The time had come to film the third foreign segment of "Still TWITCH'n" extreme whitewater kayaking video. We had already been to Canada three times and
to Thailand once. We wondered where else we might go for new and unexplored rivers. Then we received a call from one of Tao Berman's (world
record holder for highest waterfall run in a kayak) old friend, who was now running a rafting/kayaking company deep in the Philippine mountains. He
told us that there were pristine, never-been-run rivers all around him and we had to come. So, off we went.
The group consisted of myself, Stuart Smith, and Tao with Eric Link on video, Jock Bradley for photography, and Ken, a friend from Wenatchee who had lived
there years before.
We arrived in Manila around midnight only to find our boats had not made it on the same plane. The airline offered to book us into a hotel for the night,
but with the bombings that had been going on recently in the city and the fact that our ride was here waiting for us, we decided to head out. The airport
officials told us our boats would be shipped directly to us, "by and by." This was their way of saying, "Ya, it will eventually, or probably happen."
Once through the doors we were immediately enveloped in the warm, sticky air of the tropics. We walked past armed guards to our escort for the trip, Maverik.
A little older and worn with not too much tread left in her, it was a bit rusty. Maverik was the "jeepni"-a jeep that had been converted into a people hauler
with a truck bed welded onto the back of it. We would spend many long days and nights in Maverik. Critter, a raft guide from the company we would be staying
with, RiverQuest.com, informed us this jeepni was one of the nicest in the area. Most others had no tread and patches on the outside of the tires and more
rust. We all crowded in to get going on the 250 mile, 14-hour ride to the northern Philippine province of Kalinga.
"The locals in the area had never seen
kayaks and were understandably wary."
On our way out of Manila I noticed things like red lights, street signs, and lane markers didn't really mean a damn thing. People just drove through lights
once traffic cleared. A four-lane highway meant nothing. Sometimes it was two lanes, sometimes six, with people swerving all over.
After a long 14-hours of traveling we finally arrived at our destination - a house in the middle of the malaria-ridden rice flats. It was a solid concrete
building, including the floor, with every window and door wide open, and the refuse pile right out the window; one of the nicer houses in the area. Luckily
we would be staying down the road at a huge government hostile with running water, electricity, and most importantly screens on the windows.
The rivers were looking fairly low. Rain would have helped, but it didn't matter because I knew that right then, back in the US, it was cold and snowy.
Anxious for our gear and to start paddling, our boats finally arrived several days later. It was delivered right to our front doors in the middle of
nowhere, all the way from Manila.
We packed the jeepni full and headed out on our first paddling mission - a nearby play run. The put-in was only 20 miles away, but it was a two-hour
drive by jeepni. Carving our way through the verdant high mountains and tiny villages surrounded by rice terraces, we slowly made our way to the water.
It wasn't long after we started unloading our gear at the put in that the entire village population was sitting around us. The children came running
to us and slowly all the parents and grandparents circled around, watching in amazement as we changed and geared up. All the children giggled and the
elders smiled when we made the quick change into our boating shorts.
After walking around and through some beautiful rice terraces via trails, we were down at the river and in our boats. It had been nine days of traveling,
packing, unpacking and waiting for our boats since departing from the States, but we were finally on the river. The day was quick with a few good holes,
some great splats and a lot of fast and furious paddling to make sure we were tired that night. After boating it was back in Maverik for the 19-mile,
two-hour drive to the top of a mountain, where we were staying with one of our friends.
The next day we made our way to the headwaters of the Sultan River for a first descent of the upper section. The locals in the area had never seen
kayaks and were understandably wary. We first stopped at the mayor's house to get permission and to let them know exactly what we were doing on
their river. Perplexed, the mayor didn't understand why we wanted to paddle his river, but didn't hold us back either. He told us he would alert
the people in his 5,500 square kilometer area to what we were doing so we wouldn't be hassled. With mayor's permission secured we scooted on down
to the put in. Again it was in a little village and all the townspeople came out to stare at us in bewilderment.
