Proposed site of the gravel pit. Courtesy Gypsum Town Council
American Whitewater is reporting that a proposed open-pit mine in Eagle County along the Upper Colorado River. The proposed mine is 90 acres in size and would be directly adjacent to a rural and beautiful stretch of the Colorado River. American Whitewater is encouraging all boaters and/or interested parties to attend a town council meeting at Gypsum Town Hall on December 13th to learn more about the proposition and voice their opinion.
Here are links for more information and to take action against the proposal.
An in-depth look at the Slaughterhouse Run on the Roaring Fork River in Colorado at low water. Includes all of the major rapids and a few of the lesser-known rapids also.
Pyrite Falls, a short distance below where the accident took place
A kayaker has drowned in Gore Rapid, sources say, after he was ejected from his boat. The incident, which occurred on Thursday August 11, took place at Gore Rapid. The victim, who has been identified as James "Jamie" Page, a 25-year-old man from Pennsylvania, had apparently become stuck in "Ginger," the strong hole on the "meat" line of Gore Rapid and swam. This is the second fatal accident in the canyon this summer.
The first accident occurred on July 24th when 19-year-old Avon, CO resident, Patrick Kelsall apparently fell from a cliff at night near Appelsauce Rapid. Our thoughts our with friends and families of both victims.
One of the great paddlers of Colorado, owner of Aspen Kayak School and now whitewater SUP pioneer, Charlie MacArthur pus on a display of what stand-up paddleboards are capable of in the whitewater realm. Includes film of the Slaughterhouse section of the Roaring Fork River in Colorado, the Glenwood Springs Whitewater Park, Big Sur and more.
Class V is the most iconic of all river grades. The experts only, see-God-if-you-swim, wash your pants type whitewater that populates both your greatest ambitions and your darkest nightmares. These five runs are some of the most famous class V stretches of river in the country. The criteria for selecting this list is difficult. I wanted sections that were not class IV with just a single V, or runs that were once considered class V and now probably IV+ by today's standards. I also was not just seeking the hardest, gnarliest creeks in the country, but rather as close as I could come to listing THE solid class V runs that have defined that grade for many years in their subsequent regions. That being said, the list is arbitrary and without doubt other people would have their own opinions about which runs I should have included.
#1. Gore Canyon (Colorado)
The author on Pyrite Falls in Gore Canyon
Gore Canyon is perhaps Colorado's quintessential class V run. Located on the world-famous Colorado River, Gore Canyon is its signature stretch in terms of sheer whitewater difficulty. While not as technical or dangerous as a great many modern class V classics, Gore Canyon boasts a history and reputation that unparalleled in a state renowned for its plentiful whitewater. Augmented by the Gore Canyon race, this famous section of gnar is considered a guardian for fledgling expert kayakers and a rite of passage for many up-and-coming paddlers looking to break into "real" whitewater in the region. (Read a Gore Canyon trip report for more)
# 2. Green River Narrows (North Carolina)
The Green River Narrows is without question one of the gnarliest and most iconic stretches of whitewater in the Southeast, indeed, the entire country. The site of another famous wildwater race, the Green Narrows has been the location of more kayak films and youtube carnage videos than almost anywhere else. Its keystone rapid, Gorilla, is one of the most recognizable drops in the country and its fearsome reputation is well earned. For more Green River Narrows gnar, check out this video.
#3. Cherry Creek (California)
In a state that dominates in terms of steep, gnarly creeks an plentiful whitewater, Cherry Creek is one of the most famous and classic stretches of river of all. The Cherry Creek/Upper Tuolumne Rivers are a world-famous stretch of challenging whitewater, and Cherry Creek is the most fearsome section of it all. Beautiful gorgeous and dangerous, Cherry Creek remains one of the great testpieces of the United States.
#4. North Fork of the Payette (Idaho)
Idaho is a classic playground for whitewater in the American West. Boasting megaclassics like the Middle Fork, the Salmon, the Snake and the Selway, this state is arguably one of the premier whitewater destinations of the world. The North Fork of the Payette, however, is without question the quintessential stretch of gnar in this glorious, whitewater-filled state. Its signature drop, Jacob's Ladder, has thrashed and abused whitewater enthusiasts for generations and remains one of the classic stretches of gnar today.
Great Falls, Potomac River. Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons username: NortyNort
#5. Great Falls (Maryland/Virigina)
Though relatively short, there is no doubt that the Potmac's Great Falls is perhaps the most famous and most frequently paddled class V stretches of river in the country. Coupled with its famous race, more paddlers have sharpened their teeth on this mega classic than almost any other section around. This unique and dangerous stretch of river, combines big water and steep creeking, and with a variety of lines and variations has proven to be an enduring classic that will continue to pique the ambitions of new generations of elite paddlers for years to come.
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Whitewater riversports are dangerous. Please read our DISCLAIMER page.
“But there was in it one river especially, a mighty river resembling an immense snake uncoiled.... The snake had charmed me.” Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
Just below the Numbers put-in
Fourteen years ago my paddling partner, Noah, and I dipped our kayaks into the turbid waters of the Arkansas River just downstream of the tiny hamlet of Granite, Colorado. The water level was a spicy 2,000 cubic feet per second (cfs), not high exactly but fast enough to push the river’s signature rapid, Pine Creek, into the realm of class V. The two of us navigated our boats through a playground of bouncy class III-IV warm-up water, arriving after a few miles at the familiar horizon line that marked the start of the infamous rapid.
We were arrogant teenagers, admittedly driven by ego and seduced by the notion of personal glory. Just a few weeks earlier at a slightly lower flow of 1,500 cfs we had negotiated Pine Creek without incident, but the extra 500 cfs proved just enough to tip the danger scale into the red. We scouted for nearly half an hour, neither daring to admit our skills might not be equal to the maelstrom below us. Finally it was me who cast aside hubris and surrendered to the reality that I simply wasn’t up for the challenge.
“It looks terrible,” I said to Noah nervously. “It will always be here tomorrow. We’ll come back.”
But that “tomorrow” never came. The next season, Noah badly dislocated his shoulder during high water in the Colorado River’s Glenwood Canyon. The resulting swim was so traumatic he hung up his paddle up for good. As for myself, my passions drifted away from the river and instead towards high peaks and vertical rock faces as a climber and mountaineer. Fourteen years ago I would have been disappointed with fifty river days in a summer. Now I am lucky to count ten.
But every now and then, my mind returns to the dark heart of that serpentine river between Granite and Buena Vista. And I often want to go back and complete that run we started.
These days I am no longer a teenager but a married man in the early half of his 30s. I have had enough accidents, near misses and dearly departed friends to have molted completely the illusion of teenage invulnerability. Any risk I am willing to take these days is far more calculated.
In the last half decade, I formed a new paddling alliance with an old friend, Derek, whom I have known since those early, more-reckless years. After a particularly gratifying high-water run down our backyard Colorado River, the conversation turned to the Arkansas and its foreboding crux, Pine Creek and The Numbers. This stretch of river, once the quintessential proving ground for the advanced and expert kayaker, has taken on, in a sense, the role of the elder statesmen: a wise but aged representative of a state full of world-class talent. While no longer cutting edge, it is still considered a classic. And as it turned out, Derek had never paddled it.
So it was that the two of us ended up strapping on our life jackets, cinching down our helmets and edging our kayaks into the Arkansas. Derek was barely six months off open heart surgery, and I was struggling with a troublesome neck injury that put my ability to roll and maneuver with the same skill as fourteen years earlier somewhat into question. We were infallible teenagers no longer.
After a brief scout and an honest analysis of our rusty skillset, we decided to test our nerves on The Numbers before considering the class V testpiece Pine Creek. Though a full number grade softer, The Numbers still consisted of five miles of tumbling class IV whitewater dropping at a consistent clip of just over 70 feet per mile.
There are six amplifications to the otherwise consistent whitewater, each given non-creative but nevertheless effective numerical designations (hence “The Numbers”). Numbers Four and Five had a long-standing reputation as the most difficult, and after a quick car-scout, Number Five seemed to give us the most pause. This, it seemed, would be the crux of our day.
The rapid entailed a river-wide ledge followed by an airplane turn of chaotic waves and fang-like boulders. From shore it looked like the open jaws of a snake eager to engulf us into its twisted interior.
After our pre-run scout, we nervously slid our kayaks into the water and let the put-in fade behind us. We negotiated Number One without incident, followed by Two and Three in quick succession. I felt a measure of confidence returning. Every line was clean: no flips, no swims, no bumps or grinds. The air was blue and the nearby Collegiate Peaks watched over like surly security guards, arms folded over their chests.
Dropping into Number 5
Around a corner, the river narrowed and accelerated into Number Four. Fourteen years before, Noah and I had plunged through this difficult rapid an hour after our “failure” at Pine Creek. It was this dusty memory I relied on now to guide us to the bottom. Right, left, right past some formidable hydrology and we were through the heart of Number Four. We congratulated ourselves with reserved exuberance, but the worst was still ahead.
After a brief lunch we paddled under a bridge and carved into an eddy on river left at the top of Number Five. From our low vantage, not much could be seen, only scattered boulders and the frenetic leap of crashing whitewater. We glanced at each other nervously. Like Marlow in Heart of Darkness, we had navigated our river and now confronted Kurtz at last.
But the rapid proved less than our minds had made it. I tipped over event horizon, punched through the river-wide hydraulic and, a few paddle strokes later, landed in the safety of the eddy below. Derek and I felt as self-assured as adolescents, having conquered each rapid with cool confidence and nearly flawless execution.
“We should have done Pine Creek!” I exclaimed. With the worst behind us it was easy to be cocky.
Derek nodded. “We can come back tomorrow. It will always be there.”
Yes, I thought to myself as my kayak bobbed up and down in the eddy. It will be there tomorrow. And the day after that.
(Check out the following video made from described descent of the Numbers):
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Whitewater riversports are dangerous. Please read our DISCLAIMER page.
Boof! A kayaking term for launching off the lip of a steep drop or waterfall with a hard forward stroke and simultaneous hip thrust to lift the front of your boat over the ensuing hydraulic at the drop’s base. The alternative, plunging vertical without speed (known as “plugging”) often results in one of kayaking’s least desired experiences: a washing machine or “chundering” in the hole below.
Boofing is what I did now as I launched over the ten-foot “sneak” route on Gore Rapid, the most infamous rapid on the entire Colorado River. For an instant as I plummeted over the lip of the drop, I seemed to hang weightless. It was a peculiar moment where the hands of time seemed to spin backwards and gravity had forgotten its power. Almost like the old Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons where the poor coyote, duped by the roadrunner into sprinting full-speed off some terrible cliff, fell only after looking down and offering a single mournful wave to the audience.
Pyrite Falls on Gore Canyon
But then gravity re-enacted and, like the coyote, I dropped. I splashed into the eddy below, smashing my elbow somewhere along the way. Adrenaline blocked pain signals from reaching my brain; it wasn’t until I was at the bottom of the rapid that I would discover the throbbing knot that would linger for almost a month. For the moment, my concentration remained fixed on the river, as I had only completed the first part of a long and dangerous class V rapid. Next, I faced a difficult move out of a swirling, walled-in eddy into the jet-blast main current, moving either a left or right around the jagged “Decision Rock” (perhaps more accurately called Indecision Rock) to the relative safety of class IV+ water below.
With a deep breath, I peeled out towards the rapid.
* * *
Paddling Gore Canyon was the culmination of a seven-year apprenticeship on the whitewater of the American Southwest. At the age of 11, my long love affair with the river was born after a canoe trip on the quiet, mellow waters of Arizona’s Verde River. A few months later my passion accelerated into obsession after back-to-back overnight trips on the Dolores River from Slickrock to Bedrock and the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument. I asked for a kayak for my twelfth birthday.
The river eventually brought me to Glenwood Springs, a veritable whitewater paradise with the Colorado, Roaring Fork and Crystal Rivers all within a half hour drive or less. I negotiated my way up the difficulty ranks, tiptoeing in to class III in my first years, easing into class IV during high school and flirting with class V by my senior year. I immersed myself in the world of the river rat. I wanted to know everything about it.
By the time I took a job at a local whitewater shop and worked my way into the role of lead instructor, I had memorized nearly word for word Dave Eckhardt and Gordon Bank’s classic guidebook Colorado Rivers and Creeks, known in kayaking circles as “The Bible”. Many sections of Colorado’s rivers of fell to my whitewater appetite: Slaughterhouse, the Numbers, Barrel Springs, Pine Creek, Bailey Canyon. But for me the ultimate river, the one by which all others were measured, was the Colorado, and the hardest rapids on the Colorado (as the cataracts below Hanging Lake in Glenwood Canyon were considered unrunnable in those days) were found in Gore Canyon. Eckhardt and Banks described Gore as Colorado’s quintessential class V run, and completion of Gore Canyon was a graduation of sorts in Colorado boating and a rite of passage/initiation into a somewhat exclusive club. For me it was even more than that. It was a personal challenge and a mark of growth, maturity and achievement.
Early pioneers such as Walter Kirchbaum and Fletcher Anderson were among the first boaters to explore Gore Canyon. These early kayakers ventured into the canyon in the days of folding, canvas kayaks having no idea what awaited them downstream. Decades later when I made my first descent down Gore, it was an era of rigid, plastic kayaks and website guides with page after over-detailed page of beta and photographs, many up-and-coming river rats made the pilgrimage to Gore to “graduate”. Gore Canyon, however, has a way of humbling many of these would-be graduates.
In 2002 I was 18, rogue, arrogant, and perhaps in need of a humbling. It was whitewater runs like Gore Canyon that gave me the modesty any post-pubescent teenager desperately requires.
With perfect boat angle I peeled out into the main current and knifed with the precision of a brain surgeon across the gaping cortex of Gore Rapid, clearing the malicious grasp of Decision Rock with room to spare. With skillful audacity, I clipped the corners of two enormous hydraulics and landed safely in a savior eddy at the base of the rapid. My friend and boating companion Noah joined me. We shared a high-five.
Below this most difficult rapid on the mighty Colorado River, we thought we could put our kayaks on cruise control through Gore’s class IV+ runout. We negotiated Scissors Rapid and eddied out above another steep horizon line: Pyrite Falls.
Noah, confident and arrogant just like me (particularly after a clean descent of Gore Rapid), paddled into the current, neglecting a scout, and sped towards the horizon line. The plan was to boof center. A little too casually, he paddled to the middle with a poor boat angle, botched his boof and dropped sideways out of sight into what I knew was a particularly nasty and dangerous hydraulic.
After a few tense moments Noah emerged wide-eyed but still in his kayak and upright, his own lesson in humility gained. Noah signaled for me to go farther left, and I paddled into the channel, angled farther and paddled harder and executed a perfect boof and landed safely in the eddy below.
Though we had several miles and numerous treacherous rapids still to go, we had successfully paddled some of the hardest whitewater on the Colorado River. When we reached the takeout, we celebrated the only way 18 year-old kayakers know: clandestine parking-lot beers with a group of girls we had just met. We were on top of the world. Thoughts of humility and respect could wait. We had graduated and joined the club. We were kayakers now.
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Whitewater riversports are dangerous. Please read our DISCLAIMER page.
This data shows the date and peak of the Colorado River at the two river gauges for the Colorado River that are relevant to this book. The Dotsero gauge, located just below the confluence of the Eagle (river mile .5) and the “Below Glenwood Springs” gauge, is not far downstream of Two Rivers Park at (mile 20.1.)
Year DateDotsero Below Glenwood Spgs 1997June 416,100 cfs June 5 23,400 cfs 1998June 27,550 cfs June 2 12,800 cfs 1999June 98,310 cfs June 9 13,000 cfs 2000May 308,790 cfs May 30 13,800 cfs 2001May 204,400 cfs June 2 8,130 cfs 2002June 12,020 cfs June 1 4,480 cfs 2003June 211,700 cfs June 2 18,500 cfs 2004June 83,240 cfs June 8 6,920 cfs 2005May 247,390 cfs May 23 12,800 cfs 2006May 239,600 cfs May 23 14,600 cfs 2007June 196,720 cfs June 20 10,700 cfs 2008May 2213,000 cfs June 3 20,300 cfs 2009May 2110,400 cfs May 21 17,800 cfs 2010June 814,600 cfs June 8 24,300 cfs 2011June 718,500 cfs June 26 27, 600 cfs 2012July 245,020 cfs* July 25 4,480 cfs*
*Due to the extremely low snow pack in the winter of 2011-2012, the peak flow for both gauges in 2012 was due to rainfall, not snowmelt
(source: USGS http://nwis.waterdata.usgs.gov)
Special Beta: Long
drive but high-quality IV+/V– creeking. Watch for logs.
Fun Factor:
Fear Factor:
Here is a personal favorite that lies high up in the
beautiful valley above Reudi Reservoir. These upper reaches of the Fryingpan
are nestled in a lush alpine setting of tall pines, rounded glacial boulders,
and clear cold water. The whitewater is technical but not overly threatening,
and you will almost surely have the river all to yourself.
There are some
drawbacks, however, to this special Colorado whitewater experience. Getting to
these waters requires a substantial bit of traveling. Even if you are holed up
in Basalt, the nearest town to the Upper Pan, it will take nearly an hour of
driving time just to get to the put-in. The other factor that really pulls this
run’s teeth is the diversion that sucks Fryingpan River water over into the
Arkansas basin for agricultural use. As part of the Hunter-Fryingpan Project,
the Pan is partially de-watered much like the Upper Roaring Fork and boasts
only a shadow of what must have been its former glory. Despite these drawbacks,
the Upper Pan is an area classic at the grade and a run that is well worth its
trouble.
Below the put-in bridge you enter a series of
technical pool-drop rapids of a IV to IV+ nature. Quickly you discover the
nature of this run: fast, technical, and loaded with potential pin spots.
Though the rocks are generally rounded and forgiving, wood can manifest in
particularly heinous ways. Careful boat scouting can help you avoid the worst
of it, but beware of nasty, surprising placements.
About halfway down the upper section the North Fork
of the Fryingpan comes in on the right, sometimes doubling the flow. The rapids
become even more continuous below here. Though most of the drops are indistinct
and run head on into the next, there is one particular spot on a left bend not
far above the bridge that is probably the crux of the run.
Below this rapid the river goes
down a straight stretch and bends right underneath a bridge (about three miles
in the run). Most people nowadays takeout here. Some good class III-IV
whitewater, however, still exists between here and the headwaters of the Reudi
Reservoir where there is another excellent takeout. After all the driving, I
would recommend either getting out at the bridge and driving back up to repeat
on the cheddah, or continuing on down through more mellow boating to the lake
and basking in the scene.
Getting There
From Basalt
take FR 105 27.5 miles past Reudi Reservoir on Fryingpan Road to the town of Norrie Colony.
Pass the dam at mile 13.7 and the bridge at the inlet for the lake (possible takeout) at mile 21.8. Reach another bridge
at mile 24.6. This is the takeout for the upper section only. Continue 2.7 miles
further to Norrie Colony where you can park in a pull-out in a meadow. Hike to
the creek and put-in anywhere downstream of a bridge.
This fun section, known locally as “Grizzly,” is one of the best advanced-beginner runs around. During the summer you will find craft of all sorts on this section: rafts, kayaks, canoes, inner tubes, inflatable alligators. Busy holiday weekends such as Memorial Day or Fourth of July can seem like a floating party or circus complete sometimes with costumes, fireworks, and considerable alcohol ingestion.
The boatramp at Grizzly Creek can be a busy place with commercial and private boaters converging and departing from the large eddy. On hot summer days, spectators line the banks where Grizzly Creek makes its last tumble into the Colorado River and wave ecstatically as you paddle by. Many of them can only imagine what it must be like to float on the Colorado River. Bear in mind that to many of them you are an exotic species.
MILE BY MILE
13.8PUT-IN on river right at the Grizzly Creek Boatramp. Downstream, the river negotiates a series of easy riffles (II-/II) until it reaches the first major corner to the right after about a mile.
Just upstream of the put-in at 16,000 cfs in 2011
1.1Rapid (II/II+). This drop features a small wave/hole in the middles and some large rocks on the left and left of center. Big waves form here at high water. A short, straight section follows, before the river bends left.
1.35 Maintenance Rapid (II+/III). One of the crux rapids of the run. At low water the line through Maintenance is straightforward: left of center splitting several rocks on the right and a steep pourover on the left. Above about 6,000 cfs, however, a big wave train forms that culminates in a large, crashing hole capable of flipping a poorly handled raft. Below Maintenance is a long, easy runout before a huge eddy river left.
2.1 “Refrigerator Rock”, a large rectangular shaped block left-of-center. This rock serves as a good flow gauge and goes under around 7,000 cfs. After the long Refrigerator Rock riffle, the river bends left away from I-70 to begin its journey around the small town of No Name.
2.45 The first rapid (II-/II+) of the No Name bend is a straightforward left-angling chute that forms fun rolling waves at most levels. Just downstream the river crosses under a zipline and passes through a small right-hand corner with some funny water at high flows. There is a boat ramp on right (private RIVER ACCESS only) and a campground. This is the Glenwood Canyon Resort and home of Rock Gardens Rafting. You can camp here for a fee. There are showers and other amenities up higher away from the river. An easy stretch of water follows.
3.3 No Name Eddy, also sometimes called Boxcar Eddy due to unsubstantiated rumors that a train once derailed here and deposited one of the boxcars in the deep water. Raft guides, always quick with tall tales, will also say this is the deepest spot on the Colorado River above the Grand Canyon. While I have never heard this officially confirmed, the water here is very deep. No Name Eddy is a possible RIVER ACCESS, but probably only for small boats like kayaks, canoes, and duckies due to the steep bank you have to ascend to get to the road. No Name Eddy is a nice mid-point to separate Grizzly into upper and lower halves. Both top and bottom can easily be done after school or work. Immediately downstream of Boxcar/No Name Eddy is a pair of islands and a fun riffle (II).
3.5 The river bends left below and starts around wind through Horseshoe Bend, Glenwood Canyon’s most pronounced oxbow. The enjoyable thing about Horseshoe Bend is that I-70 is channeled through a tunnel to cut off the oxbow, thus returning the river corridor a more natural and much quieter state. This section is a nice but short-lived reprieve from the engine breaks and motorcycle-brigades that plague the rest of the canyon. Horseshoe Bend is also home to some of the most challenging whitewater on the run.
3.9Two short drops (II+/III-), which merge together at medium and high water, challenge novices to read currents and dodge several mid-channel rocks/holes.
A great eddy on the right and a picnic table mark the end of the harder stuff and makes for a great place to stretch the legs and get out of your boat.
4.3 After Horseshoe Bend the river bends left and returns to the interstate for one last tricky rapid (II+/III-). Watch for some rocks in mid-channel and some problematic currents. Big holes lurk here at high water. Below this point, the canyon starts to open and you paddle into Glenwood Springs proper. Though the river remains fast it should not exceed II-/II.
5.4 Cross under Grand Avenue Bridge (Highway 82) in the heart of Glenwood Springs. The Hot Springs Pool is up and on your right. Interestingly, before the riverbed was re-arranged in the 1880’s this used to be a huge island in the channel with part of the flow running directly through where the Hot Springs Pool now sits.
5.7 The river goes under a pedestrian bridge and the Roaring Fork River empties into the Colorado on the left. It is fun to paddle to where the two rivers collide and feel the difference in temperatures, more apparent in summer than spring when they are both cold.
6.0 TAKEOUT on the right at the Two Rivers Park Boat ramp.
GETTING THERE
The Grizzly Creek Rest Area is accessed from exit 121 off I-70 in Glenwood Canyon. There are several other river access points that can be used to customize the length of your trip.
The access at No Name Eddy is good for small boats and splits the run roughly in half. To get here, exit I-70 at the hamlet of No Name (exit 119) and turn west (downstream) at a four-way intersection. Follow this road all the way to a gate and a small dirt pull off. A short but steep dirt trail leads to the water.
The easier and more popular takeout is at Two Rivers Park in the town of Glenwood Springs. Leave I-70 at the Main Glenwood exit (exit 116) and turn west at a major intersection. Follow this road for .4 miles past several hotels and turn left onto Devereux Road (just before you cross under the gondola). Cross over the interstate and Two Rivers Park is on your left.
Special Beta: Good intro to creek boating, but beware of wood!
Fun Factor:
Fear Factor:
The Lower Pan is an excellent off-the-beaten path run with
beautiful scenery, easy access, and surprising high-class whitewater. Though
meager releases from Reudi Reservoir often choke the life right out of the
Lower Pan, I rarely miss an opportunity to paddle this section when the water
level rises.
Driving up from Basalt to the put-in you will be
able to see much of this run. Beware, however, of spots where the river lies
away from the road, as this run does have a way of accumulating some gnarly log
placements. The crux rapid, just below a pull-out 2/3rds of the way through the
run, is partially visible from the road, but you must use the pullout to see it
all. This rapid is long and a bit technical and swimming anywhere on this creek
is ill-advised. I have seen swamped kayaks lost here.
The slide just below the put-in
The usual put-in is just above an
obvious slide that is clearly visible from the road. There is a good pull-off
here to park your car and gear up. Though the slide looks big from the road, it
paddles fairly easy. Dodge a hole at the top and stay upright and you will be
fine (III+/IV-). A couple of quick, semi-technical rapids come in quick
succession. Beware of log placements in these tight, bony drops. Not far
downstream the river enters a zone where a large mudslide five-ten years ago
completely re-channeled the river. Now the creek has been diverted into a grove
of trees. Beware of strainers here until the stream is able to re-establish its
channel.
A long stretch of II-III whitewater
follows with fun turns and good eddies. Always be alert for possible strainers.
After a couple of miles the river mellows out and you pass some very beautiful
homes along the riverbanks. There is a possible river access on the right at a
large right-hand meander. As you come out of this turn you enter the crux
rapid.
You come around a right-hand turn
and the rapid will come into view. It is a good idea to eddy out here. This
rapid is probably best pre-scouted from the pullout as you run the shuttle, and
might be worth a look for those uncomfortable with class IV. Though the rapid
itself is only IV- (except possibly at high water when it is more difficult)
the bony streambed makes for gnarly consequences in the event of catastrophe.
The river drops down a straightforward
chute with large waves then bends left and tumbles through a series of small
ledges and holes. A pinrock here or there spices things further. Things taper
slowly but remain vigorous for a few corners before mellowing. A sharp drop
just as the canyon opens up and you start to enter Basalt, however, can spank
you if you are off-guard. This rapid is particularly treacherous at high water
(III+/IV).
The Pan mellows as it rolls through
Basalt. The takeout at 7-11 in on river left just below the river empties into
the Roaring Fork.
GETTING THERE
The takeout is in Basalt just off Highway 82 at a dirt boat
ramp next to the 7-11 store. To reach the put-in, head upstream on the Fryingpan Road 4.2 miles from Basalt towards Reudi Reservoir at a dirt pullout next to an obvious slide rapid. The pull-out next to the crux rapid is found 1.8 miles up Fryingpan from the 4-way intersection with Two Rivers Road.
In the late 1990’s and early 2000’s the era of the whitewater park began. While freestyle kayaking, what we often call “playboating”, had been popular in various forms for several decades, rapidly shortening boats shrank the river features kayakers were able to play in. The appeal of “park and play” was obvious. No need for a shuttle; no need for the hassle. You could boat at your own pace for as long or short and hard or casual as desired. A few pioneering towns had the notion of creating artificial play park-and-play waves to boost local economy. Salida and Buena Vista on the Arkansas River were among the first. Utilizing the already existing platform of FibArk—a whitewater competition which at the time was primarily focused on the downriver and, to a lesser extent, slalom races—the boaters of the Arkansas Valley created what is to this day one of the best and most prestigious freestyle kayaking events in the world held at the artificial wave in Salida.
The Park at low water
With Colorado towns growing fat on the outdoor recreation industry, towns all over Colorado began to develop their own whitewater parks and freestyle kayak events. Successful whitewater parks were constructed in Gunnison, Lyons, Avon, Vail, Golden, and more. It seemed only natural that the at least one community in the boater-dense Roaring Fork Valley would follow suit. The years passed, however, and no progress was apparent.
In the middle of the first decade of the 2000’s, new energy reinvigorated the movement of the Glenwood Springs Whitewater Park, which had previously been stalled by concerns of the Hot Springs Lodge and Pool that any dredging on the basement rock during the park’s construction could adversely affect the hot springs aquifer and threaten their multi-million dollar property. An ad-hoc committee was officially appointed by the city and charged with seeing the project through to its conclusion. I was lucky enough to take part in the process during those final crucial years.
The committee consisted of about a dozen core members, consisting of local business owners, a smattering of kayakers of various ilk, and other non-boating members of the local population who, for whatever reason, took a shine to the dream of a whitewater park. Local engineer/hydrologist Jason Carey was brought in to the discussions. It was Jason and his partner Nick Turner who would ultimately do much of surveying for and designing of the whitewater park as it exists today.
Since Two Rivers Park was deemed too close to the hot springs aquifer, a number of alternatives were considered, including Glenwood Canyon, South Canyon, numerous spots along the Roaring Fork River, and on the Colorado in West Glenwood just upstream or just downstream of the Midland Avenue Bridge. There were several key components that the committee was looking for in the site, and it seemed that none of the options had them all. The location had to have gradient, be accessible, have parking, be publicly owned, and have potential to draw visitors into Glenwood Springs to spend their money (otherwise what interest did the city or county have in paying for the park in the first place).
The Park at 4,000 cfs
With its Gold Medal Fishing designation and abundant private property, the Roaring Fork River was eliminated early, despite its tremendous potential. We knew that to really maximize our investment the feature had to be built on the world famous Colorado River. No other artificial play wave had yet been built on the Colorado and admittedly we wanted to be the first. The only question was where.
We eliminated South Canyon next. Though there was great potential since the city owned the land and parking was plentiful, the committee decided that South Canyon was simply too far from town and would not draw in visitors to Glenwood Springs the way it potentially could.
Glenwood Canyon also had several strong possible locations and seemed more closely connected to town than South Canyon. However, access in the tight corridors of Glenwood Canyon ultimately made the logistics impossible. We turned our eyes to the only possibility that was left: West Glenwood.
We scouted the West Glenwood location extensively in 2006 and 2007; originally thinking that downstream of the Midland Avenue Bridge was the most likely spot. Most of the hotels and restaurants in the vicinity were cooperative and enthusiastic about the project. Feeling we had found our location at last, we began the process of obtaining permits and seeking funding.
The many months that followed were spent applying for grants and prodding city council and the Board of County Commissioners for money. After several failed attempts at a GoCo (Great Outdoors Colorado) grant, the City of Glenwood Springs, with some help from Garfield County, decided to invest whatever it would take to finish the complete the project. Now we had our location and our money and all that remained was to get our rocks down in that river.
Construction began at last in the winter of 2007/2008, one of the heaviest snow years in a decade. Eco-friendly oils and fuels were required for all machinery that entered the river. The feature was built in two halves and un-veiled in the early spring of 2008. When the resulting runoff from the heavy snow came, we watched in wonder as the feature we had conceived ran the spectrum of possible flows. While the original intention had been to build a wave that was good mostly at the target levels of 4,000 cfs and below, we discovered that the feature not only still worked above 4,000 cfs but that as the water came up the wave seemed to only get better. Many Roaring Fork Valley playboater burned hours upon hours that first year on the wave, excited with each new day to see how the feature changed. The river reached 8,000 and it turned from a hole to wave. At 10,000 it was a spinning, front surfing, roundhouse machine. By 12,000 the good boaters were getting full-on aerial tricks. Buzz circulated the freestyle scene and playboaters from all over came to see what it was all about. Some of the best playboaters in the world camped out in Glenwood for several long weeks.
Surfing the Park at 15,000 cfs
Another pleasing surprise was the wave’s popularity with non-kayakers such as surfboarders and, a bit later, Stand-Up Paddleboaders. From the standpoint of those that invested their time, energy, and even money into the wave, it had never been a park just for kayakers. The fact that on many days kayakers are only a small percentage of the SUPers, surfers, and spectators present at the park is a sign of its success on a broader scale, which had been the goal from the beginning.
The river peaked that first season just over 20,000 cfs, toppling a few of the newly constructed boulders in the process. Corrections were made and the banks improved in subsequent years.
In the spring of 2009 the hype surrounding the park allowed Glenwood to win the bid for U.S. Team Trials for the 2010 World Cup team. The event was held at the new whitewater park in late May of 2009 at flows around 15,000 cfs. The town of Glenwood Springs later declined an invite to host the World Championships, citing a lack of necessary infrastructure to accommodate such an event at the site.
The runoffs of 2010 and 2011 were epic, boasting some of the highest and most sustained flows the valley had seen since the infamous record years of 1983 and 1984. 2011 was especially memorable. Late spring snows and cool temperatures kept the water high. The river peaked in late June at over 27,000 cfs through the park and stayed well over 15,000 cfs for almost three months. No matter how high the flows got, the wave only seemed to get better. As far as we have discovered, there is absolutely no level in which there isn’t some play at the Glenwood Whitewater Park.
Meatgrinder has a sort of reputation in local
boating community. Meatgrinder was once considered the most difficult rapid in
the United States. Many great valley boaters (in an era when many pioneers of
the sport like Fletcher Anderson and Roger Paris resided here) passed on the
Meat. In the 1980’s, however, the rapid gained the attention of Matt Gaines and
Kevin Padden who made the first descent together in 1983. Gaines and Padden had
earned a reputation as some of the gnarliest kayakers out there and were even
later called “the godfathers of hair boating”. Their descent of Meatgrinder was
a benchmark in Colorado boating and a step above Barrel Springs, Pine Creek,
and Gore Canyon, which were considered the cutting edge of difficulty in those
days. In the mid-1990’s the drowning of Henry Filip in Meatgrinder solidified
Meatgrinder’s reputation. Filip was an elite creek boater and part of the group
of 1990’s paddlers that pushed Colorado’s boating to the next echelon. It was a
sad and tragic event whose consequences resonate in the minds of valley boaters
today.
Meatgrinder at 1,000 cfs
In today’s modern era, where even
younger generations have pushed valley kayaking into places such as Yule Creek,
that I would never have considered even in my more daring days, Meatgrinder
obviously no longer holds the title as “the most difficult rapid” in the
country or even the valley. I once paddled this section with a pro kayaker from
the Fayetteville, NC scene who was disappointed with Meatgrinder saying there
was a “green tongue all the way down it”. He claimed he was not only a veteran
of but also a contender in many Green River races. Perhaps Meatgrinder isn’t
what it used to be, but it still deserves respect. Don’t be surprised to
encounter a sort of voodoo attitude towards it from the locals in the valley.
If you paddle the Meat above around 1,200 cfs you will especially understand
why.
If you put-in in Redstone you will
first encounter some very mellow, beautiful corners interspersed with large red
boulders and deep pools. These are popular swimming holes and jump rocks during
the summer in low water. This area is one of the calmest on the entire Crystal
River and belies the tumultuous cascade you are about to encounter in a few
corners.
Pre-scout Meatgrinder in its entirety,
it is a long and menacing rapid with truly terrible consequences. Logs often
jam themselves in particularly nasty locations and the rapid gets rapidly more
difficult and dangerous as the water level rises. There is some boogie water
lead-in that draws you to the entrance drop, a broken ledge that can be taken
center with a dash or left with good boat angle. The best channel depends on
the level, though center seems preferred. Logs often clog this first drop.
Below the river bends right through some manky gnarly water with holes,
laterals, and bad rocks. Some water works left into a class VI channel that is
often plugged with lumber. Aim right around a giant red-colored boulder. At
lower levels you can eddy out river right just as you get next to the big
boulder and catch your breath for the last hard part. As you move around and
behind the big boulder there is usually a steep section and a small boof with
plenty of opportunities for trouble. Sometimes you can catch an eddy on the
left just past here.
For the less hardy, a trail
through the woods brings you to a small eddy where you can put-in here below
the rapid’s multiple cruxes. This is usually called “Lower Meat” and makes a
good way to extend the Narrows downstream. Lower Meat is still challenging, but
probably a full grade easier than the upper part of the rapid. Lower Meat does
get class V-ish at high water. As a runout, Lower Meat makes for a bad place to
swim and a difficult place to make any attempt at a rescue. The difficulties
continue for a few hundred yards past sporadic holes and nasty rocks before
calming in a meadow before the Narrows.
The Crystal River Valley changes
in character a bit below Meatgrinder as it leaves the blocky red sandstone that
defined Meatgrinder and the town of Redstone and enters the gray, sharp granite
of the Narrows. Takeout on river left at the Penny Hot Springs. At a good
boatable level, the hot springs will be underwater, too bad because after the
Meat, you might need to decompress.
Special Beta: Colorado big water with roadside access!
Fun Factor:
Fear Factor:
Here is an exploratory run that I was curious about for a
long time and finally paddled in 2003. For years, I eyed the Main Elk as it
coursed through New Castle, wondering if somewhere along its length there was
potential for kayaking. Certainly the Elk has more then enough water, almost a
thousand cfs in a big year, it seemed reasonable that some runnable whitewater
might exist. Then, in 2003, I discovered this stretch while on a hike and was
intrigued by the scenery, and the suprisingly good whitewater within.
Mushroom Rapid
All things consdiered, the Main Elk would be a viable run if
it weren't for one crucial problem: access. The best whitewater is on public
land but requires a hike of about a mile to get to. Since the private land
surrounding the run is very exposed, and littered with fences and wood to
portage, it is unlikely that you would be able to secretly descend. Were it not
for such strictly guarded access, many other options would be available for
paddling along this creek.
The riverbed itself is surprisingly clean (in 2008 no
portages were necessary though a few trees needed to be be snuck or ducked) and
consists of up to a mile and half of continuous class IV/V. If the juicy
section were just a little longer or a little steeper, this run would be well
worth the trouble.
Your day begins with a hike up Hadley Gulch Trail, around
the private property, and into the canyon section on public land. Make sure to
take a left when the trail forks off. About half a mile into your hike, the
trail returns to creekside and the canyon walls close in. At high water, a
stretch of the trail where it nears some cliffs will be well under water. If
the water is knee deep here than it is probably too high. Scout as you hike to
check for logs and see the tight, twisting, lines that you will need to
negotiate. It is quality single-track creekin' in a beautiful alpine setting.
Just passed the narrow portion of the trail near the cliffs, you will ascend a
somewhat strenuous hill. Not far above this is the beginning of the meat. Scout
this first series of rapids carefully! Put-in above the crux, where the river
is calm and flat, and get warmed up. Once the rapids begin, they never slow
down again!
The Triangle
The first drop is The Triangle, a small vert somewhat
reminscent of Water Slide on Escalante Creek. Boof this five foot drop
vigorously in the center to avoid ugly pinspots on both sides. Due to the
consequences, and difficulty to execute the boof properly, this might be a
class V drop. Eyeing the undercut pinspot suspiciously, we chose to portage.
Just downstream is a sweeping, fun set of rapids and corners (beware of wood).
At high water this section is a shotgun blast. The first ledge drops into a
powerful hole and sneaks on either side lead to more problems. At these levels
the whole stretch is probably class V+. Before long, the canyon walls close in,
and you paddle through one of the more scenic parts of the river. A few swift
corners later and you will land in the eddy above the crux rapid, Mushroom Rock
(look for the huge mushroom shaped rock mid-channel). Mushy is a short,
technical plunge with some potentially ugly lines. At high water a potential
sneak opens up on the left though getting there is not as easy as it looks. The
main line down the right picks its way through some sharp rocks and drops over
an angled five-foot ledge that pushes you towards a cliff. At high water this
ledge is shorter but the hole is really trashy. Just downstream is a small,
runnable weir with a diversion intake and a potential pinspot.
Below Mushroom and the diversion drop, you are entering
private land and are faced with a tough decision. You haven't been in your boat
long and hiked a long way to get here, so getting out already is not an
attractive option. But if you proceed any further, you will be entering private
property with no legal option for exit until much further downstream (about
seven miles). It is another half mile with some more decent III/IV whitewater
to get down to the bridge where your car awaits, but the further you go, the
deeper into private property you get. It is unclear how the landowners feel
about kayakers, but judging by the numerous signs, they are serious about
keeping their land private. We chose to paddle a short ways into the private
property zone and discreetly portage our way back to the takeout. As you hike
out you will catch glimpses of some interesting looking whitewater below, but
are forbidden from further exploration by the private property.
There it is. Why write such a long description for such a
mediocore run? Well, after all the work we put in to explore this drainage, I
almost felt obligated to write it up. This will never be a good run. The access
issues, unfortunately, are the big spoiler here. Were things different (perhaps
with permission from the landowner?) this little creek would be well worth the
effort. But it is there, and for those with an adventurous spirit, a taste for
masochism, and a desire to see something far off the beaten track, the Main Elk
might be for you.
