Mission: Rude friends/ sweet luck and Undercurrents

I flew into Calgary for Jackson Kayaks, picked up my gear and the only car left in Calgary. Pimped out Ford with heated seats, I got it by luck. The Calgary Stampede is on. Parking is stupid, bars are full, booz is 7.50 a drink and I don’t wear a cowboy hat so I looked right out of place. I decided at the airport to see one of my best friends, Scott Fiendel. He Took a pretty hard hit creeking last year put him in the hospital for 3 months. He’s thinner now, but back to the boating and Kickboxing again and of course saying abusive things to me again. (he was nicer to me when he was broken) I never got around to teasing him about his drug induced phone calls at all hours of the night….. Opportunities lost… I arrived at Scottys and coun’t find my wallet. As it turns out it fell out of my sweet ride when I was loading up and lucky for me it got wedged in the step bar and the door frame. It rode like that to his house!!!!

Hit up the local shop to see another good friend of mine Tony. He’s a Jackson Super Store and holds almost every line I represent. He’s been a big supporter of the community there and offers everything at good prices. Each year he handles the boats I ship out there for events and comps. I took some shots of the shop as well as the most imposing photo of Tony I could muster….

Billy Harris



I attended an event the Red Deer River Festival.  here are some picks I took from the clinics.  I met another friend and rippin creeker Mikkel St. Jean-Duncan.  (I took me about 20 min to write his name.  HYPHENS...  GAWD...

This kids mother told him if he could loop the new star she would buy it for him.  She's out 1149.00 plus taxes....  sorry ma.....  it took 45 min to teach him...  thank's JK.  poor mom

Mission: Disposing of the Arrogance.

I am finding myself more and more often being beaten on the water. Some Kid named Adam who I have never met crushed me at Push Button the other day.  That combined with a visit from what was a good friend once along time ago set in motion some question’s. Who really is Billy Harris and how can he be better than he is.

I planted dark seeds along time ago and they started with Pat Camblin at Lachine many years ago.  I lashed out in anger and frustration and in doing sewed the seeds of divide between us that has only festered. The boys, Duce, Benny Marr and Pat dropped by the house to see Carly and I and it was there in in silence it started myself on a path of reflective emotions. Pat sat at the table not sure how to feel about me, I could see it in his eyes.  I superimposed my belief systems on him and in doing so alienated him and myself. My pride, frustration, and anger back then, and even now dig deep.  “A thorn can be pulled out but internal thorns need to be realized in the mind.”  (Dalai Lama)  I need to know why I felt anger then, jealousy and dismay at myself and Adam and the crushed feelings I have had at being beaten at worlds so many times. 

It started and still do in many ways identify my self as Billy Harris the paddler, coach and athlete.  I have always thought that Billy was what he made of himself.  To a lesser extent the coaching and help I have offered over the years to the greats of paddling.   I always felt that I was apart of the learning that they young terrors reign have had on the freestyle and big trick features around the world.  I have had thousands of hours on the water practicing and when watching their success’s Pringles, at world cup, Joel and Nick at worlds, yappa in oz. I have always felt that I helped in many ways to create the foundation for that talent to grow on.   But in the end it never had much to do with me at all, not for Pat, not for any of them.  I built up the importance of it in my mind and felt hurt and anger when it swung around to haunt me later.  I followed a garden path of my own self importance and grew the seeds of anger and jealousy now I am left thorny branches, branches I now try cutting off at the base. 

But the only way to gain understanding of how I feel when I get beaten buy these guys is by not letting anger, pride jealousy exaggerate the importance of how things really exist.  I must see that at no time that I really am billy harris the paddler.  I Struggle to give up my false beliefs even now.  The seeds have gown tall and the pruning should have started years ago.  I work hard now to see myself as I really am, I feel that it’s the only way that I will ever find peace and liberation.

Billy Harris

Mission: Re-Education and goodbye to the Gang at NRA (huge experiences)

One of the students flew past me on his butt following his boat, he looked like he was riding a jack-hammer, his arms and legs flailing and kicking all the way down. He picked himself up at the bottom, rubbed his butt looking up.  He looked at me and chuckled and went about retrieving his boat from the river.  Better watch my step I thought to myself as the next student blew past me flailing.  Four of the six students so far fell, slid or dropped their boats hiking in or at the put in.  What a great way to start the day I thought to myself with a smile.  I know it’s the sadistic streak in me, the teachers all here love their jobs just as I do.  That being said most of us like to take a bit of pleasure in someone else’s pain from time to time and I think it’s healthy in a twisted kind of way.  All the lessons here I feel, are best taught by themselves. Each day at the end of the river run I ask the same thing.  “OK kiddies, what did you learn today”.  The reason I ask that question it so the people realize they have to take responsibility for that learning. But accidents are great in a way I think.  They in them selves carry the weight of action and consequence without the politics of the punishing administrator. Thus the small glean of delight one takes as an educator in days like these.  

That way when the digger happens, lesson and punishment get all rolled up into one tight little entertainment package for me.  It’s what makes these river schools like NRA so great to me.  In standard school there is no control by the educators any more.  Its all been taken away.  When I was a student I used to fear the stick, the strap, the teacher.  The worst of the worst, “go to the principals office”.  But these times are different.  Parents don’t take responsibility any more none of those great tools are used any more.  Students take the cue from ma and pa and don’t take responsibility either.  There is no action and consequence any more only this sense of entitlement.  But not here not in this place, who’s fault is it that you fell down the rocks again. “OH THAT PERSON IS YOU”  I hope to send my little monsters to this school someday and lets be honest.  Someone else is going to snicker at my little beast when he/or she, takes a digger on a jungle trail someday too.

Tacked on some photos

Mission: Sights sounds and Chile.

The familiar rumble of the van next door reluctantly cranks to life, it’s three on the tree shifter grinds into reverse as it prepares for a day of shuttles.

The clouds that have plagued us for the last couple days are starting to wear off.

The river that was starting to drop has now refreshed its stocks of water.

A new day starts in Chile.  The students are down stairs working out math formulas.

The teachers in the next room are discussing what is to be done about tomorrows plan.

The kitchen below my room is bustling with the cooking ladies.  They crank out bread on an old set of rollers.  The meshing sound of the bread makers gears pressing out its uniformity.  Pots of food sit simmering on an old wood stove that glows red in the evening when the lights are off and the day is done.  Chile is indeed an amazing place.   The rivers like the people are beautiful pure and clear. The hospitality is reminiscent of the rivers, inviting, warm and full of mystery. The vista of snow capped volcanoes and treed landscapes both compete for your attention again and again. An old bridge at the put in still hangs defiantly under the new more modern road above it.  Old pieces of the original wood hang on the last vestiges of cable strung across. 

The students and teachers pile down the rocky slope to put on.  To our left an ostensible ski hill of white and Bombay gin creeping upward, around another treed corner and out of sight.  To the right, a horizon line of excitement, anticipation and opportunity awaits us all. You can see the trout swimming on the bottom as you swiftly float over them the water like glass.  I pick out my first boof of the day and wonder if the children can see it too.  Selfishly and secretly hoping they don’t and I greedily have it to myself. Each on of them too busy tucking throw bags and water bottles into their boats to notice or so I hope.  Some of them I know fighting off the feelings of doubt, or reveling in the confidence of what lies ahead. The van pulls away stopping briefly on the bridge above us to watch, then with a plumb of unburned diesel it pulls away.  At the same time casting a fresh air of necessity into the hearts and minds of the students that are uneasy.  The river waits patiently for us, blades swing their arcs as we float toward our destination somewhere in Chile. 

MISSION: La Posada, water-fall practice and Pinochet’s legacy.

After a massive meal at the Dave’s Base Camp in Pucon, we headed toward the town of Choshuenco. (sounds like co-shwan-co)  Near by is the Baobab hotel that has a waterfall in it and a clean 25 footer near by for us to huck.  The river is followed up by a series of sweet drops and easy class 5 below.  The students of course were not allowed to be huckin the class 5 stuff, even though there are many who could.  We set out working on the techniques of running a bigger waterfall.  Tucking time, angle of landing, power use and where to run the drop so you have the most control.  It went remarkably well.  All the students enjoyed it, even after Steven Forester chucked his paddle, melted and had the daylights beaten out of him.  Tino took me behind the waterfall to a cave we could both paddle into.  The thundering roar and mist filling the cave with mist and mosses and for a brief time the two of us.  This place is magical, water you can see through like glass.  The mountains are all around us volcano’s peeking through.  There are massive trees everywhere, tunnels of trees that we drive through leaning out over the road.  Outside as a write this article, the fruit truck is yelling out his wares in Spanish.  The smell of tonight’s dinner seeps through the floor into my room.  We are no longer in Pucon, we are in the real Chile like Daves place deep in the heart of the country.  Rustic, poor and thriving.  The houses are old, the floors and walls are wood and thin.  I can hear a mother and her child playing a silly game next door.  I can hear the kitchen ladies, owners, sweeping, chatting in quick Spanish.  Tino, a fellow Level 6 Paddler lived here for a while with the ladies and translates when I get stuck.  So last night, we went down to have some wine with the ladies of the house.  They made this concoction red wine, strawberries together to sip on.  Very nice.  We sipped and Tino translated back and forth the conversation.  Pinochet the dictator evicted this family from their house in Santiago many years ago.  Pinochet took their wealth and home and dumped them out on the street.  They moved to Choshuenco, bought a small BandB with what they had left and it is where I sit now.  If anyone comes to Choshuenco look for “La Posada.”  Its on the main drag, it costs about 8 to 10$ a night and the food and hospitality is fantastic.  Right now the Huge Experiences Gang all spread over the property doing school work, chatting and having a good time.  While in the background Tino plots out the next river run for us to attack with our team of happy campers.

Mission: Home Sweet Chile/ Winter Contrast.

Mission:  Home Sweet Chile/ Winter Contrast.

It’s hard to explain what this place is like I will do my best and probably fail.  There are beautiful people, landscapes and rivers here.   I am always looking over my shoulder for another snow capped volcano view that never gets old.  So many things that set this place apart from the many other places I have been.  I consider it a bit of a tragedy that it’s been such a long time getting here. At night I have a sweet mattress a med weigh sleeping bag and I sleep like a baby even without, “starfish” a pet name for my wife, not taking up all four corners of the bed.  The weather is perfect coastal warm air rolls in during the day the sun beats down, while at the same time the cold air from the Andes mountain ranges pushes in at night and is a perfect temperature for crashing out. “The Ande” as my new Chilean friend Lorenzo would call the mountain ranges to the east.  They don’t have any use for plural forms down here. The little Cabana I am staying in is amazing, It’s up on stilts, inside its just high enough to stand up in and nestled in a jungle that won’t bite.  The sound of the river roars into the place and I love it.  Ok everything green here has hideous thorns but no Mamba’s, spiders, hippo’s or vicious carnivorous on the river. It’s kind of perfect.  The price of things is cheaper here but you can spend a lot of money in a hurry at the bars, food is pricy at the restaurants but cheap at “elTIT” the local grocery store chain.  The Huge Exp, base camp is outside town, the NRA River Coach Tino and his partner in crime Lornezo take care of me along with the owner Dave who owns the place.  Dave’s place rents boats out which is smarter than flying them down here I think, especially for the hassle and cost.   It takes a couple min to catch a buss at the end of the driveway and it’s a perfect base for people to save cash, paddle and hang someplace cool.  I am sitting inside with a warm fire, a bunch of students all huddled around a big fat pile of Lasagna, considering how much hot pepper powder to put on it.    A stark contrast to my deliberations of a week ago.

This is what I was writing about 2 weeks ago.

Valley Life.

I moved to the area of Beachburg this year, bought an old house and attempted become a part of the community.  It’s really been kind of hard, you’re an outsider if you’r not Dutch in these parts, or related to someone at the local cenotaph. My latest obstacle came at the end of the driveway. My driveway is not all that long but its 3 cars wide taking about an hour to clear deep snow out of.  I am close to finished and just about to hold up the new shovel in defiance of Mother Nature and all things snowy and cold, I heard the low and deep grumble of a snowplows blade on the asphalt.  My wife told me that her dad used to send her and her two sisters to the end of the driveway so the plow operator wouldn’t plow the snow from the road on to the freshly shoveled drive way.  Now I am not part Taliban like my father-in-law Chuck (an essentially evil man that hides it better than I do) but I figured he was on to something with this little family first method mine-field trick.  I trotted to the end of the drive.  I could see the plough driver as he got closer, his dirty mustache and his beady little eyes.  Our eyes met in the early morning dawn his hands set and an icy glair…. I ran for my life and in doing so he honked his stupid little horn in glee while filling my lane.  Snowplow operators are all evil in these parts.  I spent 40 more min digging out my driveway again vowing sweet revenge and escape as the plough grumbled by.  It’s like some kind of trial,

some kind of right of passage.  Hazing for new comers to the area.  Next time I will wear wooden shoes and a scarf for that trick.  

 

Mission: Chile Huge Experience, no Hablo Espanola

Many people talk of horrible cramped up spaces on planes on long flights. Not me, I got three pimpin seats all to myself and LOVED my flight down to Chile. I snored all the way down all stretched out with 3 pillows. Dave Hughes asked me to chaperone the students, helping them with all the little details of gear, paperwork, navigation, and passport control from Dallas to Temuco. Dave also flew me down on his own dime to give his students extra attention on the river as well.

Its no secret I love to teach and it was a great opportunity to see Chile and escape the cold of Canada. The last I saw of Canada was an ice storm and a nice balmy 17ºF. I took some photos of the Lorne and Bus Eater. Quite a contrast from the view I see on a lake front patio. Photo also attached.

I sat in on a meeting with all the teachers to discuss the game plans for combining education delivery with the ever-difficult estimation of river flows. The school has changed a lot since I worked with Huge in New Zeland years ago. It’s the same amazing program more refined. The base of operations can only be described as beautiful. The architecture of the main building is as beautiful as the landscape around us. The Rio Trancura singing me asleep last night, a sweet warm water run with a play spot at the front yard. It makes the place an ideal spot to base, learn and paddle out of.

Billy Harris