Raft guides call it Angry August — when the water gets low on the river you’ve been working since May. The trip that used to take an hour and a half at high water now takes two even after slavedriving the crew through the flat sections. Customers hate paddling. And they complain that there aren’t any good rapids, definitely nothing like the ones in the brochure. “Well you should’ve been here in June, when I flipped a boat right here,” you say. “But now we’re hung up on the rock that makes the wave when the water’s high, so forward paddle.”

In my first year guiding, on Wyoming’s Snake, I admit that during Angry August I had more swimmers than most in Big Kahuna rapid — the only good splash on the river this time of year. When we took the big hit I may have “accidentally” fallen into a few passengers who were just kind of teetering there on the edge. Then, when they were being hauled back into the raft, I probably yelled more enthusiastically than was strictly necessary for them to get back in before we hit Lunch Counter rapid. But in the commotion as their cohorts hauled them back aboard, there was a spark in their eyes that hadn’t been there before, and a rippling excitement in the crew as we readied ourselves for the Counter’s waves. And I swear, the more people fell out, the better the tips.

My friend Tom Hicks came up with a better plan for Angry August. Instead of just getting rafting clients wet, why not get them interested? Why not tell them about the trout in the river, the hatching mayflies they feed on, the osprey plunging into the water just ahead? Millions of raft clients are passing down our rivers every year, he realized, each one of them a potential advocate. Teach them about the river, he thought, and they might just start to love it a little more. And if they love it, won’t they be more motivated to want to help protect it?

So he founded the Headwaters Institute, which organizes seminars for guides or anyone else interested in becoming a better ambassador for rivers. The outfit organized the first Summit on the Snake, an annual tradition in Jackson Hole, and 15 years later, more than 6,000 guides have attended the 80-something Headwaters gatherings on rivers from the Pigeon to the Kern, and even on the Gulf of Maine and in San Francisco Bay. Attendees learn about topics like geology, cultural history, or aquatic insects of their waterway. They learn better interpretive skills, and how to draw out even the most reticent passengers. In learning to tap their own love of the water in order to nurture their passengers, they ultimately nurture the waterways themselves. And rafts, the ultimate vessels for bringing newcomers down the river, are the key.

(The Snake River in Grand Teton National Park, by Ansel Adams/Library of Congress)

What if I were guiding now, would I still knock passengers out of the raft? No, but then again, I wouldn’t have to — I’d be working on the “scenic” stretch in Grand Teton National Park, where people are too busy soaking in the view to be disappointed by the whitewater. In fact that was where I did my last guiding stint — a few years back when we took 60 of my sister’s wedding guests down the Snake a few days before the ceremony. We loaded into seven rafts and floated through Grand Teton National Park, bright sunlight throwing the famous ramparts into strong relief as we rushed through the sinuous gravel channels below. My kid cousins John and Allison sang songs all the way down the river, and John spent most of lunch flipping river rocks over to get at the mayfly nymphs. Many of the guests later said it was the highlight of their wedding week.

The real payoff came a few weeks later when my ex-cousin-in-law Bryan, an enforcement agent for Mississippi’s liquor control board, called to get my advice on buying a paddle. He’d been so inspired by our raft trip down the Snake, he said, that he’d gone out and bought his first sit-on-top kayak. He takes it fishing on the Pearl River, a sandy oasis that passes under the nose of the sprawling suburbs, and in the estuaries of the Gulf Coast. I don’t know how he votes, but after spending more time on the river, I believe he’ll think a little harder next time a waterway is at stake. And it was a raft trip that made all the difference.

So please, raft guides, this August, don’t just resort to your tired blond jokes. Throw in a little natural history. Touch on the issues that threaten your river. You never know where your clients will end up.

Frederick Reimers is a freelance writer, skier and paddler who lives in Portland, Ore.

As a kayak guide, my friend Adam had hero issues. Meaning, he liked to do heroic stuff, whether or not people wanted him to. Case in point was the time he and I and our friend Ken were on a private sea kayak expedition in the Islands of Loreto in southern Baja. It was dinnertime when a commercial group paddled into our bay and made for the other end of the beach we were camped on. The wind was blowing directly in and there was a bit of surf — maybe two feet high. Big enough to get the clients anxious, because when the first boat came in for a landing, the poor fellow visibly tensed up. His kayak curled sideways across the wave, and he capsized. He was helped ashore by one of the guides, embarrassed but unhurt. Suddenly, though, our friend Adam leapt up, shoehorned himself into his shortie wetsuit and dove into the water to help. Ken and I exchanged amazed looks as Adam, clad in his superhero-esque suit, swam each kayak to shore.

We were stunned. Not only was his solution overkill, but it undermined the group’s guides. How could the clients possibly respect their guides when, on the first day of their trip, some total stranger on a deserted island had to leap into the water to save them?

When Adam returned to our camp, we immediately began razzing him. After some resistance, he allowed he might have been overeager, which didn’t stop us from saddling him with the nickname of Captain O’Neill after his brand of wetsuit. Whenever his heroic tendencies arose, whether on the water or merely in the grocery store parking lot, we’d trumpet out a little fanfare and call out, “Captain O’Neill will save you!” Sometimes this kept him in check.

(Here’s a situation where an overhero might be welcome.)

More recently, I had a chance to experience the overhero situation from the other side. A group of us were exploring sea caves in California’s Channel Islands with my friend Bill, who occasionally guides trips out there for a commercial outfit. The wind was very strong, and the seas mostly too rough to be ducking into caves (lest our heads be cracked against the cave ceiling’s by surging waves). We launched anyways, and stayed out of the caves, but had a nice time paddling around.

We were on our way back to the launch point, fighting against 30-knot winds, when I spotted a guide from another commercial outfit out there — let’s call him Bob — heading our way, paddling with the righteous, upright bearing of an overhero. Even the tilt of his hat was cocky. I gave him a nod as I made my way toward the beach to help our group land (trying to convey, in effect, “We’ve got this under control”), but could see him circling.

He sidled up to the trailing member of our group, Anton. Though not the most experienced paddler, Anton was a college athlete, and was bringing up the rear largely because the sit-on-top he was paddling has approximately the same aerodynamics of the Underdog balloon at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. For every two strokes forward he took, the wind blew him backward one stroke. Bob offered to tow him in to shore.

Anton declined, but Bob was insistent. “You’re not less of a man if I tow you,” he said.

I was offended on Anton’s behalf. It was not as if he were Ed Gillet, barely washing ashore in Hawaii after nearly starving in his kayak during 63 days at sea. We’d been out for two hours, we were 300 yards from our destination, and Anton was 10 yards behind the group. “Look,” he replied, “You aren’t more of a man for towing me.”

Unflapped, Bob prowled off to give someone else in our group some unsolicited advice on her paddle stroke. Everyone managed to land their kayaks on the gravel beach despite the surging waves, and Bob was nowhere to be found when his help would have been welcomed — lugging our kayaks up the shore, or helping pitch tents in the continuing gale.

(Trust the captain! Capt. O’Neill wasn’t needed in this Snake River rafting flip in Hell’s Canyon:)

I’m all for safety, but I also believe people should have their own adventures whenever possible. That means letting them screw up sometimes, even when you, as a bystander, know better. How else are they going to learn, except from their mistakes? It’s a fine line; often rookies can’t anticipate the danger they’re getting into, but it’s a question of approach. Bob and Adam weren’t very observant about the situation at hand and inserted themselves where they weren’t wanted.

I say never jump in to help people unless you ask them first if they want it. It’s a first-responder basic: Establish the victim’s permission to give aid (with unconsciousness implying consent.) By all means, if people ask for help, be ready to give it, but if they aren’t asking, please, be unobtrusive, and keep your ego out of it.

What do you think? How do you know when to step in with aid? And does this differ in various environments? In the water? On snow? On rock?

Perhaps this epic adventure story will be an entry?

Ecotrust, the conservation and entrepreneurial group based in Portland, Ore., invites aspiring filmmakers to participate in its Stories from our Watersheds film contest, which seeks 10-minutes-or-less digital films that capture the human, ecological and economic benefits of watershed restoration in the West.

Submission deadline is 5 p.m. July 19. Other sponsors of the contest include the National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration, Oregon Watershed Enhancement Board, PNW Region of the Forest Service, and Bureau of Land Management.

Prize money:

21-and-over category: $1,250 (winner), $750 (runner-up)
20-and-under category: $1,000 (winner), $500 (runner-up)

For more about the contest, visit here:
http://www.ecotrust.org/wwri/wwri_video_contest2010.html

For eligibility or sponsorship questions, contact Seth Walker, director of communications for Ecotrust, at seth@ecotrust.org or 503-467-0752.

(The house wren defends its territory near the nesting box.)

Cool, wet weather dominated June until the summer solstice. On June 21, the weather changed and warm, sunny days made it to the Tetons. The valley is vibrant and every shade of green. Nature is flourishing and reaches a collective peak in this ecosystem by the summer solstice. Young have been born. Flowers bloom. Changes occur daily.

Snow still can be found in the high country but is receding. Ninety percent of the snow melts off the Teton peaks during the summer months. We have moved into our summer weather pattern with sunny days and possible afternoon thunderstorms as warm air rises to the upper atmosphere.

The days beckon us to come and play. The Snake River had its highest runoff since 1997 but has receded to a moderate level that is great for rafting. Fishing is more of a midsummer activity once the sediment settles in the river. Flowers are beginning to peak at lower elevations, so hiking options are endless. Snow in the high country will require ice axes, but I am sure people are summiting the peaks.

I have enjoyed watching the nesting robins, house wrens and red-tailed hawks. The robins and wrens have chicks and fill our yard with sound and activity. House wrens are one of my favorites. They are so cute, and the male spends his day singing and protecting his territory. They use our nesting box, so I can’t see their young. The robins have nested on our porch and are feeding four chicks. Both adults tend the nest and feed on insects.

The hawks are in a dead cottonwood near our house. They have three chicks that appear ready to fledge. I am sure any day they will test their wings. They will stay near the nest for a short time and then fly off on their own.

It is a great time of the year to listen to nature with bird song, rushing water and quaking aspen leaves. Go for a walk and focus on sound. What is the nearest sound, the furthest sound? Train your mind to be present and receive the rejuvenation of the great outdoors.

What’s in the woods:

6/1-6/8 – rainy and cold
6/4 – Shadow Mountain: herd of cow elk, valerian root, gromwell
6/9 – South Fork of the Snake River: bluebells, purple violets, bald eagle, osprey
6/12 – Grove Creek: fairy bell lily, arrowleaf balsamroot, mountain cicely, Oregon grape
6/15 – Wilson, WY: black fox
6/17 – cool, temperatures in the 40s, snow in forecast, but warming through the day
6/17 – Darby Canyon: serviceberry, sugarbowl clematis, Western tanagers, chipping sparrow, Calliope hummingbird, dusky flycatcher, robin, crow, raven
6/22-6/28 – Leland, MI: common loon, bald eagle, song sparrow, flicker, ruby-throated hummingbird
6/28 – Grand Teton National Park: pronghorn, arrowleaf balsamroot, groundsel, antelope bitterbrush, serviceberry, chokecherry, scarlet gilia
6/29 – Aspen Trail: sugarbowl clematis, arnica, balsamroot, blue penstemon

Trail Suggestion:

Grand Teton National Park can get a bit crowded in July and August. It is always worth a visit, but planning time to explore areas more off the beaten track is always rewarding. One of my favorite hikes is to the Wind Cave up Darby Canyon. It is in the Jedediah Smith Wilderness in the Targhee-Caribou National Forest. To access the trail, drive north of Victor, Idaho, to Darby Canyon. The signed road is right before The Spud-Drive In, or about five miles north of Victor. Drive all the way to the end of the road to the trailhead (stay right where the road forks). The hike is about six miles round trip and gains about 1,800 feet in elevation. In June, the falls are numerous with plenty of cascading water. You can hike to the entrance of the Wind Cave or journey inside, in which case you will need a headlamp.

Have fun and be prepared for sudden weather changes and hiking in bear country.

Cathy Shill is the owner of Hole Hiking Experience and Connect Retreats.

The people one surrounds oneself with are one of the largest predictors of job satisfaction. What one does also clearly plays a large role. I enjoy mountain biking. I enjoy helping people. And I enjoy the people who mountain bike.

Therefore, predictably I enjoy being part of the International Mountain Bike Association’s National Mountain Bike Patrol. This sounds scarily close to the logic section on the LSAT. Really, it comes down to civic engagement, helping one’s community, and doing what one loves.

I became a National Mountain Bike Patrol member last fall, when I completed my emergency medical technician training. This spring I volunteered as a patroller at the first mountain bike race of the season in Rochester, N.Y. IMBA was founded in 1988 to keep mountain bike trails open to riders, and its current mission still stands to “… create, enhance and preserve trail opportunities for mountain bikers worldwide.”

With all the threats to close state and national parks, this is a great chance for mountain bikers to volunteer time and energy to keep these parks open to riders and also open areas that formerly were off-limits to mountain biking. NMBP members assist in medical and mechanical emergencies as well as educate trail users of proper etiquette.

NMBP members are ambassadors for the sport of mountain biking, ride mountain bikes, and if the situation calls for it, help fellow cyclists with injuries or mechanical problems — really, things we all would do for fellow riders even if we weren’t patrollers.

There are IMBA members in all 50 states and 40 countries who annually contribute more than 1 million hours to trail work projects on public land. To date, members have created more than 5,000 miles of new trails on public land worldwide.

Check out these videos on becoming a National Mountain Bike Patroller or starting a branch in your area. Hey, if you join I will have more people to ride with and more places to ride, and logically that equals a lot of fun and adventure.

Andy Fleming is a Cloudveil Mountain Ambassador and NMBP member. He rides his cyclecross bike daily to high school, where he works as a counselor, prepares for the fall cyclecross season and has attended multiple senior proms.

Come spring, music fans look forward to traveling for the big outdoor festivals: Coachella, Jazz Fest, Sasquatch, Bonnaroo.

But one can only take so much of waiting in five-deep lines for a port-o-potty, and sharing your space with tens of thousands of fellow freaks.

Which is why those seeking escape from the crowds dig smaller gems like High Sierra. Mellower still is Grand Targhee, on the western slope of the Tetons, which has garnered a devoted following for its Bluegrass Fest in August. Targhee has a lineup rivaling Telluride’s but attracts a quarter of the fans, mainly from Wyoming, Idaho and Montana.

The Alta, Wyo., ski resort hosts a second weekend of music in July, called Targhee Fest, but few people outside Jackson Hole and Teton Valley have heard of it. That may change, as the N.Y. Post recently included Targhee Fest in its roundup of 10 “outstanding music fests.”

This year the festival will be from July 16-18, featuring Steve Kimock’s Crazy Engine, moe, Los Lobos, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, and Michael Franti and Spearhead. Targhee also is sponsoring a competition to determine which local group will open the event. After a month of voting and more than 5,000 votes cast, five finalists have been chosen to perform at the Battle of the Bands on June 5 at The Spud Drive-In (itself an up-and-coming music venue). Vying for the marquee gig are Mandatory Air, Jet Black Ninja Funkgrass Unit and LunKuR of Jackson, The Tie Hacks of Pinedale, Wyo., and Burning Olympus of Provo, Utah. Fans will vote that night based on the live performances.

Targhee may not be able to compete with the lineups of the bigger festivals, but its quality of experience is hard to beat. After surviving the rigors of Jazz Fest, it’s a relief to be able to go for a hike or mountain bike ride, then set your pack down and walk right in front of the stage at the base of an aspen-lined ski slope at 8,000 feet. That’s mountain music.

(Photos by Jim Stanford)

You know how some people dream and obsess about a lifelong goal that they hope to accomplish? Ten years ago they bought that one piece of gear that they will only need in one spot on that one particular trip, and they’ve studied maps and routes and photos and asked everyone they meet for beta just so they are ultra-prepared when the moment comes to fruition? Yeah, well, that’s not me. This summer, a river trip canceled, and I suddenly found myself with a week off in August and nothing to do. There was an Ansel Adams calendar hanging over my desk with an awesome photo of the Grand Teton, and I pointed to that. Why don’t we go there? To the top. You can do that in a couple of days, can’t you? Now, I’ve done a lot of cool stuff, like ski patrolling and whitewater rafting and hiking and mountain biking and camping … but never backpacking, and not much rock climbing either. But really, how hard can it be to carry 45 pounds of gear up 5,000 feet in six miles, camp at 11,600 feet and then tack on another couple thousand feet of climbing the next morning, before coming all the way back down to the car? Nevermind that the tallest peaks where I ski and hike in Utah only make it to 10,500 feet; I’m a pretty tough girl, and last winter’s fitness has gotta count for something! Proper preparation prevents piss-poor performance, right? So what does improper preparation promote? Piercingly painful pressure points from pushing too hard! Well, I didn’t make it to the summit … didn’t even get past camp on the Lower Saddle. Ouch. Failure like that stings, because it means I’m either out of shape physically or lacking the passion to persevere to the top. But guess what? It’s hardly fair for someone like me to achieve a goal like that, first try, with no preparation when it was a random, somewhat meaningless spot on the map to me. People who have dreamed for years about a single summit attempt – be it a Teton or Everest or Denali – deserve to make it to the top first try. The summit has emotional significance to them, and years of focus create an intimate relationship with the mountain that pulls them to the peak. Me? I just needed something to do and it was there; and hey, I got partway up it and it was beautiful just being there. Failing to summit was actually no big deal. Funny thing though, I’ve been having this dream lately … about a mountain I need to go climb. …

Jennifer Homel is a ski-patroller hoping to enjoy everything she can squeeze in to her one trip through life. She works at Brighton Ski Resort, Salt Lake City, UT.

What I failed to emphasize in Friday’s post about photographing beautiful people in our glorious backyard blooms is how fortunate we are to live in a place where our biggest problem on a weekend is fitting in all the sports we’re going to do.

Last weekend, choices were even more abundant than usual, with Yonder Mountain String Band and the Demolition Derby headlining the annual Teton County Fair. Most of us had at least one corn dog and a ride on the zipper.

While folks celebrated summer at the Watermelon eating contest at the county fair, others spent the sunny days fishing or playing at the river with their pups. Several friends went up The Grand on Saturday, while I marked my first weekend back to Jackson by a scramble up Teewinot, the smallest Teton, with my friend Dylan Taylor. Dylan recently moved to Colorado for a job, but was back for the weekend. The Tetons are addicting in that way.

Teewinot seems easy because it’s short compared to the other mountains; certain people are even rumored to have run it in 45 minutes, while the guidebook recommends 6 – 8. Still, inexperienced and experienced climbers have gotten struck by lightning, hit by rocks and cliffed out while trying to reach the peak’s 12,325 foot summit. Or while descending.

Approaching it as a conditioning climb after several months away from the mountains and the sport, we started around 7:15 a.m. and headed up the trail toward the 18 switchbacks, rock ledges and snow.

While the snow looked abundant from the parking lot, it wasn’t until we were knee-deep kicking steps and plunging ice axes that we realized how much more snow there is up there now than in Julys past. That and a ranger on backcountry patrol told us as much. And the Jenny Lake Climbing Rangers Web site reports “Deepening runnel from summit notch down the east face. Now a mixed rock/snow climb.”

After the snow, which froze our ungloved left hands that we used for balance, we scrambled up some fourth class slabs to reach the summit where we spent an hour taking pictures, wearing funny sunglasses and marveling at the Grand’s grandeur and the speed of a party of three on Mt. Owen’s Koven Couloir (Cloudveil jacket namesake).

The view from the one-person summit monolith is, as Renny Jackson and Leigh Ortenburger describe, “sensational.” The airy summit drops off sharply into deep mountain valleys of rock and snow and one has perfect view of the north and east faces of the Grand.

The way down was made a bit slower by the addition of Joel to our team. He had left his friend below the snowfields and continued up alone. Hailing from Louisiana and inexperienced with exposed scrambling, Joel opted to join our team of two for the down climbing.

Turns out Joel is a US Army employee living in Abu Dhabi teaching local upper class 20-somethings how to fly F-16s. He was hoping to do the entire 10 peak Grand Traverse, or at least sections of it. He settled for the one mountain on Sunday.

(Note: The missing tooth has nothing to do with climbing. Dylan is awaiting an implant. Tried to shoot a portrait of the three of us on the summit.)

Back at the steamy car around 3 p.m., we took off our shoes and chugged warm Gatorade.

Sitting inside on the valley floor today, my calves are burned from ankles to knees. Ice and aloe make sitting barely bearable. Sore quads and sleepy eyes hinder productivity.

But, the cloudless sky, the snow in July and the company of an old friend with a massive collection of Cliff shots make the recovery worth it.

Looking forward to the next burn.

Blog Manager Lauren M. Whaley was out of the country, sitting at sea level, from April 3 through mid July Acclimating is fun, but brutal.

Nestled deep in the Chilean Andes, under massive rocky mountains next to a lake, Portillo is the perfect place for a summer ski camp. The skiing is far better than anything in North America at that time and the overall experience is unbeatable.

This summer, legendary telemarker Kayo Ogilby and I will be hosting the inaugural Big Mountain Telemark Camp in Portillo. Open to all ages of advanced telemark skiers, the camp aims to help riders develop a balanced, fluid, energetic, and powerful tele technique.

We will focus our teachings on visualization, line choice, route finding, snow stability, posture and perfecting the telemark turn. Daily yoga sessions and an emphasis on backcountry awareness will enhance fitness and confidence for increased expression and style in a variety of terrain.

We’re really looking forward to helping our clients take their skills and confidence to the next level in such a unique and exotic setting.

Portillo provides everything a skier may need from a luxurious spa to indoor soccer to night clubs to a movie theater to fine dining. There is a one to one employee to guest ratio and everyone is super nice and cool. And, of course, the skiing is amazing! There are not many freeriders there so you can always find fresh tracks, the lift serves steep couloirs or Alaska-type spines; short hikes will bring you to open powder fields or 6,000 foot couloirs.

This year, I want to blend my yoga practice with telemark skiing to help bring other telemark skills and mountain awareness to the next level. Portillo is just the perfect place for a summer tele camp, the skiing is unmatched, the food is great, the people are awesome, there is a nice yoga studio and it’s in Chile!!!

First descents on Denali, victories in alpine freeskiing contests, big lines in ski movies, appearances in ski magazines, high results in endurance races and yoga teaching certifications make up just a fraction of Cloudveil Ambassador Nick DeVore’s impressive resume. He’s also a really nice guy. And, by summer, his elbow will be healed!

Our rules are simple, try to smack the ball through the two beer cans that mark the goal. If you touch your foot to the ground you have to ride in a circle before you can get back into play. Other than that, get the ball AT ALL COSTS, your only friends at this point are your teammates. It doesn’t matter if Andy was the best man at your wedding, mercilessly take him out if he gets near the ball.

Now I can’t tell you how fun it is to get out and play. With all the competition that goes on out in the field, it all remains lighthearted fun. After a few goals get scored, everyone calls a time out an heads to the sidelines to rehydrate with our good friend Mr. PBR. But then it’s back to field to do your best to get one more cheap shot in on one of your friends! It’s too bad that the oncoming winter is going to shut the bike polo season down in our neck of the woods, but I’ve already heard talk of possible indoor games at various locations. That’s awesome!

I highly encourage you to check out the Photo Slideshow Here. There are some good shots of the carnage that goes on in bike polo. I encourage you even more to get out and try the game yourself.

If you’re dying for more info, go check out some of these links:

• Wikipedia – Cycle Polo
• U.S. Bicycle Polo Association
• American Bicycle Polo Association
• Seattle Bike Polo
• YouTube – Bike Polo in Denver