The Paddler ezine WW kayak collection 2013 | Page 165

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Pow-wowed up on the last possible rock
outcropping before committing to the gorge,
we consulted our map and GPS waypoints. Our
satellite readings confirmed we had travelled
35km in the last 24 hours putting us at the
entrance of the Chockstone Gorge. This would
be the first of three inescapable canyons, and
the location where the previous team had
aborted their mission.

in Peru was to be the first to kayak through ‘Pongo De Aguirre’ of the Rio Huallaga, (why-ya-ga),
the last major tributary of the Amazon River, yet to be navigated.
This river is born high in the eastern slope of the
Northern Andes and descends northeast through
canyons of metamorphic boulders and limestone
gorges until it’s confluence with the Amazon
River. While most contemporary river first
descents consist of one particular drop, or some
obscure creek where kayakers have the luxury of
light boats and the close proximity of
civilization, the Pongo De Agiurre of the
Huallaga is a remote 52-mile stretch of river with
an average gradient of 100 feet per mile located
within the confines of a 7,000 ft deep canyon.
This foreboding section of river has eluded two
other previous attempts due to the unportagable
and unscoutable gorges that lay within the heart
of the canyon.
Although I had been a member of multiple
international first descents from Russia to
Madagascar, this river would be the most serious
undertaking in my 13 years of expedition
kayaking. With no major sponsorship or detailed
information for what lay within the heart the
canyon, convincing paddling partners to spend
their hard earned cash on a possible wild goose
chase would be difficult. A Peruvian team
member would also have been an asset, as they
would help to negotiate the cultural nuances that
inevitably come into play when travellin g as a
group of foreigners.
After multiple attempts to reach out to the
Peruvian whitewater community via Facebook
and email, with no response, I conceded to the
fact that it would have to be team of gringos to
get the job the done. Two months before our
window of low water - which would be essential
to make it through this unexplored canyon - the
team started to fall into place. Our group would
be a mix of experienced old hands and talented
youth.

I had meet Matthew and Nate Klema while
teaching a swiftwater course on the Grand
Canyon in 2008. These two brothers, from
Durango, Colorado, seemed wise beyond their
years. Matthew, 26, a student of geology and
engineering, had already been leading Grand
Canyon trips for five years. Nate, 21, fun loving
and gregarious, starting kayaking at the age of 10
years old and it shows within his motivation for
running bold rapids. Ben Luck, 21, from Homer
Alaska, is quiet and humble and has an evenkeeled intensity for adventure that is always
welcomed in any situation.
I spent the spring of 2010 enjoying the classic
southwest rivers with these guys and by the end
of June, I had convinced them to miss a semester
of school with the worn out saying, “college will
always be there.” When Ryan Casey, 33, from
Ketchum, Idaho agreed to come, I knew we had
the makings of a very solid team. Standing 6’7”,
this soft-spoken giant is an Idaho legend and
arguably the best kayaker in the world. A last
minute addition to the team was Evan Ross 26,
from Jacksonhole, Wyoming. Evan and I had
paddled in remote places together such as
Madagascar and Russia during the last six years.
To this day, the man never ceases to amaze me
with his classic one-liners and ninja-esque
Top: Take out
paddling skills.

Bottom: Nate Klema Day 2

Getting to the country of your destination with
Photos: Evan Ross
a kayak is half the battle for all international
paddling trips as passing off your cloaked kayak
as a ‘surf-ski’ is getting more difficult each year.
Every time I get to the check-in counter it
becomes a roll of the dice whether my boat is
happily greeted by some adventurous airline
employee, or the dreaded words, “Air Cargo” are
muttered between the check-in attendants as they
look suspiciously at the so called ‘surf-ski.’ In
order to avoid this whole scenario of getting shut
down at the airport before the trip even began,
we decided to send our boats on a container via
the Panama Canal. Upon arrival in Lima, we
soon learned what the word “tramites” meant.

ThePaddler 165