One doesn’t appreciate at the time, that a chance meeting would lead to a 45-year friendship, a friendship which would, in retrospect, define one’s youth and be the stepping stone for a life of adventure. It’s only with age that we look back and connect the dots.
Daffe and I met in the winter of 1975 at Rob Lewis’s Kayak construction course where Rob generously lent us his Lettman Mark-1 kayak mould and instructed us in the nuances of fiberglassing and how to inhale toxic but dreamy doses of anticipated summer outings. Given I had extra resin I happily poured my spare into the bow thinking it might provide some extra strength, but of that later.
Come Yukon river break-up in late March, we launched our crafts daily below the dam, outfitted in thick sweaters, raincoats and our wives’ newly hand-sewn spray skirts. When we asked Rob Lewis about what to do if we dumped, he replied in his mild-mannered way “don’t”.
We quickly discovered floatation was an issue and so I light-fingered, about to be disposed of, plastic 5-gallon muriatic acid containers from the hospital dump that when air-filled and jammed into the bow and stern sufficed to allow us an easier tow to shore. A small inner tube under the seat stopped the seat wobble and we were off… sort of.
Oh yes, paddles, we contacted an Edmonton kayak shop which shipped up wooden paddles and when we finally learned to roll several years later, I discovered my preferred side was my left, given they had shipped me 2 left-hand paddles even though I had told them I was right-handed. With great enthusiasm, we embarked on our first summer of exploration and when we asked Rob our mentor for more teaching advice, his only comment was “if in trouble paddle harder”. This rang especially true in our first descent of the Tat in August with Bob Wintonyk. We learned fairly quickly how to tow each other to shore and when we discovered wet suits after an Alaskan outing 3 years later, paddling life improved dramatically. I am sure Daffe’s scrawny body, fat-free frame and the ambient Yukon summer water temperatures contributed to his ability to stay upright. It soon became my mantra to let him go first and see how things went!
Together we learned from the river, “Life’s” essential lessons:
- The RIVER DOESN’T CARE! Repeat: THE RIVER DOESN’T CARE
- Have routes A, B and C chosen in advance before you end up in route D
- Toilet paper is really handy at the top of an ugly rapid
- Evenings are best spent with the odor of wood-smoke permeated by fibreglass resin, as we would patch up the day’s insults with taped-on plastic baggies to smooth out the glass and keep our hands with unglued digits.
- Extra resin in the bow does tend to perforate other kayaks below the water line when hit broadside
- Resin-impregnated bows do break off
Gradually over the ensuing several years, our numbers increased from mainly Daffe and myself to include: Bob Wintonyk, Gord Wood, Barry Horosco and others. The arrival on the paddling scene by a soft-spoken, understated Stu Hamilton, in the late 1970s blew us all out of the water. Stu with the first plastic boat; a huge Iliad plastic paddle; enders and an easy-looking roll changed our appreciation of what a kayak could do… Stu changed our lives. He subsequently guided us on the Nenana River, South of Fairbanks, which was our first taste of huge cold glacial water and a not-so-pleasant swim for me in my sweater and raincoat. I still remember clutching Bob’s stern rope only to have his paddle swipe to release my handhold as we both dropped into a huge hole. He rolled up and I continued underwater for several hundred yards with my boat vertically 10 ft above my head attempting to lure me to the surface buoyed by those wonderful muriatic acid containers.
We then watched Stu launch down the Kenai’s Class 5, Six-Mile river considered the quintessential step into paddler manhood. As he surfed the endless holes at the start we realized we were not competent enough, had families and should return with better skills. This we did do several years later. However this next time with wetsuits and Gord Wood in his new dry suit. On the Six Mile we moved into the next phase of our paddling careers as we successfully navigated this amazing river. Gordini especially appreciated his newly acquired dry suit on that run, taking a novel non-kayak route.
Chagrined at our inability to do the Six Mile with Stu, we returned to the Yukon and promptly did the first kayak run of the Kathleen canyon much to the distress of our fibreglass boats.
At this point Bob realized that he wanted to spend his life paddling and proceeded to make some of the first dry bags in his winter garage; learn Spanish while he and Lynn contemplated purchasing the very fledgling Tatshenshini raft company from Martin Williams and so Tat Expediting was formed.
A quiet planner with distinct goals, it was only a year or two later that he and Lynn organized our first Colorado river run; a trip of Yukoner, husbands wives and girlfriends which was the initiation for the big water phases of our paddling and rafting careers. This experience only whetted Bob’s desire for adventure and thoughts of the distant Bio in Chile and Hatate in southern Mexico, infused Bob’s brain. We all learned our paddling and rowing skills working with Bob and the fledging Tat Expediting. Bob was the first in the industry to recognize that given we Kayakers now used wetsuits and helmets, so should guests and he continued to be a driving force of problem solving and innovation. He was always welding up a better rowing frame or gluing and changing existing rafts as his world network of keen paddlers enlarged. Bob was to become the driving force of wonderful exploratory adventures shared by an ever-enlarging paddling circle which gravitated around the Daffe Household.
Bob and I tried a descent of the Kelsall river from the Haines pass down to Haines with two pro American paddlers. It became quickly apparent to me after the first series of significant drops, waterfalls and deadfall, that kayaks laden with steel frying pans, a shotgun and heavy food were not a survivable combination. I walked out for several hours and subsequently, Bob did as well from another 3-4 miles downstream, while the Americans pressed on with horror stories of clinging to willows to avoid waterfalls chocked with deadfall. Many years later Bob and Theresa returned to Kelsall with enhanced skills and gear to even the score.
These heady days of our youth were a wonderful time in both our lives of shared paddling and more importantly family life. The joys of Danielle, Kevin and Allyson and Lynn’s welcoming raucous laughs were always evident any time one entered the crazy Daffe household replete with a barking dog chasing the cat. It was a house of welcome and one could count on numerous visitors from the paddling cohort.
One day Bruce Beaton wanted to leave Daffe his Toyota diesel for the week while he was away so Daffe would recognize when something wasn’t working correctly in the future. To this Daffe replied “only if you will take my children for a week so that you will know when they are ill in the future”
Sharon and I had the joy of living on the Tat many weekends guiding Saturdays and Sundays and kayaking Friday night, Saturday morning and Saturday after the raft trip with an average of 5 runs per weekend. The ever-enlarging circle of weekend guides including Bill Curtis, Bruce Beaton, Liz Densmore and many more swelled the ranks.
“Life was good” especially watching the Daffe kids; swim, boogey board; float and paddle the river. Like a flotilla of ducks, any way down the river was OK with them.
Eventually, it became apparent that full-time guides were required and suddenly Kevin’s cohort moved into the guiding fraternity and so the ripples of paddling opportunities spread to more and more kids. Life changing for all concerned with the central pearl being Don Roberto as the frontman while Lynn worked patiently behind the scenes.
Lynn, Sharon, Rob and I along with Dave Storey and his University buddy Rob, did possibly one of the few canoe descents of the Tat to dry bay. There was a mild degree of schadenfreude when they dumped in one of the steeper multi-current sections after Rob when asked if he had paddled white water before, stated “Well if you girls are going then I certainly can do it“. Wrong answer to Yukon women as he was to learn! It was a classic late August trip of relentless cold rain, wet wetsuits, and constant bracing and confirmed that rafts would be more sensible in the future.
Such heady years in retrospect, with summers of constant adventure. Bob paid me in gear and year-end outings. Bob and I put thigh braces in one canoe and built kayak-like spray skits for the 16-footer and then proceeded to have a blast on the Tat using our kayak strokes to eddy turn, break out, and surf. Excited by these newly appreciated skills we invited our wives out, stating the water level was perfect. Sharon arrived and the rainy night proved otherwise as the flush of high water led to some unpleasantries between Sharon and me, and ended up with her perched on a rock face across the river, which ultimately required Sharon lying on the back of his kayak as he ferried her across. Unfortunately for me when she was chewing Bob out about the incorrect river level evaluation provided days earlier… he said those famous never to be forgotten words “You chose to believe me“. Thanks to that comment, every rapid of note in my future required river bank evaluation.
Bob and I started our fall hunting outings together, as we assassinated several moose in the late fall returning from the Morley with an inch of freeboard. In spite of our best hanging and butchering, I had to dim the lights at home whenever we served moose meat as it was something about the initial butchering and transport which had to be improved. Our last Moose hunting outing before I went off to do my anesthesia residency in 1989 was on mountain bikes and consisted of one squirrel, a low point for sure, but Bob found a new more knowledgeable partner and his family’s winter fare improved.
The ripples created by the pebble of Bob’s life have gone on to influence and enrich so many others. Like all of us, Bob had his foibles, blind spots, rants and things he possibly coulda-shoulda-woulda done differently. He was goal-driven, pig-headed, and relentless once on a decided tract but found a patient life partner in Theresa to share his life and paddling adventures. He lived his life on his terms and according to his plan. So far I haven’t discovered a set of directions on how to live the mythical perfect life and when all is said and done, all one can hope for is that the positives of one’s brief time on the planet outweigh the negatives. Bob, from where I sit in the eddy, your scale was definitely tipped into the positives! Well done my friend!
Don Roberto you have always been a valued and special friend and as always you are the first one to do the final big drop… The cosmic “No show off”. Elegantly done my friend and I hope you rolled up downstream on the other side,
Love,
