Despite having worked as an editor at several adventure travel magazines, author Mark Adams hadn’t slept in a tent since 1978 and didn’t have any real outdoor experience at all. That’s when he decided it was time for him to take an adventure. And what he chose to do was no minor undertaking.

Adams had come across the name of the infamous explorer Hiram Bingham III, who in 1911 had been in Peru searching for the Lost City of the Incas when he instead landed upon the spectacular site that is Machu Picchu. As the 100th Anniversary of that discovery neared, Adams became intrigued with Bingham, his adventures and all the questions that still float out there today about Machu Picchu’s mysterious past.

Turn Right at Machu Picchu jumps back and forth in time, from past to present and back again as Adams follows Bingham’s journey (on foot!), tries to get to the bottom of the controversy surrounding Bingham’s explorations, and seeks to unravel some of the mystery and theories behind Machu Picchu.

Adams takes the reader on a journey through Peru, up mountains, through jungles, and across valleys to rediscover various Inca sites, and ultimately, Machu Picchu. We’re brought along on his brutal and oftentimes amusing trek, and offered a detailed glimpse into the fascinating history of Peru.

Get it now: Order Turn Right at Machu Picchu on Amazon.

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The post Recommended Read: Turn Right at Machu Picchu appeared first on River Currents.

Trout are opportunistic feeders and can be fooled and caught with a good offering at any time of the day, but in many places the last hour of light can be the best time to fish with dry flies.  Once the light gets low and the shadows cast on the water, the trout, who spend much of their life hiding from overhead predators like osprey and eagles, lose their inhibitions and begin to venture closer to the surface of the water looking for an easy meal.

Many of the insects trout feed on are sensitive to the harsh UV of direct sunlight and become more active in the twilight of the day—dancing in perfect unison over the surface of the water in a mesmerizing display of natural harmony and synchronicity.

Rhythm and motion combine as the line from a 5wt. fly rod unfolds back and forth into the warm air.  Little droplets of water take flight off the line and illuminate in the patches of sunlight.

A well-timed cast and accurate loop land my small deer-hair caddisfly imitation in the perfect spot on a seam of current near the far bank of the river.  I mend the fly line upstream to alleviate any drag from the swift current on my leader and fly.  Intensity and anticipation as the fly drifts perfectly down with the current like a dying caddis in his last dramatic encore, offering himself to the fish.

I may repeat this scenario dozens or even hundreds of times in a good evening of fishing—interrupted only by the indescribable thrill of having a fish engulf the fly with a splashy rise.  It’s a great way to tune into and interact with the natural world and underwater ecosystem.

In today’s world it’s hard to keep my mind in the present.  I find myself always thinking forward into the future or brooding over events from the past.  Things I need to do or the things I should have done.  Fly fishing, however, is one of the sports that has an uncanny way of stealing thoughts and returning them to the moment.  It’s a present moment meditation, as I like to call it.  Once I’m out on the water, everything else falls away for a while and my mind zeros into fish mode.  Every cast, every drift, holds my attention until finally I realize it’s dark and I need to find my way back to my car or campsite.

Curious about fly fishing?  Here’s a little how-to video to spark your interest.  Enjoy!

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The post Fly Fishing Meditations appeared first on River Currents.

What prompted you to leave your lawyer life behind and become a river guide?

I was living in Flagstaff and I had a friend who worked as a guide for another company. She was determined to get me on a rafting trip. She did eventually convince me. As soon as I was there, I was gone. It was just one of those magical moments when the angels sing, and bells ring, and I knew where I was supposed to be.

Rafting is a demanding job. What drives you day in and day out?

It has been such a powerful thing for me—a healing—mentally and physically. I think it’s the way we’re supposed to be. We need to be outdoors. We need to be connected to these things, and in our day-to-day lives, we’re just not. So I really just appreciate bringing people out here and giving them that experience.

It seems like there are a lot of lady guides on the rivers now. Why do you think that is?

Well, it’s definitely a new experience for me. The last couple of years, particularly in Idaho, we’ve been getting a lot more women into the business. This year we actually are more women than men, and that’s a first. The men entertain and the ladies do the work, so it’s nice to have four ladies to do the work (laughter).

What do you think is attracting more women to guiding?

I think a lot of us find a home here. It’s good to be surrounded by other strong women. I think that’s a big part of it. We’re surrounded by other women who are like us.

What makes a strong woman?

You need a strong sense of self. To do this job, you have to have a lot of self-confidence. You have to be able to make your own decisions. In the middle of a rapid, you’re in charge of the people on your boat and you need to be able to take care of those people. So I think it takes a certain amount of strength to do that.

What’s the best moment you’ve had on the river?

I had a friend that I brought on a river trip. We visited a place that had turquoise blue waters. There was a spot where you could make a pretty good size jump into some really deep pools. He was just so excited about it. You could just see that sparkle in his eyes—that glint that he was truly alive. It let me re-experience my own revelation of what the outdoors can bring to you.

What does the outdoors bring to you?

Harmony. Balance. A sense of rightness. That feeling that this is what I was made to do. That I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Watch the full interview with Erika below…

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The post Guide Talk: Women in the Outdoors appeared first on River Currents.

Of course, women like me want to know what people mean when they refer to “a woman like me.” I know what I see and think when I look in the mirror. But other people’s perceptions are often a mixed bag. And his response was no exception.

“You know,” he said, “middle aged (gee, thanks), successful (not sure about that one), single (a fact) and attractive (wow, thanks!).”

His remarks immediately reminded me of the answer to his original question. There’s a reason why vacations are called “getaways.” We want to get away from reality—not just the chores and responsibilities of everyday life, but from the person that people expect us to be (for good or for bad)… including the person we expect ourselves to be.

Personally, I jump at every opportunity to leave my day-to-day persona behind. On a river trip, I leave it ALL behind: my trusty but ever-present iPhone, the inane Facebook posts I addictively check several times a day, workplace stress and a social life that sometimes has a drama of its own.

On the river I’m uncharacteristically low key, low maintenance, a bit unkempt and most importantly sans make-up. I don’t give a hoot about what I look like, how many days I’ve been wearing the same sweatshirt, the last time I used a razor or how many nails I’ve chipped. I’m so anti-Tricia, I’m not even sure if my coworkers would recognize me. (Thank you O.A.R.S. for not providing mirrors on the trip. So many other amenities, but not mirrors. But, I do have one confession: that “ChapStick” I keep in my duffle bag is really an $18 tube of Buxom Lip Plumper. A girl can only give up so much.)

So when friends ask to see pictures of my river trips, I usually say something casual like, “I wouldn’t want to bore you.” When I’m actually thinking, “There’s no way in hell will I let you see me like that.”

But that’s the beauty of the outdoors! I don’t go on a rafting vacation for the photos. I go for the complete and utter change of scenery, lifestyle, state of mind and the ever-elusive opportunity to not have to make decisions. I don’t have to think about what to wear, what’s for dinner, or who will be insulted if…

A woman like me spends a week on a river because, frankly, it’s hard to be me sometimes. And for a few days I get to trade in my mirror for the beauty of some magnificent outdoor setting, let the amazing river guides take care of me, and immerse myself in the bliss of carefree anonymity. And as I sit back and reflect on life, I try very hard to ignore the reflection smiling back at me on the water.

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The post Leaving Behind the (Wo)Man in the Mirror appeared first on River Currents.

It’s December, the air is cool, but I am comfortable in a cozy fleece and I know by mid-day, it will be sunny, in the low 70’s and perfect. The weather here reminds me of dreamy, fall days in a western U.S. mountain town. It’s been like this almost every day since I stepped off the plane in the beautiful city of Paro.

I landed in Paro over a week before and was met by our trip leader Sencho and a driver. We then loaded up the van and enjoyed the beautiful hour and a half drive to the hotel in the capital city of Thimpo. Meeting up that evening with more of the group, smiles and introductions were made and we then headed out to dinner. Right from that first evening, there was this excitement in everyone’s eyes; this sort of, electricity. We all knew we were about to begin the trip of a lifetime.

Bhutan is truly a far, far away land sitting on the flanks of the Himalaya—the most legendary mountains on earth. Its culture is so different that everyone you come in contact with is extraordinarily interested in everything about you, and you with them. As a nationality, the people of Bhutan were the most open, beautiful and welcoming I have ever met. Always smiling and interested to see and meet you. Many times I was invited into people’s homes for no reason other than I happened to be passing by. The people here are warm, seem happy and as a country, it just feels safe. After all, this is the only country on earth that measures gross national happiness.

One of the unexpected bonuses of traveling in Bhutan is that English is taught as a second language from an early age, so most speak it well and the language barrier is very minimal. This comes in handy whether you are haggling on the price of prayer flags or sitting down to hear someone’s life story.

The roads, I would say, are not for the faint of heart. This place is rugged beyond imagination and I found my mind wandering often as to how or why they would ever put a road on the side of this or that mountain. The reality is that they have no other choice. The land consists mostly of steep and high mountains crisscrossed by a network of swift rivers, which form deep valleys before draining into the Indian plains.

One of my favorite realizations was recognizing that I was witnessing and experiencing the most intact ecosystem I had ever seen—culturally or environmentally. The Kingdom began opening up very slowly to outsiders in the 1970’s and since then, because of tariffs and restrictions, only a limited amount of people visit every year, further preserving the ancient culture and simpler, older way of life.

We journeyed cross-country, visiting many various cultural sites such as the gravity-defying Tiger’s Nest Monastery, which clings to cliffs 3,000-feet above the Paro Valley. We cruised up over windy, 10,000-foot passes and wandered under hundreds of whipping prayer flags. We stayed in swanky hotels and put our feet up in a luxury safari-style camp. We slept in tents next to the former King of Bhutan’s dzong and partied with monks.

Warming up with a few day floats, we rafted one afternoon on the mellow Pho Chhu and then a couple days on the fun and rowdy Mangde Chhu before starting in on the Drangme Chhu. The Drangme was to be the real business end of our three-week adventure. Our six-day and five-night journey was to be the second-ever decent of the upper section of this rarely-seen river system. Two of our guides from Bhutan were part of the first expedition and they explained that that first trip was at higher water and after a couple days of our own float, said that with the current conditions, this was a completely different river and much, much more difficult. More technical and bigger holes than the first descent, this was the most adventurous river trip I had ever been part of. Running two rafts and three safety kayaks, we scouted, portaged and pin-balled our way down this amazing and rarely-seen gorge. The river eventually drops down into jungle and crosses over into India. Stories were told, new ones created and even a few rapids were named. We heard all sorts of animals and a few were seen. We shared beaches with tigers and leopards. The proof was in finding their tracks on more than one beach. There were monkey sightings and one evening, a wild boar cruised the shore across from our camp. On the final day of our float, some of our crew even spotted a leopard hiding along the bank.

We then floated out of the magical land of Bhutan and into India, taking out in Royal Manas National Park and staying at Bonsbari Lodge. Waking early the next morning, we walked a few steps down the dirt road, back into the park for one last adventure and climbed aboard the backs of Indian elephants for a guided safari. This was something that had always been high on my bucket list, so while we did not see any other big mammals, riding on elephants and spending time around such amazing creatures was enough for me.

There is this feeling in Bhutan that is hard to put a finger on. It is in some ways obvious and at the same time fleeting because there are so few places like it that I have ever had the chance to experience. I was seeing a place that in some ways is still as it was hundreds of years ago, basically unchanged. Although I suspect—fortunately and at the same time unfortunately—headed down a slope towards modernization that is irreversible. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to see it now, rather than in 20 years. This trip is a game changer. Mind expanding and soul filling. I’m sure I will be digesting the experience for many years and really, probably the rest of my life.

Want to see more photos of adventure photographer Justin Bailie’s trip to Bhutan? Click here to view the full album or visit his Website at www.justinbailie.com.

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The post Where to Go Next: Magical Bhutan appeared first on River Currents.

Pure wonder is rare as an adult . Not much in the world of manufactured entertainment takes our breath away. So when I raised my face from a splash in the pristine water of the swimming hole at Mule Creek to find five sets of brown eyes contemplating me, I gasped. One by one, the deer turned and made their surefooted way out of the creek, leaving me dripping and smiling.

Some people (me!) visit spas for luxury water treatments. But no spa has ever delivered such pure bliss as reclining on a water-smoothed stone in that creek, water surging over the rocks to pummel my back and cascading from a log over my hair. I bathed in the serene pool, the only sounds running water and birdsong. Reluctant to leave my sanctuary, I plucked wild blackberries. But it was time for coffee, so I hiked back to Mule Creek camp. If this is camping, I thought, I don’t know what I’ve been waiting for.

Though stamps from across the globe fill my passport, I’m not a camper, nor an outdoor adventurer, preferring posh hotels. When I was invited to raft the Rogue River for five days, my wanna-be adventurous side cheered while my high-maintenance side quaked at the thought. Could this city girl put up a tent? Sleep far from the comforts of home? Take on the whitewater rapids?

To my surprise and delight; yes.

I started off easy, relaxing on one of the gear rafts among the string of single and double kayaks. Doc, a long-time river guide, patiently answered my ceaseless questions about wildlife and rocks, trees and the river as he expertly rowed. After lunch where we left the last signs of civilization, I graduated to the paddle boat. We set out into a rapid and immediately launched a rescue, as a teenager behind us—his first time in a kayak—promptly capsized. We fought the powerful current back upstream. “Swim to me!” our guide shouted, then heaved the boy, dripping, into the raft.

Once at camp I pondered which guide to ask for help assembling my tent. I decided to try it myself first, though, and managed fine. I surveyed my little home; cushy sleeping pad on the tarp topped with a cozy sleeping bag and tiny pillow. Well satisfied I followed the scent of grilling meat down the hill to find a feast underway. All week the meals the crew conjured out of supplies stashed on the rafts astonished me. Enchiladas, stir fries, cobblers, eggs Benedict and French toast were just a few of our culinary treats along the Rogue.

Sipping cold drinks the campers lounged in chairs set in the translucent green river, swirling our feet in the cool water as fish darted about our ankles. Despite promises of a brilliant display of stars, I soon curled up in my tent, asleep before dark. I caught the last glimmer of stars before they faded though, as chattering birds woke me before dawn.

“Coffee’s brewing,” Doc promised. An abundant breakfast followed coffee, and with great efficiency the crew packed up. “Last call for the groover,” shouted a guide and we laughed—we all knew what that meant. Foremost on my mind before embarking on this adventure was the bathroom question. I tried to assuage my concerns, recalling unspeakable toilets in southeast Asia and Africa—surely it couldn’t be worse. In fact, this was preferable. A guide provided a guided tour of the “facilities” the first afternoon, casually addressing bodily functions. “Women pee in the bucket, men pee in the river.” Said bucket came complete with a small seat and lid. “I don’t want to see any turds or toilet paper,” she went on. “That goes in the groover.” A wooden screen offered privacy, and a distant location ensured no olfactory distress for others. (Outhouses a couple nights later were a little less wholesome, sending all of us to the river for number one.)

Groover business tended to, it was time to hit the Rogue. Today I’d navigate in my own kayak. I headed out, heart pounding at the prospect of tumbling into the seething cauldron of a rapid. I paddled madly through my first one and sailed out to find a bald eagle perched overhead, solemnly observing our escapades.

The rapids weren’t the only adventures, though. Afternoon hikes led us through fearsome trails that I’d never have broached without a trusty guide leading the way, often culminating in kids and adults alike flinging themselves off high rocks into swirling water, to the merriment of all. In a moment I’ll never forget, I joined a few intrepid souls at a natural water slide in the secret depths of the forest. We scrambled up a rope then plummeted into the clear, dark pool, where we popped up like otters, laughing our heads off. How great is it, I thought daily, that we are so gleeful just jumping off a rock and splashing around in water?

Further delight still came with evenings at camp where we gathered to munch on appetizers—toasted bruschetta with caprese salad anyone?—and swap tales. We’d recount the day’s adventures, laughing uproariously at the guide who dumped all her passengers and mooned the rest of us in the rescue. And as dark settled on the tall pines, we’d tear into a well-earned dinner. Evening entertainment often featured games; while the kids played cards, “Two Truths and a Lie” was popular among the adult set. A hotly contested Connect Four game might erupt between a teen and a guide at any moment.

With a final night’s game of Postcards, the trip leader instructed us to describe a favorite image from the trip, the caption, and who we’d deliver it to. I chose my dawn encounter with deer. But as I described it, I realized my postcard would go to this group. Strangers five days ago, the people around me felt like friends and family now, and that’s who I wanted to share my magical moment with.

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The post Going Rogue: A Self-proclaimed City Girl Goes Camping for the First Time appeared first on River Currents.

Tourism can make positive contributions to local communities and conservation. With this in mind, O.A.R.S. established Rivers Fiji in 1997—a true community-based, ecotourism company. A Rivers Fiji adventure offer visitors to Fiji the opportunity for travel to natural areas while promoting conservation and contributing to the well-being of local people.

With such goals in mind, O.A.R.S.’ Fiji operation has also coordinated with U.S.-based doctors to bring health care to the remote, interior rain forest of Viti Levu, Fiji’s big island. Dr. Gregory Juckett, MD, MPH is one doctor who helps Rivers Fiji give back to the community. We sat down with him to talk about the Rivers Fiji health project…

Q:  How did you get involved with the Rivers Fiji health project?

A:  I first heard about the need in Nakavika Village from (the directors) of Rivers Fiji during their visit to WVU to plan “Adventure WVU” in Fiji. Nakavika sounded like an ideal site for a medical outreach clinic for our senior medical students studying Global Health. My physician colleague Dr. Jan Palmer joined the mission.

Q:  What inspires you to offer your expertise, time and energy to such projects?

A:  These rotations can be a wonderful learning experience for everyone involved: students, faculty and patients. The medical team sets up a clinic and provides much needed care in a cross-cultural setting. During medical school, my overseas rotation in Rwanda was the most life-changing part of my medical education and something I want my students to experience.

Q:  What are some challenges faced when providing health care in the remote interior of the Fiji Islands?

A:  Logistics. First we must obtain medical donations. Meds that can’t be donated must be purchased, which gets expensive. Temporary medical licenses must be obtained with government approval. All items must be packed for Fiji, fees paid, and paperwork completed to get everything through customs.

It also took a year of planning to get a WVU Engineers Without Borders team to Nakavika to address their drinking water needs. The team installed sand filters for water purification, providing Nakavika with a long-term public health benefit.

This past year there was Cyclone Daphne, which dumped massive amounts of rain creating a national state of emergency. The access bridge to the village washed away and equipment had to be ported by hand across the river. Fiji was essentially paralyzed, but Rivers Fiji managed to get us to Nakavika and our clinic went off without a hitch.

Q:  That must have left you with some great memories.

A:  What might sound like a disaster was actually a wonderful experience for everyone. Fijian hospitality in the village, kava ceremonies, and a sense of humor by all. Our students were thrilled by the friendships they made and the beauty of the Fijian highlands.

Q:  Would you do it again?

A:  The answer is, of course, yes. Fiji, even during cyclone season, is a very, very hard place to leave.

Gregory Juckett, MD, MPH is Professor of Family Medicine at West Virginia University, Morgantown, where he is also Director of the University’s International Travel Clinic. He received a medical degree from the Pennsylvania State University College of Medicine, Hershey, and a Master’s Degree in Public Health from West Virginia University. He completed a family medicine residency at the Medical University of South Carolina, Charleston. Dr. Juckett has a Certificate of Knowledge in Tropical Medicine and Travelers’ Health and a Certificate in Travel Medicine. He has extensive short-term medical experience in the developing world and serves on the board of Children’s Relief International.

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The post Giving Back in Paradise appeared first on River Currents.

I came to floating rivers later in life, but I spent much of my childhood wandering creeks and streams with a fly rod in search of trout, salmon and steelhead. Rivers have always had a power over me.  Be they big and rowdy, or slow and gentle, I’m drawn to them. They all tug at my soul, pulling my imagination around the next bend, wondering …what might be. We need wonder in our lives. We need magical experiences that make us feel more than think. We need to push ourselves out of our comfort zones, out of our day to day repetition to feel alive. River trips do this. Every time. They create memories and stories that never leave you.

Recently, I rafted the Tatshenshini River. This trip begins in the Yukon–yeah, the Yukon–then flows through British Columbia and finishes in Glacier Bay National Park, Alaska.  It seemed as though almost every day, I was setting my tent up next to wolf or bear tracks. This place was more wild than any anywhere I had ever experienced. I had never seen a land that was so big and vast. Every day the landscape grew and became more spectacular – just as Mark, our trip leader, said it would. One day we saw wolf pups sprint down a gravel bar, launch into the river right in front of our rafts, swimming, for what they thought was their lives, to get to the other side. We then spent the next 45 minutes stopped, listening to the haunting, beautiful sound of wolves as they howled from the trees, telling their pups it was all going to be okay. And this is all after seeing first, a big black wolf with yellow eyes wander off into the brush at the sight of us, only to be followed seconds later by a massive grizzly bear tearing into the trees, throwing gravel in its wake. I will not forget this experience. Ever. These things do not leave you. It was haunting in the best sense of the word.

And with the river trips I have done, I will remember the people. So many fun, extraordinary people. Guides and guests. Solo travelers and families. Many now that I would call good or even great friends.  So many good stories told while floating down the river or sitting around a warm campfire. What is it about this lifestyle that is so addictive? What is it about river trips that magnetically draw you in, making you wish it would not end?  Is it waking with the sun? Going to bed under the stars? Is it the people? Maybe it’s just the feeling that when in the canyons, life, experienced with deeply felt simplicity and realness, is there, right in front of you.  

What ever your dream may be, quit waiting until next year. We don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Do it now.  Make your life extraordinary. Make your children’s lives amazing. Create burning memories that never leave. 

See more of Justin Bailie’s incredible photographs from the Tatshenshini River in Alaska.

The post A Life Worth Remembering appeared first on River Currents.

Why rivers, you might ask? Growing up with young, outdoorsy parents in the 1970s meant shared adventures were a key ritual in our family. Annual hiking, river and road trips not only turned my sister and me into lifelong travelers, they drew us all closer with bonds that only the best family vacations create. Naturally, once my own sons were old enough I hoped they could share some of the same peak experiences.

Rafting the Middle Fork of the Salmon, one of America’s archetypal wilderness rivers, was at the top of my family bucket list. My parents had taken us down the Middle Fork, and the journey, which involves floating through the largest chunk of contiguous wilderness in the Lower 48, still topped my Greatest Hits List of family trips ever. The other? The Grand Canyon. Again, my parents took my sister and me down the Colorado River in the 1970′s, and the experience made such a huge impression, I dreamed of one day bringing my own family. To my mind, saving up for these trips was a financial goal, sort of like saving for college.

The year our boys turned 14 and 16, we signed up for the Middle Fork. As the trip neared, it hit me: why not have the boys’ grandparents come too? It would be 30 years since they’d taken my sister and me down the river, when I was 15. Mom, our family’s original camper had to decline, but my dad, then 69, jumped at the chance and met us in Stanley, Idaho.

There were a few life lessons I suspected my boys might absorb on the river, first was the luxury of simplicity: While most of us had packed a little more than Dad’s carry-on, we didn’t need much. Next was the luxury of isolation: no cell phones, no emails, no texts, no television, no video games, no schedules. In short, bliss!

When we arrived at our first night’s camp Dad rolled out his tarp, anchored the corners with rocks, and casually strolled off to get a beer. “Don’t you think Grandpa Bart looks a little like Clint Eastwood?” my 16-year-old said, setting his tarp the same way. I had to smile. They were already getting the third and most important lesson: how to be cool when everything else is stripped away. Or simply, how to just be.

A good river trip, it turns out, is really more about the people than the rapids. Mark, our head guide, explained our game plan for the week: Wake each day for a leisurely breakfast, pack up and float, stop for a picnic lunch, hit some more rapids, make camp in time to hike and if they were biting, fish. The days eased by as we slipped into river time, the ultimate peace of mind. You know you’ve crossed over when you wake up to the smell of camp coffee and don’t have anywhere else to be but in a raft, heading downstream. It’s delicious.

Now that my boys are young men, I am incredibly grateful we managed to make those trips happen. As in my own family, the shared adventures—even the misadventures—have become the stuff of myth now. They are the stories we tell. The stories other families ask us to tell. Looking back, those are the memories that define those years for my husband and me—the year we did the Middle Fork. The year we did the Grand Canyon. Because they are shared memories, they grow stronger over time.

Here are a few things my boys learned that first week on the river:

• How to tell a story.
• How to play an original song on acoustic guitar for a group.
• How to open a bottle of wine on a tree.
• How to string a fly rod.
• How to paddle a rubber ducky.
• How to flip a rubber ducky.
• How to make bacon for 20 people in a pot (handy trick anywhere).

By day five, drifting through Impassable Canyon, the most dramatic landscape of the week, we were all—ages 14 to 69—changed somehow. I remember it exactly, our three generations floating awestruck between walls of sheer granite and metamorphic rock that rise up thousands of feet, framing the river. Everything was silent except for the rush of the current, the wind in the pines, the occasional call of a canyon wren.

The last day, as we floated toward the take out, we were all a little sad to be leaving.

How to remedy that? “Hey, Dad, how about meeting us to raft the Grand Canyon summer after next?” I suggested.

“You know I’d meet you two and the boys in a heartbeat,” my dad said, grinning.

And because he did, and the Colorado River is longer, we have an even more epic tale. It gets better each time we tell it; but that’s another story.

The post Three Generations on the Middle Fork appeared first on River Currents.

Sometimes all you need are a few pieces of gear and a rugged landscape to escape and sometimes all you need is a sea kayak on the open water. Some of the most beautiful places on Earth are best seen from the quiet solitude of a kayak.

Whether it’s discovering a hidden cove, a secluded trailhead, or a secret river canyon, exploring by paddle can take you into areas that are often times inaccessible by land, and can offer you a true calmness that one finds only after a few disconnected days in the great outdoors.

Imagine yourself here…

You’ve just flown into some remote part of the world, or perhaps one of the most impressive National Parks known to man. You packed up everything you’d bring on a backpacking trip, but instead of throwing everything on your back and heading out on foot, you toss the gear into a boat so you can make your mileage by water.

Day one on the open water is spent unwinding. Yes, your arms have to work to move you along, but each stroke of the paddle takes you further and further into a meditative place where the burn doesn’t exist. Your arms quickly become a part of the boat and your mind begins to escape to the place where your body has already arrived.  You’re finally away from it all.

By day two, the sunrise is on your mind, not the to-do list you left behind. As you sip your morning coffee, or maybe tea, and stare out at those pristine waters watching the sun rise, you realize that you’re finally ready to take in everything that this trip has to offer—the spectacular scenery, the quietness, the wildlife. You’re determined to access that deep place you haven’t been able to get to lately while living on auto-pilot. You come out of your thoughts for a moment. Is that a moose off in the distance? Or perhaps it was a whale? (Depends on where you are.)

Three days in and your mind is wandering. You just pulled the kayak onto shore for a hike to a vantage point that very few people experience each year. When you reach the top, you can see a hundred miles around in every direction. Now you start to daydream about leaving the rat race and finding your roots again. Remember when you had time on the weekends to go for hikes? You need that back. But for now, you need to remember this moment and this amazing vista that you feel lucky to be seeing.

On day four, you’re feeling like a changed person. Your body is stronger, and paddling takes little effort. You could do this forever. And that’s not all, your head is clear too. This was exactly what was needed—deep meditation by kayak.

Unfortunately, it’s time to head back to reality. But not before seeing a few more rare birds and dipping into one more remote cove. The past few days will stick with you longer than you can imagine. And as you unload the kayak, you begin to start thinking about where you’ll head next time.

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