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Decline and Fall By Chip Powell

Decline and Fall /Chippy and Col go Boating and Jeff came too

(With apologies to Gibbon for stealing his Chapter headings :)

(Cline and Bighorn edition)

Id nobis maxime nocet, quod non ad rationis lumen sed ad similitudinem aliorum vivimus

    - (Lucius Annaeus Seneca), Octavia act II,



Constitution (Ch.3)

High in the Rockies on the Icefields parkway there is a stream. At the top of the stream there is a pass. On the other side of the pass is a lake, surrounded by mountains; there is the potential for it to be pretty. And that's all the reason we need.

The Cline from Pinto Lake to highway #11.

The usual visit to Maptown so I can pay for Rogers boating and we are armed with the topo map. Get a phone call from Jeff G, wondering what we are up to for the long weekend, a willing accomplice in carnage is welcome, sell the idea to him at Wednesdays barbie, Thursday he decides he's in.

Atypical gear sorting chaos and JG and I head out to meet Col at the takeout about 40 km from Nordegg on Friday. The sun filtering through the smoke from the forest fires a couple of hundred km away in BC is spectacularly trippy, the hazy tendrils and wisps weave across the sky. As we pass Canmore I realise I left $70 of slide film in my fridge. At Louise I purchase three very expensive print films at the gas station tourist trap. Better than nothing but I 'm cursing. I also forgot my pot, by the side of the stove where I won't forget it. Fortunately Jeff has a spare.



Attitude toward Christians (Ch. 16)

Sat by the side of the road kicking back and waiting for Colan. We eventually spot his van. He got here earlier and managed to scout upstream a ways; we load gear into Jeffs truck and the battery dies. The gratuitous demise of vehicles on kayak trips continues. Jump start the truck with Cols van and then we're off. Receive a phone call from Lianne, she, Sara and Jo are stuck trying to get to the Clearwater due to fires. We congratulate ourselves on having made the sensible(?) choice.

Spend the night bivvied at Rampart creek and load the boats in the morning, before driving into the trailhead. Jeff has brought his bathroom scales; out of interest we weigh the boats. As I have packed light by leaving my sleeping bag and Thermarest behind and I 've stripped down my camera gear, and even chopped excess material out of my footrest I am shocked to find that I am 262lbs all up; rather more than my usual 148. Jeff's scales aren't big enough for Col and his boat, they start another lap; 325ish is our educated guess. Heavens knows what we carried for the Brazeau, an extra 5 days food plus more gear.

We strap the boats to the carry systems and head up the hill. The first 1.5km we switchback through the trees as we gain 450m from the trailhead, with occasional glimpses of the thundering falls on Norman creek. We are making good time as we reach the upland plateau at around 1900m, looking back SW we can make out Mount Amery in the smokehaze, to the north Mount Coleman. South East is Mount Wilson, 3200m metres with its icefields, we wander across the meadow searching out the route surrounded by the brutal majesty of the mountains.

We encounter groups of hikers. We are amazed to be making better time than them. One group suggests the descent to Pinto Lake via the gulley reached by a faint track on the right as a shorter option. We decide to try it. I already feel as though I 'm carrying my crucifix up Calvary, 115lbs is a burden to climb 2000+ feet with. We stop to pump water and break for a bit and try and find heavy things to snack on.

Load up again and continue to the Sunset pass, my personal Golgotha.



Conversion (Ch.20)

The bands of rock poke through the thin soil cover, butterflies flit across the meadow behind and below us, looking down from the pass I see Pinto Lake, a jewel, far below.

Jeff and Colan have scouted ahead whilst waiting for me and spotted the track down the gulley. It's steep but manageable, we hope. I loose sight of the others, my speed on downhills is limited, to protect my knees. My calls to them are answered by the crashing and banging of a scree slide, and as I descend further I see Jeffs boat with Jeff under it struggling down a 55 degree slope, clinging to a handy rope. There is no sight of Col so I assume he's already at the bottom, possibly not in a crumpled heap.

We descend 200m in 400. I take off my boat and slide it down the scree behind me, this keeps the yak pack off the ground and with each step down I can rest it on my thigh. It 's also a little more controlled, but if it goes I'll become an inadvertant passenger real quick. Jeff and Col poke their heads round the corner at the bottom and briefly consider helping me. Showers of rocks suggest this is not a healthy idea, their retreat is rapid. We drop into the trees and Jeff takes off, or rather his boat does. Sick of carrying it, he has stripped his carry system and is now towing it; fine initially, but in the forest there is still a slope. His tales of sprinting down narrow tracks in the trees pursued by a 100lb kayak on a string, attempting not to be run down or crushed entertain Col and I immensely.

I reach the shore of the lake. Beautiful. There is a little campsite already there, no effort required. This is good as we're done with effort. I go for a brief swim whilst Colan christens his new boat and goes for a gentle drift. Looking back at our descent is awe inspiring, the massive buttress bordering the gulley towering above us.

Eat and then crash, Hot 100s in hot chocolate wash down the Ibuprofen at bedtime.



Persecution of Heresy (Ch.21)

Pinto Lake is incredible, the water is so clear. We rise and breakfast and get on the water. Col is scoping the fish, Jeff chats to some campers further down the shore and I just take photos as we cruise across the lake and reflect on yesterdays hike. Eight and a half km, 800m climb and 300m descent, a fine average of 1km/hr.

A kilometre across the lake is the head of the Cline at 5750 feet. We are fortunate that there is more water than we expected, to have a dry creek bed at this point would be hard. It's small stream size with some grade II shallow bits, insufficient water to paddle the boats all the way but enough to float and drag. We look like a trio of four year olds towing our toys down the stream on a string. Knee depth is the transition point when we can sit on top and paddle, then hop up as we ground again.

There are logs down in the river. These add to the experience but what we are not entirely sure. After one drag /lift/limbo session Jeff notices he's lacking a paddle, fortunately it's not too far back and he finds it within five minutes.

The volume increases as Huntington and Cataract creeks join ours, we can paddle if we're careful finding the line. After 12km we pump water by McDonald creek, and chat to hikers. They were confused by yesterdays' peregrinations, three vertical kayaks wandering across an alpine meadow, like a twisted version of the Teletubbies (who's Lala?). Now they almost understand.

Minster mountain dominates to our south and the peaks of the Cloisters and the White Goat Wilderness area stretch away to the north and the Brazeau watershed.

McDonald creek is flowing milky. The added volume enables us to wind through the meadow, kayaking alpine streams like this presents the wildflowers at eyelevel. No bending or effort required, just in your face prettiness, swathes of colour. Take time to smell the flowers and reflect on living. None of us have run this river before. The joys of discovery are part of what makes the backwoods boating such fun. The flowers seem different to those we saw on the Brazeau last month, one watershed further north. It's a privilege to be allowed to notice the distinction.



The Barbarians (Ch.26)

Little feeder streams and sidecreeks add to the volume as we wind through open canyons with occasional class III+ stretches between the gravel beds. The canyons are fun sections as the river attempts to divert our attention from the scenery. They're fascinating. Unfortunately we didn't bring our tame geologist (he's broken), but we still appreciate the intricate folding and faulting, the odd bands of conglomerate in the strata and the fantastic array of colours. We're having a ball playing down the river. The smoke from BC burning creates a haze on the hills. It adds an air of mystery to the mountains softening their profile and obscuring the detail in the rock.



Final Division (Ch.29)

We paddle a while and just chill. The scenery is magnificent. Playing in the canyons, they're spectacular. We reach the dark rock canyon, a cue that something's about to happen. What happens is three people on a river asking "What did they say about a dark rock canyon?"

The river becomes more playful, the walls tighten in and the rapids pick up to class IV. We are having a hoot, this is a run to test the boat-scouting skills, until we get to a horizon line where the closest eddy is too far above to see over the top. Hitting a micro non-eddy at the edge of a 35degree wet rock slab, I jam my paddle in a useful crevice and by laybacking on an overhang I manage to wriggle out of my kayak and onto the slab. After a very hairy traverse across the slab I can see the drop in question. It looks OK, about IV+ if you hit in the centre. Bit of a hole below but the portage is harder than the drop. Slithering back along the rock I call directions to the others. Neither of them seem overly enthused ("What's he say Jeff?" "Dunno Col, something about the center, I think") but they are more reluctant to try and join me on my perch.

I set up with throwbag (just in case) and camera (because one always should) and away they go, boating builds trust. Where else could you have this? The heart in mouth feeling of running a line blind on a shouted description or hand signal.

Their lines are good, a little spectacular tail walk action but nothing untoward.

I join them below the hole and we continue down a gloriously swoopy deep canyon, from less than a boat length wide at water level, the walls climb up and widen way above us before narrowing to a seductive stripe of blue sky impossibly high in the air.

We reach the only portage on the run. This is typical of many of my portages with Colan, a loaded hundred metre scramble up some scree that he seems to lope up with aplomb as I sweat and swear and struggle and still fail to keep up. Fortunately Jeff is with us to make me feel better about being so slow.

Huh. Jeff is at the top before Col. I should really take more exercise/get fitter one day.

We bash through the forest along the rim and eventually descend into the river along a stream. Once back on the water we enter a fantastically gorgeous hourglass gorge. The walls swoop up and then seven metres above us close back over, the eroded curves complimenting the grey colouring of the rock and accentuating the different hues of banding. If there were walk in access to this the Louvre would go bust. Never mind Botticelli this is artistry at its finest. It is also the final gasp. Below this the take out beckons and the 60km shuttle back to Jeff's truck. We play RoShamBo, I loose and ride in the back with the boating gear.



Fall in the West (Ch.36)

So what to do after a bliss trip like the Cline? JG has returned to work so it will be just the bad boys boating on Monday.

We decide on the Bighorn as a pleasant, virtually non carrying type run.

This is a pool drop run in a very impressive canyon, mostly class II/III boulder gardens with half a dozen bigger drops ranging from the 20m Crescent falls (no, not running that) to Schoolhouse at 3-4m.

We arrive fairly late at the Crescent falls campground and it is busy. Within 30 minutes we meet the Conservation officer who asks us to turn the music down, we ramble on about the Cline; he tells us if we register we are temporary residents and so will not be drinking alcohol in a public place. We agree and continue cooking and discreetly drinking our beers. He parks up and goes to attend to the rowdies.

A little while later the warden arrives. We convince her that $13 is appropriate as that is what the C.O. said and Col negotiates some firewood. We had planned to sleep in the woods and have a fire but I'm quite tired and the woods seem to be inconveniently occupied by people so I just bivvi down between my kayak and Cols van.

Monday morning…..We sleep in late, guess we needed to recharge. After breakfast we head over to the parking lot and drop the gear. Col heads down to the getout to drop the van. Whilst waiting for Col to hitch back I start to carry the boats to the river, we scouted the path to the putin last night and have an idea of where to go. Whilst not in the same league as some of our recent runs, there is still several hundred metres of goat track to negotiate, including one fun vertical section. Col returns just as I am halfway down a steep section carrying his boat. There is no way I can put it down without falling over so he lets me carry on. Cols new CFS needs the hip pads extending to make portaging more comfy.

We get in just below Curtain Call, the second drop. This is runnable but high, 11m or so and there is an eight metre tree in it resting vertically right in the centre of the line. I can happily pass on this as I have no desire to become a Chip kebab.

The boulder gardens and little drops are technical fun, would benefit from more water as our greatest risk is pinning on so much rock. The canyon is tremendous, wider and deeper than yesterdays, the grandeur of the massive walls contrast with our audience, tiny specks that are people on the rim.



Barbarian Rule (Ch.38)

We reach the next drop, Particle Accelerator, definitely requires more water to open the line out, tempting but we both walk, there's a lot of rock to hit at the bottom and the line is very fine. Get hurt and evacuation would be major hassle so discretion wins.

Our reward is Schoolhouse, a 3-4 m ledge. Beautifully clean and easy we try for synchronised boofing, a complete giggle, then spend a happy few minutes playing in the pool below. The ledge is so clean we paddle behind the fall from opposite sides, passing each other in the cave behind. There is so much room there we can turn and paddle out through the falling curtain. After getting pounded down we pop up into the pool once more, then decide to climb back up and run it again.

Head down to Freefall and stop to inspect. This is about 9m vert and looks OK too. Play RoShamBo. Colan wins so chooses to go first. He breaks out into the eddy above the drop with the biggest grin ever, anymore and the top of his head will fall off. Three strokes out of the eddy and he's gone, plummeting over the edge, still smiling.

So now it's my turn. I sometimes find high stuff a bit freaky, I have no problem hitting the eddy (I'm really good at hitting eddies above drops, it's the incentive factor at work) but I'm hesitant as I reach the lip and not definite like I should be. I drop in with my paddle high and it's torn from my left hand as I feel my shoulder tweak. I come rocketing up out of plunge pool with my paddle in one hand. Uh-oh, not so good.

My left shoulder is sore but useable, consider this one a wake up call and a warning not to do that again.

The Final Analysis is next, nine metres of class V with a constricted lead in. We inspect on the left. Centre and left side does not appeal as there is a shelf three metres down the water flumes off. Possibly boofable, but only if you want to land flat on green water in the pool below. Right is more of an 80 degree slide but the lead in is tricky. My turn to go first. A comment of Mick Hopkinsons' springs to mind, either worry about it and screw up or shut up, sit down and paddle it the way it deserves.

I cruise the lead in, getting the rail slide off a partially submerged rock that kicks me sideways and sets me up nicely for my line down and then I'm on it and gone. This time I tuck and set properly the way I know I should. The force of the water rushing past squeezes my contacts up my eyes. I surface smoothly, despite all it's technicality a super clean line. Colan appears slightly more left than planned but he too rockets down into the pool and rises like a missile. He did n't quite get the rail slide right and went over the rock instead of sliding sideways.

The run below Final Analysis is doable but dry. Definitely needs more water than we have, but the canyon is incredible.

Thanks to Col and Jeff G for coming to play and Jeff McDougall (Mr Fluid Designs) for Yakpaks to make it possible.

and the Latin?

This is our chief bane, that we live not according to the light of reason, but after the fashion of others.

    - Seneca (Lucius Annaeus Seneca), Octavia (act II, 454)

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