In the richly varied
1.11.2019
Translation: machine translated
Pictures: Thomas Kunz
All around, the great roar of the Rhine gorge, velvety green forests, rugged rock faces and rounded stones. Below, a kayak in the current. And at the back, a man singing, comparing white water rafting to making music. Well then: Play me the song of the boat.
Four hours before the top is down, cold water shoots up my nose and the sun seems to be just a blurred fantasy, we are at the top. From the viewing platform Spitg ist der Blick atemberaubend. It sweeps through the Versamer Tobel ravine and the Rhine Gorge, lingers on jagged rock faces and wanders down to the emerald-green river that gives the gorge its name.
Underneath us, the river that will be canalised further north into one of the world's busiest waterways meanders untamed. Ruedi Gamper has already paddled as far as Rotterdam on the Rhine, but his territory, his adventure playground since childhood, is here. The St. Gallen native is at home outdoors and prefers to be where it gets wild. "Not much water," he says, turning towards the valley, and then, smiling broadly: "Look at the rocks!" There's always something to experience, a lesson photographer Tom and I learnt on our first trip with Ruedi. We don't yet know exactly what will become of this kayaking trip. Next to us, Yair Camacho squints into the October sun.
Ruedi and he are paddling buddies who have travelled all possible and impossible waters of the highest difficulty levels together. They talk about forced marches through the jungle with their kayaks on their shoulders, metre-high drops, slides and abseils into the abysses of the "Seven Sisters", seven consecutive waterfalls on the Río Alseseca in Mexico. Wherever there's a rush, they're there. Not just because they are adrenaline junkies. Ruedi believes that the hard-to-reach waterways of this world also offer unique impressions.
«We've been to places that you know for a fact no one but a few paddlers have ever been to.»
The same cannot be said of the Rhine Gorge. It is very well developed and the Vorderrhein is a grade II to III on the whitewater scale, making it moderately difficult to paddle. However, with its rock faces towering up to 350 metres high, it is definitely a natural spectacle. One that is also open to us from a water perspective in the company of the experts. So down from the viewpoint. Ruedi picks up the pace and jumps into his VW bus. No, onto the bus and into the kayak. Even if it's just for a quick change of perspective, for a funny photo - he interprets everything in life as a game with possibilities.
On the Paddle Express
On small roads, we head into the gorge to the Canoe School Versam, where we put on dry suits and the two-person kayaks called "Topo Duo" are waiting for us. Seat test. It's not so easy to climb into the polythene tubs and wedge your knees into the side walls. As soon as Tom and I have taken our seats, we have to get out again, because the train is about to leave and we don't have a ticket yet. We're not there yet, where we're going into the water.
And an RhB ticket machine can do what no abyss or waterfall can: It can put Ruedi off his stride. The submenu where the price for our sports luggage is hidden is more difficult to fathom than any Stomschnelle. But the journey itself is an experience. We heave the kayaks into the luggage wagon and stand at the window on the way to Ilanz, while the undulating Rhine rushes by outside and the anticipation builds.
On dry land
One more steep embankment to manoeuvre the two-seater, which weighs around 40 kilos, down before we reach the water. It's getting serious. Ruedi and Yair get serious. Because there are a few things we need to know. "We probably won't need it," says Yair and pulls out a throwing line that is used for current rescues. In a few sentences, he explains how we need to grab it in an emergency. Then we climb into our seats. Ruedi lets me in and pulls up the spraydeck that connects me to the kayak.
"If we capsize, take the paddle to the side, bend your upper body forwards and turn your hips a little," he tells me, before asking: "What will you do if we can't get back up?" Good question. An important question. I realise that the spraydeck has to go and I have to get out. "Panic!" I ask back. "Stay calm, grab the flap on the spraydeck, pull it off and get out," says Ruedi. "And always swim feet first in the water! You can use your feet to push yourself against any rocks in the current, the water flows around you and you get air," he explains. "Never swim head first, otherwise..." A slap on my helmet says more than the missing half-sentence. Then Ruedi splashes a few hands full of water in my face, shouts, jumps on board and we set off.
In the current
A few paddle strokes and we're already gliding in the middle of the current. It is still flowing calmly at this point, but the undertow increases and so does the noise. I paddle over shoals and rocks more on instinct than with forethought and wait for commands, knowing that Ruedi will get us on course in time with powerful strokes.
We rumble over round stones and paddle diagonally to the current, lean over and quickly back again. I hear "Rocks!", "Turning water!" and "Paddle, paddle, paddle!", then for the first time I think we're going to capsize. But we don't. Ruedi has simply manoeuvred us out of the current and I can feel that a lot is happening from the hip here, that the inclined position in the kayak is not an emergency, but a necessity.
"The switchback is essential for survival," Ruedi tells me. Behind obstacles, where the current slows down or reverses, there is a natural refuge that every paddler must be able to reach. To rest, paddle upstream and reorientate before heading back into the white water. So we practise.
Aligning the kayak, a few powerful paddle strokes on command, leaning inwards and edging up so that the water at the intersection between the currents doesn't have any surface to sink the boats. Again and again. And again and again with the feeling that I alone would be a plaything for the masses of water. I can't see what Ruedi is doing behind me. But when he paddles, it feels like the motor of an e-bike kicking in. Tom, who is also handling the GoPro on his head, is being chauffeured by Yair in the same way.
In the white water
When the tip of the kayak plunges in, water lapping against your chest and lapping at the rocks around you in soft waves and eddies, it's hard not to have a smile on your face. Everything begins to rush and the senses dance to the beat of the elements. The undertow feels alive and tempts you to want to be swept further and further away.
The water chooses the path of least resistance. It only has this one option. The paddler, on the other hand, has many, which includes fatal ones. "Over time, you learn to play with the water," says Ruedi. "It's like playing the flute." What is a big noise to my ears is music to his.
The music comparison is interesting, but the reality seems more complex than a recorder course. Sometimes the water flows harmoniously, only to surprise you the next moment with a few heavy metal riffs. For me, the paddler is more like a conductor who recognises the big picture by looking at the score of nature and has to constantly reinterpret it. Whatever is being played here: I have a box seat. And as we plough through the water, the rock faces flanking the river grow steeper into the sky.
In the fluid mechanics seminar
"You'll die there," says Ruedi as we pass a rock in the current that is being washed away. "The water comes out on the other side. Not you." Two metres to the right, where we are moving, everything seems safe and easy. It's not difficult to be aware of the risks and still allow yourself to drift along, to be lulled by the river. Ruedi's eye is sharpened, he talks about mushrooms and rollers, names currents, dangers and connections, only to belt out "Sweet Caroline" at the top of his voice into the Rhine gorge shortly afterwards. Good times never seemed so good. That rather sums up my mood. In contrast, I can only follow the fluid mechanics seminar to a limited extent because the raging water around me absorbs my attention. But as quickly as Ruedi changes topics, the Vorderrhein is transformed from a mogul slope into a haven of peace.
In calm waters
We let ourselves drift. The water no longer foams and recedes, as if it didn't want to steal the show from the gorge. The Ruinaulta rises majestically and we, who had been looking down on it from above not long before, put our heads back. Four mermen enjoy the frog's-eye view, the constant changes in perspective that occur when everything is in flux.
Time to look around. And time to ask stupid questions. "What do you actually do when the paddle breaks?" I want to know. Because in the shallows, in the confusing rapids, I hardly dared to dip it into the water for all the stones. I imagine a shredded paddle blade like that in really wild water to be dramatic. "Paddle on with half a paddle," replies Ruedi. I learn the hard way that the game of possibilities must go on and sometimes only one remains.
Under water
When it gets quiet all around and breathing in is no longer an option, thoughts roar through the convolutions of the brain. The skull becomes an echo chamber. I no longer expected to be hanging upside down in the riverbed. Two or three Eskimo rolls worked wonderfully, but this one, the last one just before the exit, did not. We were already back on top, in the air, breathing a sigh of relief. Then the kayak tipped back. For a moment, I thought Ruedi was doing a bonus lap with me. Then: silence. Cold. Nothing at all. I forget everything, can't see what Ruedi is doing. Can't ask any more questions. I'm stuck. Don't know what to do next.
Just think: get out! Air! I wind myself frantically, foolishly thinking I'm going to hit the surface with my head when I grab the kayak. Stay just below it. Swallow water. Suppress the rising panic. Forget the strap, the stupid strap that I only need to grab to release the spraydeck. I kick my legs, feel myself drifting off. Suddenly calm down. Realise that something is moving, that my legs have room to manoeuvre, and push myself out of the capsized kayak. I actually surface. I find myself in waist-deep water, where Ruedi is already standing, high-fiving me and saying: "Now you've experienced everything." The Rhine Gorge. Too beautiful to die for
.
Experience it for yourself
Our trip took us from Versam-Safien on the Rhaetian Railway to Ilanz and from there back to the starting point by water. This is the wilder part of the Vorderrhein, the subsequent stretch from Versam to Reichenau is quieter. Those who are not confident in white water can hire an expert guide or experience the Rhine Gorge while rafting.
Michael Restin
Senior Editor
Michael.Restin@digitecgalaxus.chSimple writer and dad of two who likes to be on the move, wading through everyday family life. Juggling several balls, I'll occasionally drop one. It could be a ball, or a remark. Or both.
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