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Pow-wowed up on the last possible rock outcropping before committing to the gorge, we consulted our map and GPS waypoints. Our satellite readings confirmed we had travelled 35km in the last 24 hours putting us at the entrance of the Chockstone Gorge. This would be the first of three inescapable canyons, and the location where the previous team had aborted their mission.
in Peru was to be the first to kayak through ‘Pongo De Aguirre’ of the Rio Huallaga, (why-ya-ga), the last major tributary of the Amazon River, yet to be navigated. This river is born high in the eastern slope of the Northern Andes and descends northeast through canyons of metamorphic boulders and limestone gorges until it’s confluence with the Amazon River. While most contemporary river first descents consist of one particular drop, or some obscure creek where kayakers have the luxury of light boats and the close proximity of civilization, the Pongo De Agiurre of the Huallaga is a remote 52-mile stretch of river with an average gradient of 100 feet per mile located within the confines of a 7,000 ft deep canyon. This foreboding section of river has eluded two other previous attempts due to the unportagable and unscoutable gorges that lay within the heart of the canyon. Although I had been a member of multiple international first descents from Russia to Madagascar, this river would be the most serious undertaking in my 13 years of expedition kayaking. With no major sponsorship or detailed information for what lay within the heart the canyon, convincing paddling partners to spend their hard earned cash on a possible wild goose chase would be difficult. A Peruvian team member would also have been an asset, as they would help to negotiate the cultural nuances that inevitably come into play when travelling as a group of foreigners. After multiple attempts to reach out to the Peruvian whitewater community via Facebook and email, with no response, I conceded to the fact that it would have to be team of gringos to get the job the done. Two months before our window of low water - which would be essential to make it through this unexplored canyon - the team started to fall into place. Our group would be a mix of experienced old hands and talented youth.
I had meet Matthew and Nate Klema while teaching a swiftwater course on the Grand Canyon in 2008. These two brothers, from Durango, Colorado, seemed wise beyond their years. Matthew, 26, a student of geology and engineering, had already been leading Grand Canyon trips for five years. Nate, 21, fun loving and gregarious, starting kayaking at the age of 10 years old and it shows within his motivation for running bold rapids. Ben Luck, 21, from Homer Alaska, is quiet and humble and has an evenkeeled intensity for adventure that is always welcomed in any situation. I spent the spring of 2010 enjoying the classic southwest rivers with these guys and by the end of June, I had convinced them to miss a semester of school with the worn out saying, “college will always be there.” When Ryan Casey, 33, from Ketchum, Idaho agreed to come, I knew we had the makings of a very solid team. Standing 6’7”, this soft-spoken giant is an Idaho legend and arguably the best kayaker in the world. A last minute addition to the team was Evan Ross 26, from Jacksonhole, Wyoming. Evan and I had paddled in remote places together such as Madagascar and Russia during the last six years. To this day, the man never ceases to amaze me with his classic one-liners and ninja-esque Top: Take out paddling skills.
Bottom: Nate Klema Day 2
Getting to the country of your destination with Photos: Evan Ross a kayak is half the battle for all international paddling trips as passing off your cloaked kayak as a ‘surf-ski’ is getting more difficult each year. Every time I get to the check-in counter it becomes a roll of the dice whether my boat is happily greeted by some adventurous airline employee, or the dreaded words, “Air Cargo” are muttered between the check-in attendants as they look suspiciously at the so called ‘surf-ski.’ In order to avoid this whole scenario of getting shut down at the airport before the trip even began, we decided to send our boats on a container via the Panama Canal. Upon arrival in Lima, we soon learned what the word “tramites” meant.
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