Katie is currently several hundred miles off the coast of South America in her rowboat Liv, and it will only be a few weeks before she lands at her destination in Cayenne, French Guiana. She’s had a hugely successful journey so far, and it looks like she will finish her trip well ahead of schedule. You can follow her adventure here.

In anticipation of Katie’s arrival, I went back and dusted off some of the old footage we worked on together. I’d hate to see this content go to waste, and I’m also hopeful that I’ll be able to license some of this content to news outlets that want to tell Katie’s story. This short video reveals a bit about Katie’s anticipation of her journey as well as some of the tensions that emerged amongst her family as she pursued her unconventional dreams:

Katie Spotz - Row for Water Interview from Horizonline Pictures on Vimeo.

Just before my visit with Katie I spent two weeks touring the North Shore of Lake Superior in Minnesota, kayaking a handful of world-class whitewater runs. Part of my trip took me north into Canada where I got to boat three beautiful, wilderness rivers with John Alt, Pete Gehrels, and a few other good friends. John contacted me the other week asking to see some footage of a beating he took on the Cypress River on our first day out in Canada. Rather than just post the video to facebook, I thought I’d work it into more of a finished piece–a small preview of the extensive content from the North Shore that I will be producing with Rapid Transit in the coming weeks. Stay tuned for more!

The Cypress 30′: a North Shore Preview from Horizonline Pictures on Vimeo.

Thanks for checking in. Let me know your thoughts on the videos and on shorts.

-Chris

Phil of the Bowerbirds sings at the Grey Eagle.

Yann backs him up.

James drinks.

The Bowerbirds are a new favorite band of mine, and they played a great show at the Grey Eagle on January 12th. James Michael and Anne went along with me, and they were both very impressed with Yann’s multitasking at the drums, keyboard, and backup vocals. I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of the show.

Bowerbirds music can best be classified in the alt-country and freak folk genres. This latter genre title is new to me and doesn’t seem quite appropriate for the music itself (in fact, many of the artists labeled as freak folk resent the title), but it’s the most specific classification I’ve found yet for this brand of contemporary folk; so there you have it. Whatever you call it, this is music well worth checking out.

I also participated in a pair of cold-weather kayak races in January: The Iceman Championship on the Saluda River and the Chattooga Race. I left both events feeling I’d underperformed and fallen short of my potential, but this is a regular theme for me in competitions. I almost never feel like I’ve done as well as I ought.

Chris Gragtmans boofs onto the finish line at Sock'em Dog rapid, Chattooga River.

In the Chattooga Race I made a strategic error coming off the starting line and got swallowed in the pack of twenty boats that were all vying for position. In a head-to-head start it’s essential to get out front early so that you don’t waste energy fighting with the pack, but I got myself stuck in the thick of the racers, all of us paddling behind the two-foot wake that the leaders were raising across the narrow river bed.

I spent the rest of the race trying to gain ground, and I managed to work up to fifth position (still about a hundred yards behind the front group of three). I would have been somewhat happy with a fifth-place result, but at the final rapid of the race, Sock’em Dog, I pulled a weak boof stroke and back-endered into the hole. I was stuck in there long enough for three or four other paddlers to boof in atop me and pass right at the finish line. I was too exhausted to fight out of the hole and eventually left my boat, was recirculated three times, and finally caught a rope to be pulled out. No glory there, but still a thoroughly fun day on the river with friends.

The racers gathered together around a fire, relieved to be at the finish rock.

Here is the last picture of the set and my personal favorite. It was taken at my friend Bryan’s house on a night when he had several people over to enjoy a backyard bonfire and a pony keg of Pisgah Pale Ale. This is the best of mountain living in winter, though by now everyone around these parts is ready to bid winter farewell.

Well, I’ve been playing the avoidance game long enough–it’s time to turn back to my least favorite harbinger of Spring: taxes. Thanks for visiting, and please leave a comment if you’d like.

-Chris

Flash forward four months, and I’m standing on the beach at Lee’s Ferry with the six other members of my group preparing to launch onto the Colorado River. In the weeks prior to our December 5th launch date I had managed (with extensive help from my local outdoors shop, Diamond Brand) to put together the equipment necessary to make this journey–a three-season tent, 15-degree sleeping bag with fleece liner, gloves, wool socks, drysuit and insulating layers, etc., etc. With these items packed away in my drybag I was feeling pretty confident for the journey ahead, but the ranger giving us our orientation that morning seemed to have other ideas. She went to great lengths to impress upon us the seriousness of the expedition we were embarking on, warning us about the various critters that would try to steal our food and share our sleeping bags at night all the while making foreboding references to a heavy winter storm coming our way. In reference to the whitewater we would encounter downriver she said simply, “You’re going to be surprised.”

Our group of six about to put on the river.

Once we slipped our four kayaks and two rafts into the cool, green waters of the Colorado, we quickly forgot the ranger’s gloom. Our group of seven had pulled together around the gravity of Adam’s organization: there were his four college buddies from the Radford University Outdoors program (Chris “Odie” Odell, Brandon “Beadle” Dale, Herb Crimp, and Dave Goodman), there was his co-worker (and the only woman on the trip) Kim, and then there was me, a friend made through several days spent together on rivers around the Southeast. If there was any common characteristic that bound our party together during those first days we were getting to know each other, it was that we shared a vibrant sense of humor–a cardinal virtue when you have to spend fourteen days in the wilderness together.

The air was comfortably cool and the skies clear and sunny as we floated down the river that first afternoon. The canyon walls began to rise around us, and a still quite replaced the bustle and conversation that had dominated our morning preparations. We drifted beneath the Navajo Bridge (the last sign of civilization for many, many miles), and the tiny silhouettes of people high above looked down and waved at us. We whistled and waved back and forth to them.

Beadle and Odie take in the early Canyon beauty.

Adam Goshorn rounds a river bend. Day 2 on the river.

This river journey was unlike any boating I had ever done, and I had a lot to learn. I learned how to efficiently pack my personal drybag. I learned not to pitch my tent beneath the tamarisk trees. (While setting up, the prickly needles dropped down my pants and stuck to my longjohns). I learned not to thaw the congealed olive oil in the pot of hot water intended for drinks.

Day by day our team of seven tightened up our routine and the distribution of labor. Due to scheduling conflicts, we had allotted only fourteen days to complete the Canyon (normal winter trips take nearly twice that long). This meant that we had to average twenty river miles each day, which was a heavy load for the rafts. Our three dedicated oarsmen (Kim, Herb, and Dave) all had minimal rafting experience and were learning the slow-moving, eighteen-foot oar-rigs for the first time. I found the rafts to be an exciting challenge and took many opportunities to share in the oar work. Lining up for a class 4 rapid is pure fun in a kayak, but in a huge inflatable weighing over a thousand pounds it becomes a daunting challenge.

To my surprise, one of the greatest challenges in the raft proved to be the flat water. The river would often meander through mild stretches of long oxbows and pools. In certain pools, nearly all the current dove below the surface, creating a river-wide eddy current that the oarsman would have to fight to cross. In swifter water, the main concern was being swept into a recirculating eddy where the swirling current would trap the raft behind eddy fences and keep it spinning in circles, unable to re-enter the main flow.

Looking down on Nautiloid Camp: our home for night 2.

Our raft dwarfed by the Canyon walls in one of the calmer stretches of river.

On our third day out, the character of the river bed was particularly fickle and the effort of downriver progress exhausting. We stopped at Lower Nankoweep Camp in the early afternoon, and as we unloaded the rafts a light rain began to fall. The winter storm had finally caught up with us, and it rained off and on throughout the afternoon as we hiked up the canyon walls to visit the ancient Indian granaries. By nightfall the rain was falling steadily and gave no indication of letting up.

The storm blows in over Nankoweep.

Kim and Adam had managed to pitch their tents before things got really wet, but the remaining five guys all elected to huddle up under the kitchen tarp for the night. I attempted to set up my tent fly and poles under the tarp, poking several people in the face before all was said and done. A cold, windy front blew through camp as the darkness became complete, and the tarp overhead soaked through until it sagged and dripped all over. A few sleepless hours into the night, a major gust lifted the edges of our tarp and brought pots and pans cascading down atop the heads of the guys trying to sleep beneath the kitchen tables. A chorus of colorful language followed.

Shortly before midnight, the falling rain and sudden drop in temperature conspired to set off a series of rock slides on the canyon walls around us. It was an eerie, thunderous sound–each long rumble was followed by expressions of awe from beneath our tarp. Balled up in my sleeping bag and trying to stay dry, I thought to myself that if there was anything that could redeem this miserable night, that sound was surely it.

Calm and very cold: the morning after the storm snow blankets the canyon rim.

The next day dawned clear and very chilly. The night at Nankoweep would be the worst weather we encountered on the trip, but it set off a stretch of persistently cold, wet days that were trying for our group. There was a tradeoff of this miserable weather, however: the wintry conditions produced some of the most beautiful scenes we would witness during our time in the Canyon:

Herb and Dave row below the snowy rim.

Passing through the narrowest point on the Canyon. Some of the rock here is Vishnu Schist, a tremendously hard, black stone that has been carved into elegant, curved formations over eons of time (also the oldest layer of rock in the canyon).

Afternoon light.

It took me a long time to get used to the size of our group in the Canyon. Many nights, while sitting around the campfire, I would look up and wonder who was missing, only to count and rediscover that we were just seven, and all present. For me, this new sense of scale was the most impressive part of the experience. Being way down in the Canyon truly puts a person “in his place.” We’re forced to recognize how small and insignificant we are in the context of creation. This is a humbling thought, especially in light of the out-of-scale impact that we humans frequently have on the natural world (for example, the two enormous dams that bookend the Grand Canyon).

The Canyon is an embarrassment of riches in natural beauty, and for the avid photographer it can be a challenge to simply pull back from the lens and be present. As our journey progressed, I found I had to remind myself to spend time apart from my cameras in order to take it all in. Here’s more evidence that I was not entirely successful in this effort:

Adam at work on a cold, cold day.

Kim, still smiling despite the rain.

The blue waters of Havasu Canyon, a tributary to the Colorado.

The group enjoys an afternoon snack at Below Redslide Camp--first sunny day we've seen in a while!

The author looking a bit weather-beaten after nine days on the river. (Photo by Dave Goodman)

Looking upriver from Below Redslide.

Campfire and stars that night.

In addition to the wonderful scenery, the Grand Canyon offers a lot of high quality whitewater. Our whole journey down the Colorado I lived in dread of a raft flip, and as luck would have it, I was the only person to come close to actually tipping a raft over. We were fortunate, though: Our three oarsmen/woman navigated every challenge with grace. The whitewater of the Grand Canyon can be pretty well summed up thus: big waves, big holes, big fun.

Kim looking small in the approach to Lava Falls.

No whamy, no whamy. Whamy! Deep breath.

Herb & Dave roll through the meat of Lava Falls. (photo by Adam Goshorn)

We made our mileage quotas, and by day eleven we were able to take a layover at Whitmore Wash Camp. We slept in, hiked to a nearby pictograph panel and continued up the adjacent lava flow to the rim, and in the evening we ate as much of our remaining food stores as we could stomach. At Whitmore we savored all the best aspects of the Grand Canyon in winter: no crowds, no motorized traffic (helicopter or boat), driftwood campfires, and minimal threat of embarrassing exposure while grooving by the riverside.

After nearly two weeks on the river, I’d finally grown used to the small size of our group and the remoteness we felt each day in the Canyon. As our journey neared its end I began to feel some reluctance about re-entering the “real world.” You might understand the quotation marks here, for in many respects a wilderness trip like this is much more of a substantial experience than the day-to-day grind that forms our customary routine. That’s why we hunger for wild places. The natural world is good therapy for the culture-addled mind and heart. Take away culture, take away cell phones and television and the Internet (and yes, even cameras sometimes), and you begin to pay attention on a different level. You watch the play of light across the carved landscape, you smell the dry sage aroma of the desert in the morning, and at night you hear the river and are exquisitely aware of the absence of any other sound.

Light and shadow: the difference between T-shirt weather and shiver weather. The Canyon is a place of stark contrasts.

Barrel Cactus way up high in a landscape meant for hardy creatures.

View from the rim above Whitmore Wash.

Two days after our layover at Whitmore Camp we rose before dawn and floated one final mile downriver to our takeout at Diamond Creek. Drifting out of the Canyon in the pre-dawn stillness felt like a fitting way to conclude our trip.

This journey down the Canyon took me by surprise in so many ways. It was one of the greatest adventures of my life. I’m grateful to the folks at Diamond Brand who supported me in this journey, and I thank you readers for participating in the story this far. In closing, I’ll leave you with two final images from the Canyon. Here’s to adventure and to sharing it with good friends:

Unknown boater entering Bride of Frankenstein rapid.

Spencer boofing into Bride at the start of the run.

Spencer, Sunshine Falls.

This was my return to shooting film (Kodak 100NC in this case) after a few years hiatus in the digital realm, and I found it very refreshing. To me, shooting film has all the warmth and nostalgia of listening to an LP. There’s also more interplay with the medium in film photography. Shooting with a digital SLR produces immediate, controlled results whereas the film process requires more patience and often produces surprises in the results. It’s a hell of a lot more expensive to work with film, but in the weeks following this first photographic venture I would go on to shoot my first rolls of slide film and 120mm print film (in a Holga camera: Holga on Wikipedia). In my opinion, the expense proved well worth the results. Yes, there’s much more to come.

I really enjoyed reading Rush Sturges’s recent account of his autumnal trip down the Middle Kings (check it here, http://theadrenalinerush.blogspot.com/2009/10/first-fall-middle-kings-descent.html), and I was inspired to do a photo blog about a trip we took down the Linville gorge this past Sunday. California may boast grueling, multi-day expeditions and 11,000-foot snowy passes, but down here in the South we’ve got deciduous trees!

On Saturday, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself for having to miss this year’s Russell Fork Race (due to a sprained wrist); so when Ben Blake messaged me that he’d be going to Linville Gorge on Sunday, I checked my sore hand and gave myself Dr.’s approval to get out and have some fun. We met up with a good group of guys (Jonathan Absher, Mike Patterson, and Dewey Gibson) and found the Babel Tower parking lot packed with the cars of people out to see foliage colors. The gorge was brilliant with fall beauty as we hiked down to the river. It seemed that the leaves were peaking a bit early this year and that we chanced to get out on one of the prettiest days of this fall.

When we got down to Babel Tower rapid, Ben and Mike guessed that the level was just over 2 feet: a nice, controlled volume with enough flow to make the rapids fun and not too scary. Everyone did some comparison of their Linville River experience level: today would be Jonathan’s first run, it was run number 3 for Dewey and I, Ben had been down about 10 times, and Mike had logged some fifty plus runs on this river (so he says!). Regardless of how familiar one is with the Linville, I always sense a strong undercurrent of nerves as everyone suits up at that put-in. But maybe that’s just me.

On this day I was pretty intent on building a mental map of the river, memorizing as many lines and rapids as I could in order to return without a guide in the future. This went pretty well for the first six to eight rapids, and then my visual memory maxed out and I was no longer able to log away any of our directions. That’s the way it is with the Linville: it’s a long, consistently good river with one horizonline after another, making it a tall order to remember anything beyond the major rapids. Ben was usually at point in our group, and whenever he couldn’t recall which way to go on a rapid he would consult Mike, who generally responded, “I’ll probably know once I’m halfway down.”

What a day it was to be out in the gorge. Fall is the season of beautiful colors, comfort food, and also of creek races and competition. I often find myself getting wrapped up in the drive to perform at my best and to get down any given river as fast as I can; so it’s really good to get out for days like this–to remind oneself of the core of kayaking. You’re out in the heart of nature, flowing down the river with good friends, and every few minutes you drop into another exhilarating rapid and give a whoop and a holler for sheer joy of being in this awesome place.

Ever notice how the Linville bares a colorful variety of rapid names? You’ve got your standard, foreboding/correctional-facility imagery (Jailhouse, Drunktank, Fight Club), a bit of childhood nostalgia (Dr. Seuss), a nerdy, gamer reference (Donkey Kong), and the reverent language of the church (Cathedral Gorge). I think this pretty well covers the range of emotions one experiences while descending this river. Here’s a glimpse of my favorite spot on the Linville: Dr. Seuss Gorge. This stretch is also known as the Bob Ross Gorge . . . “We’ll just put a happy little tree over here with its leaves burning red, and some nice, gentle cliff walls right here, and a pretty, little class five rapid as you leave. There we go.”

What can you say about the Linville? It’s truly a southeastern gem, and on days like this, there are few places I’d rather be. A few more pics from the end of our day:

That’s all, folks. Thanks for taking a look and sharing the experience. To see larger versions of these photographs, you can visit my flickr stream here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/12168432@N00/. Enjoy what remains of the fall paddling–it’s about to get cold up in here!

Cover Art for The Eddy Feeling

          This Thursday, January 21st, Rapid Transit (a collective of kayaking film producers of which I am a member) will be hosting a premiere for our first DVD, The Eddy Feeling. The show will start at 9PM at the Cine in Athens, GA (http://www.athenscine.com/intro.php), and it is free (thanks to the UGA Whitewater Club!).

        From my unabashedly biased perspective, I can report that this is an excellent movie that introduces the viewer to a collection of unique individuals, each of whom add something different to the film’s exploration of why kayaking is such an engrossing and enjoyable pursuit. The movie also gives an in-depth look at the Linville River, a remote, class V gorge in North Carolina that ranks among the elite whitewater runs of the world. Spencer Cooke wrote, produced, and edited the movie along with the collaboration of Rapid Transit producers Daniel Windham (From the Darkroom), Chris Gragtmans (Catalyst Media), and myself (Horizonline Pictures). For more info about the DVD, click here: http://www.rapidtransitvideo.com/blog/?p=207#comments.

          Also, on January 20th (Tuesday) between the hours of 8 and 10, Riot Kayaks will be hosting a boat demo and roll session at Ramsey pool on the UGA campus. Contact the UGA Whitewater Club for more info on this.

         There will be two other premieres for The Eddy Feelingcoming up on February 5th, 9:30PM at the Brew’n'View in Asheville (http://ashevillepizza.com) and on February 25th at Cabin John, Maryland (http://liquidadventures.org).

         I am personally very excited about this first movie to be released from Rapid Transit. It represents the core of what we’re about as a group: telling rich, exciting, fascinating stories from the world of river running adventure. I hope you’ll take time to check it out, watch the flick, and that you’ll forgive the poofy, bowl-cut hairdoo in my brief appearance in the film. We all have bad hair days.

Much love from the Southeast,

Chris

I started out arguing for the utility value of online forums in relationships: they provide creative outlets, ways to track and keep up with friends distant and close, platforms for sharing our ideas and personalities with individuals and the world at large. Ruth was coming from the perspective of a grade school teacher who has observed a movement among young people towards conducting more and more of their social life through online networks rather than the traditional methods of personal interaction and conversation. It was a winding and intricate discussion, but I will try to summarize some of the observations we agreed on:

- Online personality is highly controlled and filtered: By their nature, Facebook and other blogging services invite us to construct a very specific image of ourselves that we present to the world. I don’t control all of the information that is posted about me online, but within the confines of my profile I choose what images of me appear, what ideas and opinions are shared, and what conversation is conducted on my “wall”. It’s a much safer mode of relating to people compared to an evening among friends where my awkward sense of humor may be exposed or the conversation may turn in a direction that challenges or surprises me.

- Online personality is often anonymous: On forums where individuals are identified only by a screenname there is a general pull towards the lowest common denominator. Witness how often comment chains on youtube and even on technical forums devolve into crude, inane cut-down contests. I recently posted a question to a web design forum, and after a short time, the list of replies began to read as follows: “Stupid troll.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Actually, Fesser, you don’t know what *you’re* talking about.”

- By the same token, the internet provides a safe environment in which to be silly and/or vulnerable. Much of the youtube phenomenon has been fueled by videos in which people dance before their webcam as though it were their bedroom mirror. I think that this is part of the reason for the popularity of blogs as creative outlets–it is easier to be vulnerable and expressive in a general online forum than, say, around a dinner table with friends or in a coffee shop full of strangers. Heck, I’m enjoying this luxury right now. On the web, when we write content for anyone and everyone, we are writing for no one in particular. I wonder what is lost in this bargain? This is not to say that blogs should not be used for this purpose (I think it is one of the highest applications they can be used for), but perhaps we should be wary of stopping there. If I write a poem or a story that I feel is worthy of sharing on the internet, maybe I should go further and share it with my friends and family, and in person.

If there is a conclusion to draw from our conversation, it might be that internet relations are simply less personal than many other mediums (letter writing, sharing a meal, even talking on the phone) and that the greatest evil in blogging or any online socializing would be to make it primary in our lifestyles. These formats are useful tools for expression and communication, but they do not constitute community and fellowship–they don’t come close. This is the risk that I think Ruth perceives for her students (that internet modes of relating will supplant traditional modes of intimacy) and the reason for her passionate pronouncement against Facebook.

Maybe I’m taking the whole question too seriously, but I find these observations a useful reminder as I begin a blog of my own, and with them in mind, I wish to establish a few guidelines for the use of this blog. These are not hard and fast rules but rather an invitation to myself and to whoever visits here to try to transcend the medium as much as possible–to make the blog more personal:

1) Whenever possible, I will address posts to someone(s) in particular–this way I will be forced to keep in mind a specific and real audience that I’m writing for.

2) Whenever so inspired, readers should join the conversation. You are not required to be passive observers here. Whether in the comment field, on your own blog, or at dinner some evening, please feel free to respond to what you find here. Critique, proof-read, tangentialize, complement (above all, complement!), but don’t let this blog end with my own pontificating.

3) Whenever I feel like it, I will keep the content unfiltered. Ha! I know how impossible this is. I can’t help but control the content here and so project an image of myself, but I will try to be as honest as I can. This way you can trust that I’m really as wise, attractive, and humble as I appear here.

4) At all times, I will not stop here. This blog is primarily intended to share the current happenings of my work in video production, but it will also be a creative outlet and a personal opinion forum. If I develop a poem or a thought that I think worth sharing, I will not keep it within the relatively safe confines of this medium. I’ll use the tool provided here for what it’s worth, and then I will take the idea, the words, and the conversation back into the real, complicated, and rewarding world of personal relationships.

Thanks for reading. I hope you’ve found some opinions here that interest you and that perhaps you’ll respond to. I certainly don’t have it all figured out–just most of it.

Chris

*footnote: many of the ideas in this post stem from a very interesting youtube video that my friend Clark shared with me. The video addresses the web2.0 movement as it manifests in the world of youtube. It provides a fairly balanced discussion, and it valorizes many of the principles that I have questioned here (i.e. the value of an anonymous format in which it is easier to be silly and/or vulnerable). Check it out here if you’re interested: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPAO-lZ4_hU

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