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Recent interview with Corran Addison, Riot Paddler and total loon
Extreme kayaking is much like a suicide attempt. A flirtation with suicide can be carried only to the brink, but not beyond, because if you succeed, you won’t be around to enjoy the comeback. Is that is why these perverted individuals soar off monstrous
waterfalls ? So that they may tempt death, and revel in the knowledge that they once again cheated her of victory.
I remember standing on the edge of a fall in Tignes, France in 1987. I was young, only eighteen, and the last thing on my mind was death. But there I stood, looking over the edge of a 30m vertical fall, and seriously considering running it. Was I simply too young at actually consider the possible consequences of my actions, or was it as calculated as I now make it out to be. I stood there, proud, surrounded by people and cameras, a statue of strength. The only problem was that my bladder was threatening to unman me at any moment.
So there was fear. Perhaps it was that then. The fear, and dealing with that fear. Being able to look at this unimaginable feat, be blinded by fear, and still be able to overcome the emotion and go through with the challenge. Would that better my standing in the eyes of my peers, or were they actually thinking ‘Bloody idiot’s going to do it’.
Perhaps it was fame I sought. riches, stretch limousine, perhaps a film contract with Disney. Hummm, this is after all kayaking, and when I think back, there were only a few sparse magazines around at the time, and mainstream society had no idea that we even existed. It couldn’t be that then.
Maybe it was simply the challenge. Here was a 30m high waterfall, plummeting over the edge of a cliff and into the lake below. Never had a fall of this height ever been attempted. Was that because technically it wasn’t possible, or simply because those that might have considered it before were overcome with fear, and so we still did not know whether it was technically possible.
Now in my great wisdom, I think it was a combination of all these factors. I was not to run the fall that day, but I returned a few weeks later, and before a number of startled tourists, took the plunge. Simple, get up to the speed of the water, and fly off the edge, allowing the boat to pitch forward slowly until it entered the water nose first. A loud Gawump, and the world became wet
and still. Then pressure building, building, and slowly the nose began to rise. Moments later, light, a rainbow of colours, weightlessness, and air. It was over. No complications, no mistakes. Invincible! I had overcome the fear of injury, death and more likely, the unknown factor. I had proven it technically possible. I had cheated death, who’s sickle had cut harmlessly through the
air, and later, was to use the event to gain recognition amongst my pears. While the Limmo and the film contract have yet to come, I am still young, and I can only hope for the best.
But I have not always been so fortunate. Over the years I have run many very large drops, and one of these, Looking Glass Falls in North Carolina was to break my back. The 27m drop compressed my spine, put me in traction for 6 weeks, and kept me bed
ridden for 3 months. It was a calculated risk, and one that while executed perfectly, was a serious miscalculation. It was the first time I had ever made a mistake, and to date it is the only one. I was fortunate. I made a mistake in a realm where there simply is no room for error, and I was fortunate to have been given a second chance. Others have not been so fortunate. Many friends of
mine have perished from the only mistake or miscalculation they ever made in a kayak. Just one, and that it.
This is extreme at its very limits. We are not talking about paddling off a 10m fall into a pool, or crashing down some flooding creek in the Alps. We are talking about a place in the world where one simple mistake results in death. I think of this, and perhaps the closest comparison I can come up with is working on the bomb squad for the police force in a country laden with unrest and
terrorism. Make one mistake and that’s it - a love letter from the Grim Reaper is delivered express mail.
So there I stood in France that day, my bladder ready to explode. It’s not like I really needed to go - after all I had just been to the bathroom only minutes before, but somehow nature had come up with a little extra, and for some unknown reason, there was some urgency in the matter. But there I was, the pillar of strength, feeling rather embarrassed about the fact that for the third time in as many minutes I needed to take a piss. Not exactly what you would expect to be the great deliberation in my mind at the time, what with the task of surviving a 30m waterfall at hand, but the biggest debate seemed to be whether to once again unzip my fly,
thus delivering the testimonial to those about that I was paralysed with fear.
Which brings us to the bit about being paralysed. Now it is one thing to be paralysed with fear, but the unfortunate result of such a condition is the very real possibility of permanent paralysis following a botched line because the fear within was so great. It takes a very special mind to be able to put that fear aside - to separate ones body from ones mind, if you like - so that the body may
perform the task at hand unencumbered by something so trivial as blind fear. It is this that separates the truly great extreme paddlers like Shaun Baker and Francois Ciroteau from the otherwise more cautious yet technically competent kayakers that
remain a few steps behind.
For the most part, these incredible feats are more mentally demanding than technically challenging. Of course there is a fair amount of knowledge and technique that comes with years experience running waterfalls, but when you consider that no matter
what you do, gravity will get you to the bottom, then it is really the top that presents the problem.
I am often asked what is going through my mind when I am sitting in my kayak, a few metres above the lip of a huge fall. There, at peace with myself, with the gods. I go over the line until it is steadfast in my mind. The run visualised, as I would a slalom race, until I know every ripple in the water, every rock and current so that nothing may go wrong. I imagine the take off, the stroke
timing at the lip, reaching over the edge with my paddle to catch the accelerating ‘solid’ water falling over the into the abyss. The movement of the kayak racing forward with the unwinding of my torso, the blade fully loaded, and the stern of the kayak popping free of the edge as the fall begins. The gradual movement of my body forward until I am hunched over the bow, allowing the nose to slowly tilt downward from the added weight over it, until it enters the water. The position of my body allowing forward flex to absorb impact, rather than compressing the spine, and forcing the nose through the foam pile at the base. All carefully memorised,
visualised, perfect.
And while the fear remains, when I finally look up, ready to take that first stroke, it simply vanishes. It must be gone so that the body is loose and can function efficiently, quickly and naturally. Ask any of the worlds foremost extreme kayakers, and they will have a similar story to tell of how they prepare for the final plunge, and the point of no return.
By now, most of you are hopefully saying something clever like ‘not for me thanks’ or ‘bloody idiots are nuts as a bunny’, but surely there are those asking the question ‘where can I get one of these falls for me’. Aaah, the world is our oyster. Everywhere from Iceland to Japan, New Zealand to Chile, Alaska to Africa. They are out there. You just have to go find them, but remember... many of those that depart on this journey never make it to the end. Be smart, be careful, be rad.
Conran Addison
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