Down the Creek

AMC Outdoors, March 2006

Hikers on the Gulf Hagas trail, an 8.6-mile spur of the Appalachian Trail near Greenville, Maine, can stop to gaze into the deep gorge that the West Branch of the Pleasant River carves between the mountains. This little stream has scoured the Appalachian bedrock for hundreds of millennia, but its work is far from finished. The creek is coiled and constricted, tumbling over a succession of rapids and waterfalls at an average rate of 110 feet per mile. Seen from the ridge, it seems impossible that anyone could navigate this string of cataracts in any craft. For a kayaker viewing it for the first time from the seat of his boat, the question isn't whether it's navigable. It's how to do it.

"My sense was of looking down a really narrow, and tall, and steep, hallway," Phil Urban says of the fi rst time he kayaked Gulf Hagas. "You could see maybe five rapids down below, and then the 100-foot-high walls twisted so you lost sight of the creek. We descended down through this deep slot in the earth and I kept reminding myself to look around at the incredible beauty of this place." For an elite subset of whitewater enthusiasts, paddling doesn't get any better than this 4.7- mile mile stretch of river, an ecological and recreational gem that lies within AMC's Maine Woods Initiative Region.

Aside from the stunning scenery, the run's twin highlights are Billings and Buttermilk Falls, clocking in at 18 and 15 feet respectively. "They're very close together, beautiful and fairly easy," says Greg Hanlon, a northeast paddling pioneer and co-author of the seminal guide Steep Creeks of New England. "Billings Falls is a nice boof into a big pool," he says, describing both the technique needed to run the falls and the potential consequences: a pool is a relatively benign ending to a waterfall. The real hazard of this Class V creek lies farther downstream, a rapid called Wedge (also known as Amuk) that can pin even the best kayakers against an inaccessible wall. Almost everyone carries their boats around the obstacle.

That approach tells volumes about the mindset of creekboaters, as this advanced breed of kayakers and canoeists call themselves. "It's like anything-it's fun to be on the learning curve. A lot of people like to kayak for the challenge and adventure, and eventually they take a beating they're not willing to repeat," Hanlon says. At that point they either leave the sport or develop a keen respect for the power of whitewater. The sport has its share of young adrenaline junkies, but it also is populated by a surprising number of older athletes. The common denominator among elite creekers is an acute awareness of their own limits. "I'm not a great creeker, but I get myself down some pretty [difficult] stuff and I'm willing to take a "boat-assisted hike" if that's what it takes for me to get on some things," says Urban, 55, of Sedgwick, Maine. On his first trip down Gulf Hagas last fall he did just that, hiking out of the steep gorge rather than run the steeper second half of the run in failing light.

Whitewater kayaking has grown exponentially in the last 10 years, fueled by design innovations that made previously difficult techniques and rivers more accessible. Along the way kayaks diverged into two basic classes: playboats designed to perform acrobatic tricks on standing waves and other river features, and creek boats built to carry their owners safely through more difficult whitewater. The sport has made a similar split. If playboating is comparable to a workout on climbing wall, then creeking is analogous to winter mountaineering.

Those who enjoy the physical challenge of whitewater paddling but don't relish the inherent risk of isolated steep creeks often gravitate toward playboating. This booming new sport provides a similar thrill to creekboating--dancing with the river and tasting its power--but at considerably less risk. Playboaters often congregate at a particular river feature, such as a standing wave or a foamy hydraulic feature called a hole, and perform tricks. They surf, spin, cartwheel and even complete aerial loops. They Eskimo roll dozens of times in a single play session. This aggressive play in a relatively benign setting-the most popular play spots are by defi nition clear of dangerous undercut rocks, strainers, or other river hazards-allows kayakers to hone skills that come into play on creeks and more difficult rivers. It's also an end unto itself.

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