| The Tragic Summer of 1997 |
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| Thursday, 01 January 1998 11:15 | ||||
Page 1 of 2 Flags flying half-mast at the Olympic Training Center. A scale-model dory, engulfed in flames, carrying ashes down the Grand Canyon's Lava Falls. A Chevy Chevelle, topped with flowers and kayaks, making one last shuttle to the Roaring Fork's Slaughterhouse run. A riverside service during September's World Rodeo Championships. Rich Weiss. Dugald Bremner. Henry Filip. Chuck Kern. Like a word-association puzzle, lines can be drawn from the above scenarios to the above names. Doing so, however, reveals a startling truth: the summer of 1997 will go down as one of the most tragic seasons in the history of whitewater kayaking. Other people have died kayaking. A total of 15 in the U.S. this year alone, to be exact. But never have as many high-profile paddlers perished within such a short time frame. Weiss, Bremner, Filip and Kern. The names rattle off the tongue like a law firm. They were among the best of the best, well-known throughout the industry. Weiss, whose death caused flags to fly half-mast at the Olympic Training Center, was a two-time Olympian. Bremner, whose friends floated a flaming dory as a funeral pyre down Lava Falls, was a popular outdoor photogapher and Grand Canyon guide. Filip, whose flower-covered Chevy stayed with him until his last shuttle, was a leading figure in Colorado hairboating circles. Kern--remembered by rodeo competitors with a blue ribbon tied to their lifejackets at the '97 Worlds--was Perception's western technical rep who had earned a berth on the U.S. rodeo team. One eight-week period; the deaths of four high-profile paddlers. The unsettling part is that they all died on the water, pursuing a sport they loved. And they all died paddling Class V. "It's really sobering," says Perception's Risa Shimoda Callaway, personal friends of Weiss and Kern. "Hopefully it will make people think a little more about what they're doing." The problem, she adds, is a simple case of numbers. "The sport's no more dangerous than it was before, it's just that more and more people are running harder and harder rivers," she says, admitting that the summer's deaths have caused her to reassess running difficult drops. "The number of difficult rivers being done is staggering, especially compared to a few years ago. Everybody has an off day, and if you have one when you're paddling difficult runs four or five times a week, you're putting yourself at risk. "What's scary," she adds, "is when you start counting all the close calls, the ones people don't hear about. That, and the fact that it could happen to anybody. There's no reason it should have been Chuck instead of someone else. And in Richie's case, 10 other people would have made the same decision in the same situation." That, of course, is exactly what is sending ripples of uncertainty throughout top-level players in the industry. "It definitely makes you think twice about what you're doing," says Ed Lucero, a prominent hairboater and friend of Kern's. "I didn't paddle hard stuff for a few weeks after Chuck died. Richie's death I could write off as sort of a fluke, but with Chuck it was just too much." Indeed, those tracking whitewater's accident and fatality rates point to 1997 as one of kayaking's worst. "There has definitely been a spate of high-profile, well-known accidents this year," says Charlie Walbridge, former chairman of the American Canoe Association's safety committee. "It's not so much an increase in the number of deaths, but a spike in the number of qualified boaters killed on Class V. "The only cause of these deaths," he adds, "is the demanding nature of Class V, which is brutally intolerant of errors in water reading, boat handling and judgment. We're getting to the point where kayakers are pushing the envelope the same way mountaineers have been doing since the 1930s. Just as in climbing, skilled, competent people are cutting their margins too fine. The really high-end stuff can't be run forever. Eventually statistics catch up with you." Out of 45 whitewater fatalities reported in the U.S. in 1996--which includes everything from low-head dam accidents to heart attacks--10 kayakers died paddling Class IV-V whitewater (excluding the deaths of Steve Fairchild on Chile's Futaleafu and Washington's Justin Casserly in Mexico). Two of those in particular, says Walbridge, caused nearly as big a stir as this summer's deaths. In September '96, Scott Hassan, a long-time Class V kayaker, drowned in a drain-type sieve on West Virginia's 400-foot-per-mile Meadow Creek, a run he had paddled more than 30 times. "That really shook a lot of people up," says Walbridge. "He was as well-known in the East as Dugald was in the West." The curve continued in December when well-known eastern boater Todd Smith died on West Virginia's Possum Creek near Chattanooga, Tenn. This year's trend of paddlers dying on difficult water established itself well before the deaths of Weiss, Bremner, Filip and Kern. Of the year's 15 kayaking deaths reported to the American Whitewater Affiliation (AWA) as of Sept. 1, nine involved experienced paddlers on Class IV-V whitewater, and at least six of the victims were considered experts. Adding to the expert count are the May 12 death of Joel Hathorn, who missed a do-or-die eddy during a first descent of Idaho's Warren Creek, and the June 5 death of New Mexico's Brian Reynolds, who took a Class IV-V swim on Idaho's South Fork of the Payette at high water. "The percentage of hardboat fatalities on Class V has definitely increased over the past few years," says Lee Belknap, chairman of the AWA's safety committee. "And when charted as its own category, Class V fatalities show a striking increase over the past two years, despite an only moderate rise when measured as a percentage of all hardboats. The only consolation is that whenever we spiked like this in the past, the succeeding years were typically much calmer as paddlers learned from the accidents." Learning from this summer's accidents, however, isn't easy-especially since, as Callaway points out, they could have happened to anybody. "Maybe that's the underlying lesson," says Walbridge. "When you have accidents involving mainstream paddlers, you're getting into a whole new realm of dangers. It's one thing to educate people who are unprepared. It's another when you're dealing with people at the top end of the sport." The situation is certainly not unique to kayaking. Compared with tragedies in the climbing world, including recent disasters on Mt. Everest and in the Alps, the number of kayaking casualties is a drop in the bucket. But since they're coming from a smaller pool of participants, the numbers start carrying more weight. And for a tight-knit sport still emerging into the mainstream, the deaths of its top-level participants have left ripples of grief extending far beyond the surface. As well as stirring up people's sentiments, the deaths have also stirred debates as to the direction of the sport, bringing up issues and concerns that until now have rarely been voiced. As with any tragedy (as illustrated in the death of Princess Di) people want answers and the assignment of blame. In the case of Weiss and Filip, did a blow to the head come first or the drowning? Would Bremner have died had he been in another boat? Would Kern have made the same decision had he scouted from below? No one will ever know. The easy way out is to blame these deaths on errors in judgment. But that's like pinning an airplane crash on pilot error. Judgment is an esoteric term that doesn't take into account hidden rocks throwing you off line or hidden sieves capable of swallowing boats whole. "Chuck had the best judgment of anyone," says Lucero. "I probably would have made the exact same decision, and that's what's so scary." Fingers are also quick to point at a breed of new, easy-to-paddle designs that are putting more people on harder runs faster. But that's hardly the case in the deaths of Bremner, Weiss, Filip and Kern. For them, skill wasn't necessarily a factor. All were seasoned Class V boaters with more than 50 years of experience between them. No one can say that Weiss didn't belong on the White Salmon, that Bremner didn't belong on the Silver Fork, that Filip didn't belong on the Crystal, or that Kern didn't belong in the Black Canyon. If they didn't belong there, no one does. "It's not a skill question," agrees former U.S. Canoe & Kayak Team Coach Bill Endicott, who coached Weiss to his first Olympic appearance in 1992. "No one is going to have more skill than Richie. I think maybe we're just starting to bump up against the upper limit of what can be successfully run." As for the role new equipment plays, Lucero adds that, if anything, new designs are making the sport safer as they encourage recreational "playboating" over running Class V. At the same time, however, they present somewhat of a Catch -22. Just as beginners and intermediates are using new designs to pursue playboating over river running, many advanced paddlers are using them on harder runs, and as a result they're having more close calls. "The sport needs to slow down and catch up with itself," maintains Tamara Robbins, one of Kern's close paddling friends. "Boat designs have eclipsed skill levels." Maybe so, but again, not in the case of Weiss, Bremner, Filip or Kern. Fate might well have dealt them a different hand had they been in different boats. But the cards may have fallen just the same. Kern was in a Perception Arc, one of the company's more forgiving models. Weiss was in a Perception Whiplash, a boat he had been paddling all year. Filip was in a New Wave Mongoose, perfect for the steep, rocky riverbed of Meatgrinder. Bremner was in a Dagger Freefall, designed specifically for steep creeks. "As far as Dugald's death goes, the way he pinned wasn't due to the boat," says Mike Bader, a friend of Dugald's who helped retrieve the boat and body. "He would have gotten pinned no matter what he was in--he just misjudged the depth, which slowed him down and threw him off line." These variables are what have old school paddlers like Endicott so concerned. "In my opinion, this whole extreme game is getting carried too far," he says. "People need to think about their actions more. Part of good judgement is leaving more room for margin of error. When I started paddling in the '60s we had glass boats and there was a self-limiting factor. Run something you didn't belong on and you ruin your boat." No one can deny that compared to Endicott's fiberglass days, modern boats are largely responsible for putting paddlers on more dangerous runs. But people will push the envelope no matter what boat they're in. It's human nature. What concerns the likes of Endicott is when that envelope gets pushed because of external factors. "When you get more people involved, they begin to influence each other," he says. "Someone will run something and make it look easy, and others will base their judgement on that instead of deciding for themselves. And then there are those who encourage other people to sidestep their judgment by staging races, shooting videos and taking pictures." Most top-level paddlers, however, realize that the final decision to run something comes from within. "For the most part, people don't run hard stuff they wouldn't otherwise run because of racers, videos or any other external factors," says Eric Jackson, president of the World Kayak Federation, which stages an annual Class V race on Washington, D.C.'s Great Falls of the Potomac. "Most people paddle within their ability level, and if you do that, the odds are good you'll be fine." It's not likely this summer's deaths will stop people from paddling Class V. As with skiers progressing from green circles to black diamonds, as boaters get better they will continue to push themselves. "When you reach that upper skill level it's an extremely fun challenge to paddle difficult whitewater," says former USCKT member Steve Holmes, who had a co-worker involved in a recent fatality on Colorado's Arkansas River. "And as much as we all hate to admit it, it's sort of an ego thing, matching yourself up against someone else. But the river's a fickle thing; it doesn't care who you are or how good a paddler you are." If nothing else, this summer's deaths have caused discussions that otherwise might not have been brought to the surface. And that, says the AWA's Belknap, is a step in the right direction. "The most effective action is to talk about it and discuss it within the boating community," he says. "That's the only way for whatever lessons can be learned to really sink in." Even though egos and adrenal glands may have been tucked aside for a while, life, and paddling, goes on. And no matter how stirred up people's emotions have been, it's a safe bet that all four paddlers in question would want everyone in the paddling community to continue to live life to the fullest. "It definitely shakes you up when someone you know dies on the river," says Dan Gavere, an extreme boater who has been pushing the envelope for years. "But I know they died doing what they loved. If I die, I'd much rather be in my boat than anywhere else, and I'd much rather die because of my own mistake than because of someone else's actions. At least out on the river I'm in control of my own destiny. For us, it's a lifestyle. We don't do it for the money, we do it because we love to be out on the river." And although he still grieves about the deaths of his cohorts, he adds it's not likely to change the way he paddles. "You can't put the death of your friends behind you, but I don't think it's going to change my style of boating," he says. "Chuck and Rich both knew where they were, knew it was dangerous, and paid for their actions. All the upper-level guys can accept those dangers--that's the bottom line. We wouldn't be out there pushing the envelope if we weren't willing to die on the river. If you're going to boat that kind of water, you just have to be willing to accept the consequences." Kayaking vs. Other Adrenaline Sports? Kayaking is not the only adrenaline-based sport to see high-profile participants pass away. In recent years, the sports of climbing, surfing and skiing have all seen top-level players perish while pursuing the sport they loved. Grief struck the skiing world in February 1996 when extreme skier Trevor Petersen died in an avalanche in the French Alps in 1996. The industry was further saddened last winter by the death of long-time skier Allan Bard while guiding clients up Wyoming's Grand Teton; and again this past summer by the death of photographer T.R. Youngstrom, who died in a helicopter crash in the Andes of Chile. For Powder magazine editor Steve Casimiro, the similarities between those risking their lives kayaking and those risking their lives skiing are striking. "It's the fact that you're dealing with objective dangers," he says. "At ski resorts, those objective dangers have been dramatically reduced. But as with kayaking Class V, if you're on a 50-degree pitch littered with rock bands, the objective dangers are big. At that level, it's not just enough to be great. You have to have the ability of discernment, to back away. You have to be able to say, 'Whoa, there are too many things going on that I can't control.' That's the commonality between these sports." The big-wave surfing world also has lost a few top players. The highly publicized death of Mark Foo on California's Maverick break in 1994 shocked a community as tight-knit as the Class V kayaking crowd. Then came the death of pro surfer Donnie Solomon in 1995 in Hawaii, followed by last February's death of pro surfer Todd Chesser, also in Hawaii. "But I don't think these deaths have stopped anybody from surfing big breaks," says Surfer magazine's Evan Slater. "You just have to evaluate it and continue on. If I'm going to die, that's how I would want it to happen." Climbing hasn't been immune from such fatalities either. "It's been a rough year in climbing also," says Dugald MacDonald, editor of Rock & Ice magazine. He is referring to the climbing death of Bard, and that of Doug Hall, who died last winter in an avalanche while ice climbing in Utah. "That kind of thing is going to happen in high risk sports," he says. "And as these sports become more popular, more accidents are going to occur." Is kayaking more dangerous than these other sports? It depends who you ask. Skiing an avalanche-prone couloir above a cliff band and surfing waves with the power to demolish small ships are certainly every bit as consequential as paddling off a waterfall. As Casimiro points out, it comes to recognizing and evaluating the sport's objective dangers. MacDonald feels that many climbers would rather take their chances clinging to the side of a mountain than subject themselves to the potential of drowning. "Many climbers perceive kayaking as being extremely dangerous," he says. "But at the same time, there are plenty of kayakers who say that about climbers." If anyone can assess the difference between kayaking and climbing, it's 62-year-old Royal Robbins, a world-known climber who also has 30 kayaking first descents to his credit. In his 40 plus years of adventuring, Robbins--whose daughter, Tamara, was good friend of Chuck Kern--has seen a lot of things happen in both sports. "Sometimes you have a rash of things happen all at once," he says from his office in Modesto, Calif., where he heads his Royal Robbins clothing line. "Deaths like that happen in climbing, and hopefully that's all we're seeing in this recent string of kayaking deaths. "But it's still rather shocking," he adds. "And these deaths do show that risk is there in extreme kayaking. I don't know if it's more dangerous than climbing or not--it's probably more comparable to mountaineering where you're dealing with more objective dangers--but I can say that I've come closer to getting killed kayaking than climbing." Robbins admits that the ante has been upped since his day. "Back then, we were all sufficiently afraid to run hard stuff," he says. "People are doing things now that we never dreamed of. But just as in mountaineering, because of better equipment the casualty rate hasn't really gone up. Still, once you start pushing things to too high of a level, the nature of the sport changes." One similarity climbing shares with kayaking is the recent growth in playboating--where paddlers show up at a hole or wave, paddle for a few hours and then leave--and sportclimbing, which takes place at man-made gyms and on bolted routes outdoors. "The gear for both is a lot better now, and it has led to substantial growth," says MacDonald. "But the bottom line is more people are doing it, and that's opening the door to more mishaps when they pursue their sport in a less-controlled environment." One way to compare the dangers of the two is to look at the numbers. According to reports filed with the American Whitewater Affiliation, kayaking fatalities in the U.S. totaled eight in 1995, 10 in 1996 and 15 in 1997. Climbing, says Jed Williamson, who edits an annual journal called Accidents in North American Mountaineering, has seen an average of 28 domestic deaths a year for the past decade. But Williamson is not discouraged by these figures--especially since they include everything from mountaineering accidents to those involving "non-climbers in a climbing situation." "With the increased number of participants the sport has seen, these figures are actually encouraging," says Williamson, who, like Robbins, has spent a fair amount of time behind a paddle. "And I have to think that given the number of people taking up kayaking that it too is also doing pretty well." (Originally Published, Paddler January-February 1998)
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