The Global Paddling Community

For the last little while I have taken some time to refine my evil ways and discover a world full of opportunities and boundaries. I have been told by the people with the money to clean up my ways. So the guy that is always emailing me about all the speelling errors for the last 2 years is going to be happy now. (sorry bud) However it is going to take a little flavor out of my posts.

I spent some time this year re-acquainting myself with Martha, my big fat Necky Blunt. People pick on Martha's size, but Martha and me are tight. She makes lines and punches holes like a charging whale. I love her and she's my sugar mama on the water. When it all comes crashing down she cleans up the pieces. I, with the help of BEN Ailsworth, managed to organize a bunch of the brothers on a trip down the TAUREAU North of Quebec city; an 8 hour run of epic tale.

We camped out at the barren put in, bottoming out Matty's Honda over a hundred times on the shuttle. Every time he hit a rock I could see him pucker up and his lips quiver. He never cried, but I could see he wanted to just a bit. I call him DRY CRY. Poor guy is always hooking us up with rides and gear; no mater what, his gear always gets beat on. Dry Cry's a good lad though. About 40 minutes into the run, Dry Cry lets out a squawk. I am on point and stomping down the river like King Kong. From my vantage point Dry Cry is stuffed in a slot with nothing but his little silver helmet sticking out. He's cool but not looking particularly comfy with the situation.

The Crew I run with are all perdy tight. You would think that we were all a bunch of studs with the gear we sport and the rivers that we run but we're a GONG show. Ben (the maker of Good Gravy Productions and who's yo Daddy) is mother hen. Mother hen keeps us all in line AND ORGANIZES US. Dry Cry keeps us all in gear. Brad Sutton keeps us sure that there is now way that humans ever put a man on the MOON. The new addition to the Crew is the hilarious Dale Monkman; he's our new side show guy. Dale is Center, b-rad is on the right and mother hen with the Barbie umbrella. Dale, like most Young lads, is apparently invincible. He dropped into a monster sieve, and cart wheeled himself into a stupa entertaining sports fans cheering wildly him on from the shore. The boyz, or the Peanut gallery as we are called, are all good that way. Like vultures we sit in wait for carnage at every opportunity.

After said, "carnagio" happens we all sit around making the person feel better with lines like, "nice one butt munch", "smooth move bowel buddy". "Nice job dufis" We feel that it is important to the group dynamic to be abusive at every opportunity. The highlight of the trip was a slot on the far right of the river. About 30 feet long 60 degrees and a 2 stager that was amazing. I was on point, that meant I was in charge of keeping this band of merry idiots moving. I came up on a 30 footer, scouted it on the left and it ended up landing on rocks. (I WAS ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE RIVER) I bushwhacked around it and managed to stab myself badly with a branch falling down a rock face into a dead bunch of trees all hung up stuck bleeding and moaning in pain. My first thought was, "HA them saps are going to have to do the same thing"... A joyful "yeeeaaahhhhhhh". Who said that? Well as it turns out my band of merry idiots found this beautiful slot on the other side of the river.

Bleeding limping, scratched and crushed I scamper around the Bad 30 footer to see the best slot of the day. Here it is, and everyone ran it but me…..

Billy Harris,
"mission"