No, they haven’t added “snow kayaking” to the 2010 Winter games, but a couple of PakBoat folding kayaks will be there. During the Winter Olympics, two Puffin models will be on display (and offered for sale) at Lonsdale Quay public market in Vancouver, Canada. The “Dreamcatcher Boats” booth is located under the tent at the Seabus terminal, by the fountain – “you can’t miss it”. Brian Chandler is displaying a Puffin (12) Kayak and a Puffin Swift – both of them offered at very favorable prices. PakBoats worked out a special arrangement with Brian so that they will be able to ship boats directly to customers in foreign countries from the PakBoat warehouse in New Hampshire. Brian will take care of shipments to customers in Canada. This is a great opportunity for the Olympic visitors to get a look at these lightweight folding kayaks, up close and personal. If you happen to be an American visiting the Olympics, check them out and if you like what you see, contact PortableKayaks.com when you get back for free shipping and an excellent price.
First pioneered by a Polish expeditionary group in 1981 with non-bailing rafts and fiberglass long boats, the Canon de Colca at the time was one of the true great whitewater test pieces, as it was then known as one of the deepest and committing canyons on Earth. The Canoe Andes, as the team self-labeled themselves, produced an excellent tale of their journey entitled, Conquering the Colca, which after publishing not only became a timeless river running text, but formed the Colca into a world renowned classic of must do rivers.
With walls of over 4160 meters, over twice as high as the Grand Canyon of the United States, the Colca boasts 114 kilometers of quality whitewater, portages, and some of the most outerwordly scenery found anywhere on earth. Contrary to popular belief, the canyon is relatively young by geological standards. Dating less than 100 million years ago, the Rio Colca cut it’s way through beds of mainly volcanic rock along the line of a major fault in the earth’s crust.
McConville in the Poles Canyon, Lower Section.
The name Colca, derives from the small holes that exist throughout the valley and canyon walls, holes that were used during the Inca and pre-Inca time periods to store food and served as tombs for important individuals. Now used a primary tourist destination for Western Peru, the upper canyon sees various trekkers, shuttled tourists, and whitewater clientele as its rarely commercially rafted and boated most often by internationals.
There exist two sections on the Colca, the first being known as the “Upper” that consists of forty four kilometers of quality grade V whitewater and various portages from the towns of Cabanaconde to Canco. This section took the Poles eleven days to complete in 1979 and was not run again until November of 2003 by the Americans, Russel Kelly and Damian Miller, in two and half days.
The second section of the Rio Colca, known as the Lunar Canyon, is seventy kilometers long and is considered to be one of the best runs in Peru. Beginning in the isolated village of Canco and ending downstream in the desert town of Aplao or La Central, one has the privilege to kayak in grade IV-V whitewater continuing through various canyon names including Chocolate, Green, Reparaz, and Poles, all different and all resembling panorama that can only be comparable by paddling on the planet Mars.
Rare Mariscos in the Colca river.
Our Journey.
After an unpleasant eighteen-hour bus ride, intense Spanish induced kayak logistical haggling, and various rock falls that seemingly blocked the main coastal highway on numerous occasions, our tired crew arrived in Arequipa, the jumping off point for most Western Peruvian whitewater runs. Luckily finding a fantastic hostel; “La Puta Madre,” we dropped gear and gingerly set about enquiring about river levels, logistics and food preparation. We had no idea if we’d be able to paddle the river as we had already encroached on rainy season. The risk paid off more than we could ever imagine.
Three hundred American dollars and twenty-four hours later, we were bombing down a high altiplano dirt road admiring a high desert sunset and staring into literal oblivion. Our one way private shuttle reached the tiny village of Huambo at nightfall, established a bed in a local hospedaje (shared Pervuian family home which doubles as a hostel), and found a last supper of instant coffee, boiled potatoes, a chicken leg, and maiz (large seed corn) with some local elder women.
Huambo, elevation 3270 meters, is a fantastic cultural experience that provided our group with more of a snapshot of typical Peruvian life. In addition to Spanish, Quecha, the local dialect and identity of the majority of people in country, is spoken here. The village has limited power, no tourist facilities, a catholic church, a main square, and a few dirt roads. Homes are made adobe style, brick and mud, often with thatched roofs and corrugated tin if the dwellers can afford it.
The isolation of this beautiful place is hard to fathom as there exists one pot holed road, which has a somewhat of a daily bus service seven hours to the next “town”. Local preference however, is given to the various mountain trails in the area as they intertwine into more tangled organized trade routes in the vicinity. The people rely on agriculture to survive, selling what they can to the surrounding villages, utilizing centuries old irrigation canal systems to bring precious water into the arid landscape. They are simple, generous, and eager to stare at three gringos with big plastic oblong shaped objects.
The eight plus hour hike was hot, dusty, and wind refused to relent. The donkey’s romp continued to bounce the plastic boats free from their backs as if swatting flies. All in the moment was secondary as we crusted ridge after ridge quickly holding the eyepieces of our cameras steady in hopes to capture the pure beauty we were enclosed with. The Colca was already beyond our wildest imagination.
Reaching the even smaller riverside village of Canco, elevation 1470 meters, we arrived at the put-in, instantly unloading our kit from the mules, paying our local donkey guide, stripping naked and jumping directly into the Colca. Refreshing ourselves or as a right of passage, the water felt amazing against the hot sun and our wind burned skin. With a quick packing of the boats, we were off downstream, ready for anything. We had enough food for three river days, a printed off email from a past expedition, and hopefully good weather.
One of my favorite shots. McConville on the hike in.
Our first camp was made next to a large boulder river right shortly after reaching the confluence of the Colca and the Mamachocha, roughly an hour and half after we put-in. The wind howled throughout the night sometimes blocking the many rock avalanches careening off the cliff walls. Twice, large booms and the report of geological shrapnel echoing for many mintues afterward awaked me; choosing a safe place to camp in the Colca was now not a luxury but a necessity.
Morning broke and we awoke to the most god-forsaken insects any of us had ever experienced. The sand flies were everywhere and reeked havoc on our breakfast. Reliving myself, I ultimately decided and relayed to the rest of the team that this sort of behavior had dire consequences.
Protection against the insects.
Reasons #1 to not defecate.
We blasted through the intermittent portions and various canyons of the run with ease under a beautiful sun. The rapids were straightforward grade IV intermixed with some light grade V and much like the scenery, all of it was classic. Fun river running mixed with some exciting boofs were all that was required as we boat-scouted the majority of the river stopping only to snap a few photos, shoot some video and to enjoy.
Sans the ease of the Colca’s difficulty, one couldn’t shutter the feeling of being completely isolated in canyon’s towering chocolate colored walls. To hike out in emergency would not only be impossible at best but probably unfruitful as nothing but endless high mountain desert surround the drainage for hundreds of miles.
We portaged twice at two mandatory portages each with their own respective name. The Reparaz portage, named after the aforementioned canyon, was the most awful looking sieve pile any of us had ever seen as there existed no way through the mess. We hauled our boats through a large sieve cave paddling what we could and carrying the rest. At Poles canyon, the most spectacular and named after the first descent team, ropes were required to ascend up a steep river right cliff, slog our gear across a small cliff band, then run some manky finishing class V to exit the mess.
Reparaz Portage
Poles Canyon: Kiffy and Utah provide some prospective.
Hours later and as the canyon released us from it’s sheer walls, we stopped for a break, primarily realizing that we had completed the run. Eager to celebrate McConville produced some chocolate, Kiffy some dried sausages, and I some special Peruvian cigarettes. We delighted ourselves for the remainder of the run to our second camp laughing uncontrollably and taking in the experience full form. We pitched our bivy sacks that night on flattened island, mingling with a local fisherman about the run and becoming gluttons with our remaining food supply.
Falling asleep under a kaleidoscope of astrology that night, next to a warm fire and next to the presence of good friends was an end only fitting for the Colca. Awaking the next morning, we kayaked another three hours to a big orange suspension bridge and the take-out town of La Central, hitching a ride into the village and ultimately ventured by bus back to Arequipa late that night. Strong pisco sours, celebration, and smiles were all shared shortly there after.
Words do little justice to paint a portrait of what it’s like to run the Colca. To this day, it’s still one of the most, if not thee most scenic and enjoyable kayaking runs I’ve ever been on. The entire experience is one of what dreams could only hope to be construed of.
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- ISBN13: 9780071392372
- Condition: NEW
- Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
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Ever paddle at night? Was it on purpose?
I've been kayaking in the dark a few times, and it was always a fascinating thing to see dimly-guessed shapes, and plenty of reflections. It's really interesting to watch the light fade out of the sky, and even more interesting in some ways to be out before dawn and watch the sky get brighter and brighter. The sun is almost a surprise!
But it's when the sky is getting darker that I'm getting more and more alert. It's like the mop of grey hair on my head has turned into long antennae reaching out into the dark to help me try to be aware of what's going on.
Out on the water yesterday, I realized that it wasn't just getting dark because it's still winter. (Yeah, yeah, I know that most people don't consider February STILL winter. I spent fifteen years in Edmonton, where the seasons are not spring, summer, autumn and winter, but Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction. By Alberta standards, February is only half-past Winter. But here in Victoria, half-past February means there were two cherry trees blooming on the open shore.) It was getting dark because the clouds were coming in thick on the weather front, AND it was the end of a winter's day. I was glad to know that I'm familiar with this bay in most kinds of weather and most times of day. While I don't paddle in a howling gale or after midnight, I've been on the beach in both those kinds of weather.
It's a darned good idea to get to know your home waters at different times of day. What colours are the lights on the buoys and lighthouses, and how often do they blink? You can tell the lights apart, here, by their frequency, duration and colours. What are the lights like on the shoreline? Get to know how your home waters look at sunset and at night. Even if you don't intend to paddle in the dark, an afternoon outing can end up getting pretty dark if the current and wind pick up and delay your return. It's always good to be sure where you are.
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I recently purchase a new fishing kayak and was keen to try it out. I went to a private dam just outside of town and arrived there at about five o’clock the afternoon. A lot of rain has fallen in the area lately and the water was very murky. I set out with my normal start up lures consisting of a plastic (creature bait) on the one rod and a surface lure (Zara spook) on the other. After finding my feet on the new kayak I started casting out lures. After about an hour I still had nothing, not even a touch. I decided to row up to the dam wall to search for cleaner water. It was a very cloudy day and at the dam wall in the one corner there was a good beam of sunshine coming through and I immediately put on a shiny spinner bait. On my second cast out to the sunny patch I was on. I could feel that this was a really decent size fish and I proceeded with care. Just as it came up beside the kayak it stared me right in the eyes and with a look of spitefulness spit the lure right out like a baby would do a dummy. My spinner bait suffered far worse than my ego and was a mess. I tied on another and after a couple of cast I was on to yet another decent bass. I successfully landed it and it weight 1.8kg. Time was ticking and I managed to land one more bass before I had to head home.
FISH: Largemouth Bass
WEIGHT/LENGTH: 1,8 kg
CAUGHT BY: Frikkie Botha
CAUGHT AT: Private Dam 3 February 2010
BAIT/LURE: Spinner Bait
