First Big Drop – Skirt On, Fear Off
First Big Drop–Skirt On, Fear Off
By Corran Addison
a Carolina Paddler Article
∞This is the first big waterfall I ever ran. A 10m drop in the Ceres mountains of the Western Cape on the Dwaars River. I had just turned fifteen.
I was working for my father’s company, the Rivermen. He’d pull me out of school, and I’d help teach kayak clinics and be safety boater on his commercial trips, the first of their kind in South Africa.
I’d heard rumours of the Cape paddlers, loosely known as the Kamikaze Club, running waterfalls. Before hearing about them, I didn’t even know it could be done.
But when we stopped off at a paddle factory to pick up some for the company, the owner showed my father and I some stills of the local paddlers running drops.
I was immediately energized. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. But alas, we were down in the Cape to run courses, not go hunting waterfalls.
At the end of one clinic day, the takeout was right above a tight gorge, and from the road we could see what looked like a waterfall. I walked down, and here was this monster. A very tight and twisting entry, to a spout that had rocks at its base on both sides of the landing.
My father, and several of his customers, tried to talk be out of going but I was determined. I’d never run anything even remotely close to this in its scope of sheer size, and potential danger.
After a quick scout (I see the line quickly and have no need to linger) I’d decided I would go. I sat in my boat, the water gently lapping against the gunnels, nervous. Afraid even.
And so began the routine that I’d use above every hard rapid I’d ever run for the remainder of my career. I decided that once my skirt went on, all thoughts of fear, or consequence, would be gone.
I could be as afraid as I liked up to that moment, but in the action, fear would be my enemy. It would impede clear thought; make me stiff and robotic in my actions. There must be no fear.
So, I sat there, in my boat, fifteen paying customers ambling on the shore watching their safety boater getting ready to do something that was clearly not safe. My father had his camera in hand, with a smile on his face. But I could see in his eyes it was a fake smile. He was clearly worried.
Was the pool deep enough? If the boat tilted left or right on the descent, I’d plunge right into the rocks below. He hadn’t really tried to talk me out of it. His words of caution were at best tentative. It was almost like he wanted me to go, but was torn with the parallel need to be a responsible parent.
Anyone who knows my father knows that’s laughable.
I could feel the fear welling inside me. Every face on shore had a look of worry. Somewhere far off the cry of a bird rang out across the deep lush valley. The rumble from the canon below was deep and penetrating. I knew the drop could be run. It had been run before.
And so, the routine began. Skirt off, I visualized the run: my exact paddle sequence on the approach. Nothing would be left to chance. Each stroke was pre planned, as was the timing of my physical upper body lunge backwards to lift the bow (this is before the concept of the boof existed).
My skirt was still off. It’s not too late to back out. I become hyper focused on the drop. Everything outside became a blur and was closed off from my scope of vision. It was like staring down a long chrome tunnel where the point of take-off was focused and everything around it was just white noise.
I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and suddenly the fear was gone. Completely gone. Now all there was, was the task at hand. I reached behind me, hooked my skirt over the back of the cockpit, and stretched it over the front, sealing me into the boat. There was no fear. Just focus on the task at hand. I splashed water into my face and pivoted out of the eddy.
Time almost stopped. The river slowed to a crawl. My brain was processing information at such a rate that it seemed like everything was in slow motion. I placed each stroke in its pre-ordained spot, in the small gaps between the cluttered rocks on the approach, and took a last stroke to propel me out from the lip to clear the base.
Leaning back, arms in the air with paddle overhead as was the custom at the time, I inched over the falls falling gracefully with the plume in a world of silence. Not a sound emitted from the river.
The guarding rocks on each side of the landing kept their distance, remaining well away, and I penciled into the pool, the entire force of the river crashing onto my back as the boat slowed, before beginning its arc to bring me back to the surface.
Suddenly everything sped back up to real time. I was overwhelmed with the noise of the crashing water into the canyon, echoing off the walls and smashing into the rocks. A cheer went up from the onlookers, as I turned to stare back at the drop. It was much bigger and foreboding looking from its base.
I saw my father scampering down the bank like a mountain goat to meet me as I paddled to shore. The smile disappeared off his face as a stoic expression replaced it, and a hearty “well done”.
You have to know my dad.
That day. That moment. Everything changed. My entire trajectory of what kind of paddler I was, and what I would become, was set onto a new course.
Addison Corran
Addison Corran was raised in South Africa, where he learned to kayak with his dad, Graeme, an outfitter and professor of journalism. Addison progressed rapidly and competed in the Olympics in slalom and medaled in various world free-style championships. In 1987 he ran the highest waterfall done to that date, a 31 meter vertical drop at Lake Tignes in France. He later famously dropped the Looking Glass Falls wearing a Batman cape. (See link to article below.)
Corran began a career in boat design and promotion, beginning with Perception. He later owned or was partners with Savage, Riot, Dragorossi and Imagine. His resume’ includes kayak and SUP design, writing, filmmaking and surfing and snowboard competition. He currently operates Soul Waterman, manufacturing high-end kayaks and paddleboards.
“First Big Drop–Skirt On, Fear Off” was previously posted in a slightly different form on Corran’s social media. Carolina Paddler thanks him for the permission to share this story.
REFERENCES
Soul Kayaks and Paddleboards https://www.soulwaterman.com
Carolina Paddler articles:
“Addison’s Scale for Rivers” by Alton Chewning
How difficult is a river or rapid? What are the consequences of a mistake? How close is competent help? Corran Addison provides an alternative ratings system.
“Through the Looking Glass, Darkly” by Alton Chewning
A skilled kayaker’s decision to run majestic Looking Glass Falls provokes a flood of criticisms and congratulations.