This article is dedicated in memory of Bob Norr & to the Norr family.
The water rushes quickly, careening off boulders and over drops in an unending maze descending down the mountain. There is a brief pause before the water races down a wide slab and off another drop. Most of the drop is clear, except on the left, where a fingernail-shaped rock lurks right at water level. This hidden trap is a kayaker’s worst nightmare.
That day in the winter of 2012 began like many other days on the Upper Blackwater. We had a good group of friends assembled and the morale was high as we joked and boofed our way down through the many challenging rapids. Above a fun rapid called Angle Left or Piton, I sat in the eddy joking with my friend, Bob Norr. We had been filming different angles for our upcoming video, All Things Brown: Episode Two, and I wanted to get a close up shot of the next drop with Bob. “I’m going to follow right behind you to get a good shot. Make sure you nail the move or you might get a bow in your back!” I joked as we readied to peal out. He shook his head and laughed before heading out into the current. That was Bob, always happy and smiling on the river, quietly confident with a thirst for adventure. He sprinted ahead and nailed his boof. I landed right after him, trailing tightly behind. He swung into the eddy on the right but I opted to keep going over the next drop, Flatliner Falls. I made the boof and pulled into the eddy to watch everyone else run the drop. After a couple boaters, Bob came down. He was too far left and heading straight for the fingernail rock. His bow smacked the rock and, in an instant, he was under the water behind the curtain. All I could see was the distorted color of his blue kayak hidden under the veil of water. We scrambled to the bank and tossed a rope repeatedly into the current, hoping to snag something, anything. Eventually his boat, paddle, and pieces of gear came out but Bob stayed trapped against the rock under the force of the water. Nori attached a rope to my life jacket and lowered me into the water. I could get to the fingernail rock and reached over. I grabbed Bob’s hand and pulled with all of my might. I tried repeatedly to pull him free but the current was too strong. Eventually, with darkness starting to set in and the temperatures dropping, we had to abandon our rescue attempts and come back the next day. The following morning, with a large group of boaters and a search and rescue team working together, we were able to get him out of the canyon.
Following that incident, my world had turned upside down. I had lost a good friend and fellow adventurer and my mind was filled with confusion and doubt. As a way of sorting out my thoughts I turned to my wife, my friends, and the sport that we had shared a love for. Spending time with those who knew and loved Bob was therapeutic. Our close knit group continued to see each other often, to share memories and be there for one another. In April of that same year, my daughter, Sahalie, was born and she has a spark in her eyes and an enthusiastic spirit that remind my wife and me so much of Bob. We visited with Bob’s family on several occasions, his parents Doug and Nancy and his sister Mary, and have developed a connection that has kept us close to this day. As friends, we have learned to celebrate and cherish the good times we had with Bob and to continuously support each other as we move forward.
Not long after the accident, I received a letter from Friends of the Blackwater containing a sticker that said, “I Heart the Blackwater Canyon!” I contemplated this statement and wondered if this was indeed the case for me any longer. A river that I loved so much had betrayed me, taking away someone who was a friend, someone who was loved by all who got to know him, a beloved son, a person with a bright future that would never be realized. The weight of knowing these unfortunate truths was crushing, suffocating me as I battled feelings of guilt, doubt, and despair. It is a human reaction to question yourself in the face of a tragic event. Over time, I have found comfort in several facts with regard to that day: Bob was a good paddler and had the skill set to paddle that river, he knew where he needed to go in that rapid, and we did everything that we could to save him. As much as I know these facts to be true, there still is a part of me wonders if I had caught that eddy with Bob above the drop, could I have changed to course of events?
Eventually, I returned to chasing adventures, all the time wishing that Bob could be there with me. I knew that Bob would not have wanted to me to give up kayaking or to have anything stifle my intrepid spirit. It was this yearning for challenge, for going somewhere off the beaten path in an unsure, ever changing, and treacherous environment that had connected Bob and me in the first place. There is a certain comfort in the chaos of a rapid, a feeling of being in your element, being one with the river. Those who crave this feeling will know what I mean: a need for challenge, for excitement, and, yes, danger that burns deep within your core. Although I was back paddling Class 5 like my old self, in over two years’ time, I had yet to venture back into the Blackwater Canyon in a kayak. I knew that it was something that I must do, for myself and for the memory of Bob, but my own fears and doubts were holding me back. I made plans to run it a couple times and then broke them, opting for the safety of easier streams instead. Through all of this, my wife, Melissa, was my rock, being there for me to talk any time that I needed her. She knew that I would eventually have to come back to the Blackwater, and supported me in this endeavor. She only asked that I be safe and go with a group that I trusted and never with just two of us. I agreed that as a husband and father that I would take precautions always to paddle with a safe crew and have numbers in case anyone needs help.
The day when I would finally return to the Blackwater River came on March 23, 2014. I linked up with two trusted friends, Nori Onishi and Jeff Blood, along with a friend of theirs named Brad Johnson. With the Blackwater flowing at a low but very enjoyable level of 240 cfs, we went to the putin, optimistic about a having a great run that day. The water level, overcast skies, and temperatures hovering around freezing, felt eerily similar to the day I had last been there with Bob. My demeanor was cheerful but as we approached the putin, I became more serious and an odd feeling of nerves set in. As my friends began their hike in, I carefully put on my gear and started walking down into the canyon, toward my destiny. Alone with my thoughts, I used this time to pray, to thank God for this day, for this river, for this group of friends to paddle with, and asked for Bob’s spirit to accompany me on this journey. One by one, the paddlers put on the river and ran the first rapid, 100 Yard Dash. I was in a focused state, observing my surroundings: the ominous sight of Blackwater Falls in foreground, the river heading downstream to my left, disappearing off a horizon line in an impressive series of drops, and the aura of sitting deep within this committing canyon. I climbed into my boat and said one last prayer. I looked to the sky, hoping for a sign that Bob would be with me on this day. Just then, an eagle swooped down into the canyon and circled 30 feet above me before flying off. I smiled at the beauty of that moment, slid off the bank and into that magical “black” water. I paddled toward the first of many horizon lines that day, chasing the adventure and excitement that Bob always loved.
The run began smoothly with a clean line down 100 Yard Dash, which is always a nice confidence boost with so many Class 5 rapids still to come. Drop after drop, boof after boof, I became more comfortable with each passing rapid. As we approached the steepest part of the run, I became anxious, wanting to get downstream and put Flatliner Falls behind us. I had to remember that I was part of something much bigger and my own feelings of trepidation would be quelled in time. Puttng the safety of our team first, I waited patiently as Nori took care to explain the lines for Tomko Falls, Shock to the System, and Pinball to Brad. Soon, we were above Angle Left or Piton, the rapid that feeds into Flatliner. I boofed off the top drop and headed through the boogy water. I paused in the pool above Flatliner, opting to pass the staging eddy, as I had on that fateful day, and continued over the drop. It was a rapid I had run hundreds of times before and never gave much thought to my line. I was now keenly aware of the pull to the left toward the fingernail rock, something I had never noticed before. I fought against the flow and drove hard for the correct spot at the peak of the ledge. The other paddlers came cleanly down off the ledge too and joined me in the eddy. We paused there for some time, I sat off to the side in view of the drop fighting back the tears but ultimately letting them flow. I weeped for my fallen friend as I had many times before but, this time, I felt a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders.
As we continued down the river, my mood changed to happiness, glad to be here in this canyon, experiencing the joy that this river has to offer. There are still plenty of big rapids in the remaining miles before the river reaches its mouth in the town of Hendricks. I smiled, I joked, and I relaxed. The feeling of returning to this place was one of redemption and meaning. I know Bob was watching down on me from heaven, smiling at each boof and glad to see me back on the river again. The Blackwater Canyon is a special place, a place I have visited countless times during the past two decades. It is the thrill of the rapids, the beauty of the river and honoring the memory of my good friend Bob that will keep me coming back. It is a place that I once loved and am learning to love again.
-Also Check out Bobby’s story about the Bob Norr Challenge HERE–
