Have A Wetass Weekend…
“Mekong” Mick O’Shea–Chapter 2: Wherein the mad Australian paddler finally hits the water and discovers both beauty and a river of such power that it immediately starts playing with his head. Read on…
At around 55 kilo’s the heavily laden kayak sat low in the water making it hard to maneuver and portaging it if necessary would be difficult. I set off from the town of Nanqen in the late afternoon on June the 1st 2004. Around 15km south of town the water slowed almost to a standstill and continued at this pace for many kilometers. The Mekong in China does not stay still without reason. I guessed that it must have been backed up by either a unmarked dam or a huge avalanche creating a natural dam. Sure enough 12 kilometers down stream I heard a distant roar and finally eddied out above a massive class rapid. The river suddenly dropped on a tight right hand bend in a sheer sided canyon. Fortunately there was a disused horse trail cut into the wall with explosives on river right which allowed me to survey exactly what was creating the thunderous roar from dry land.
I trekked up part of the avalanche to the path to view a brutal class VI (Class VI tops the white water scale in terms of technical difficulty and danger) cascade created by a recent avalanche and extended for one kilometer around a sweeping left hand bend where the canyon widened into a more open valley. Dropping 12 meters in all, from one man eating hole (Extremely dangerous re-circulating hydraulic of water) to another before climaxing in an almost river wide ledge/ hole at the bottom, it was a monster and intimidating just to look at. The rapid was un-runnable and would become the first to be portaged as part of the Mekong First Descent. Although slightly disappointed that it would no longer be possible to kayak every inch of the Mekong, I was also relieved that there was a convenient path with which to bypass the rapid as anyone who entered it, regardless of their kayaking or rafting ability would be lucky to come out the other side alive.
I camped above the impressive drop and hoped I would not encounter such a monster in the much larger canyons down stream that would not have pathways around. This probably gave me a little too much time to think about what might be to come. In the back of every white water kayakers mind lurks a distant fear of some kind of white water disaster. For some it is being re-circulated into oblivion by a house sized hole, for others it’s being pinned under water against boulders by the overwhelming force of the water. For me it is cruising down a sheer sided canyon towards a suicidal class six rapid with no way of stopping before going over the edge. With no locals around to find out the name of the cascade I called it “raging thunder” and although it proved easy to stop before this particular drop, the potential for disaster was clearly evident in the features it displayed. I also considered the consequences of the natural dam bursting under the strain of rising waters and releasing millions of tons of water suddenly into the gorges below. I moved on early the next morning and encountered a second rapid that the Japanese team had described as extremely difficult but at higher water it proved relatively predictable and I paddled it without scouting.
I crossed into the Tibetan autonomous region and into the area where the Japanese team had been attacked yet after meeting overwhelmingly friendly and hospitable locals until this point I found it difficult to be too concerned. The setting was beautiful with robust stands of pine backed by snow covered peaks and waterfalls. Terraced fields of barley tended by farmers swayed in the swift breezes that wafted up the gorges and Tibetans would yell out in amazement at seeing a foreigner in a weird looking boat cruising down rapids which I considered quite mild but they obviously perceived as life threatening. I had two encounters with deer, one of which was within 10 meters. I was finally in Kham Tibet and it was every bit as beautiful as I hoped it would be. I took many photos of the flora and landscapes I encountered. I camped on a sandy beach and noticed the next morning that the river had risen over 30 centimeters. I had to move fast.
The Wetass Life–River Guiding: When you are young and immortal, and it’s time to put life on hold for some adventure, there are two main options: you can chase snow and mountains, or you can follow the water. The culture of the ski bum and the climber is a familiar one. But what about the river rat? The LA Times’ Ashley Powers heads into the rapids to chronicle the lives of whitewater river guides. Check it out here. Here’s part of her take:
This is guide life: The sweetest pad is a six-person tent. Washing machines and Yahoo inboxes are nearly nine miles away. From a beam, a gauzy blue bra dangles. Calvin Klein, 34C. Anyone know whose it is?…
Guide life is spartan. Showers are rare or icy. Therm-a-Rests outnumber Beautyrests a thousand to one. One hundred bucks a day is considered good pay. Still, there’s this: The put-in spot for the American River’s middle fork is called Oxbow, and it might as well be named Wish You Were Here. Under a cloudless sky, regiments of Ponderosa pines march down steep canyons to glassy water.
Sounds like a good deal…
“Uhhh, Guide Dude, I know you are hungover, but that’s my daughter falling out the back of the boat…”
(Photo: Myung J. Chun / LAT)
“Mekong” Mick O’Shea–He’s ALIIVVE: And still on the river. But he has an incredible tale to tell. For those of you who haven’t read about him on TWC before, Mick O’Shea is a wild-eyed Australian who is attempting to become the first paddler to descend the entire length of the Mekong River, from the Tibetan plateau to the China Sea. It’s a daring, daunting proposition, and “Mekong” Mick has been sending his sainted Mum Lynley some funny, frightening and first-rate accounts of his adventures. His latest epic, which Lynley kindly passed on is simply the most gripping account of a kayak journey I have EVER read. So instead of just slamming the whole thing online, where no one will read the full thing because their productivity at work will decline rapidly and they will get fired, I have decided to post it in serial form, just like the great newspapers of old. So for the next week or two, check in to follow the mindblowing exploits of “Mekong” Mick O’Shea as he paddles where no man has paddled before, and risks everything (and I mean everything) in his determination to survive the raging Mekong torrents. So here we go with Chapter 1, which sets up the heart-stopping action to come:
From the earliest days of planning the Mekong First Descent it became apparent that the greatest physical and political obstacles to completing the expedition successfully would lay within the confines of Kham Tibet.
Unlike Lhasa and various other prefectures of the Tibetan Autonomous Region (TAR) the Kham remains heavily restricted to foreigners. This closed area status was earned largely due to the fierce resistance communist forces faced from the local inhabitants, which lasted long into the 1960’s with American support.
External support of anti communist militants in the Kham has left a legacy of considerable distrust towards foreigners among members of the “Party” who now rule over this still wild region. Gaining permission to travel for weeks, without being constantly tailed by a government “watcher’ was in itself a considerable task, yet this was not the main problem.
Over hundreds of millions of years the Mekong River has carved out one of the most extreme and desolate environments to be found on earth within the Kham in the form of the Mekong Gorges. In its infancy the river meanders gracefully through the high plains and mountain fringed valleys of Qinghai Province, picking up volume with little turbulence before reaching its adolescence just north of the Kham Capital of Chamdo. The increasingly powerful river runs off the rails at this point undertaking a violent descent off the Tibetan plateau that continues for many hundreds of kilometers. Some of the world’s deepest and least accessible gorges have been carved out of the Himalaya by the relentless action of the water and even the rugged and resourceful Tibetans who eek an existence from the most testing of environments have not managed to inhabit long sections of the river housed in ravines up to 1600 meters deep.
As far as my research could reveal, only two river expeditions have ever been attempted along the Kham section of the Mekong. The first, a Japanese team in 1998, was violently attacked and robbed by bandits only hours after crossing the border into the TAR. Nevertheless they succeeded in navigating the relatively mild section of river from Qinghai to Chamdo.
The second took place only weeks before my own attempt and planned a full navigation from Chamdo to the Yunnan border. This attempt led by Pete Winn of Shangrila River Expeditions was made up of an experienced international team most of whom had previous exploratory experience on remote sections of the Mekong. Starting at Chamdo they rafted and kayaked just 80 miles of the planned 400 mile stretch before calling the expedition off. Slow progress down increasingly treacherous sections of rapids compounded by extreme weather conditions and heavily laden rafts led to them making a tough decision. Knowing that they were about to enter an extremely remote and much steeper section where trekking out would be almost impossible and in the knowledge that with their current rate of progress the team would quite possibly run out of food supplies before exiting the gorges, they wisely chose to trek out. A decision I would find out later quite probably saved lives. Even from a relatively accessible section of the gorges where farmer’s homesteads, trails and packhorses were accessible the trek out to a road took a week to complete.
This left the most challenging and remote section of the entire Mekong River unchallenged and I was thoroughly looking forward to having a go at it. Finally, delays caused by permit problems and sponsors not coming forth with pledged funds had placed my departure at the changing of the seasons and the start of the summer rains. This was far from ideal; if the river were to go into flood while I was in the gorges I would be left with no way out. This factor gave my departure an extreme sense of urgency and my strategy was simple, get through the gorges as fast as humanly possible before the heavy rains hit and turned the canyons into a kayaker’s hell.
I had to make room for food, lots of food. Fitting 14 days worth of food supplies and camping gear in a boat just 2 and a half meters long is no easy feat. A plastic sheet and space blanket replaced my north face tent. I only packed one liter of water and would refill at the numerous crystal clear cascades that plummeted into the mainstream and my first aid kit, clothes and other accessories were halved in volume to make room for noodles, dried fruits, cooking fuel and other essentials. It took two hours and various repacks to get it all in the boat but finally I squeezed myself and a 20 liter dry bag into the cockpit, snapped on the spray skirt and was ready to go.
Tomorrow, Mekong Mick takes the plunge…
Tour De Lance, I Mean France: Okay, for any of you out there who haven’t been following the Tour De France, now is the time get hooked in. And for anyone who has been lost in the wilderness trying to recreate the Donner Party (see below), this year is a big deal because Texan (and cancer-survivor) Lance Armstrong is going for his 6th victory, which would be a record (something that would annoy the French no end). Plus, for my money the Tour is without question one of the greatest sporting events of the year. It demands grit, cunning, and an ability to tolerate pain that makes Abu Graib look like a picnic. Each stage is a mini-drama and a mini-tragedy. Taken all together they add up to an epic contest, full of winners, losers, heroes and villains. The Tour has been running for almost two weeks, but the stages so far have been the relatively uninteresting flat stages, where the eventual winners do all they can to stay out of trouble, while the young hotheads take off on long breakaways, cause massive skin-scraping pileups, and sprint their guts out for the fleeting glory of a stage win. Yesterday we had the first taste of the mountains, and soon the Tour will hit the Pyrenees and the Alps, where the true drama waits, and Armstrong (who now lies in 6th place with all his main rivals behind him) will make his move. So here is the Wetass guide to following the Tour as it is about to unfold. Get into it. You won’t regret it.
On TV: If your cable carrier has Outdoor Life Network, you can get daily coverage every evening (check your local listings for times). If it doesn’t you should switch because OLN also has more sailing and America’s Cup coverage than any other network (you can get it on DirectTV). OLN has great commentators, who can interpret the complex action, and seeing the faces of the cyclists as they battle each other and their fatigue is absolutely gripping.
On the web: Plenty of sources. My favorites are Cycling News, where you can get live streaming coverage (if you get truly addicted); and Outside Online, which has solid daily coverage. Finally, if you have a taste for great newspaper writing, you have to check in on the New York Times’ Samuel Abt every day. Free registration is required, but Abt is a great sports writer and has been covering the Tour for what seems like decades. He’s wry, he’s insightful, and he’s succinct. What more do you want? Enjoy…
Current Tour Leader Thomas Voeckler: “I know Lance is going to rip this yellow jersey from my back this week, but at least it will be really sweaty and stinky for him…”
Annals Of Adventure Forensics–Just What Did The Donner Party Eat? In the summer of 1846 81 land-hungry men, women, and children who were on their way to homestead the Eden of California decided to take a shortcut through the Sierra Nevada mountains. Bad idea. The party was trapped by snowstorms in the rugged mountains, and slowly started to starve. About half of the group, led by George Donner, died. And the survivors survived, according to some accounts, by, well, chowing down on the remains of their dead companions. It’s the most famous cannibalism story in American history (followed closely by the story of the whaleship Essex, told by Nathaniel Philbrick in Heart Of The Sea), and now a suspected Donner Party campsite and cooking hearth has been found in the Sierra Nevadas, near Truckee, California. And lying around the cooking area are a variety of charred bones. Ummm. Are the bones animal or human? That’s what forensic archaeologists are about to analyze, using DNA techniques. If any bones are human it will be the first physical confirmation of the horrific tale. Some of the bones look to be deer. Others are, well, suspicious. The highly trained dogs accompanying the archaeological dig–normally used to help criminal investigators find human graves–have voted. They are signaling the presence of human remains…
Donner Party Survivors: “Well, I preferred white meat, but my wife went nuts for bone marrow…”
Wetass Video Of The Week…: Ever been driving down the highway and wonder what it would be like to see an airliner making an emergency landing right on top of you? Well, here’s how the experience might unfold, as imagined by filmmakers Bruce Branit and Jeremy Hunt, in a great 3-minute short called “405.” It’s a big download, so click on it and go do something else for a while. It’s worth the wait. And you can find out more at the movie’s dedicated website (you can also download the movie from here if the above link doesn’t work for you). …
“Oh sh*t…”
Wetass Hobby #43–Storm Chasing: If you have lived all your life in Blair, Nebraska, your entertainment options are limited. You can watch corn grow, you can root for the ‘Huskers, or you can tip cows. OR, you can come up with your own way of getting outside and having a rip-roaring, adrenaline pumping good time. At least that’s what Mike Hollingshead decided to do. And here’s what he came up with: chasing storms. Severe storms. And filming them. The result is a very cool website called Extreme Instability, which documents (to the sound of a thumping heart in the background; nice touch, Mike) Hollingshead’s adventures with weather. How did he get into chasing thunderstorms, tornados and anything else that goes bang all over the midwest? Here’s his explanation:
“As a kid I would stay up at night during a thunderstorm and watch the lightning out the window until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I have always loved severe weather. In my early years I would make my father drive me to the top of a hill in town when a storm was approaching. One of us would usually get scared(usually me) before it got to us and head back down the hill for home. It wasn’t long before he was the one getting back in the car first, wanting to head for home. Then I got my license and could go watch any storm I wanted.”
And what keeps him at it?
“The feeling of catching your first tornado can’t be beat. You are on a high for a few days. The thought of never being one of the few who gets to see a tornado doesn’t have to cross your mind anymore. You are now one of the few. This lasts for a bit, then you think, I have to see another one.”
Hey, it’s better than being addicted to reality TV. Check out Mike’s site, which has tons of pics and video, as well as some pretty gripping accounts of chasing–and being chased–by Mother Nature…
Hairy Hobby: “You can relax Mom. I’m, umm, at home, sitting on my couch. I swear…”
Mari-Cha Correction: Recently TWC posted a report that Mari-Cha, Bob Miller’s 140-foot record wrecker, beat a high speed Matson freight liner from San Francisco to Hawaii. Well, Capt. Bob Buell, a retired Matson line skipper wasn’t ready to accept this at face value, and did a little research. Here is the result, which he sent to the sailing newsletter Scuttlebutt. “Mike Howard [of Mari-Cha’s crew] was mistaken when he said that Mari Cha IV beat a Matson Liner to Hawaii – they average 22 kts. What he saw was the Lurline departing San Francisco on Friday when Mari Cha IV left, and she had already arrived in and departed from Honolulu when MC4 docked. But then the sistership Matsomia came into Honolulu from Long Beach. He undoubtedly assumed they beat the Lurline as he could not read the name in the dark. Aloha.” Thanks, Bob. Back to you Mike…
“Okay, Capt. Bob. So maybe we won’t be competing against you in the freight business. We’ll just have to stick to breaking every monohull speed sailing record in the books…”
(Photo: Thierry Martinez)
Wetass Culture Update–The Underwater Music Festival: If you were a parrot fish hanging out at the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary over the weekend, you would have come across an unusual sight beneath the waves: a conductor in scuba gear, waving a red snorkel as a baton and leading an orchestra of underwater musicians through an otherworldy repertoire of classical music. And you wouldn’t have been alone. Four hundred snorkelers and divers were also there at Looe Key Reef, bathing in the sounds of Beethoven and other classics for over six hours. Instruments included the “trombonefish,” “harmoni-crab” and “manta-lin.” Okay, the instruments weren’t real and the music was piped through underwater speakers via a local radio station. But the musicians and the conductor–a veteran of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, the Boston Pops and the Tokyo Philharmonic–were real enough. And so was the extraordinary experience of hearing beautiful music under water, where sound travels five times as fast as it does through air. “The music seems to surround you,” notes Bill Becker, the news director for WCNK Radio who launched the annual festival in 1984. “Not only do you hear it in your ears, you hear it in your jaw, your head and your body. Your whole body feels like it vibrates with the music.” Hmmm, wonder what else went on beneath the ocean waves…?
“Uh-oh, here come some sharks. Ditch the Mozart and give me a little Jimi Hendrix…”
The Earthist Chronicles 