Those of us who work in office buildings are hermetically sealed in. It’s a fact not thought about; that’s why we have HVAC. After the OPEC crisis of ’73 and the ensuing push for energy efficiency, American businesses and homes began the practice of sealing off indoor environments in order to conserve the energy necessary to keep them comfortable. The trade off was fresh air.
Enter NASA. The authority on living in enclosed spaces, NASA had been researching the transpiration and chemical absorption rates of certain plants in order to create a hospitable environment for humans who might not have the luxury of cracking a window to let in the breeze. Fast forward a decade or two and you’ll see these plants are incredibly common in offices and public spaces, and there’s a reason for that–based on this study, we know that they are some of the best for maintaining indoor environmental air quality. (Applied science benefits society again–and we dared to defund NASA!)
Don’t worry, NASA will figure it out for you, ingrate.
Add to stale air the increasing number of preservative chemicals, cleaners, and volatile organics that off-gas from our everyday synthetic materials and you’ll get an understanding of how poor indoor air quality can get Continue reading →
It was a weekend of carnage, and that’s the way we like it. Joined by Ashley and Ryan, my partners in crime for the next two days, I met up with Neils and Chris and a bunch of clients at 10am. I was given command of the Scout, the 11′ Avon that has the steadfast stability of a little tank with enough roll in her to keep you guessing in the big rapids; next to the mini me, she’s the most prone to flips and that’s why I love her.
Most of the rapids were good; we found a rhythm and smashed through the regular rapids–rock and roll, gopher holes, lower gorilla– while the boat bucked beneath us. So of course after surfing for a while at Rodeo Hole we decided that it was time to go big and hit the Drunk Tank.
A word on Drunk Tank. A new hole in Drunkards Drop–a previously unobstructed 4′ wave-producing drop running laterally across the river–Drunk Tank was born of a landslide sometime around February of this year. The slide placed a multi-ton boulder in the middle of the rapid, displacing the water behind it and creating a massive snarling hole. When the water gets high enough, rafters can attempt to run over it. Once over, a boat would have to negotiate the 10′ drop into the hole, fight through the pile, and come out the other side. We haven’t seen that happen yet.
So it’s assured destruction going in, so Ashley’s screams were warranted. Unfortunately, we got pushed further left by the helical than I’d anticipated and missed the full meat of the drop. the end result was the same.
Sometimes you do something stupid–like forget to charge your camera batteries. But then you end up with one little gem like this; the flip competition between Neils, Mike, and I with the 15′ expedition. Winner got to choose his own crew for the first commercial run of the season.
Simple rules. Since flipping the raft back over with two other guys attempting to climb up (which is not unlike riding with clients) would be pointless and would end in a king-of-the-mountain competition (which I would have fared better in), first man on top won. Mike won. Screw you, Mike.
Want to win a flip competition? Well, don’t compete against Mike and Neils.
The wenatchee jumped up to 4000cfs this weekend=runnable and fun! We’re calling it–rafting season has officially begun. So naturally, this warrants a poorly edited music video. What time is it? It’s river time, baby.
Want in on this sunny summer action? It’s a 2 hour drive from Seattle, but you’re in luck because it’s not only the most commercially rafted river in the state–WildWater River Tours and many other big names are out there–but the very reason for that is that it’s huge water, relatively few hazards, and excellent weather. It’s on.
One of the things I love about my day is getting up at 5am, eating some oatmeal, and heading to the gym to work out before showing up early to the office.
I’m sorry. What I meat to say, was one of the things I love is to not do any of those things and think about how I’m going to start doing them tomorrow.
How can you learn to hate a face like mine? Let me show you.
Unfortunately, when Henry Delany of Energy Fitness and Wellness gets his teeth in you, that’s not really an option anymore. Worse, when he becomes your Facebook friend, he’ll call you out publicly, and male pride being what it is, you’ll predictably march your sleep-deprived self to him and his knowing Cheshire cat grin each morning.
While traipsing down the dock behind the China Harbor building would usually be reserved for wiseguys carrying unconscious seaward “passengers”, every morning bleary-eyed people in gym shorts and running shoes walk through the pallid pre-dawn mist and into a glowing morning land of enthusiastic encouragement, sadistic workout devices, and a soundtrack that reminds them that they are indeed sexy, and they know it (because if you didn’t know–they work out). Wiggle, wiggle.
Differing from the snow fed rivers and moss-covered forests that surround many of the area’s raftable waterways, the Toutle river has its own flavor, and tastes like pumice. Higher volume and wide, it cuts through indecisive landscape, stuck between a moonscape or post-apocalyptic forest land, eventually flowing downriver into brittle looking cliffs that loom above the water. With large, flat floodplains and crumbling cliffs of volcanic ash, it isn’t surprising to learn that the river itself is fed by the Mt. St. Helen’s watershed–a fact made obvious with one look at the water. While many Washington rivers become laden with silt during high runoff, the Toutle is a sediment bed that sometimes has a moisture problem. Navigating a tributary, we entered the confluence and shot the seam of the dual-toned river where the clear green water we had ridden over met the chocolate milk of St. Helens’ aqueous ash deposits.
The round river rocks themselves were buried in the fine grit being carried downriver by the water:
Today I’d been invited to paddle with Troy and Gabe, another set of guides who had done the river once before and who had been running rivers together since they’d finished their training years ago. They had a calm, matter-of-fact nature about them, coupled with the cutting criticism and stern talk that comes from spending years on the river together.
The river was sneaky. Aside from a few logjams and the occasional stray piece of wood camouflaged in the grey water, the river had a tendency to mask the force of its currents and the sheer power of some of the holes until either one had a hold on the boat. Troy and Gabe ran fairly conservatively, which isn’t a bad thing in a new river where hazards are so easily concealed, especially with an Aire raft that seemed eager to roll. As a green guide with experience on Avon rafts, which are like tanks in whitewater, I was prepared to charge into any and everything we came across just to see if we could. It’s the kind of recklessness that fades with age and experience (or so I’m told), and given the way I was salivating at the holes we were skirting, I need to gain some experience quickly.
Even experience can’t save the best of guides, however, and after scouting and finding a good line through Hollywood Gorge, the river’s largest rapid, Troy, Gabe, and I got stopped in a hole, surfed for a few seconds as we were plucked out by the river, one by one, and were sucked downstream with a speed that still seems faster than it should have been.
It’s humbling to remember that we had run the Toutle at a moderate level; it still runs much higher and the holes get much bigger. It’s interesting to see that while the look and feel of rivers varies greatly, the rules rarely change; respect is key, and moments of indiscretion lead to minutes of swim time and buying your rescuers beer after the gear is put away…by you. If there’s anything river running can teach us, it’s a little humility.
Ready to have a blast and get some St. Helens grit in your teeth? It’s a drive from Seattle, but you’re in luck-not only does WildWater River Tours and a few other commercial groups run the river, but it’s a favorite because when rains come, they keep the river up for a while afterward, offering the potential for a few good days of rafting.
A vein of emerald water running over 60 miles from the base of the Cascades and into the Duwamish, the Green River is a little bit [pause for effect] different. A staple for rafters seeking a challenge and some seclusion, the Green sports swift waters, narrow passages, and steep banks, but rewards with some of the best river views in Seattle’s back yard.
After hearing Matt talk about his favorite river for nearly a year, Neils, Tucker, and I were gifted a free weekend with runnable water levels by the river gods and decided join him on his home turf. Immediately after the onset it became clear that this was a different kind of river than I was used to.
While waves were numerous, so were the obstacles that required constant attention and careful maneuvering. After an hour of wave trains and holes we came upon Mercury, a class IV rock squeeze that shot our adrenaline-soaked bodies through with whoop!-inducing speed; soon after came The Nozzle, Pipeline, and Let’s Make A Deal, a series of three rapids in quick succession that promised to slap around any crew careless enough to be distracted by the haunting beauty of the place itself. For the first time since its purchase, I cursed my drysuit; waterproof means poor ventilation, and I could steam broccoli with the moisture that had built upon the wrong side of my latex gaskets.
As it began raining (or rather, when we finally noticed) we neared Paradise Ledge in the gorge area. The water flowed and churned swiftly and almost silently under the knobby stone cliffs that the river had carved out in great arcing swaths. Undercuts large enough to guide the boat into offered a great place to hide in an eddy or try out a rope swing–a strange reminder that in later months, when the water dropped to one-sixth its current flow, there would be swimmers and tubers drinking beer and splashing in river pools waiting calmly in 7′ of swirling green water under the floor of our boat. It was odd that so many people would soon visit a place so moss-covered and vacant (except for the occasional imagined Na’vi sighting) that we hadn’t seen another soul all day. It was less odd to see why the area had so appealed to the Green River Killer, a man in the early 80s responsible for the deaths of over 40 area prostitutes. Content to not be here 3 months later when the levels would drop and PBR cans would abound (or 30 years earlier like Robert Ainsworth), we drifted lazily, enjoyed the scenery, attempted to surf a wave with the raft, and flipped. The sweat glands in my “drysuit” rejoiced.
After passing under the imposing “Grand Canyon of the Green” we reached the takeout at Flaming Geyser State Park and broke down the gear on a flat grassy field under an increasingly blue sky. I can’t say it’s the easiest river I’ve run, but it’s certainly one of the most fun.
We went back and did it again the next day (after, of course, I had my debut attempt at making a GoPro video).
How to:
Since it’s a smaller (“boutique”) river, there isn’t as much of a commercial presence (which is nice!) during the short season. WildWater River tours has a presence out there, as do a few others. Google magic it and you’ll have lots of options and a great time. Don’t underestimate the hazards in this river, though–summer floats in the gorge are completely different than spring runs at raftable levels.
I’m watching snow fall onto the passing wet pavement, slowly chewing, when I realize that Neils has already finished his breakfast sandwich, a beautiful behemoth from Sultan bakery. He makes me miss being 19.
I'm 19 and can live off of bacon and Red Bull.
He’s started rifling through his CD collection, looking for a better country selection. If we were further east, we’d be listening to The Quake—a radio station in the area where we guide with stunning audio telepathy and an inability to play a bad song. It would also be July, not March, and we would be hauling thin wetsuits, guide sticks, and sunscreen instead of latex-sealed drysuits, wool hats, and thick neoprene gloves.
“This’ll be something to raft in,” I say, nodding to the thickening flakes up the road. “Hell yeah,” Neils replies, thumping the steering wheel with his palm “I’m so excited. SO excited.” I was too; I’d been 6 months since we’d been out together rafting. The Skykomish had risen with the recent rains to an exciting but manageable 5000cfs (1200-11000 is generally considered runnable, depending on who you asked) and we’d decided to meet up with another guide, Matt, and some of his friends who were running the river that day. We were running late.
