Rapid Network

For two years I had been dreaming to paddle the Yukon River through the northern Canadian wilderness. Finally, on the twenty-fifth of May in 1962 we arrived in Whitehorse. My companions were my wife, Renate, and my friend Konrad. On the western shore, not far from the historic paddle-wheelers, we built up our fold-able kayaks and crossed the river. We set up camp, overlooking the landscape, and waited for a break in the pouring rain.

Two days later we were happy to paddle this enchanting river that was winding its way through the lush rain forest of the Yukon Territory. We entered the idyllic Lake Laberge just before dark and camped at a cozy bay on the eastern shore. Because the weather was great, we stayed there almost a week and enjoyed the time by exploring the area.

The lake was calm when we left our camp-site just after sunrise and we paddled our kayaks along the eastern shoreline. Lake Laberge is about forty miles long and is truly a paddler's paradise. In the early afternoon we had reached the end of the lake and the Yukon drained out of its "resting place". The river took us along mountainous slopes and we landed on a forested island where we pitched up our tents.

We paddled about fife more days on this ever winding river with beautiful mountain views, before we reached the village Carmacks. It was a small community of only 106 people in 1962. We landed our kayaks on the grass covered river bank and went to the grocery store to restock our supplies. Just as we had left the store, we met several members from the Canoe Club of Whitehorse. They greeted us friendly and offered us a free ride on their rented flat-bed track to bypass the dangerous Fife Finger Rapids.

"This year the water level is the highest since nine years," they explained to us, "and since five attempts to shoot the rapids had ended fatally, nobody tried this for the last six years. The current of the river is now about eighteen miles per hour and in the rapids it's much higher yet."

I thanked them all for their generous offer and their good information but friendly declined because my desire gave me the inner assurance, that we could do it. Was this feeling perhaps just based on my stubborn pride? We shook hands and they wished us the best of luck.

When we returned to the river bank, some friendly natives had gathered to admire our kayaks and wondered if these things could handle the rapids better than their canoes. I explained to them that the spray cover would keep the kayaks dry and that one could balance them with the hips.

"One could try to roll the kayak upright again by using the double paddle to perform a certain technique," I assured them. "It's called Eskimo-Roll; but with a hundred pounds of gear inside, this is not an option."

"We hope that you make it through alive tomorrow," said the chief, "Just keep on the very right side of the rapids. If you capsize, you can say "good night Charlie."

The next morning, after we had finished our breakfast, we rolled up the tents and loaded our kayaks. Then we carefully "sliced" into the current by paddling against the stream before making the turn. We were very quiet that morning but the river was very fast. My mind was occupied with techniques of rescue procedures and I was constantly fighting against feelings of fear and guilt.

A while later we landed before the rapids and secured the kayaks to a nearby tree. Then I carried my 16 mm movie camera and tripod up the steep slope. My wife followed me closely until we arrived at a flat spot from where we could overlook the main channel.

The speed of the current was awesome. I also noticed a shallow wave that swept the standing waves sideways. It came from the piled up current at the steep rocky island and looked white like rolling surf. These sweepers were unpredictable but we trusted that the Yukon remained our friend. As soon as I had set up the camera for my wife to film us, she kissed me for good luck and I made my way back down the slope.

When I arrived at our landing site, I told Konrad about my observation but he seemed to be confident to handle anything that came his way. I let him go first so I could assist him if things went wrong. As planned, we entered the rapids only about twenty feet distant from the steep rock on the eastern bank and then headed into the eight foot high standing waves. I said a short prayer and dashed into the first "white giant". I was lifted up high and dropped suddenly, before my kayak pierced into the next wave. From all sides the crests of waves splashed over the spray cover, whitewater apron and into my face. Then, like out of nowhere, a sweeping wave hit my kayak hard on the left side and throw me off balance, just before I reached the crest of the big wave. My right shoulder and head submerged and I remembered the words of the Indian Chief, "Good night, Charlie!" As the bow entered deep into the fourth wave, a great mass of water rose up on the right side below me and forced my kayak upright. I was puzzled and also very happy.

"I am alive!" I shouted, and paddled vigorously for maximum balance. Humbled by the life saving experience, new gratitude filled me with exuberance. I knew, this was not possible and perhaps no paddler would ever believe it. Perhaps it was guidance and I had subconsciously felt it the day before, when I was full of confidence.

The next two waves were a little smaller and I could see the riverbank again. Konrad was heading toward shore ahead of me. A few minutes later we backed our kayaks into a tiny cove and howled like wolves do when they feel victorious. Then we laughed and shook hands.

A moment later I stepped ashore and climbed up the hill to meet Renate and guide her safely to her kayak. I made sure that she was ready to go and told her to wait forty-five minutes, so that I had enough time to stow away the camera and get ready.

Everything went according to plan. After I was back in my kayak, we were waiting for her to approach the eddy after the second island. We waited about ten minutes and then we spotted her, cutting through the high waves toward the island. She crossed the third giant and then we could no longer see her paddle blades! We started to count to ten, but then, at the count of nine, we saw her paddle again! These were the most beautiful paddle blades I had ever seen!

We both joined her in mid river and felt cheerful and confident enough to face anything that the Yukon could surprise us with. It was a pleasure to paddle the fast flowing river through the land of the moose, wolves and bears again. A few miles farther down we were heading into the Rink Rapids. The standing waves were about six feet high, white crested and almost evenly placed across the river. It was great fun to dash through these white giants, and I felt even more exuberant.

Just as we came out of the river's bent, we saw a big island with tall, luscious trees in the distance. I chose to camp there overnight because we were safe from bears and wolves there and it was easy to access from the back-eddy between the currents.

Sitting between our kayaks and tents by the camp fire in total wilderness was my understanding of greatest romance and adventure. After we enjoyed a big bowl of rice with condensed milk and raisins, I played the guitar and we sang old songs of the moose and the midnight sun. When I thought of the way my life had been saved in the Fife-Finger-Rapids, I felt very humbled, and a little tear of gratitude united us all in a strong belief.

"Yes, there is something like Spiritual Guidance," we agreed on, "even if our minds cannot consciously understand it."