. Nothing is sacred. Go before it is too late.

After taking out, we were so taken aback by the beauty of the takeout pool that Tony and I decided to camp on the bridge overlooking the spot.

While we were on the creek, Corey Boux showed up with some tools and did a little work on the culvert move on the Tatlow spur. While he showed some others down Tatlow, Tony did about 4 hours of serious labor on the move, making it to where a Honda Accord could do it with some finesse. They could really use Tony in BC. He is always fired up about helping sort out the rough patches on getting to and making our way down through these places. He is no different in directive while on vacation either. So we camped at the takeout dreaming of another run in the morning, only to wake up and find the level rising after an inch or more of rain. More on our final day of BC later.

The Whistler Cruiser Classic: Callaghan Creek

So amidst the coast range's epic shuttles, tortuous hike ins, and generally difficult logistics, lies a run that would be more appropriately placed somewhere like the southeast. Callaghan Creek is the classic cruiser in SW BC, and is a great place to spend a few days licking wounds from rougher terrain. The shuttle takes 10 minutes or less, and is only 3.5 miles. The run itself is only 2.3 miles in length, and can be done in as little as 30 minutes. The takeout is at the major highway in the area, so access is a piece of cake. With its "cookies and cream" water color and non stop class 4 boulder gardens mixed with the occasional bedrock slide, Callaghan is sure to please.

The next morning after our intense evening on the Ashlu, we headed out from the valley back into civilization, and decided to camp at the takeout for the Callaghan, a much nicer campground than function junction. It is a little pricey, but if you are only going to be in the area for a few days, it is worth it for being at the takeout for Callaghan. The forest is pretty nice there too.

Bone and I elected to do another late evening run after driving back from the Ashlu. So Tony drove us up and we put on Callaghan at what Bryan Smith told us was a "right proper" level. That couldn't have been a better description, as the level was on the high side of good. The flow was kinda stompy, but with the rock being sharp flood basalts, more water is better than low water.

We portaged the first ledge, having heard rumors of horrific experiences swimming in the cave behind the falls. We had around an hour of daylight at this point, so we were jazzed up. We approached the 15 foot falls and took a quick scout before dropping off close to the log.

Let me just say that the section between this drop and the 25 foot waterfall downstream was quite large. It isn't often in the SE where you are paddling 6-8 foot wavetrains with big sick holes while on your way to the lip of a big waterfall. It was a cool feeling.

We took a quick look at the big one and then bombed off with huge boofs. I think I landed stern first, but the boil is so high and receptive, it was a super soft landing. This was easily one of the best waterfalls I have ever run.

Below here, the creek is a nicely paced series of class 4 boulder drops. There are 3 slides in here, the first of which has a nasty piton on the left. The second one has a classic beat down hole on the right, which gave several rides during our time at Callaghan. Just when you are feeling warmed up, the bridge at Hwy 99 shows up, and you just need a ride back up to do it all over again, before finishing 20 feet from your tent.

The next day we hit it in the morning with the whole crew, only to find the level had dropped out pretty dramatically. This was a good sign for our trip to Tatlow the next day, but Callaghan does not do low water very well. There was a lot of the kind of scraping that makes you think you just ripped a tear in your hull. The waterfall was great as ever though, and in his typical fashion, Tony ran the 25 footer having no idea that he was coming up to the lip of a waterfall. There is a hole on that one if you look for it! He did a full typewriter move and came up stroking. The blue skies and pretty weather more than made up for the low flow, and the rest of us were satisfied to run shuttle for Bone and Shane, who had TVF laps to tend to. In fact, Callaghan is one of the best TVF runs I have seen. Though it can't compete with the West Prong or the Tellico, it drops 170 feet per mile and can be lapped with ease. Just the same, I was glad to have already been there and done that, and felt content to drive shuttle and enjoy our last chill day. Here are some shots from day 2 at Callaghan:

That night we went into the resort for food and drink, and gladfully said goodbye to civilization for the rest of the trip. The next morning we would head back into the Ashlu Valley with hopes that flows would have receded enough for Tatlow Creek to be in.

Untouched for now.....The Upper Ashlu

Hiking into the Upper Ashlu, high in the clouds.

As good as the Birkenhead was to us, it was almost too good. Nothing can ruin a good day on the water like expectations. In fact, I think the key tenet to having a great day, and more in general a totally fulfilled and happy boating life, is to throw expectations out the window. Taking this into consideration, the Upper Ashlu was next on the agenda with the added rains of recent, and this stream seemingly would have an up creek battle to not disappoint.

We came into Whistler and ate a good meal, drank and were merry. Morale was pretty high from the Birkenhead, so in the morning, after MORE rain, we headed to the Ashlu valley. Tony had been there years ago for the Mine run, but the rest of us were to have our virgin Ashlu experience.

Looking west from Highway 99 over the Squamish-Cheakamus divide, to the Tantalus Range.

We grabbed food in Squamish and then headed up the Squamish Valley and then turned across the river over to the notch in the valley where the Ashlu gushes out from its realm in the coast range wilds. We rode up to security, which is precluded by a mile long swath of haulers, track hoes, drills, and general upheaval. We drove over the bridge below the power station and immediately deemed the level HIGH. The bottom mile was almost as sobering of a sight as the powerhouse construction, which will have this stretch mostly dewatered beginning next November.

After gaining the initial jump in elevation past the bottom mile, we dropped down to the putin for Commitment Canyon at 50/50 Falls. Here the road crosses at the takeout for the Mine Run. The water was too high for everything so far, with the entrance to the Ashlu Box looking very much like a final visual capture for anyone silly enough to put on.

Peering into the Ashlu Box at maching high water.

Nonetheless, Bone seemed to have a line picked out. We then continued further into the valley and it quickly became apparent from the condition of the road that traffic above the diversion site above 50/50 was "recreationalist only" driving.

A sad sight indeed, the lower Ashlu diversion is a sign of things to come for British Columbia.

It took us a long time to get to the upper reaches of the valley, and the further we drove, the more the feeling of isolation sunk in. I loved it. There were many washouts to work through and a few boulders to move. All the side tribs were raging with silty high energy flows, and we knew Tatlow would be too high, but thought a quick scout of the takeout pool and drive in would be useful, as we would be returning in a few days after some chill time at Callaghan Creek. It was as high and beautiful as I had thought it would be, and after a brief photo opportunity, we continued to the takeout bridge for the Upper Ashlu.

Group photo at the takeout pool for Tatlow Creek.

From conversations with local boaters, the Upper stretch of the Ashlu below the 40 footer gorge was some "chill" BC class 4-5. That combined with reports of fun low stress ledges beckoned the crew into a place of mind that it would be relaxing and quality fun water. I felt like throughout the trip I had to keep reminding these guys that we were in British Columbia and that nothing comes easy, excepting maybe a day at the Cheakallamus.

So with the steady rain, and the expectations of a quick ride, our afternoon dwindled away. We couldn't make it up the shuttle road but a half mile before encountering some sketchy washouts. Combine that with someone leaving their skirt at the takeout and we were hiking up around 3pm. With the good beta Bryan Smith gave us, we confidently dropped off the main road at a faint but recognizable spur and then off the spur into the BC bush.

It was a pleasantly adventuresome 30 minute hike in, with boat throwing, butt sliding, meadow cruising and creative launching. There was one reasonable way out at this point, downstream. It was around 4:20 at this point, and with the dense fog, lack of sun, and dark valley surrounding us, the idea sunk in that we were in a situation that had all the makings of a classic misadventure.

Determined to avoid spending the night unprepared, we began working our way down the river, which was definitely a creek at this point in the watershed. The initial run was open meadows with moderate boulder fields frequenting the river bed, with a none too threatening attitude. This open and lush meadow scene with purple flowers and every shade of green imaginable was a real fairy land to paddle through. Slowly we began accompanying the river through ever deepening notches in the bedding, eventually defining a course of absolute travel, as the walls of the canyon grew to 30-50 feet above the river. A tributary sprayed in on river left, adding to the flow a heavy grey texture, as the creek was now laden with mineral signatures from the glaciers above.

The rapids quickly metamorphosed into long, wood filled affairs with many places you wouldn't want to be, and a lack of accommodation in the way of eddy support. So it was at this moment that the downstream progress slowed to a literal crawl, as the banks were thick with the bush, and the scouts were becoming more involved than we wanted for the circumstances.

Psychologically, this is an fascinating occurrence for paddlers. You are in there. There is one way out. Darkness seems more eminent around every bend. The drops are becoming more consequential and tightly stacked. Amidst this, morale is dropping. Concern is thickening in the group. Emotions are brewing. Yet, the solution is clear. Do the best with what you've got, and leave no man behind. Within this narrow and bleak construct, I find simplicity in purpose, and a level of focus beyond description. So a paradigm shift occurred, and luckily it did before dwelling on the emotions too long, and we began militantly and without mercy, descending the river corridor, one crux at a time.

The stare, Keith below our mandatory portage.

Now maybe on a different day, with more light, more time, and less weariness, this run would be a delightful jaunt through virgin yellow cedar boxes. But there is more to a river trip than the physical nature of the rocks and the water. Hence the uniqueness with which everyone experiences common rivers, and the hearty lore and spirit we attach through stories after our own experience is realized. To me, it is often the case that when everything is lined up wrong, that is the exact occasion to fully live, and be mindful of one's presence in the external world. These situations often happen during a day of work, dealing with relationship struggles, or in other manifestations . So in a way, to have these crucial dilemmas in the most beautiful places on earth, with friends you trust, and a clear directive, is the best environment to be aware of your own breath. If you can less learn, but more DECIDE to find the good and growth in these moments, and focus on it, you will feel alive. If so inclined, you can also channel this energy and boat like a real animal.

We portaged four times, the first out of prudence, the second out of annoyance, the third out of fear, and the fourth out of mandate. There is always a reason. It is usually always different, as is every unique situation we encounter.

There were some KILLER boofs in there, and many ledges were both gratifying and with full pucker factor. The final set, much like the Birkenhead, was a culmination of upstream features, but the nature of the creek was a little meaner and less forgiving. The crux was a most excellent four part rapid that began with a double drop with bad holes and undercuts that threw into a river right wall where a side trib cascaded in, helping to reinforce the already boily and backed up nature of the drop. The river then turned 90 degrees to the left and ducked a huge old growth before straightening out for a sweet 10 foot boof(for those in the SE, think Midnite Hole) into a stompy boxed in hole. Then the final rush, after careening off some boulders in the center, channelized and piled into a 6 foot drop that was totally boxed and had backwash coming in from 15 feet downstream. Even the cavalier Tony Robinson, who scoffs at all hazards, minimizing them all to rocks and water, exclaimed that the hole was "really horrible", with the widest of eyes and overtly serious tone. I was in the zone and so was Bone, and with that we boarded our vessels and came to the brink. I had a great line all the way through, and as for Robert, all is well that ends well. All I can say is that boy sure can fight. He has great composure when its not looking good, and is a core paddler. Tony was a key component to the success of the extrication, employing a swift bank response. I didn't really help all that much, but did scream quite loudly for moral support.

After the intense four part set, we all organized for what was an uncertain distance of at this point walled in forboding drops. We immediately eddied above a big unscoutable unportageable section, with wallshots and violent holes within a slotted out, boulder filled passageway. We could see a pool at the end of what was visible and then the gorge turned to the right, out of sight. There was no time for qualms and deliberation, so I verballed the team through, and without incident. I swept the rapid but really the rapid did all the sweeping. It picked me up vertical and splatted me against the wall like a broom handle and then summoned me back upstream into the pocket for a brief talking to. I almost flipped, but braced up coming out of the hole and then rode the rest of the drop rather bad form. Shane was smiling at the bottom, and so was I.

Then the mood really lightened, as we thankfully ran the last walled in drop just within sight of the takeout bridge. The safety of dry clothes, food and shelter was attained, and revelry and reflection began. Most of the crew didn't care for the run, disregarding it as low quality, dangerous, and not worth the hassle. I just did my best to keep my mouth shut. I guess we weren't running it in the morning.

We ate, drank, and slept in the most out there place I feel I have ever been. I have been further from civilization before, but it isn't always the distance from it, but how thick the world is between you and it. Though we were but 30 kilometers as the crow flies from Squamish, a sizable sea town, that distance was so thick with pure wilderness and quiet, untracked expanse, that if you weren't on top of your own mind, you might even feel a little claustrophobic down in the place where we were. But we also knew EXACTLY where we were, and it was a good place to be.

We awoke the next morning from our perch above the valley and were greeted with fleeting clouds, deep blue sky, and deeper blue glaciers over our heads. The creek had lost its milky slate green color and had dropped it sediment for a clearer jade.


The forest had a new depth and charm, and I just kept thinking that every day in BC is completely different than the last. We loaded up and headed back to Whistler to have some downtime to gather ourselves and paddle the local cruiser, before returning to run the best short creek run in North America.

Here are several more shots of the trip to the Upper Ashlu:

The spectacular view towards Endall Creek

Yard sale at the takeout

Those purple flowers I was talking about.

Moving through a peaceful meadow.

Ashlu scene early on.

Shane on the easier section.

Open meadow scene

Tony entering the canyon

Can you see the 15 foot drop in here?

Boof! Great double boof rapid.

Looking down from the takeout the following morning.

View from camp in the morning, Endall Creek glacier.