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OPEN-BOAT
BOOT CAMP
A week of
whitewater canoe instruction, on a different river every day,
delivers plenty of
thrills, chills, and spills.
By Larry Rice (Canoe
& Kayak)
“So you want some bigger water, eh?” our guide asked
mischievously as he checked out his new, untested recruits. A few days earlier,
upon first meeting Andrew Westwood, one of North America’s top whitewater canoe
competitors and instructors, my three fellow paddlers and I had innocently
inquired if we could run a few Class IVs in the days ahead. We were enrollees in
a “Week of Rivers” program offered by Madawaska Kanu Centre (MKC), Canada’s
oldest and most respected school for kayaks and canoes, and were about to tour
some of the best open-boat rivers in western Québec. A studious, soft-spoken
36-year-old from Ottawa, Andrew answered his own question. “Well, let’s see how
our first day on the Madawaska goes before we commit to anything more
challenging.”
 We
must have impressed Andrew on the Madawaska (a classic Class II-III river run
flowing past MKC’s front door), because it’s only the second day of our tour and
we’re now staring at a very significant canoe-chomping drop. As we beat through
the underbrush to get a better look, the old saying “Be careful what you wish
for” creeps through my brain. Perched on a lichen-covered outcrop overlooking
the wide and swollen Gatineau River, Andrew examines the rapid from bottom to
top, and then back down from top to bottom. Only then does he give us the skinny
about Lucifer’s Hole. “See that recirculating hydraulic on river right?” our
steely-eyed guide asks. “It’s a Class V. You don’t want to go there. See that
Class IV hole in the center? Don’t go there either—it’s a keeper.”
My stomach is in knots, and it’s not from the spicy omelet
that Andrew cooked for breakfast. After five seasons of whitewater canoeing, I
finally feel like I can call myself a strong intermediate open-boater. But
looking at this drop, which is more imposing than anything I’ve ever run, all I
can think is, “Yikes, what the hell am I doing here?”
I steal a glance at my fellow lockjawed whitewater
gladiators. There’s Shawn Mitchell, a shaven-headed 28-year-old communications
director for a national health charity in Kitchener, Ontario. Erudite, affable,
and fluent in French (a valuable attribute when traveling in Québec’s
hinterlands), he is in his second season of whitewater canoeing. “I’m definitely
the weakest link in the group,” he unabashedly admitted after taking a couple of
swims in the Madawaska River our first day. Also from Canada is Chris Davis, 46,
a chisel-faced colonel in the Canadian army, whose job as a procurement officer
has him buying and testing everything from tanks and trucks to sophisticated
weaponry and women’s combat bras. He’s an experienced canoeist and approaches
the rapids as just another military exercise requiring strategy, power, courage,
and skill. And hailing from Middle America like myself is gray-bearded Larry
Hinds, 55, a machinist from Cedar Rapids, Iowa. A Class IV-V kayaker, he decided
to take up open-boating two years ago to “expand his whitewater fun.”
 After
several minutes of dissecting the rapid, we (mainly Andrew) come up with a plan.
We’ll catch the smooth black tongue just to the left of the center hole. From
there we’ll edge along the Class III+ wave train rebounding off the cliff. “I
think you guys can all make this one,” Andrew says encouragingly as he snugs his
helmet back on his head. “I’ll go first; follow me down. Any questions?” There’s
not a peep, other than that made by serenading frogs off in the spruce and maple
forest. “All right, then,” adds Andrew. “Let’s rock ’n roll.”
I’m as eager as everyone else to test my mettle against
Lucifer’s Hole, but as the journalist in the group, I feel it’s my duty to
record the action. “You mind if I hang back to take photos?” I ask Andrew.
Andrew doesn’t mind, but Shawn is suspicious. “Oh, I get it,” he says as he
prepares to trudge back to the boats with the rest. “You watch us get trashed,
take pictures to embarrass us in a magazine, and then get to pick the best route
for yourself. Not bad. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Watching and waiting from my position, a few minutes later
I glimpse Andrew rounding the cliffy headwall, leading the other canoeists like
a mother duck tied to her brood by a long, invisible string. Paddling with
short, powerful strokes, he aims for mid-current as his purple Dagger Ocoee
gathers speed. Then, a few seconds away from being engulfed by the big
boat-eating hole, he switches direction by employing a difficult downstream
ferry, hits his line perfectly, sideslips past the gnarly stuff, and arcs into
the swirling eddy directly below me.
“Hey!” I shout to Andrew as he sloshes around in the eddy.
“You make it look way too easy!” I’ve had the privilege to paddle with some
great whitewater canoeists in the past few years, but this part-time
elementary-school teacher/professional paddler is the best open-boater I’ve ever
seen. His technique is flawless. Like a master chess player, he is always in
control, and every move he makes on the water is calculated.
Andrew gives me a sheepish thumbs-up, then suddenly he’s
all business as he gazes upstream. Cruising around the bend is the rest of the
gang, heading straight for the danger zone. One by one, they misjudge the speed
and force of the current and are swept headlong into the meat of the wave train.
And one by one, their boats buck up, twist sideways, and capsize. Not to
disappoint, I document each and every swim.
As our guide, Andrew has his own responsibilities. Like a
police cruiser peeling out to the scene of a highway accident, he chases after
bobbing people and overturned boats. As he paddles from one side of the river to
the other, it takes about 15 minutes of constant motion to get everyone back
into their canoes.
Finally, Andrew’s upraised paddle signals that it’s my turn
to tempt fate. “Stay far left, stay focused, you can do it,” is my mantra as I
shuffle back to my Dagger Ovation. My gut is churning and I have to pee, but
there’s no way I’m going to unzip my dry suit. The bloodsucking blackflies are
thick enough to choke on, and the last thing I need is to have a swarm of them
trapped inside my suit, chewing at my flesh while I set up for the rapid.
I kneel in my trusty steed, cinch down the thigh straps,
and jam my feet into the toe blocks. I take a deep breath and shove off.
Following Andrew’s example, I angle toward the center of the river, identify the
dark tongue, and paddle like a bat out of Hell, a fitting analogy when trying to
escape unscathed from Lucifer’s Hole. What seems to take minutes lasts only
seconds as I slice across the vee of black, slick water, execute a sweep and
cross-forward stroke to miss the devouring waves, and throw a hard low brace as
I spin into the eddy where Andrew is waiting. “Wow!” is all I can say.
With Lucifer behind us, we run a few smaller rapids without
incident before stopping for lunch on a narrow strand of tree-lined beach.
Brushed over by sunny skies, the surrounding conifer and hardwood forest is
dense, quiet, full of wildlife possibilities. A quick reconnaissance of the
moist sand reveals the tracks of deer, otters, herons, beavers, and even a
solitary bear. “We’re only 160 kilometers north of Ottawa, but this part of
Québec is thick with lakes and rivers and wild country,” Andrew says. “There are
so many great rivers around here that I doubt we’ll see any other boaters during
the week.”
All this is wonderful, and Québec in June would be paradise
for paddlers but for the blackflies. A nice breeze has kept them at bay while we
snack, but as soon as the wind dies, the little devils are back on the attack.
To the subdued delight of our Canadian contingent, the flies seem to prefer
dining on red-blooded Americans. Above my dry-suit collar, my neck is riddled
with ugly welts; however, the other Larry is in far worse shape. His ears have
been bitten so mercilessly under his helmet that they have swelled to
disfiguring proportions. Partly to eliminate the confusion of having two Larrys
in our group, and partly because the name fits so well, the rest of us start
calling him Dumbo.
It’s with relief that we return to our boats and the cool,
fast water beyond the reach of the winged marauders. But our spell of serenity
doesn’t last long. A tricky S-turn drop results in another swim for Shawn. “Not
exactly a confidence-builder,” he quips, aware that Powerline Rapids, another
Class IV biggie, is up next.
 “There’s
no cheat route this time,” Andrew tells us as we inch closer in our boats. “Only
a mid-river run straight into the big stuff. Again, follow my lead.” From my
spot at the rear of our flotilla, I watch as my canoe mates (other than Andrew,
who makes every run look smooth) get tossed around like corks in the
10-foot-high, Grand Canyon-like standing waves. Things are looking good for the
boys, but not for long. Veering off course, first Shawn goes over, then the
colonel. Dumbo capsizes, too, but the ex-kayaker is used to being head-down in
the drink and executes an impressive open-boat Eskimo roll.
“Keep focused, keep paddling,” I repeat as my little red
boat is drawn into the Perfect Storm swells. I ascend the mountainous first
crest, slide down into the gaping trough below, rise to meet the second crest,
then pivoting broadside to the waves, helplessly, hopelessly, over I go. Unlike
Dumbo, I don’t even attempt to roll.
Surfacing from the swirly, aerated depths, I try to redeem
myself with a mid-river self-rescue. Actually, I have no choice; a quick glance
around reveals that Andrew is still chasing down Shawn, and the others are too
occupied with bailing to notice me drifting past. Clutching my paddle, I kick
mightily toward the distant shore, towing my float-bag-equipped boat behind me.
I make it to a tiny eddy just in time. Only a hundred yards downstream is
another big wave train. Waist-deep in water, I lean back against a boulder and
catch my breath. I’m in no hurry to move.
A few minutes later, the rest of the gang bangs into my
shadowy cliffside refuge. Clustered in our canoes, adrenaline flowing, hearts
racing, we’re feeling a little giddy as we stare at the next whitewater
obstacle. Fortunately, Andrew is immune to all this high anxiety. Very calmly,
he says that he’s “pretty sure” we can all make the next rapid, but that he’d
better go take a peek, since it’s been some time since he last ran it. Working
the micro-eddies and currents, he boat-scouts a couple hundred feet downstream
then does some fancy attainment moves back to where he started. He’s smiling as
he slips in beside us. Well, kind of smiling. Always the skeptic, Shawn calls it
“Andrew’s mystery smirk.”
“Okay, this is the deal,” our guide says, reminding me of a
veteran platoon sergeant about to lead his green troops into battle. “There’s a
hole on the left, and a hole on the right, with a big but manageable wave train
in the middle. We’ll follow the leader again—isn’t that right, Shawn?” Dejected,
Shawn lowers his eyes. The youngster broke a cardinal rule in the last rapid. He
drifted ahead of Andrew, and paid for it by getting creamed.
Peeling out in formation (this time, I’m right on Andrew’s
tail), we veer once again into the canoe-swamping waves. But now I’m starting to
get a feel for it: stay loose in the saddle as I ride the waves up; keep the bow
straight on the crests; keep paddling as I plummet into the troughs. Then, all
too soon, my exhilarating roller-coaster ride is over. I’m skimming across a
wide, flat pool in a remarkably dry canoe.
Everyone is elated with their run—except poor Shawn. Five
significant rapids today, five significant swims. “Oh, well,” he says with an
exhausted grin as he climbs back into his righted boat. “At least I’m
consistent.”
A few more interesting but lesser rapids eventually usher
us to a nondescript take-out that only a local, or Brad, our van driver, would
know. After we pull the canoes ashore and strip off our dry suits and wet suits,
the young Australian, working the summer for MKC, offers us cold beers and
munchies. “Have a good run?” he asks. “Great run!” we answer in unison. At which
point, Shawn pokes me in the ribs and nods toward Andrew. There is our leader
again with that mysterious smirk, making me wonder what kind of whitewater he’s
got in store for us the rest of the week as we continue to explore some of
western Québec’s best open-boat rivers.
Larry Rice is a contributing editor for
Canoe & Kayak Magazine. He lives in central Illinois along the muddy, sluggish
Illinois River, about as far from good whitewater as one can get.
WEEK OF RIVERS PROGRAM
MKC’s program introduces paddlers to five rivers in five
days. Except for the Madawaska River, located in Ontario near Algonquin
Provincial Park, all the whitewater runs are in remote areas of southwestern
Québec. Although the itinerary may change from year to year depending on water
levels, group skill levels, and guide preference, it’s a sure bet that these
Canadian rivers will be among the best you’ve ever canoed. In addition to the
Madawaska and upper Gatineau River, featured in this article, our Québec grand
slam tour included the following whitewater:
• Upper Rouge River, a Class III+ run that can only be
properly experienced in the spring. The river flows around granite hills and
dense mixed forest near Mont Tremblant Provincial Park. The river tumbles
through two canyons with rapids that are long, complex, and continual.
• Lievre River, my favorite of the week, a Class III+ run
that is marked by a narrow riverbed with long rapids interrupted once by a Class
V rapid that we portaged. The terrain is ruggedly beautiful and the river is
very remote. On the lower river, a slot canyon forces the considerable current
through a 20-yard-wide passage.
• Bazin River, a Class II-III run with a put-in accessible
only by floatplane. The first half of this 15-mile paddle offers fine open-boat
canoeing with nearly continual rapids. The latter half slows down substantially,
providing long, quiet wilderness pools.
MADAWASKA KANU CENTRE
Started in 1972 by Olympic kayaker Hermann Kerckhoff, and
now run by his daughter Claudia and her husband, Dirk Van Wijk, MKC employs some
of North America’s best instructors and attracts whitewater fans from around the
world. MKC is housed in a lovely wooden chalet nestled in a forest just a
stone’s throw from the Madawaska River, one of the finest places on the
continent to learn whitewater skills. The dam-controlled river is a series of
rapids and pools perfect for the rank beginner yet technical enough for experts.
Cost for the Open Canoe Week of Rivers course described in this article is $950
CDN, which includes camping, breakfasts and lunches, one dinner, and all
transportation (from MKC) and guides. Three different intermediate/advanced
Kayak Week of Rivers programs are also offered. Fully outfitted boat rentals are
available. For more information on whitewater courses, contact Madawaska Kanu
Centre, Summer: Box 635, Barrys Bay, Ontario, Canada K0J 1B0, (613) 756-3620;
Winter: 39 First Ave., Ottawa, Ontario, Canada K1S 2G1, (613) 594-5268; http://www.owl-mkc.ca.
TIPS IF YOU PLAN TO GO
• Weather can be cool and rainy, or warm and sunny. Wet
suits with splash jacket and pants are a minimum; others swear by dry suits.
• Expect blackflies to be thick in late spring and early
summer. Bug dope doesn’t cut it. At the very least you’ll want a head net;
better yet is a quick-drying bug jacket with hood. Consider the Elite Edition
shirt ($59.95) from the Original Bug Shirt Company (800-998-9096 or www.bugshirt.
com). It has no-see-um mesh side panels for ventilation and a mesh face mask
that zips away from the hood when the enemy is at bay. Wear it under your PFD.
When blackflies appear, it’s a simple matter to flip the hood up over your head,
even when wearing a helmet.
• Overnight accommodations can best be described as
primitive once you leave MKC’s comfy base camp and hit the road in Québec.
You’ll be staying at a different campsite each night, where you’ll need a
bug-proof tent. Don’t expect a shower or sit-down toilet.
• Parlez-vous Francais? While it’s not absolutely
necessary, you’ll enjoy yourself more in rural Québec if you understand a
smattering of French. Away from the major cities, you’ll find that almost no one
speaks English.
• And speaking of having fun, you should feel comfortable
in Class II-III whitewater before signing up for this trip. However, if you want
to brush up on your technique, this is the week to do it. Formal instruction is
not the focus of the Week of Rivers canoe tour, but MKC’s guides are all superb
whitewater teachers and are always willing to offer their expertise to
interested clients.
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