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Archive for August, 2011

Where Yellowstone Goes

Tuesday, August 30th, 2011

Yellowstone River, Livingston, Montana

THE ADVENTURE—

Ever since Lewis and Clark first explored the Yellowstone River by raft back in 1806, the river has been an enigma of sorts, a constant northward flow with origins in Wyoming, then Montana and Yellowstone National Park, where it’s the most visited river in the country at Artist’s Point. From a patch of water with a booked social calendar, it runs 500 miles northeast into North Dakota, where the tourists visiting these historic shores are composed primarily of the occasional elk that wandered away from its herd.

The Yellowstone River is the longest free-flowing (think no dams) river in the United States, a source of gold, a neighbor to oil and the spills that go with it, and one of the top destinations for brown, rainbow and cutthroat trout in this country. In one stretch of the river, you can drift along casually casting at rocks and canyon walls, then scramble to stow your gear before the whitewater goes “Rockin’ Roller Coaster” through rapids sure to produce an “E” ticket receipt.

From majestic beauty and natural wildlife to cow towns, mountain ranges and classic bridges, the Yellowstone River will at some point in every day make you stop, look around and go…”DAMN!”

THE PLAYERS—

Hunter Weeks—Director/Producer, jack of all trades, master of some

Mike Dion—Lead Cameraman/Producer, art director, arm waver and head of beer consumption

Robert Hawkins—Captain of the drift boat, trout whisperer, bear watcher and A-rated food taster

Shannon Ongaro–Captain of the raft, navigator, the person who determines who lives and who dies

John Hall—Cook, elaborate story teller and rock skipping champion of the Northwest

Sarah Hall—Story Producer, campground manager, coffee specialist and cash flow comptroller

Justin Haight—Production assistant, content manager, designated whiner

Alby—Indie Dog, scoundrel, snack rustler and senior leg lifter

THE STORY—

Seven students of the river—four full-time boaters (Robert, John, Shannon and Hunter) and road crew (Mike, Sarah and Justin) gather in Livingston, Montana before embarking on a 35-day float trip on the Yellowstone River. Their journey, captured on film, will include stops in boom towns and dusty watering holes as they examine the controversies of the water and natural surroundings.

The team will restock supplies on the go (and use any excuse possible to try new microbrews or find a hot cup of Joe), hook up with the adrenaline plastic navy, give shout outs to ranchers and cowboys and flash mob for eagles, elk, deer and the occasional grizzly.

Ride the white water and casual flows in a hand-built drift boat, shop and sample the local fare in the cow towns and tourist traps and catch fish until your hand and fingers cramp into a ball. This is the American West, the last of the great free-flowing rivers through an untamed wilderness and a lifestyle bent on freedom of movement and expression. Where the Yellowstone Goes and where it takes us, is dependent on one thing…water flow.

Yellowstone River, Livingston, Montana

THE ADVENTURE—

Ever since Lewis and Clark first explored the Yellowstone River by raft back in 1806, the river has been an enigma of sorts, a constant northward flow with origins in Wyoming, then Montana and Yellowstone National Park, where it’s the most visited river in the country at Artist’s Point. From a patch of water with a booked social calendar, it runs 500 miles northeast into North Dakota, where the tourists visiting these historic shores are composed primarily of the occasional elk that wandered away from its herd.

The Yellowstone River is the longest free-flowing (think no dams) river in the United States, a source of gold, a neighbor to oil and the spills that go with it, and one of the top destinations for brown, rainbow and cutthroat trout in this country. In one stretch of the river, you can drift along casually casting at rocks and canyon walls, then scramble to stow your gear before the whitewater goes “Rockin’ Roller Coaster” through rapids sure to produce an “E” ticket receipt.

From majestic beauty and natural wildlife to cow towns, mountain ranges and classic bridges, the Yellowstone River will at some point in every day make you stop, look around and go…”DAMN!”

THE PLAYERS—

Hunter Weeks—Director/Producer, jack of all trades, master of some.

Mike Dion—Lead Cameraman/Producer, art director, arm waver and head of beer consumption

Robert Hawkins—Captain of the drift boat, trout whisperer, bear watcher and A-rated food taster

Shannon Ongaro–Captain of the raft, navigator, the person who determines who lives and who dies

John Hall—Cook, story tellers and rock skipping champion of the Northwest

Sarah Hall—Story Producer, campground manager, coffee specialist and cash flow comptroller

Justin Haight—Production assistant, content manager, designated whiner

Alby—Indie Dog, scoundrel, snack rustler and senior leg lifter

THE STORY—

Seven students of the river—four full-time boaters (Robert, John, Shannon and Hunter) and road crew (Mike, Sarah and Justin) gather in Livingston, Montana before embarking on a 35-day float trip on the Yellowstone River. Their journey, captured on film, will include stops in boom towns and dusty watering holes as they examine the controversies of the water and natural surroundings.

The team will restock supplies on the go (and use any excuse possible to try new microbrews or find a hot cup of Joe), hook up with the adrenaline plastic navy, give shout outs to ranchers and cowboys and flash mob for eagles, elk, deer and the occasional grizzly.

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Yellowstone River, Livingston, Montana

THE ADVENTURE—

Ever since Lewis and Clark first explored the Yellowstone River by raft back in 1806, the river has been an enigma of sorts, a constant northward flow with origins in Wyoming, then Montana and Yellowstone National Park, where it’s the most visited river in the country at Artist’s Point. From a patch of water with a booked social calendar, it runs 500 miles northeast into North Dakota, where the tourists visiting these historic shores are composed primarily of the occasional elk that wandered away from its herd.

The Yellowstone River is the longest free-flowing (think no dams) river in the United States, a source of gold, a neighbor to oil and the spills that go with it, and one of the top destinations for brown, rainbow and cutthroat trout in this country. In one stretch of the river, you can drift along casually casting at rocks and canyon walls, then scramble to stow your gear before the whitewater goes “Rockin’ Roller Coaster” through rapids sure to produce an “E” ticket receipt.

From majestic beauty and natural wildlife to cow towns, mountain ranges and classic bridges, the Yellowstone River will at some point in every day make you stop, look around and go…”DAMN!”

THE PLAYERS—

Hunter Weeks—Director/Producer, jack of all trades, master of some.

Mike Dion—Lead Cameraman/Producer, art director, arm waver and head of beer consumption

Robert Hawkins—Captain of the drift boat, trout whisperer, bear watcher and A-rated food taster

Shannon Ongaro–Captain of the raft, navigator, the person who determines who lives and who dies

John Hall—Cook, story tellers and rock skipping champion of the Northwest

Sarah Hall—Story Producer, campground manager, coffee specialist and cash flow comptroller

Justin Haight—Production assistant, content manager, designated whiner

Alby—Indie Dog, scoundrel, snack rustler and senior leg lifter

THE STORY—

Seven students of the river—four full-time boaters (Robert, John, Shannon and Hunter) and road crew (Mike, Sarah and Justin) gather in Livingston, Montana before embarking on a 35-day float trip on the Yellowstone River. Their journey, captured on film, will include stops in boom towns and dusty watering holes as they examine the controversies of the water and natural surroundings.

The team will restock supplies on the go (and use any excuse possible to try new microbrews or find a hot cup of Joe), hook up with the adrenaline plastic navy, give shout outs to ranchers and cowboys and flash mob for eagles, elk, deer and the occasional grizzly.

Ride the white water and casual flows in a hand-built drift boat, shop and sample the local fare in the cow towns and tourist traps and catch fish until your hand and fingers cramp into a ball. This is the American West, the last of the great free-flowing rivers through an untamed wilderness and a lifestyle bent on freedom of movement and expression. Where the Yellowstone Goes and where it takes us, is dependent on one thing…water flow.

de the white water and casual flows in a hand-built drift boat, shop and sample the local fare in the cow towns and tourist traps and catch fish until your hand and fingers cramp into a ball. This is the American West, the last of the great free-flowing rivers through an untamed wilderness and a lifestyle bent on freedom of movement and expression. Where the Yellowstone Goes and where it takes us, is dependent on one thing…water flow.

Revillagigedo Or Bust

Wednesday, August 24th, 2011

By Chris Fischer

The Ocean and crew are off the Revillagigedo Islands, a group of four volcanic islands in the Pacific Ocean west of  Manzanillo, Mexico and just southwest of Cabo San Lucas. We’re here because this is where the hammerhead sharks gather in great concentrations, much like you’d find around your larger nightclubs.

It’s been a crazy trip getting here, and an even crazier first day. We arrived at San Benedicto Island, which is this giant rocky set of peaks extending out of the ocean with two huge volcanic cones in it. The place looks like Mother Nature leaned forward and dipped her body in a lava island.

The water is incredibly clear and blue, and it’s all anyone can do to stay on board. We could barely wait to check out the bottom side of the water line. This is a place where hammerhead sharks gather in big schools, holding in the currents for hours at a time.

If you haven’t seen a scalloped hammerhead shark up close, they’re pretty freaky looking, with an eye on either end of the side extensions. Until you get close to one, you don’t really think about how weird it is that their head is flat and their eyes are on either end of these axe-like extensions.

It’s a like a flounder. Both eyes are on one side of the body, and that’s something you really don’t focus on until you hold one in your hand, then it’s just like, “Whammy, both eyes are on the same side of that fish’s head!”

The weather on the first day was beautiful, with bluebird skies and calm seas. We hit a couple of the well-known hammerhead gathering locations like the Lava Flow where the ocean seemed more like a desert. It wasn’t until we made a move to Boiler Rock and ran into one of the local commercial dive operations that we locked into the ancient ball peen burial grounds—hammerheads were everywhere!

There were around 40 sharks on the Boiler Rock, most of which were well over 100 feet down, which pretty much eliminated sticking them with tags. After all, we were free diving, and at 100 feet, you’re kind of stretching the limits of where you want to swim into the middle of a large school of hammerheads and poke one. That’s like climbing down into the lion pit at the zoo, grabbing the first tail you see and giving it a yank.

We did see a pair of giant manta rays, which again pushes the envelope of evolutionary humor. You have these massive rays with 20 foot wingspans and these freakish oval mouths, and a pair of horn-like scoopers that extend from their faces. At the end of each horn/scooper, are their eyes.

Unlike a hammerhead shark which at any time could consider giving you a little nip, just to see what the snorkel boys taste like, manta rays are plankton eaters, and they use those eye/scoop/horns to funnel the plankton into their mouths. The visual on this is exciting, stunning, incredibly beautiful and spooky Boogie Man at the same time. I mean, we’re all comfortable in the water with these creatures, but damn…

When we couldn’t place a tag in a shark, we opted for moving to another spot and replacing an acoustic receiver and collecting the data from the old receiver. Acoustic receivers are placed on the ocean floor and any tagged sharks that come within range are recorded, kind of like the parental GPS tracking on a child’s cell phone. You get a good idea of when that shark was there, and how long it stayed, but you don’t have any idea what it did or about its company.

After that, we decided that we’d try to put a tag in a shark the old fashioned way, by catching one on rod and reel. We put the ROV in and chummed the area heavily with yellowfin tuna chunks, and it wasn’t long before someone showed for the sushi buffet. It took no time to reel a fish to the boat, control it, and get it into the cradle.

Some of the guys wanted to try using just the sling, and maybe we’ll try it this week, but right now, the cradle seems like the best means for lifting a shark out of the water without harming it or allowing it to grab a diver or scientist, which they seem to appreciate. I would like the try the cradle and see what the scientists think, because whatever is the most beneficial to the shark and its survival is really what matters. Not that we feel like the scientists are replaceable.

We fed all our fresh tuna to the sharks, so we ended the day crowded at the table like carnivores, a steak on the plate and red wine in the glasses. It’s been a very positive trip so far.

Saltwater in the Gills

Monday, August 22nd, 2011

By Brian Jill

After breathing dust for almost 1,200 miles everyone in the truck was ready to fish. Our gills were closing up, and like a bunch of gasping guppies, it was going to take some time on the water to bring us back to life. Luckily, we found ourselves stuck in a small coastal town which coincidentally hosted a legendary offshore striped marlin fishery.

None of us had ever caught a striped marlin before, much less on a fly rod. Our early research which consisted of Internet fishing forums and a $20 group binge on the fortune teller at the fair indicated that the marlin schools could be located anywhere within a 72 square mile radius of where we were—which is only like 500 miles in dog years.

A few minor speed bumps did lie in our path…1) finding someone with a less than sketchimo boat, 2) convincing them to take “El Loco Gringo’s” out in their boat, and 3) locating a striped marlin psycho enough to eat a fly. How hard can that be? We just crossed the desert in a truck that burns vegetable oil.

Several times we tried to get a Mexican captain to take us offshore, and every time we were met with the reply, “You’re all going to die.” Not sure exactly what that meant, we assumed that striped marlin scared the Mexican fishing fleet. Fortunately, we stumbled upon a gentleman named Bob Hoyt that helped us formulize a new plan of attack.

We decided to leave our truck and our only way out of Mexico in a parking lot and shuttle all our equipment to one of the outside barrier islands.  Once we reached the a remote landing on the island, we would then 4×4 down a long stretch of remote shoreline until we reached a lobster fishing camp on the other side of the island.  From this location Bob knew of a captain that had a panga boat that would help us access the fishing grounds.

In the morning we carried load after load down a long pier and stacked it on a transport barge that Bob fabricated in his garage using two pontoons, wooden planks, a tube of Super Glue, a roll of duct tape and the smallest outboard motor in the history of the planet Earth.  To this day, I’m certain the motor ran on lighter fluid.

Once we loaded up the shuttle, it was obvious that we owned way too much gear, and that maybe the Mexican Captains had a little short-term prophet in their blood. I just made sure I stayed close to the camera cases, which would float and also provide a molded plastic shark deterrent should we go into the water.

The ride was short and when we arrived, one of those old Chevy Suburban’s (the stegosaurus of SUV’s) was waiting to shuttle us to the other end of the island. We spent the first half hour 4X4’ ing across desert sand dunes before we saw water. While driving a remote section of coastline, we saw remnants of boat wreckages (think Insane Clown Gringo Fishing Parties) and the remains of two blue whale carcasses.

On the beach, it was hard packed sand, and 50 mph runs that cooled us down with what the locals call “Mexican air conditioning.” Once at camp, we offloaded the Suburban, something we were becoming exceptionally talented at, and we’re all hoping the Want Ads back home have a position with a six figure salary offered in the Miscellaneous Jobs section under “Gear Humper.”

We set up camp at the Scorpion Lair hotel, and settled in for an evening of cerveza testing and fly tying, as we tried to match the flies in size and shape to the striped marlin lures we’d seen back at Bob’s base camp. By morning, we’d run out of beer and were sufficiently locked and loaded for bear or whatever else came along.

First off, don’t let anyone tell you that you just go out and catch a marlin. That’s not like impetigo, dengue fever, amoebic dysentery or any of the other things you can go to a remote section of Central America and just snap your fingers and catch. You need some local knowledge, favorable conditions and a little bait pod luck.

The marlin fishing started out rough, and we ended up getting our asses handed to us for the first couple days on the water. It was immediately apparent that something needed to change, whether that was our luck or our underwear.

Our trip budget was already running thin and at that point we didn’t have a single fish to hand. Over serious debate (think total resupply of cervza) and a coin toss, we decided to put in one more day of pain, but instead of cruising the 10-plus miles offshore, we opted to only venture out three miles to explore new water that the locals assured us in a 100 million years times infinity wouldn’t hold fish.

We immediately spotted flocks of frigates diving on schools of sardina. Seals started to show up by the droves to join in on the feast and Thad did his fish dance on the bow.

Not far behind the seals were large schools of striped marlin that started to slash at the baitfish on the surface with their bills in this archaic form of fish fungo.  We were sure we were watching the top predators the Pacific had to offer when a pod of killer whales swam through.

If you have ever watched the Discovery Channel’s Planet Earth series, then you have a basic idea of what it looks like when marlin attack the sardina schools.  In person, it’s magnified because the sound and visual effects stretch to the horizon, and you have this entire food chain working before your eyes and everything is just going off around you. It’s a lot like dangling naked from a cable above an NFL football game in progress while the crowds in the stand shoot bottle rockets at you. In other words, it was totally awesome!

What happened next was an unforgettable fly fishing experience that we’re saving for the movie release.  The sound and sight of a fly reel spinning at Mach-3 speeds while a marlin takes you deep into your backing, or the silence of a totally berserk striped marlin tailwalking and jumping its way into the boat is something that none of us will ever forget.  In a word, it was E-P-I-C!

Bear Trails On The Karimskaya River

Monday, August 8th, 2011

We have just returned to Petroplavosk, the capital of Kamchatka after completing our second source-to-sea first descent of the Karimskya River to the North. This was an absolutely incredible, mind-blowing trip.

With one exception we had arranged to have these archaic MI-8 helos pick us up in rural grass fields in order to avoid the security screenings, fees, bribes, strip searches and hassles associated with the official helipad airports located in Yelisovo and Petroplavosk. So far, we’ve had the full gamut of pilot types, from close-shaven uniformed young guns eager to have their pictures taken in front of their birds to grizzled veterans who probably learned to fly these helicopters as Soviet gunships. The only pilot clichés we’re missing right now are Han Solo from Star Wars and Ted Striker from the movie Airplane.

Everything about the Karimskaya River was just surreal. Flying into it you could see a lot of the first day’s waterfalls, which was getting everyone super stoked on the flight up river. The landing zone where the river starts is at the base of this massive volcano that was spewing smoke and ash every 3-4 minutes. To add to the thermal visuals were hot springs at the put in, which was only a few hundred yards from the first waterfall and the Soviet Bikini Team (only kidding). The amazing beauty and crazy volcanic activity did, however, set the tone for a great river trip.

The water in the river was frigid as it is mainly generated from snowmelt, with the exception when you pass a geyser which felt like you were peeing in your wetsuit.  Coming from the Pacific Northwest we’re all used to paddling in cold water year-round so I don’t think we even noticed our numbing appendages and just dressed accordingly.

We had a first glimpse of the Karimskaya River on the flight into our first source to sea on the Semalyichik River and knew we would have several solid days of whitewater paddling which had the crew giddy as kids on the way to a carnival. The upper section consisted of long stretches of flat water punctuated by giant waterfalls and slides, and as we approached the ocean we found amazing class 4 read-and-run whitewater. Simply put, it was as perfect an exploratory trip as they come. The only thing missing was a riverside micro-brewery.

The logistics here have been as exciting as the rivers we have paddled. This trip consisted of taking a giant Russian MI8 helicopter to the put-in and then using a sailboat to make the 20 hour journey back to the capital. To have completed two incredible source-to-sea descents in just under two weeks has provided a tremendous feeling of success. It’s hard to convey how wild this place truly is. Waiting on the beach for our sailboat we combed the beach next to countless brown bear and wolf tracks.

Two words exemplify the terrain:  Bear prints!  Every camp, and I mean e-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e camp, had tons of bear prints.  It always gave us pause whether we should camp there lest we become a mansicle, but finally it became normal to just see so many prints that it probably would have felt strange to set up a camp without the prints nearby.

One of the camps on the Karymsky River had a bear trail on it that was so well worn it looked like the Appalachian Trail and was so well trodden that it was hard to imagine that people didn’t make it. The concept of that many bears walking that trail with regularity gave new meaning to the term “urban.”

We were always aware of the threat posed by bears and made a racket everywhere we went to alert them to our presence. We portaged around unrunnable sections of river (well, only unrunnable if you’re concerned about maintain skeletal integrity) several times on the Karymskaya and Semilychik, and quickly found that Kamchatka probably has one of the best-maintained bear-trail networks on the planet.

Bears retrace their paths day-in and day-out, creating these perfect three to four foot wide graded highways that tunnel through otherwise impassable grasses and brush that rarely sunk below our plane of vision. We were left little choice but to warily follow these tunnels whilst blasting whistles, banging boats, singing show tunes and crossing our fingers for the best.

Bears were also in the forefront of our thoughts as we selected nightly camp sites. We were usually able to locate islands or large clearings that would at least provide us two to three seconds of warning if a bear approached in the night—enough time if you were awake to get a head start on the others still sleeping. It was a common saying in camp that you didn’t have to be the fastest person in the group, you just had to spot the bear first and push or trip someone before running away.

There have been no signs of humans on these rivers, just the wildlife that call Kamchatka home. While we have been excited about the pure exploration of these rivers we have also begun collecting hydrological data that the kayaks are lending themselves to do very well too. From here we will transition into exploring rivers that are prime salmon and trout habitat.