F E A R
Jeff West


Fear has always played a roll in my boating. Through the years it has changed a bit, but it is still there. Fear keeps me from dropping 35+ foot waterfalls. The thought of spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair is not appealing.

I think paddlers are generally either fearful of big water or big drops. Some guys will fire up high volume flooded stuff without a seconds thought. For me, bigger water is the riskiest. I'll take landing on a rock over a skirt blowing on some flooded creek any day.

Also, fear flows in cycles. I have always been more conservative when I am in a serious relationship. Dating seems to take the fire out of me. I take bigger paddling risks when I am single. Go figure?

There are so many types of fear while paddling. The fear of failure, the fear of getting hurt, the fear of not being able to work or paddle after a serious injury. My greatest fear is if another paddler who was following me or taking my advice had an accident. When you first start creeking you are generally following someone else. A more experienced paddler is calling the shots and giving the beta.

After, nearly 15 years of creekboating I am usually the one giving the beta. The guys who paddle with me are all very gifted and solid class V boaters, but they look to me for beta. I worry that I might tell them to charge left when I meant right. Or give a big smile and say, "Fire it up!" only to discover a tree has fallen in a familiar line. At this stage in the game I am most fearful of someone in my care having an accident on my watch.

This is not to say I don't have my own personal fears. That I do.

Fortunately, I have always been pretty cool while wiping out. I go to plan B and hope for the best. We are all in between swims, right? Once, I got stuffed under an undercut boulder the size of a house on Linville. My world went dark as I slid under the rock. I tried swimming out the way I came in and reached towards the light only to find strong current and got pushed into an underwater cave system. I needed to breathe, but I just remember relaxing. I slid and bounced through dark tunnels and after about one minute I opened my eyes to daylight. I was ten feet below the surface in the pool behind the boulder. The water was calm and I remember seeing the tree limbs overhanging the pool. I swam to the surface and got my first breath.

Another wipe out occurred on the Lower Cullasaja. My buddy and I put on at eight feet (4 feet is runnable). I knew it was stupid, but I wanted to paddle. We made it to the last two rapids, Junkyard and Whaletail. I made the mistake of smiling and relaxing. I thought we had bagged it. I peeled out after my friend and went for the boof in Junkyard. My skirt blew upon landing. My boat immediately sank. I swam Whaletail from top to bottom. I knew my only chance was to body boof the last drop with enough speed to grab the rock beside the undercut. As I flew off the first couple of drops I just stayed focused on what had to be done. As I went off the last drop I flung myself as hard towards the ledge as possible. I missed and began being pulled into the undercut. My kayak flew off the drop behind me. It still had downstream momentum and I was able to plant my feet on the hull and leap with everything I had. I caught the ledge with my fingers and starfished to the rock for what seemed like ten minutes. Eventually, I hauled myself up the cliff.

True wipeouts are the problem. They leave me shaken to complete the run. I am good to go after a nights sleep, but making it to the takeout can be a bitch. Thankfully, beat downs like this are rare.

This coming winter will be the eleventh anniversary of my friend Pablo's passing. He was creeking near Asheville when his kayak was snagged under a tree. We were the same age and took the same risks. The day before his accident he had set rope for me when I ran a forty foot double tier drop on Falling Water. I blew the move and split my forehead open on a rock outcropping halfway down. When I came to a stop at the bottom of the drop Pablo's big smile helped take the fear away. It could have just as easily been me under that tree instead of Pablo the next day. The last ten years have been full of amazing creeking experiences. I consider this past decade of paddling a great gift. In regards to living life, quantity rarely equates to quality. Pablo, in his few years had more great experiences than any normal person would accumulate in a long lifetime.

Like it or not, we are all mortal. Personally, I had much rather go out in a beautiful gorge, challenging a hard rapid, than die in a hospital bed hooked up to machines. I choose quality.