News and Views

A couple of years ago, a mirco-cell thunderstorm stalled over the town of Florida, Ma. and nearby areas. The news service reported that over 7 inches of rain fell in the two hour duration of the storm. I chose that day to invite my Uncle on a paddle trip down Fifebrook. A year later I met a homeowner while catching a Dryway shuttle. He told me that he used to own a field on a riverbend that was now a pond, He liked the pond better. I have heard people say that a trip down Fifebrook is more like a float trip than a whitewater paddle. This trip however, proved to be as memorable as any I have taken.
10am at Monroe Bridge and it is already brutally hot. The sun beats down from a beautiful, robins-egg blue sky, unmarred by the presence of even a single cloud. The siren has already sounded, announcing the lowering of the dam gate to release the cool waters of the reservoir into the waiting riverbed below. Anxious to escape the sweltering heat, I shoulder my boat and push past the throng of rafters to join the line of paddlers snaking their way down the long stairway to the put-in.
I am bathed in sweat as I finally enter my boat and slide off the concrete dock to drop maybe a foot into the water below. There are several groups already in the water, everybody is just kind of paddling around and rolling in the cooling water. Nobody has started downstream. Wanting to get in a quick dryway run before meeting my Uncle at Fifebrook, I am among the first to turn and head downstream through factory rapid.
I don’t spend a lot of time playing as I make my way through Split Hair and past Dunbar, I told my Uncle I would meet him at noon so I have to press forward. I am alone by the time I am through Dragons Tooth and Labyrinth and arrive at the take-out. The clock in my truck reads 11:20 as I load up my boat and head to the Zoar parking lot. It also says 99 deg.
The Zoar lot is packed with people, all trying to escape the relentless summer heat. There are all manner of floatation devices, from brightly colored pool toys to rafts. Everybody is in the water. The weather report has called for scattered thunderstorms later this afternoon, but it looks like they lied. The sky is still cloudless as my uncle pulls into the lot.
My water bottle is almost empty and I am afraid that I will have to paddle most of Fifebrook without water. It is not a pleasant prospect. Uncle Dick however, has had the forethought to bring several frozen bottles with him. They are already partially thawed, so I greedily grab one and drink almost all of it. I am already dehydrated from my Dryway paddle.
I don’t get to see my Uncle all that often. I spent quite a bit of time with him when I was younger as his son Mac is my age and we both enjoyed spending time together tromping through the small streams that ran past our respective houses. I was looking forward to spending some time with him on the river doing something that I felt we would both enjoy.
We arrived at the put-in a little before 1 and started inflating the sea eagle. I had bought the inflatable canoe in hopes that my wife would paddle more often with me. That didn’t work out all that well but it is really comfortable to paddle as long as you stay in class II or II+ water. While I have had it on the Tohickon, it’s a little too flexible for heavier water. I thought it would be perfect for Fifebrook.
We start downstream, and while we still cannot see a cloud, we start to hear some distant rumblings of thunder echoing through the mountains that rise on either side of the river. Past the railroad bridge, we round a headland and there it is, a massive black cloud, low to the earth and obscuring the tree tops and oozing its way over the ridge down into the river gorge. The wind starts to pick up and lightning is everywhere, thunder reverberates through the gorge and the rain starts to fall. Concerned about the lightning, we pull off of the river to wait out the storm.
Its raining hard, really hard and the river is starting to take on a chocolate color as swollen streams cascade down the mountain and dump into the river. We wait another 20 minutes or so and the storm seems to abate slightly, the wind drops and while it is still raining, there does not seem to be much lightning although thunder can still be heard in the distance. We decide to put back on and continue downstream. Several other groups around us decide to follow suit.
While we cannot see it from where we are, another monster cloud is lurking, hidden from view about a ½ mile downstream. We round another headland and run straight into the maw of the beast. The lightning is horrific and the wind is howling in its fury as we pull of once again. The rain, already heavy intensifies as we join a group of perhaps 20 people huddled together at a flat spot on river left.
I have never seen rain like this. It comes at us in waves, driven horizontally upstream by the howling winds. The river surface is a mass of whitecaps and it seems as though the current has reversed itself, defying the law of gravity to obey instead the will of the wind. There are leaves, branches and limbs falling all around us but it still seems on shore than out on the water. The temperature has dropped drastically and our group stands shivering, wet and cold in the tempest.
Uncle Dick and I had removed or life jackets when we stopped but I soon realized that was a mistake. I go get them so that we can put them on for a little insulation against the cold. Uncle Dick puts one over his shoulders but can’t seem to catch the zipper, his hands are shaking too badly. I decide to help but it seems that I have the same problem but between the two of us we manage to get them both zippered. The rain comes down harder.
Everyone around is in good spirits despite the misery. It is ludicrous that we are out in weather like this. The storm is by far the most violent that I have ever witnessed and here we are standing in the middle of it. At times we laugh even without saying anything as none of us can imagine how hard it is raining and the ridiculousness of our current situation. Uncle Dick tells me he is having a great time and thanks me for inviting him on the trip. He says that maybe he will turn down the next invitation. The rain comes down harder.
I’m starting to get a little concerned about exposure. It has gotten really cold and we are not prepared. I am freezing and I know that my Uncle is also. We need to get out of here and back to the truck. It is a hard decision to make, but we decide to brave the risk of lightning and get back in the boat to start paddling downstream. To my surprise, most of the people who stood on the bank with us follow. Everybody has had enough. The rain comes down even harder.
The river has risen well over two feet in the 45 minutes that we have waited on the bank. Coffee colored water is steaming down the mountainside from everywhere. We paddle hard against the wind, into walls of water, joined by countless fallen branches. Someone dumps a bucket full of water down my back and I look around to see who it is. There is no one there. Is it even possible that it can be raining so hard?
Finally we arrive at the takeout. Earlier in the day, I had planned to run through the gap but I have no idea what it would look like at this level and want no part of it. I open the valves on the boat, deflating it so as not to be tempted to change my mind. We negotiate the torrent of water that was formally a pathway and arrive at the road. The rain starts to slow as we slog past the gap to the parking lot.
The thermometer in the truck reads 68 degrees as we start back up river road towards the put in. The rain has almost stopped but there are trees down all over. It takes almost 2 hours to run shuttle as we wait while rod crews, residents and paddlers work to clear the road. We turn up the heat and start for home.

This account of the Beaverfest was written and paddled by Mark Hrubant
Friday August 29^th, noon… I call the caretaker at Soft Maple campground & ask if he will hold a site for me as I am driving up from Bingo. While enroute to Croghan I learned there will be six of us camping for the Beaverfest weekend. At 4PM I arrive & the caretaker held a site! During our discussion I learn there are only two left; as only campsites #5 & #8 remain, I pay the man for both campsites. (Note for the future: the RV sites are $15 a night for up to 8 people. If you camp in the tent area, the fee is $15 per person per night!)
I scout the campsites, #8 is more isolated & backs-up into the woods…but the entire site is on a slope… Hmmm, tough choices… I start setting-up my luxury two-structure campsite palace on the level site #5.
Ed & Ross arrive just as I complete tent setup & my first beer. We’re psyched for the weekend & shortly head upstream to scout the dry Eagle & Moshier sections. The gates to access the Eagle section are padlocked; no scouting. Back in the car, we drive to the Moshier takeout. The trail on the south side of the creek permits easy access. There is water flowing, & we note where all the key drops are. With the low flow it’s not too impressive, just lots of verticality, jumbled rock, & pinning potential. The idea of a NFTL run is hatched! Yes, tomorrow after the T-ville section shuts down at 2PM, we’ll have the entire afternoon!! So back to the palace for beer & snacks; we’ve got a brilliant, aggressive plan for Saturday!
Saturday dawns, we emerge from our respective lodges & we’re eager like beavers to get going. We arrive at the T-ville put in & park 100 feet from the gate; not too many people… yet. As we unload & greet fellow paddlers, Rex & Dylan arrive. After shuttling cars, we gear-up & carry to the water. The tranquility of the river is being transformed as feverish boaters arrive.
Ed & I stop to talk to the Brookfield Power employee who is managing the flow. Brookfield allows 65 cfs through the gates 24/7. On the release days, 2 hours prior to the “release” they ramp-up to 200 cfs, then at the time of the release an additional 200 cfs is let go. We all deduce the ramp-up is for the fish & air-breathing river critters to accommodate to the higher flow. At the end of the day, they “step-down” the flow in the same manner. We thank the guy for allowing us to play for the weekend!
As we run laps on the Beaverator & Great White Slide, the pool gains more kayakers & OC1s. The carnage at the Beaverator hole draws a few spectators, but the Slide draws a gallery. I see a grey-haired couple sitting in lawn chairs nestled at the edge of the trees halfway down the slide; they smile each time I carry-up. The hole at the base of the Slide is a magnet for boats. I see a pink helmet in a pink OC1 go into the hole sideways, after a few seconds alternating window shading & side surfing, the pink helmeted lass washes out. The pink tub longs for a partner so a black OC1 joins-in. The hole says two’s a crowd so the girlie tub washes out while the stealth-colored manly tub goes for another beatdown. The gallery goes wild!!!

Ahh, such is day one of the annual Beaverfest!!
The rest of our eclectic group (minus one) find us having too much fun, so we each do one last run of the slide before heading to Dogleg. For me the total is 3 clean laps of Beaverator, including the left boof line, & 5 runs of the Slide with one combat roll when the hole-magnet tripped my stern. Ed, Ross, Dylan, Rex… I lost count of their laps & successes. Rex, in his playboat makes his last slide memorable with a direct hit into the hole. All we see are 2, 3, 4, 5 ends as he is cartwheeled in the hole. We all wonder how Rex is going to escape! A moment later, Rex & the Kingpin are separated… the Beaver has bitten!!
We quickly dispatch Dogleg without scouting. I run the left side & with a powerful boof stroke at the rock pourover launch myself over the rock spine, & into the eddy. Wow! The first time I’ve done that!
There’s not much of a line at Mindscrambler, so we plan on doing laps. Three clean runs later, I decide to save energy for the rest of the day (AND our NFTL run of Moshier Falls!).

The crew take various lines at slide at Powerline, we boof the “boof”, & play a bit at the final play hole before pulling out & readying for the next run. Here we finally meet up with our final team member Mike S whom we’ve been looking for all day.
We load boats & drive up for run #2!   Being feverish, my memory is impaired if we were 6 or 4 for run #2… Dylan? & Rex?
As we carry to the water, one can easily discern that Beaver Fever has infected nearly all whom have touched the flowing water. Those whom have been least immersed are animated; those whom have seen & felt the depths of the waters are more withdrawn… such a strange affliction!
Another intimate stroking-by of Beaverator leads to 3 laps of the Slide. Each one of us are absorbed by the Beaver mantra to varying degrees. When the line of boats disappears for Dogleg, we paddle across & through the offset holes & diagonal waves to the pool below. Mindscrambler beckons us to toy with it. After two clean runs its time to continue. We power through Powerline with ease, arriving at the takeout near 2PM.

What of our NFTL run of Moshier Falls that afternoon you ask????? I must restate: “Those whom have been least immersed are energetic & animated; those whom have seen & felt the depths of the Beaver’s waters are more lethargic & withdrawn…”
Needless to say, back at the palace, beer, tortilla chips, & homemade salsa are the prescription for Beaver Fever and by evening we’re all pumped for the next big day on the Moshier & Eagle. (That is except for Ed, as he exclaimed that a paper cut he sustained earlier in the week is dramatically impacting his roll. I offer to doctor the offending paper cut but he declines; Ed states he prefers to self-medicate & grabs another beer.)
Sunday dawned dark grey & rainy; prime conditions to motivate you to run the Class V Moshier & Eagle. Ed, Ross, Dylan, & Rex all pack their camping gear as they plan to extricate themselves from Beavervillle this afternoon. We arrive early at the put in & snag great parking spots. As we gear up, the flow of boaters increase & soon we hear the siren announcing the impending release. (By now Ed is sporting rings of duct-tape to suppress the paper cut’s pain.) We join the slow movement towards the launch point & soon are looking up towards the spillway, wondering if we’ll run it sometime…(ok we’re feverish). As we near the first falls, we split, some go right for the slide/boof & some head left for laps of the falls. Me, I work on my line & boof stroke on the falls. One lackluster boof stroke has me land on my right edge, a hard brace helps but doesn’t support me in the aerated water. I go over, wait a couple seconds to clear the frothy water & roll up. My other three laps are clean. Watching fellow boaters, the number of missed boofs, missed lines (too right), & missed rolls are alarming. I help chase a number of disassociated people, paddles, & boats.
As the fun-beavers (aka fun-hogs) increase in number, we gather & head towards the second falls. After a quick scout with Rex & Mike, I take point & go first. I clean the falls & navigate the choss afterwards to the pool below. Securing a perfect viewpoint in the eddy, I can see the entire falls & runout. The carnage is amazing after the falls & the ensuing runout, at least 5 swimmers, a dozen flips, a broken paddle, & one betty-boater whose head struck a rock so hard you could hear the thunk.
Ahh, such is day two of the annual Beaverfest!!
The 6 of us gather forces & move downriver. Being this is only my second year, the Moshier looks familiar but I can’t recall details of what’s coming up. All of us appreciate Rex & Dylan’s mentoring as we float our way downstream without incident.
We note the stack of boats as we pull into the eddy on river right just above Moshier Falls. Here each of us makes our decision to portage or run. I portage my boat, thinking that if I feel in the zone after scouting the lines, I’ll carry back up. I notice that Ed, Ross, Dylan, Rex, & Mike all grab their gear for the portage. Hmmm… no testosterone-filled challenges for the team today…
I grab my camera & GoPro to document the lines of Moshier Falls. Over time, my recollection of scouting the Falls last year had minimized the Fall’s volume, speed, size, consequences, & vertical drop. I want to run this, but I realize it is at the bleeding edge of my boating skills & mindset. I might be able to survive a run, but I’d rather run it under control with style. I’m satisfied with my judgment call & continue documenting. Next year I’ll evaluate it again.

Ross finds me & states that most of the others have paddled across to the takeout. We find Mike, & depart the intimidating Moshier Falls.   Next year…
As we change out of wet gear, the severity of Moshier Falls is discussed; we’re all satisfied with our decision to portage.
Ed/Ross & Rex/Dylan each head home while Mike & I head to the Eagle to watch the King of New York (KONY) race.
The Eagle is in full KONY swing by the time we arrive; racers yelling & passing the mortals wherever they can in the narrow run. Mike comes across some friends who are racing, they say the Eagle is easy, “All it takes is a strong right-side brace! Get in & do it!” Instead of gearing-up, we drink our beer & watch.

As evening approaches, the clouds begin to break. While at the Soft Maple campground that night, we hear the partying in the tent camping area continuing well past 11PM.
We awaken refreshed on Monday, a National Holiday and the last day of Beaverfest!
Mike & I get to the Taylorville put in about 9:30 & it is already getting congested. While Mike shuttles, I do laps on Beaverator & the Slide with Kalon & the Byrnes. Today the B-fest definitely has a party atmosphere!!! One guy is riding an inflatable pool ring down the Slide to great cheers, while another has an inflatable 4 foot tall suit-wearing manikin hugging him!! What a hilarious sight!!

While Mike & I are floating in the pool discussing that this will be our last run of the Slide, we see a kayaker head directly into the Beaverator hole. Many boaters have punched the hole & a few have had minor beatdowns, but this one is different. The boater windowshades a few times, side surfs, gets windowshaded again, & again, & again… now the inflatable 4 foot tall suit-wearing manikin boater decides to join in the melee. Now two boats, 2 people & an inflatable 4 foot tall suit-wearing manikin are in the hole being churned. Manikin boater & his hugging inflatable 4 foot tall suit-wearing manikin escape from the hole intact. The first victim is now separated from his boat & both are being repeatable gnawed-on by the Beaverator. Ropes are being thrown, 1, 2, 3, the boat is spit out…4, 5, 6, times… the hole is quiet… am arm surfaces 15 yards downstream from the hole & just 4 yards in front of me… and sinks out of sight. All boaters in the pool are now searching for a visual… a helmet surfaces face down with a limp body. A kayaker grabs the boater’s PFD & loses grip, solo shredder grabs the body’s PFD & hangs on. As he pulls the limp body on board it gasps for air… in the following seconds the kayaker takes several more breaths… the Dragon Beaver just missed capturing its prey… As the victim slowly regained consciousness & waived-off people, the party atmosphere becomes more somber… for awhile.
Ahh, such is day three of the annual Beaverfest!!
As Mike & I could no longer be of assistance, we slid the Slide & headed for Dogleg. Deciding to scout Dogleg for the first time this weekend versus just read n’ run, I thought I’d continue with the left line… a powerful boof at the pourover to get me over the rock spine then re-enter the main flow below… it has worked flawlessly two times before! Well the “third times a charm” rule turned out to be very charming! I boofed too early & hit a rock on shore, getting my stern swung so I am now running the right side backwards!! I rudder myself around obstacles and get sucked into the hole halfway down. I sidesurf, catch my breath, then try to escape. I inadvertently do my best 360 spin ever in the Burn & come out of the hole backwards! I rudder myself through the waves & holes into the pool below Mindscrambler… whew!
Proud of myself for running Dogleg backwards, I make 4 runs of Mindscrambler, with the last one being my worst one of the weekend, resulting in a combat roll in the pool.
It’s getting late in the day, the number of boaters has greatly diminished; time to move on!
We navigate Powerline cleanly & work our way to the takeout.
It’s 1:38! The release ends in 22 minutes!
Earlier in the day Mike & I entertained thoughts of heading up to the Eagle for the afternoon release. As we talk, both of us are tired after three days of paddling & quickly agree to pack it up.
Physically tired, mentally tired… ahh, the satisfaction of a gratifying Beaverfest!

I don’t see it until I am at the lip of the drop, the large trunk wedged diagonally in the slot. Its really nasty on the upstream side, a frothy mess, barely bigger than my boat, with the current pouring over the lip and slamming the rock on the right before surging beneath the trunk. A drowning machine with no way out. Downstream, the water boils up from below and races off, frantically hurling itself off of the rocks on the river left bank.
I clear the lip with an adrenalin-fueled boof stroke, hoping to land on the sloped trunk and ride it down, similar to what a snowboarder does on a rail. Its the only think I can think of trying, and to my surprise, it kind of works. My boat jumps off the ledge and onto the trunk, starting its downward slide. Its still touch and go at this point, I’m in a world of trouble if I slide backwards into the pit of doom on the upstream side, so I lean aggressively forward and claw desperately at the log with my paddle, urging my boat forward to the downstream boils.
My downward slide on the trunk is checked by the stub of a broken branch, a foot or two above where the log disappears beneath the froth. I’m not going to make it all the way to the water. This is it, I’m either going to fall back into the pit, or forward into the current exiting the slot. Reacting purely on instinct, I twist my hips forward and bend my body upstream, desperately thrusting the boat over the log. The boat hesitates, twists sideways and falls the rest of the way to the downstream side of the log. I, on the other hand, am not so lucky.
I got up early that morning to paddle Ken Lockwood with Sean. He had never paddled it before. It was running a little over 8′, a good level, so it was worth the early rise. I had intended all along to go to work after the morning paddle but the weather and water got the better of me so I decided to call in sick. I was thinking of heading out to the water gap but wasn’t sure who I would find up there so I opted instead to stay closer to home and headed for the Lock.
The Lockatong, while still at a runnable level, had already started to crash yet I was surprised to find the takeout lot empty. It is a little more than I care to run alone, so I waited for a while, calling the office, answering e-mails and hoping that someone would show. Nobody did so I headed over to the Toe, there is always somebody there.
The water at the Toe is huge, higher than I’ve ever seen it, and there is nobody here. I can’t believe that I have taken a day off and can’t find anybody to paddle with. I consider going in to work but decide to wait a while. I really want to paddle and work just doesn’t have the same allure. I put my seat back and settle down to wait.
Nils wakes my up by tapping on the drivers side window. I don’t know Nils but he introduces himself and asks if I am waiting for anyone. I tell him no, that I am just hanging out hoping someone shows up. He came with the same plan in mind so , after a shuttle, we are all set to go.
The river is HUGE, 4′ high waves everywhere, even in the normally flatter sections. We fly down the river, Nils in the lead. He has paddled it at this level before and tells me that the lines are basically the same, just way bigger. An enormous 8′ wave waits for us at No Fish, Swim and I dig in hard and punch through it. Everything is a surging mass of waves and whitewater. Having paddled the river many times, I know where we are but the familiar features have almost all disappeared. The 3′ ledges that mark the river have been replaced by enormous holes and waves.
We get to the top of racecourse, there is no boof rock, in fact there are no visible rocks at all, just an enormous hole stretching nearly all the way across the river, with a single narrow entry hard against the brush on river left. Racecourse is a mess of diagonal waves and offset holes. I have to paddle hard just to keep my boat headed downriver as it is assailed on all sides by the tormented whitewater.
A huge diagonal wave lies lurking halfway down the rapid, erratically surging up to an incredible heights only to break and fall back down upon itself. My plan is to square up on this monster and punch through, hopefully before it has had a chance to build. It doesn’t go according to plan as by bow is pushed to the left and I slide in kind of sideways. To further complicate things, The wave has built again and now towers at least 4′ over my head. I dip my shoulder into it as it crashes down upon me, obliterating my boat. I am sure that I am going to flip, but I pop out like a cork, shake the water out of my eyes and keep going.
Down through racecourse, we continue fighting hard to stay online as we are constantly battered from all sides by the surging waves. A big wave rises to the left of Nils and he flips as it crashes down on him. He misses his first roll but I’m not all that worried as he had told me that he was a very experienced water gap paddler. Then he misses his second and I start to pay a little more attention. I try to get over to him but the river has other ideas and to my great surprise he is swimming by the time I arrive.
There is not much that I can do to help him as he flushes through the remaining holes and waves at the bottom of the rapid. He has held onto his boat and paddle but I have all I can do to keep my boat under control and can offer little more than encouragement. I paddle hard ahead of him into a small micro-eddy on river left, just above the incredible hole that has formed where Hat Rock used to be and grab my throw rope.
Nils, having apparently decided that he cannot get his boat to shore and has released it, and has managed to swim into an eddy above me. His boat continues without him and disappears into the gaping maw of the hole at Hat Rock. I tap my head to ask if Nils is OK and he taps back. I look back into the hole and see the boat thrown up, over and through the waves to continue downstream. as Nils climbs out of the water, I stow my throw rope and start after the boat
I depart the relative calm of the surging micro-eddy, paddling frantically in an attempt to ferry all the way across the swollen torrent to run the river right line. Behind me, the river pours over the ledge above Hat Rock, forming an enormous, chaotic, churning, river wide hole. I want no part of that, but it soon becomes apparent that the river is much too powerful and my feeble attempt to ferry across is doomed. I hear the roar of the hole getting closer and am seized by a moments panic. Abandoning my plan to ferry, I turn back for the safety of the shore, but having already swept past the last eddy I aim for a small slot, hard against the river left bank and what appears to be a soft spot in the hole.
The stub of branch that had stopped my boat catches underneath my pfd and I am slammed hard against the log.
The current catches my boat and pulls it perpendicular to the current as I am pinned harder, the branch crushing against my ribs. The boat pulls even harder, and threatens to tear me in half. My knees up and almost out, but I am determined to stay with the boat. God knows I don’t want to swim through this mess, so I hang on hard and fight.
I finally manage to rotate my hips and pull the boat a little more parallel to the current, easing the pressure that has been threatening to tear me in half. I am still concerned that the bow of my boat will wedge beneath the strainer if I let go but I have to get out of here. I haul myself up a little, lift myself off of the stub and drop into my boat.
I’m free but really loose in the boat. My thighs are out of the braces and I am basically sitting on my backband. There is no time to adjust anything as I am swept away from the strainer into the massive waves waiting below. I’m actually doing pretty well but it is only a matter of time as I hit the last wave and flip. I am thinking that there are probably going to be two boats headed downriver without paddlers but am not ready for that to happen just yet.
Fortunately I have been pushed into an eddy and can kind of work my thighs back into the braces before attempting a roll. I come slowly upright, not exactly textbook form but at least I’m on the breathable side of my boat. I pop the skirt to adjust the seat, get my thighs back into the braces and tighten myself in place as I scan downstream for Nils’s boat.
All this has taken quite a while and the errant boat hasn’t had the decency to wait. Way up ahead I see a flash of green and I am off in pursuit. It doesn’t seem as though I am gaining on it at all as I have to fight my way through the confused waves. I pass pyramid rock, at least where pyramid rock should be, the rock itself is under water and I still haven’t caught the boat. I keep paddling hard, determined not to lose that boat but I am tiring quickly.
I am just above the takeout when I finally catch it. For a while I am too out of breath to do anything. Its too rough to try and empty it and I cannot let go of my paddle to attach my tether. I decide to push it into the gigantic eddy at the takeout. I paddle hard, but I am exhausted and it is difficult to keep the boat headed in the right direction amid the choppy waves. I push harder as the eddy comes closer and closer. I never get there. I pass agonizingly close by, missing by only a foot or two, and find myself back the current.
I decide to try my tether again and almost have it hooked when I take a quick look downstream. A huge pillow of water coming up in front of the bridge abutment is staring me in the face. It looks like I will pass to the right but Nils’s boat doesn’t have the good sense to follow and seems to prefer to left side. Reluctantly, I forget about connecting the tether and set the boat free once more.
We are in the Delaware before I finally manage to corral the boat. I tip it on its side and empty what water I can before attaching the tether and towing it to the shore. I’m exhausted and take a little time to rest before leaving the boats and walking back to the takeout. I wait at the bridge for Nils. He has had to walk down river left from Hat Rock and it takes a while. He asks me where my boat is and I tell him I left it at the Delaware takeout with his. He wasn’t sure that he would be seeing his boat again and is pretty pleased to hear that I have it. He asks If I want to go run it again, so we do.
I had intended to write this just after it happened, but procrastinated for a good 6 months or so. As I remember, it was sometime in the beginning of April. The gauge said that the Toe peaked at a little over 9000 CFS while we were running it. As a point of reference, the release level is 900 CFS so things were just a little bigger than I was used to seeing. The water at the put in was halfway up the hill and higher than the painted gauge on the bridge. We were able to paddle up to the cars at the takeout as the water level was about even with the small river right parking lot. At that level, class V skills definitely come into play as the waves and holes had a kind of Upper Gauley push and feel. We really had a great time but technical moves in very heavy water were required to paddle it at that level. I know I kind of changed tenses part way through the narrative and while it didn’t make my editor very happy, I didn’t feel like reworking anything so you are stuck reading it as it is.

The water picks up speed as I enter the narrow channel that marks the entrance to the right side line of Shurform rapid. I’m running right down the center of the channel. away from the curler that lurks just to my left, hoping to catch an unsuspecting paddler and send them down the center of the blocky slide.
Past the curler I paddle hard left and punch my bow up and over the enormous reactionary pillow piling up on the rocks on the left edge of the channel. Misjudging the speed of the water, I’ve broken left a little too late and pass by the rocks a few feet farther right than I would have chosen. Paddling hard, I try to run the slide angled to the left in order to avoid the huge rooster tail that rises up dramatically from the center at the bottom.
It doesn’t work out all that well as the water shallows out and catches my bow, spinning my wayward boat to run the last quarter of the slide backwards. After a moments panic, I settle down as my boat seems to know where to go and its a fairly smooth ride. I slide neatly into the slot just to the left of the rooster tail, pass easily through the seething crevice, get pushed right and take up residence in the sticky hole below the rooster tail. It looks like I may be staying a while.
I had a few concerns coming into this Moosefest. My roll had gotten sloppy and I had wanted to tune it up at the pool prior to jumping on the Moose. An ill advised raft trip down the lower Lehigh Gorge disrupted those plans and I was heading north without brushing up on this vital skill. On the ride up, I kept reminding myself that in six years of paddling, I could count my swims on the fingers of one hand and despite paddling some fairly difficult rivers, I hadn’t been in the water for over a year. All of my swims have been the result of circumstance. Either stuck in a hole, having my knee pop out from the thigh brace or being pinned against a rock. I have never missed a combat roll. So I manage to convince myself that I’ll be fine and my roll will be there when it really matters.
I’m also worried about the trim of my boat. I had been pushed around a bit on the big water Gauley release a few weeks previously. A few people had recommended moving my seat forward as a way of countering bow drift. I had followed that advice and relocated the seat perhaps 2″ toward the bow but had not had a chance to verify the results. I really didn’t know how the boat would react to my meddling and maybe the bottom Moose wasn’t the optimum setting for a test drive.
Down Fowlersville, through the funnel, knifes edge, double drop and over Agers I am thrilled with the boat. Its punching everything without getting blown off line. After a quick stop below Agers to sample the chili provided free by NRS, we put on again. Shurform looms just ahead
Its not really a bad hole as holes go, pretty gentle really. I’m stuck behind the rooster tail and what little water coming over the top crashes down on top of my boat and feeds into the center of the hole. The main difficulty is the two strong tongues of water that are formed as the current splits around whatever rock is creating the big plume of water immediate;y upstream of where I sit in my hapless craft. Both tongues curl around the rock and feed back into the shallow hole.
I try paddling forward, pulling hard on my downstream blade and trying to draw myself out. I’m not going anywhere, I don’t think I’ve moved even a foot. I try going backward but again cannot move as the eddy lines on either end of my boat push me back to the middle. I bounce around for a while, leaning into the foam pile to my right.
Steve comes down, having run the drop perfectly despite using hand paddles and recognizing my predicament starts to paddle back upstream to try and rope me out. A minute or two later and I’m still stuck. I’m getting really tired of this. I can’t spin or even try to ender out as its pretty shallow here and I could be in for a beating if I flip.
Eventually though I kind of give up and let my boat slide a little further under the water coming over the rooster tail. Immediately I’m upside down, my head scraping and banging on the rocks below. I have no idea where I am as I try to roll up. It doesn’t work, I totally miss it and out of breath from fighting the hole, I reach for the grab loop.
Not a bad swim really. I’d already run the main drop and am swimming the shallow runout below. I still have my boat and paddle as I get to the right shore where Steve waits, shoving his throw rope back into the bag. I had flipped and was out of both my boat and the hole before he had time to use it. I drain the boat, climb back in and head towards Powerline.
Nothing to worry about here although Powerline is a little bigger than I’m used to seeing. The river is at 3.8′ today and I’ve only paddled at levels just above 3′. The wave train is big but we pound down through it and past the pourover at the bottom. Next up is Crystal.
Steve asks if I’d like to scout. He doesn’t need to, having made countless runs on the bottom Moose. He tells me that he paddled at the first Moosefest and every one of the eighteen after that. I know the line through Crystal pretty well and tell him a scout isn’t necessary.
I run it first, lining up just to the left of the large rock in the center and continuing down to the 1st little 5′ ledge drop. I don’t pick up much speed and kind of plug in after the second ledge and am pushed backwards against the rock. Not a problem though, I simply push off and back into the main current screaming down towards the final 14′ ledge.
It looks pretty big down there with a huge standing wave guarding the top of the drop. I quickly decide to eschew the standard left line and turn to run the right side race line. Its really bumpy over there at low water but everything is well padded today. I crash over the wave, wash a tad to my left and then turn to run the drop on the right.
Its pretty scary as I drop onto a boiling mass of frothing water. There are all kinds of rocks below there but my boats rides up and over everything. Down I go, bouncing up, down, left and right in the midst of the confusion. Sometimes I just hang on, having pointed my boat in the right direction. there is little I can do to control it in this mess.
I come through cleanly, down through the main drop, over a couple of big standing waves below and out into the main channel. I don’t know what causes me to flip in the squirrely water but over I go. No big deal, I am through the drop.
I set up for my roll and miss it. I set up again and miss a second time. I tell myself to relax and take my time as I set up for the third attempt. But I can’t seem to bend well enough to reach the surface with my paddle and the boat is sill bouncing around quite a bit. I wait patiently until it feels right, but it never does. My head and shoulder slam into a rock and I’ve had enough. Out I go.
By the time I leave my boat I am through the channel and into the lake above the dam at Magilla. Its really embarrassing and I’m quite a bit disgusted with myself. At least Steve and I were among the first paddlers on the river and there aren’t a bunch of fellow paddlers to witness my ineptitude.
Steve comes along, tows my boat to shore then goes off to run Magilla. I am left to backstroke across the lake to the takeout, climbing out of the water while being watched by two of the locals who had come to witness the carnage. It is not my finest hour.
The next morning we are at it again. I take a few practice rolls above Fowlersville and come up each time. Its really sloppy though, While I have never had what could be described as text book form, I am completely out of sync now. My left hand never comes to my chin, my hip snap isn’t great and I just kind of pull down on the paddle instead of sweeping it. In short, I’m not doing anything right but it seems to be working.
Coming to the top of Fowlersville I paddle hard to my left in an attempt to reach the boof ledge over there. I don’t quite make it but do manage to start down the slide slightly sideways. I scrape my paddle hard on the shallow slide as I work to get straightened out before I slam into the hole at the bottom, but I come in slightly angled and flip.To my great relief, I roll up easily. It looks like today will be a better day as we head off downstream.
My boat punches easily through the hole at the top of funnel. Moving the seat forward has made a dramatic improvement in the way the boat tracks through waves. I’m really happy with it and we pass through funnel and head towards knifes edge
Ahead, the river splits around a large island and knife’s edge sits in the right hand channel. Normally I run hard right, turn left and drop over a small ledge then paddle across the mank before turning back to the right and finishing the drop by running through a surging slot.
Steve asks if I have ever run the boof line. I have not but tell him I am willing to give it a shot. To run the boof, you must stay hard right and ride the Knifes Edge, a narrow ledge of rock extending from the slab of bedrock at the side of the channel. The current drops off the left side of the ledge into a nasty, narrow little slot on the left. The object is to ride the ledge to the end before boofing off to land 10′ below at the mouth of the slot.
Steve goes first and,of course, nails the line as I follow. I think Iv’e got it made but slide a little to the left and off the ledge slightly early. Its a good boof though. I come down in the slot really flat and think I’ve got it made. But the water is super aerated and my 90 gal boat just sinks taking my with it. Down I go, my head completely disappearing beneath the foam as I am swallowed whole in the slot. Everything is white as my boat claws its way back to the surface. I think its all OK until I flip.
Not a problem. I’ve rolled up below knifes edge before. I set up and miss. Take some time and miss again. I’ve drifted across to the rocks on the left as I set up again. I’m not even coming close and my rolls are getting worse instead of better. I miss for the 3rd time and I’m out of the boat again.
Steve waits yet again as I get back into my boat. I know that he is in a hurry so that he can spend some time with his family and I am slowing him down. This is getting tedious.
I am really concerned as we run Double drop and Agers. I don’t want to be upside down in between the drops at double drop and while Agers is relatively benign for an 18′ falls, the runout is shallow and a swim there could be nasty. I manage to stay upright through them both.
Here comes Shurform, the start of my swimming lesson from the day before. Not so today, I’ve already gotten todays swim under my belt so I run it cleanly. Not so at Powerline.
Steve runs first as we pound our way just a little right on the first set of waves and then down the middle on the second set. Its really a lot of fun as I love big wave trains. I’m not sure exactly what causes me a problem. Once again I am through the biggest part of the drop when I am suddenly upside down.
I try to set up but my head and shoulders are taking quite a beating in the shallow water. Downstream, the river gets nastier, battering its way towards Crystal through a jumble of jagged rocks. I really don’t want to swim there.
I miss a hasty roll and set up again. but I keep hitting rocks and can’t maintain my set up position. I’m a mess and pull my skirt for the 4th time this weekend. Luckily I’ve drifted off to my left and out of the main current so I can hod onto both my boat and paddle as I make my way to shore. Steve follows and empties my boat as I catch my breath.
Crystal is next but in my head is a picture of me flipping after the 2nd ledge, missing my roll, and being swept down the race line upside down. I think of getting battered against the rock below the drop and being pinned or paralyzed. My confidence is shot. I walk the drop.
That how my weekend ends. Steve waiting for me as I drag my boat through the woods to the parking lot in front of all of the other boaters. Its a really bad feeling and I am quite subdued as I change. I’m sure that Steve will really think twice before paddling with me again. It is without a doubt the worst experience that I have ever had on a river, especially one that I have paddled numerous times before. Time to get back into the pool.