Chiapas: Rebels, Rivers, and Jungles

Two travel companions you can always count on when you’re feeling lonesome during the holidays are Charles Dickens and Jack Daniels. I found Charles in a used book store in Antigua and I found Jack at Pilgrims Irish Pub. Whiskey, A Christmas Carol, and writing about last week’s adventures are what constituted my first Christmas away from home.

Greg Schwendinger has made it his mission over the last several years to explore the whitwater rivers of Central America. Most of his explorations are done solo because the paddling community in this part of the world is non-existant. For his latest adventure I had the honor of teaming up with him for some paddling in the southern-most state of Mexico, the beautiful, remote, and very indigenous state of Chiapas.

On January 1, 1994, the same day that the North American Free Trade Agreement came into being, an armed left-wing peasant group calling themselves the Zapatista National Liberation Army (EZLN) sacked and occupied government offices in several Chiapas towns. The rebel leader, Subcomandante Marcos, a masked man reverred by many peasants and campesinos, led the uprising, which marked the first socialist rebellion of the post-communist era. The Mexican military crushed the rebellion, killing about 150 Zapatistas in the fighting. The rebels retreated to hideouts on the fringes of the Lancondon Jungle, having drawn the world’s attention to Chiapas. Their goal was to overturn a corrupt, wealthy minoity’s centuries-old hold on land, resources and power in the state, where many indigenous peasants were impoverished, marginalized and lacking in education, health care and fundamental civil rights. The Zapatista revolution continues to this day, an armed conflict where there is very little room for international kayakers to manuever in the No Man’s Land separating Mexican military ground and rebel-held territory.

Our expedition in Chiapas started off slow at the National Geographic Institute in the state capital of Tuxtla Gutierrez. Greg and I studied topographical maps showing possible whitewater rivers in the areas of Las Casas, Ocosingo, Las Margaritas, and Altamirano - the same towns that were occupied by Zapatistas on New Year’s Day, 1994. At this point I was oblivious to the current political situation in the state. I had no idea that we were putting ourselves between two armed factions who had been at war with each other for the past ten years.

The conflict is everpresent. Military and rebel checkpoints dot the highways. The military is looking for drug smugglers and rebel sympathizers; the rebels are keeping a tight grip on their territory. There have been instances where foreigners have been targeted by the Zapatistas. Some foreign-owned properties, such as ranches and hotels, have been “nationalized” by the EZLN in order to gain more capital for the revolution. Also, there have been reports of foreigners being kidnapped by the Zapatistas and held for ransom. This actually happened to a French-Canadian paddling expedition two years ago. Luckily I found out about this kidnapping after I returned to Gautemala where I was far away from any Zapatista territory. In some cases, ignorance is bliss.

The first river we decided to paddle was a section of waterfalls on the Agua Azul. The Agua Azul waterfalls are beautiful travertine cascadas that are a popular attraction for both tourists and locals. We paddled for about two hours, negotiating many slides and vertical drops, before we decided to take-out as the sun was starting to set. Unbeknownst to us, what we thought was the river-right shore, was actually a large island which we failed to notice among the many channels in this section. We started hiking out, thinking that we were headed towards the main road. The jungle was dense and dark, and without a trail system to follow, it was even more difficult to negotiate than the rapids. The only light we had to navigate by were the LCD displays on our digital watches. After an hour of walking in circles, and then in the wrong direction, we came back to the very spot from which we started our hike. We tried a different route but failed to go more than several meters before the jungle became impassable. Rather than lay down and wait for the sun to rise, I led Greg on an unconventional escape. We couldn’t go downstream because there was a huge waterfall barring our path. So, what we did instead, was go upstream. We paddled the flat pools to the base of each of the waterfalls we descended earlier, then, with a little bit of teamwork, some ropes, and plain old muscle, we ascended each drop and kept going upsteam until we came to the very spot from which we started. Three hours after we mistakeningly took out on an island we were back at our vehicle, celebating an exhilarating paddle, and the first kayaking “ascent” of the Agua Azul.

Our next adventure took us into the pristine canyons of the Rio Jatate. The Jatate is a beautiful river that traverses an area of Chiapas which is very politically sensitive. Not too far from Ocosingo lies the town of Las Tazas, a rebel-controlled pueblo deep in the heart of Zapatista territory, and the put-in for the middle section of the Rio Jatate. Along the way to the river our driver, an Ocosingo-native named Jorge, pointed out several billboards proclaiming this area as Zapatista land. More signs and graffitti with revolutionary declarations and socialist slogans were visible on the sides of the road. Further down the road, Jorge stopped briefly in front of Rancho Esmeralda and explained how this American-owned eco-resort was confiscated by the Zapatistas and its owners driven out of the area by force. We asked Jorge about the dangers of venturing this far into rebel lands. He warned Greg and I that without him, a local to help smooth over messy situations, two gringos on their own would get into a lot of trouble. He said that violent crimes like kidnapping are not that common with tourists for fear of raising an international conflict with a powerful nation. However, what we should expect, Jorge warned, is to pay taxes for passing through Zapatista land. Something else he mentioned was the possibility of detainment. Typically, Jorge explained, the rebels will hold a group captive in order to extort money and gain intelligence. Greg never said anything but I could sense that he was just as worried as I was about the situation.

At the put-in everything was calm. Greg and I prepared our boats and changed into our paddling gear as quickly as possible in order to get on the water fast and avoid any encounters with Zapatistas. This was a lot easier said than done. Within a short time a small crowd had gathered to gawk at the two gringos and their brightly-coloured kayaks. Soon more villagers arrived and the crowd grew. As we finished our preparations Greg pointed out another group forming on the far side of the river. They were unmooring a large dugout canoe and filling it with surly-looking men. These men, obvious Zapatista-supporters, were armed with machetes and in a hostile mood. Not wanting to find out whether or not it was us that was the cause of their hostility, or their being armed, Greg and I quickly snapped our spray decks on our boats, grabbed our paddles, said good-bye to Jorge, and set off downstream paddling hard.

After about half a kilometer I looked back upstream and realized that the cause of those armed-men’s anger was, indeed, the two of us. There we were on the Rio Jatate with a 500-meter head start over a canoe full of 6 machete-clad men in hot pursuit. Whitewater kayaks are not very fast vessels on flat water and no real match for a long and sleek dugout canoe. Lucky for Greg and I, our control of the kayaks and ability to paddle well and fast in a straight line was much better than the pilot of the canoe, who opted for the less direct route of zig-zagging across the river. As the river narrowed and the current speeded up we increased the distance between us and the canoe. By the time we arrived at the first rapid we looked back to see that the canoe had already given up. Nevertheless, Greg and I ran the first rapid without scouting in order to give us a greater feeling of security. After escaping from what could possibly have been a kidnapping or worse, Greg and I were faced with our next challenge, paddling the impressive and difficult Rio Jatate.

The Rio Jatate is a relentless class 4/5 torrent which threw challenge after difficult challenge at us. After the river narrowed and we lost the Zapatistas the first whitewater we encoutered were boulder-choked rapids. Shortly afterwards the river narrowed further as we entered the main canyon section. This tropical canyon has vertical walls which tower some 1300 feet above the river. We realized quickly that as we paddled through the entrance rapid to the canyon there was no turning back – we were absolutely committed, regardless of what lay ahead.

The actual canyon section was 13.6 kilometres in length and challenged us with dozens of rapids ranging from class 3s to class 5s. Fortunately for us, the river was at a level that allowed us to get out above some of the steeper drops and scout. In a few instances the exposed boulders near the base of the canyon walls allowed us to portage some of the scarier drops. Our progress was slow and meticulous.

In Mexico in late December the sun usually sets around six in the afternoon. In a river canyon as deep as the Jatate the sun leaves you much earlier. As we approached the end of the canyon section we started running out of light. Soon we were in darkness. Whitewater takes on a whole new dimension in the dark. Everything sounds bigger and more dangerous. Scouting in the dark is even more difficult because you can’t see where you’re walking. The only thing we could see were the whitecaps of the big crashing waves and hydraulics. We navigated by feel and by whatever white we could see.

This mission was becoming much too difficult and dangerous now that we were in the dark. We didn’t know how far we had travelled and we didn’t know how much further we had to go. At this point Greg suggested we set up a makeshift camp for the night and wait for daybreak. The thoughts of having half a Snickers for dinner and sleeping in my wet paddling clothes didn’t really appeal to me.

As I scanned the horizon downstream wondering what challenges we would have to encounter the next morning, I noticed a strange thing. There were actually two horizon lines on the river. I pointed this out to Greg and he realized quickly that one of the horizon lines that I pointed out was a bridge – the bridge that marked the end of the whitewater and our takeout. We bounced our way down the last rapid and headed to the bridge, marking the end of another adventure here in Chiapas, or so we thought.

With my last stroke I skidded to a stop on the shore and tossed my paddle on to the rocks. Like the instantaneous reaction of a light turning on after the switch if flipped, once my paddle hit the rocks both Greg and I were illuminated by two high-powered search lights. Dazed, confused, and blinded by the lights we heard several Mexicans fumbling about nearby. We heard heavy boots hitting the rocks, rapid Spanish being spoken, and the clank of metal on metal. As our eyes adjusted to the lights the first image my rods and cones were able to decipher was the outline of the barrel of a M-16 assault rifle pointed my way. I have never had a gun pointed at me in my entire life, but now, as I regained my eyesight, we had half a platoon of soldiers pointing automatic rifles at us.

Had we stumbled upon a drug-smuggling base deep in the jungle or were these the Zapatistas we had eluded earlier in the day? Both Greg and I were scared and confused. Another light then appeared on the scene, this one from the bridge just downstream and above us. This light was from a small flashlight and it was moving as if its user was running over uneven terrain very quickly. The soldiers gave little attention to the man with the flashlight and kept their guns fixed on us. One soldier broke from the formation to confront the man with the flashlight as he came closer. There was an exchanged of rapid Spanish in front of the big lights. Eventually, some commands were given to the soldiers by their superior and the men stood at ease. Then the man with the flashlight was made visible and much to our hearts delight it was Jorge, our driver from Ocosingo, who was there at the takeout to pick us up.

Greg and I had stumbled upon a Mexican military base. Remember that Chiapas is divided into rebel land and military territory. Our takeout, a place called La Sultana, was controlled by the military. Thinking that we were Zapatistas sneaking down the river, or more likely, drug smugglers with boats full of narcotics, we are stopped and nearly arrested. It was Jorge who smoothed everything over with the authorities and explained who we were and what we were doing.

By this point it was very late, and remote jungle roads in Chiapas are not safe places to be at night, especially if you’re a foreigner. Jorge, who by this time was becoming more and more of our guardian angel, urged us not to drive the 6 hours back to Ocosingo in the darkness for fear of bandits on the roads. We heeded his advice and took refuge with a local family in the nearby village. They fed us and gave up a space on the dirt floor of their home for Greg and I to sleep that night.

Roosters gave us an early wake-up call the next morning. Greg and I had contemplated changing our plans, with respect to returning directly to Ocosingo, the night before, and instead continue downtream on the Jatate from La Sultana and explore another canyon section of the river. Despite yesterday’s difficulties we were more excited for another paddling adventure than for a 6-hour drive back to civilization.

We were back at the truck preparing for another river trip when Jorge returned from a gathering with several of the village men. He came with a somber look on his face and some disturbing news. Apparently the Zapatistas from Las Tazas had alerted other rebels in the town downstream of La Sultana that the two gringos who had escaped them the day before were on their way there. Jorge informed us that the next town, the take-out for the next river section, was loyal to the Zapatista rebels and probably not a good place to go. Again, taking the advice of our Mexican guardian angel, we cancelled our plans for further paddling on the Jatate and headed back to the safer confines of a larger town.

From Ocosingo Greg and I headed to more secure territory and the Rio Santo Domingo. The section of river we wanted to explore had had one kayaking team there perviously, according to the local farmer whose land we used to access the river. The first 12-15 kilometers of this run were great: beautiful scenery, turquoise water, and fun class 4 whitewater. We knew heading into this river that there was a very difficult section to negotiate. It was marked on the topographical map as having a drop in elevation of about 60 meters in a span of less than 2 river kilometers. What we discovered was a spectacular class 6 rapid which started with a 10-meter waterfall then funnelled into a 100-meter deep vertical-walled canyon less than 2 meters wide. It was one of those rapids which you could stare at for days because it was so awesome. But time was running short and we had to find a way around this beast.

There was suppose to be a trail on top of the ridge on river right but we would have needed rock climbing equipment to access it. So, instead, we tried river left. Along steep jungle trails then through open pastures and dense cornfields, following fence lines and the sound of the water, we hiked and hiked and hiked. Access to the river was barred because we were about 100 meters above the water with no way to get down the vertical cliffs. Finally, after nearly three hours of exhausting portaging, we managed to get back to the water after bush-whacking our way through 400 meters of extremely dense jungle. We finished the Santo Domingo and celebrated the end of our Chiapas oddyssey for December 2004.

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Do something that scares you everyday.” I think if that is the secret to really living life then everyone must experience kayaking in Chiapas. I was scared everyday I paddled in Chiapas. I don’t know what scared me more, whether it was being lost in the the jungle at night on the Agua Azul or being lost in the jungle during the day on the Santo Domingo; was it some of the whitewater I paddled and nearly messed up on the Jatate or the unrunnable whitewater we found on the Agua Azul and Santo Domingo; was it the Mexican military’s rifles or the Zapatista rebels’ machetes; was it narrowly escaping an angry mob or being taken by surprise by armed soldiers. Regardless of what scared me the most, the fear factor definitely added an element to the adventure that I had yet to experience in my young whitewater career. Paddling with Greg, the expert on Mayan whitewater, was my first post-WILD river adventure. If my future adventures are as special as this one, I’m going to have incredible stories to tell my future gandchildren about my paddling career.

The Knife Fight and the Volcano

There are only a few places throughout the world, I think, that have the ability to capture your heart, mind, and soul the very instant you set foot in them. For me, the colonial town of Antigua, in Guatemala, is one of those places.

Nestled snugly in the valley between three active volcanoes this former colonial capital is among the oldest and most beautiful cities in the Americas. Its cobblestone streets, meticulously-manicured central park, and seventeenth-century ruins charm you the instant you enter the city. In addition to being a much more friendly and cozy place to hang out than Guatemala City, Antigua is one of the most popular places in Central America to learn Spanish, and as a result the population is an eclectic spattering of students, travellers, and expats. After only a short time here one of my new favourite past-times is frequenting the many cafes around the central plaza where people-watching and fine Guatemalan coffee make the hours float by before its time to hit the restaurants and nightclubs.

Tourist attractions and drinking coffee are great ways to pass the time but after a couple of days the adventure itch returned. To satisfy this itch I signed up with a group of young travellers to climb Volcan Acatenango, one of Guatemala’s highest peaks. This is one of the three volcanoes that surround Antigua and it is also the highest, towering at 13000 feet above the city.

I thought climbing this mountain would be the main adventure for the weekend but my encounter with a mugger the morning of the climb takes the cake. It was really early Saturday morning, about 5am or so, when I was rushing through the quiet streets of Antigua to meet up with the climbing group. I was already late and very excited for the trip. As I approached the town square a small, drunken Guatemalan man stumbled out of a doorway wielding a small knife. He stood at five-foot nothing and weighed around 120 pounds soaking wet. I could smell the booze on him from a few meters away. He stood in front of me on the street and barred me from passing. As I approached closer to try and maneuver around him he grabbed my arm and demanded I give me money. I kept my wits about me and remembered all those encounters with violent drunk people from years of bartending in a blue-collar bar back home. When I refused to surrender my wallet this little man thought he could muscle it from me. He swung his knife at me in a move that looked like it was in slow motion because of his inebriated state. The knife wasn’t going to come anywhere near me with his aim. I waited for his arm to pass his midline then wound up and unloaded a roundhouse right which connected to the side of the man’s face and sent him stumbling back into the doorway from which he came. I then continued on my way to meet the group and climb the volcano.

Acatenango stands at 3976 meters, or 13000 plus feet, above sea level. The plan was to hike to the base of the volcanic cone and camp before trying for the summit the next morning to catch the sunrise and great views. On the trail up to the base of the summit we hiked through many different geographic zones including a wonderful cloud forest before the volcanic cone started. Unfortunately the weather did not cooperate with us when he reached the base of the summit. We were stuck in a powerful wind storm with rain and freezing temperatures over night. In the morning the weather had not let up so the group leader decided against a bid for the top. After having come that far and put in that much work I was determined to summit despite the weather. Fortunately, I was able to convince a Kiwi on the trip plus the assistant guide to go with me. It was an arduous ordeal with high winds, freezing temperatures, and some ice but it was well worth it when we summitted and stood on top of Guatemala at 3976 m.

It was a great week in Guatemala for me. The combination of sightseeing in Antigua and climbing one of its volcanoes was a perfect introduction to what this great country has to offer. The lucky escape from my first real dangerous situation while traveling only heightened my experience here and made me a little more street savvy.

I haven’t been able to do any paddling yet due to water levels and transport issues. I was supposed to go this weekend but my plans have changed all of a sudden. I met an American kayaker who lives down here and he invited me to go on a paddling expedition to Chiapas, Mexico, for a week. So tomorrow I’m heading back to Mexico. This is the best part about traveling without a set schedule: you’re free to follow whatever path is presented to you at any time.

Mexico's Armpit

Greetings from Tapachula, the southern-most city in Mexico, and one which could quite possibly be the armpit of the country. I had no desire to spend any time in this border town but due to the way the bus schedules are arranged I missed my bus for Guatemala by an half hour and now I’m forced to spend an entire day here.

I went for a walk around this big, dirty border town and saw everything it has to offer in about two hours. Just my luck, the main attraction, which is an archaeological museum was closed for renovations. Other than that the town has nothing to really offer except its services as a transportation hub. One cool site to see, which is not actually accessed from the city, is the big volcano which overlooks the entire town. Volcan Tacana is the first of a series of volcanoes found throughout Central America, a geographic feature which I’d like to explore further south.

What a change from the past week spent on the beach and in a fabulous resort town. For the first time in a long while I have caught myself trying to kill time. I know it sounds bad but I want out of this city fast. At least my hotel room is nice. I’ve spent the better part of the day there planning what sites I’m going to see when I get to Guatemala City early tomorrow afternoon. If all goes as planned with Maya Expeditions I’ll get to paddle a new river in a new country on Saturday – that being the Cahabon River in the Guatemalan Highlands. I’m really excited to be moving on but I have already caught myself feeling very lonesome. It’s a huge change going from three months of constant camaraderie with two dozen others to travelling alone.

Bob vs. Montezuma

What’s the fastest you’ve ever run to the toilet? Remember the urgency you had? Now, imagine that sense of urgency pounding away in your bowels and there being a class 4 rapid between you and gastrointestinal relief. That’s a little of what I had to endure this last week as WILD traversed across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, traveling from the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific Ocean, during its final week of adventure.

When you go to Mexico remember not to drink the water. That is what all the guidebooks and experienced travellers tell you. Its actually a little harder to do than you’d think. Remember that all fruits and vegetables are rinsed with tap water, ice cubes are sometimes made with tap water, and sometimes water for tea and coffee just isn’t boiled long enough to kill all those nasty little critters that are waiting to make you sick. And it doesn’t help when you immerse yourself in the dirty rivers of the country on a daily basis, the actual source of all that tap water. Getting sick was bound to happen. Unfortunately, my bout of Montezuma’s revenge had to occur during one of the most action-packed weeks of fun and adventure on the entire WILD schedule.

The final week of WIILD is called the Southern Mexico Expedition. We travelled from coast to coast and along the way enjoyed a fine mix of tourist attractions and wild rivers. We left Jalcomulco two Saturdays ago and started our final journey, but it was on the first day of the road trip that Montezuma took his revenge on me. Me and Montezuma had a little quarrel back in Jalcomulco a couple of weeks ago but I managed to fight him off relatively quickly. This time, however, he got the best of me.

I woke up on the morning of the departure with a nauseating feeling in my stomach. We were preparing to leave at 4:30 in the morning for the long drive across the country when all of a sudden I exploded from both ends in an uncontrollable bout of vomiting and, well, you know what else. My bowels calmed down somewhat as I passed out on the bus, but I still managed to mark my territory at every roadside gas station we stopped at throughout the 12-hour drive. Some of the incidents were pretty close to occurring right on the bus and in my pants. I was urged by some staff members to do as they did last year when Montezuma got the best of them and wear a diaper. I flat out refused to subject myself to that form of humiliation. Its going to be decades before I need to rely on Depends.

I’ll break for a moment from my bowel activity and share some of the activities we did throughout the week. In both the Gulf and the Pacific we encountered great surf and kayaked to our hearts’ content. We camped in the jungle and visited monkeys and crocodiles near one of Mexico’s largest lakes. A few of us went to a natural spa in the jungle and had mud baths which were followed by a luffa scrub by beautiful women and a second bath with a mixture of fruit water and wild flowers. At the seaside town of Mazunte, we visited a turtle sanctuary and were given the opportunity to each release two baby sea turtles into the ocean. I named mine Fat and Chance in relation to the likelihood of their survival in the sea. After the turtle sanctuary we took a canoe tour of a regenerated mangrove swamp full of snakes, crocodiles, and lizards. Just outside of Huatulco we spent an afternoon cliff jumping and swimming at the Rio Zimatan before heading into the jungles of Oaxaca. On the Rio Copalitilla we were introduced to a unique sport called cascading where you use a combination of swimming, jumping, rope swings, and rappels to descend the river. In addition to all this excitement we even managed to paddle for two days on the Rio Copalita.

Its here, with the Rio Copalita river trip, that I will return to the battle of Bob versus Montezuma. We spent all of Tuesday on the river in what was to be our final river expedition. I was selected to lead the group of students down this river without the guidance of any of the instructors. I’d be lying to say that I was winning the battle with Montezuma; I was still in pretty rough shape. Paddling with the shits sucks. Every hour or so I rapidly paddled to shore, found a bush, and did my business. Meanwhile the entire group was waiting on my lead. A couple of times in the middle of really long rapids the urge came and I paddled as fast as I could to avoid, well, you know. The best thing about paddling with the poops is that there’s always a place to clean up after you’ve done your business – and trust me, that bastard Montezuma can be really messy. On the second day of the Copalita trip, and the final day of paddling for WILD, we finished the river and the course in a fashionable way by paddling from the river straight into the Pacific Ocean. It was the perfect ending to three months of travelling, learning, new experiences, and adventure. I don’t have words to describe the feeling of accomplishment. However, I do have words to describe what my bowels went through this week: use your imagination, the first word is the adjective form of the F-word and the second word is Hell!

Now that WILD has finished the feeling is somewhat bitter sweet. Its tough to say goodbye to so many new friends so suddenly. All the staff and students are going their separate ways, and I’m doing the same as well. This journey just finished and I’m already in the midst of starting another. For now, however, it is vacation time on the beaches of Huatulco before I venture further south to explore Guatemala and the rest of Central America.

Rescue on the Barranca Grande

Rivers can be dangerous places. WILD is a great education program for how to negotiate whitewater successfully and securely but it also prepares you for dealing with emergency situations when things go wrong. In a sense, a whitewater guide can best be judged not on how he or she does when things go well but how they react when things go wrong.

Part of this preparation is swiftwater rescue training, or SRT for short. As a part of our advanced SRT practicum, we encountered a search and rescue situation in the 100-meter deep Xico gorge. When we arrived at the site I had a feeling of deja vu, a sense that I’d seen this place before. I then realized that where we were was the site used in filming the jungle battle scene in the Harrison Ford movie, Clear and Present Danger. The Xico river is a raging torrent which cascades over a 80-meter waterfall into a tightly constricted gorge over 100 meters deep. Our rescue team was high above the gorge on a bridge that spans its width while our victims were over 100 meters below us at the base of the waterfall.

The most difficult aspect of the scenario was accessing our victims. In order to access our victims we were lowered off the bridge by a complex rope system. I hesitated at first but after mustering enough intestinal fortitude I finally climbed over the perfectly good guard rail, sat into my harness, and let go of the bridge. Talk about putting trust in your equipment! I was forced to put all my trust in a rope, a pulley, some webbing, and a few carabiners. I think I conquered my fear of heights in the few minutes it took me to descend the 100 m. It was truly one of the most exhilarating things I’d ever done.

The rest of the scenario was somewhat anti-climatic after the rappel. We found our victims, treated them in an appropriate manner, and evacuated them via a very steep trail further downstream. The great thing about WILD is that through scenarios like this you not only get the theoretical training involved in search and rescue but you also get the practical, hands-on training you need to become the best guide you can be.

I value this type of education tremendously and the two-and-a-half months of training we’ve had so far on the program really paid off for me this weekend when I encountered my first real-life whitewater emergency. To make up for missing WILD’s kayaking day on the Barranca Grande section of the Pescados due to an illness, Jim Coffey, the coordinator of WILD, arranged an opportunity for me to paddle this great section as a safety kayaker for a commercial rafting trip operated by Adventuras Sin Limites. This was a great opportunity for me to see a section of river which I missed out on early as well as gain valuable commercial experience working; and much to my surprise it was an opportunity to test some of the valuable skills I’d learned so far on WILD.

Over two days the trip was planning on navigating over 60 kms of whitewater on the Barranca Grande and Pescados sections of the Rio Antigua. My role was to paddle ahead of the rafts and act as a rescue platform and containment vehicle in case people fell out of the rafts or if a raft were to capsize. In reality, a safety kayaker is a glorified swim coach, directing swimmers to safe spots on the river and, in certain circumstances, actively taking swimmers where they need to go.

About an hour into the trip one raft flipped sending the entire crew into the water. A flip on a continuous river is very dramatic because there are very few places to stop and recover. I was put to work immediately rescuing swimmers and directing traffic. Probably the most important role of a safety kayaker is to act as a downstream perimeter marker making sure no swimmers escape past you.

I quickly turned my attention to a swimmer who was penetrating my downstream perimeter. He was panicking and very frightened. I approached quickly yet cautiously. Panicking swimmers tend to confuse friendly kaykers who are there to help as simple floating objects in which they can perch themselves and get air. As he approached I told him where to swim, but, in a panic, he attacked my kayak, forced me to flip upside down, and proceded to climb on top of my capsized boat. Rerighting a kayak with a two-hundred pound man on top of it is next to impossible. Now the tables had turned and I started to panic because there was no way I wanted to exit my boat and add another swimmer to the rescue operation. I tried to roll but it wasn’t working. Tired, frustrated, scared, and running low on air, I frantically started swinging my paddle above my boat until I felt a solid thump. The thump was my paddle blade hitting my human anchor in the side of the head. The blow knocked him off my boat. I was then able to roll my boat, regain my composure, and tow him to shore.

While all this was happening the other raft was gathering the rest of the clients and the unmanned capsized raft continued downstream. I switched roles quickly from person rescuer to boat rescuer because if we lost our raft we would have lost our only mode of transport out of the canyon. I set off paddling downstream as fast as I could, down rapids I’d never paddled before in a kayak. Eventually, about 2 kms downstream I saw the raft. It is very difficult to tow a raft from a kayak and next to impossible to reright it. So, instead, I continued paddling past the raft, got out quickly on a rock on the side of the river, grabbed my flip line, and as the raft floated past the rock I clipped my flipline to the raft and managed to secure it in a small eddy.

As a result of the flip one client and a guide had to be evacuated to hospital once we got out of the gorge and to our camp for the night. The man I rescued suffered several contusions to his lower extremities and a laceration to his head thanks to my paddle. The guide ended up tearing his ACL in his right knee. Despite the injuries the trip was a success. Everyone had a great time. The flip and resulting carnage ended up adding an exciting element of danger to the experience. I don’t think I would have acted in such an effective manner if it wasn’t for the training I’ve had through WILD. Whitewater can be a scary place, but with the right tools and the right frame of mind it can be a wonderful medium for travel, adventure, excitement, and exploration.

Rafting, Kayaking, Rescue, Oh my!

This ain’t no vacation; its hard work.

I just finished an incredible, yet exhausting week of training and paddling in and around the town of Jalcomulco. WILD completed an intense amount of technical raft guide training, further advanced in the realm of whitewater kayaking, and practised a lot of first aid and rescue scenarios. The week started on sections of the local river with advanced raft guide training. On the Pescados and Lower sections of the Rio Antigua we were introduced to technical raft guiding skills where you learn to maneuver your boat through steep, boulder-choked rapids. On Wednesday we journeyed to a steep, creeky-type section of the Rio Alseseca, called the Tomata. Here, all the WILDers were introduced to a form of whitewater kayaking called creekboating, where the paddler negotiates tight, narrow drops on a very technical, low-volume river. Thursday and Friday found us on a two-day rafting trip on the upper section of the Antigua, called the Baranca Grande. The Baranca Grande , or Grand Canyon, is a 48km stretch of river flowing through a 100 m deep gorge. It drains Mexico’s highest peak, Pico Orazaba, and as a result the water is much colder than most Mexican rivers because of the glacial source. This section is challenging for kayakers but even more so for rafters. For 48 kilometers there’s really no breaks. The Barranca was a spectacular and challenging expedition.

The week was spectacular. We ventured into places few tourists actually go. Our newly-acquired skills gave us the ability to navigate rivers which most people think of as dangerous places and by doing so we were able to visit remote locations downstream. Its great experiencing a country from many different perspectives, including the typical tourist route. There’s a certain value to experiencing everything that’s in the guide book but there’s a particular magic to finding new destinations. I understand that by definition I’m still a tourist. I prefer the label “traveler.” Regardless, there’s a lot to be said for immersing yourself in the culture and exploring off the beaten path. In a sense, follow the cliché of, “When in Rome, do as the Romans,” but also go beyond that and stay guided by your instincts and not only the Lonely Planet guidebook.

Settling Down in Mexico

Our traveling caravan, or circus if you will, rolled into the tiny Mexican town of Jalcomulco yesterday to welcoming cheers from locals looking forward to another year with WILD gringos. Jalcomulco will be our basecamp for the next three weeks. This Mecca of Mexican whitewater is a small town of about 5000 people located directly on the Antigua River. There’s plenty of friendly people, great food, mucho cervezas, world-class hiking, rock climbing, and of course, amazing whitewater.

We are participating in a cultural homestay during our time here in Jalcomulco. All the WILD participants are paired up and sent off to live with a local Mexican family. Each pair will sleep at their host’s house and eat breakfast and dinner with them everyday. I was paired with a Danish student named Alan, and we’re a bit of the exception to the rule. We were placed with one of the richer families in Jalcomulco and as a result, Alan and I enjoy breakfast and dinner with our family but live in an entirely separate house. Our place is great. It’s a two-bedroom house with a living room, dining room, kitchen, full bathroom, and a very pleasant rooftop patio. This transition back to house-living will take some getting used to after weeks of camping. I was thinking just the other day whether this trip could get any better, and, well, it just did.

Lost in a Waterfall Paradise

I’m not old enough to be classified as a Canadian Snowbird, a member of that group of senior citizens who flock in large numbers south each year in order to escape the harsh Canadian winter, but I am considering signing up for an early membership package. There’s much to be said about chasing the never-ending summer: I haven’t worn a shirt on a regular basis for almost two weeks now, shoes have been permanently replaced by sandals, and my tan lines are becoming very, very significant. I love summer, and with that said, I hope I don’t have to experience cold weather and snow for quite some time. Mind you, I think I could endure snow if I was somewhere way up high on some remote mountain snowfield. But for now its tropical weather and warm flowing waters.

Currently I’m in a little Internet café in Papantla in the state of Veracruz. We’ve been continuing on the Mexican portion of our WILD road trip these past few days, heading further south, slowly, to the tiny whitewater Mecca of Mexico, the village of Jalcomulco.

Our first paddling destination after crossing the border was the Rio Valles, and a section of waterfalls called the Cascadas de Micos. Some say you have to search a lifetime in order to find paradise. The problem with those wanderers is that they never came here to Micos. Micos is a paradise on Earth, a tropical garden of Eden where the Rio Valles flows. And it’s a paddlers’ paradise as well: warm, crystal-clear water with several challenging waterfalls to test your paddling skills.

I managed to bring my paddling to new heights (pun intended) by running a 25-foot vertical waterfall. I have a natural fear of heights but for some reason I feel more secure if there’s a kayak and water involved. You still get that freefall feeling but its not quite as scary as say cliff jumping. Luckily at Micos there are 7 different drops for practice before you man-up for the big one.

Then there’s the really big one, a 22-meter waterfall. For most mortal paddlers this one is off-limits. We were at Micos for a couple of days before Slater, one of our instructors, decided he wanted to test his paddling skills, his nerve, and fate, by running this large waterfall. Slater gathered the nerve to run this drop one afternoon in front of the entire WILD group. He ran it, but unfortunately on the descent his boat flattened out and he landed flat on the water at the base of the waterfall. For smaller drops, landing flat is sometimes the plan, but for waterfalls of this size landing flat means risking serious injury. Slater was very lucky. He was ejected from his boat upon impact and swam away from the incident with nothing more than a compressed disk and a bruised ego.

After the incident we continued downstream. Since everyone was already accustomed to this section, there was a bit of a free-for-all; people were running lines confidently without instructors around, the group really spread out throughout the section, and the atmosphere was very relaxed. I was at the head of the pack paddling downstream not really paying attention to my surroundings or other paddlers, and, when I finally looked up, I was all alone in the middle of this jungle river.

The section of Micos below the waterfalls is a highly-channelized waterway where the water literally flows through the trees. There are numerous islands and side channels. The take-out, our campsite, is on the right side of the river, down a very small and narrow channel that is easy to miss if you don’t know what to look for. By the time I snapped out of my paddling rhythm and finally looked up at my surroundings I was past the take-out and floating into unfamiliar waters.

The jungle quickly encroached on the river and its density intensified with each passing moment. There was no place to get out where you would not have had to trek through dense, snake-and-spider infested jungle. It was the first time in a long while I was scared.

After several kilometers and many small rapids the jungle receded from the water’s edge and the landscape transformed from dense overhanging jungle to open fields of sugarcane. I found myself on a sugarcane plantation. Sugarcane, one of the most important crops in Mexico, is planted in a fashion that when its mature its ten times more dense than any jungle. Luckily, however, this plantation had a makeshift road network throughout the fields which allowed for the free movement of donkeys, people, small trucks, and lost kayakers. I hiked for a while until I came upon a local couple having a picnic lunch. In the best Spanglish I could muster, I asked where I was, how to get to the main road, and which way it was to the campsite. Later I found out that when I asked them where I was, it came out as, “Where is where?” Fortunately, the two picnickers could put two and two together and figured out that I was a kayaker who needed a ride back to where the other thirty kayakers were living. And off we went in one of the oldest Ford trucks I’d ever seen. Seven kilometers later I was back in camp.

This was only the first river stop on our six-week Mexican tour. If the adventures, mishaps, and lucky saves continue at this pace I’ll need to cut into valuable paddling time in order to disseminate further stories. We just finished our first river in Mexico and are heading to the next. Today was a break from paddling and a bit of a cultural-immersion day with a tour of the famous Totenac ruins at El Tajin. Tonight is camping on the beach; tomorrow is more paddling.

South Padre Surfing

Someone once asked me jokingly, “What’s the best thing coming out of Texas?” I was stumped. Then he finished the joke, “The I-10.” Texas isn’t really that bad. It has lots to offer, including great beaches, good surf, and pleasant weather.

I’m back in 90 degree weather, lying on the beach, and playing in the Gulf of Mexico here on South Padre Island at the southern tip of the great state of Texas. It’s been such a hard-knock trip so far, paddling new rivers everyday and driving across the United States that we decided to take some R&R on the beaches of southern Texas. Actually, it hasn’t been that hard but I’m just trying to present my current position with a little sympathy for all of you stuck up in the snowy north.

Since we departed the tiny town of Davidson, Quebec, at the end of September, we’ve traveled across the United States and finished the American content our road trip. For the past three weeks we drove from Quebec and Ontario through NewYork, Pennsylvannia, Maryland, West Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippii, Louisiana, and Texas. Along the way we paddled the Youghiogheney, Gauley, Nantahala, New, and Ocoee Rivers as well as some big wave ocean paddling in the Gulf of Mexico, just off Mustang Island. We cross the border to Mexico on Friday through a town called McAllen into Reynoso and continue the Mexican portion of our road trip with our final destination being the small town of Jalcomulco in the state Veracruz.

The trip has been amazing so far. My skills have improved substantially in all whitewater disciplines and my cultural hoizons have been broadened by interacting with locals in many small American towns. No, really, I’m not joking about that. Traveling through the Appalachians is all about experiencing part of the United States that no one really knows about. Its quite interesting and very beautiful. The trip is only going to get better. The weather is now amazing, my tan is very well developed, and we still have so much more paddling to do.

Becoming a Little More Canadian

Canoeing and camping are two activities in which every Canadian experiences while growing up in Canada; everyone except me of course. Finally, at the age of 22, going on 23, I experienced something completely new and exciting, something that most Canadians take for granted because these two elements are fundamental to most Canadian kids and adults. In fact, the canoe paddle is to Canadians what the baseball bat is to Americans and camping is to Canadians what cricket is to the English. Why hadn’t anyone told me this before? Where have I been all these years? Oh, right, stuck in a sweaty gym focussed on football instead of the great outdoors. Well, the times, they are a changin’, and last week I became a little bit more Canadian by surviving my first ever canoe trip on the Rupert River.

The Rupert River is located in northern Quebec and it flows into the southern tip of James Bay, entering the bay at the town of Waskaganish. From the bridge across the James Bay Highway to the mouth of the river at Waskaganish, the river traverses some 125 kilometers of Canadian wilderness. Along the way the Rupert cascades along the Great Canadian Shield creating spectacular rapids which vary from small ripples to some of the world’s largest whitewater. Everything about this river is big: the rapids, the wilderness, its beauty, its role in Canadian history, and its Cree heritage . Another big aspect of this river is the threat from Hydro Quebec to kill this incredible waterway with a combination of dams and diversions as a part of the massive James Bay Hydro Project.

Our expedition down the Rupert was part of an Esprit program called Paddling for Preservation. Paddling for Preservation is an effort to bring attention to endangered rivers and shed some light on the dangers and possible alternatives to dams. Dams kill rivers, there’s no bones about it, and to kill the Rupert would be a crime against Mother Nature.

I couldn’t imagine losing such a great playground. Although there are tough times on the trip, its definitely worth completing. Our expedition was completed in 5 days. In those five days we paddled 125 kilometers, portaged our boats and gear over 20 kilometers, dealt wth thousands of blackflies, negotiated waste-deep mud on the trails, and camped in tiny, damp, and dirty sites. Call me a sucker for punishment, but I think the experience was incredible.

Negotiating the river and the portage trails has a unique way of making you feel very small. Like I said earlier, everything about this river and landscape is big. When you venture off the portage trails and away from camps to go and see the massive rapids you want no part of in a canoe, kayak, raft, or barrel, you start to understand the power of this river, the power of nature, and your scant role in the big picture. It’s a force that demands your immediate respect.

Five days on the water is not a long time but the effects the Rupert had on me will last a lifetime. I learned about the value of river preservation. I learned how much fun canoeing and camping can be. I learned that most experienced campers will shun you if you bring a stick of deoderant, not because it contradicts the ethos of hardcore camping but, for more practical reasons, because deoderants and perfumes tend to attract bears and bugs. I also learned a little more about being Canadian. Most importantly, however, is what I learned about myself: I learned that I love rivers and my life will revolve around rivers for quite some time to come.

The Adventure Begins

On this coming Friday, August 27, I leave on a multiple-month whitewater kayaking and rafting sojourn that will take me across the North American continent and into the jungles of Central America. The first three months of my journey are very well organized through a rafting company in Quebec called Esprit Rafting Adventures. In fact, I will be participating on a whitewater-guide training program called WILD, the Whitewater Intensive Leadership Development School, operated by Esprit. WILD is based in the Ottawa Valley for the month of September with training focussed on the many rivers of northern Ontario and Quebec. Most of October will be spent training in the United States, particularly in West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Tennessee. All of November will be spent paddling the various rivers of Mexico, starting in the northeastern state of San Luis Potosi and traveling south into Veracruz and finally west into the state of Oaxaca. By December I will be basking on the white sand beaches of the beautiful Pacific Ocean, taking the time to contemplate my cross-continental journey and figure out which direction my life should go next.

As of now I have no formal plans for adventure after WILD finishes. I have a number of options available including finding work, further explorations into Central America, or perhaps just becoming a beach/river bum. Only time will tell. I have no issues with going wherever the wind, or water for that matter, will take me. If all goes well I will be returning sometime early next year.