Today started out deceptively peaceful. Made it through the flats with no problem—smooth, calm, almost serene. The kind of day that gives you false confidence before things go sideways. Once I hit Gore Canyon, it was time to gear up and get serious.
Class III? No sweat. But the Class IV? That’s where things turned into a blender of chaos, otherwise known as “applesauce.” I thought I had a solid line, but I was too far back on the board, and down she went. Got roasted in the rapids—flipped, tumbled, and spit out feeling like applesauce myself. At that point, I decided to portage the rest, with my ego taking a hit but my body still intact.
A few miles downriver, I rejoined the water, but things were already heading south. Out of water, daylight fading fast. It was clear I’d be spending the night in the canyon. I found a spot to start a fire and refill my water bottles. That’s when I realized—everything was soaked. My bag hadn’t stayed as secure as I’d hoped, and now the entire contents of my gear were soggy, including me.
I set the board up against a tree and spread out everything to dry. My honcho, which I love, felt like a lead blanket when wet. A couple of hours by the fire, and things were just dry enough to stay warm. Sleep? Not much. I was too busy keeping the fire stoked and trying to stay comfortable. The moon kept me company through the night, and before I knew it, the sun started creeping back over the canyon walls.
I finished off the last few miles with everything a little lighter—except for my lessons learned. Tomorrow’s a new day, and I’ll be securing that bag a lot better. And I’ll remember to take more photos.
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