Athlete
Isaac Hull, Owen Doyle, James Shimizu, Gibson Kafsky, Jean-Mikel Etulain, Driscoll Larrow, Wyatt Doyle
Location
White Salmon, Washington
Date
December 8-19, 2025
Objective
The primary objective with rainstorms is to put together the best day ever, which may include any blend of new or old rivers and waterfalls. December 2025 was a wild one, with an atmospheric river bringing relentless storms that seemed to continue for 2 straight weeks. To my understanding, atmospheric rivers are prolonged wet periods, where a corridor of water vapor in the atmosphere is brought from tropical regions to cooler regions (i.e. warm, moist air from Hawaii carrying through to the Pacific Northwest) bringing seemingly endless days of heavy rainfall.
This December it lasted close to two weeks, with an initial 2 inch storm December 4/5, a few days of misting rain, then 3-4 inches December 9/10, a few more days of rain, then another 2-3 inches on December 18. On their own, none of these storms would have stood out, but packed tightly together – and amplified by unusually warm temperatures even at high elevations – prevented rivers from resetting and led to significant flooding across the region.
Kayakers don’t often complain about too much rain, but this came close. The classic runs, and even some of the waterfalls were far past runnable flows and we were left to search for lesser-known or rarely paddled drops.
Notable cruxes
Youngs River Falls:
Having only moved to the area this December, I leave the planning to the Gorge locals. After the first major pulse of the atmospheric river, we wokeup to rain still hammering down and – per usual – started tweaking about what terrifying river or waterfall we were going to checkout that day. Plan A was the Little White Salmon, one of my favorite rivers in the world, sitting at a juicy 5.1 and rising fast. With how quick the river was rising, and how windy it was the night before, we were a bit uneasy about being the first to go in.
As we finished breakfast and were about to head to the L-dub, the boys started going back and forth about a rarely run pair of waterfalls out towards the Oregon coast – one around 60 feet and the other 40 – out towards the Oregon coast. The main beta was a single YouTube video (“EG Turns 28”) and before I even had time to watch it we were loaded up and committing to the three-hour drive to Youngs River Falls.
I scrolled through photos and clips on the drive and got fired up: a technical lead-in into a rolling 60 footer, and then a ridiculously clean 40 footer we could hit on the way home. The drive itself was unreal. We drove straight through the heart of the storm, watching Oregon’s famous ‘waterfall highway’ come alive with waterfalls we’d never even seen before spilling off cliffs that are usually dry.
Arriving at Youngs River Falls, the flow was far higher than anything we’d seen in videos. The small boof at the lip was completely covered, replaced by a twisting wavetrain feeding into a massive, peaking wave launching off the 60 footer. The team was intimidated but stoked – until we hiked down to the base. From the lip we spotted a log pile/strainer 10-15 yards downstream of the landing. After scouting from below, it became clear that a rescue from the log pile would be really challenging with the size of the different pieces and the speed of the current. Owen and Driscoll gave it a strong no and it was my turn to decide.
Having Driscoll and Owen, two of the best paddlers in the world, say no to a drop plants real doubt in your head. It’s rare for either of them to be so strongly opposed, especially after committing to a 3-hour drive, sews some seeds of doubt in my head. It’s not often those two are so strongly against running a drop, especially after a 3 hour drive to get there. They didn’t shut it down or tell me I couldn’t do it, but when everyone else steps back, you feel that pressure pretty clearly.
Risk vs. reward.
Reward: I love drops with technical lead-ins; it helps take my mind off worrying too much about angle as I go off the drop. High volume = soft landing. Feeling good about waterfalls after a recent trip to Mexico. We made the drive, I like how it looks, and its rarely running.
Risk: Biggest concern is the log pile on the right. Owen and Driscoll were clear: a rescue there would be a shot in the dark if all went wrong. What are the chances I get pushed right?
Plan A: hang the left bank all the way to the lip, go off the left side of the drop, HIGHLY unlikely in my mind that I end up coming out of the drop on the right, especially if I come in with speed.
Plan B: something goes wrong in the entry, I go off the drop on the right, boof so I land on the surface, try to catch a micro eddy above the log pile then ferry around it.
Plan C: everything goes wrong, I am getting flushed towards the logpile, there looks to be enough of a wave pillow that I could lean into and possibly surf away. Do I want the drop bad enough to be comfortable with these risks and worst-case scenarios?
I gave the boys a thumbs up, geared up and started hiking to the top while Owen and Driscoll went down to set safety. Sit in my kayak, close my eyes, visualize the strokes I’ll take, what sensations I’ll feel in the entry, at the lip, as I go off, as I land. Skirt on, 3 deep breaths in through the nose out through the mouth to calm my mind and body. Peel out.
I hung left as expected, charged through the eddy to the lip with speed, squared up at the lip, lifted my knees slightly and took a light stroke with my weight forward. These moments in the air are like slow motion. The flow state focus we all chase. My bow came up more than expected – instinct kicked in. Instead of a 60 degree plug, I stomped the bow down to around 45, pushed my feet forward and body back to prepare for impact.
Soft.
I slid off the boil and turned to paddle left in case I was near the logs – only to realize they weren’t even in view. Pure elation. Satisfaction. Almost exactly as I envisioned it.
We loaded up and caught Beaver Creek Falls at sunset, a perfect roadside park and huck. Rainiers in hand, we cheersed to a day well spent.
Mosier Falls:
I wokeup to this photo and a text from Owen: “Could be the move.” It was day 13 of the atmospheric river, with a final 2-3 inch pulse hammering through overnight. Another day waking up knowing something big was gonna be on the table. The watershed was soaked from two weeks of relentless rain…levels were spiking like we’d never seen.
Mosier falls was not on my radar at all, but with easy access and a need for high water (which we definitely had), it made sense. We assembled a crew and headed over. A true 21st century scouting session unfolded at the lip, watching GoPro clips of Benny Marr lace it at similar flows, someone sending it in a ducky with ¼ of the water, and a raft going off the year before. From the right, it looked to be 20 feet of freefall into a reconnect, then another 20+ feet of air.
No one was especially fired up. It looked chunky, the line wasn’t particularly elegant or satisfying, and the reconnect felt unpredictable. Still, I knew we’d end up going for it. I waited a few minutes until someone finally got stoked enough to volunteer to go first – Owen, per usual. It might not be the most desirable waterfall, but it rarely sees enough water to be runnable, the risk of injury was relatively low, and we had the right crew assembled and ready to go.
Owen went first, hit a quick roll at the bottom and gave a big thumbs up to James and me. I went second, rolled over the lip, bow down, trying to stay stable for the reconnect. The reconnect was soft and full whiteout as expected…I felt myself get spit out like a watermelon seed, then felt a big face full of water as I got thrown onto my stern at the bottom. My bow swung left into the wall when I resurfaced, I scratched my hand a bit rolling against the surprisingly sharp volcanic rock, but overall good to go. James laced it and we enjoyed a surreal paddle-out through the flooded Mosier Creek riverbed. We weaved through trees submerged in feet of water while floating through an incredibly narrow canyon.
The sky had finally cleared, blue overhead, sun on our faces after fourteen straight days of rain and clouds. Gibson Kafsky and Jean-Mikel were fired up after we all came out unscathed…with nowhere else to be, we convinced them to send it while we watched. Always epic watching a big crew huck their meat!
A couple gas station muffins later we were making the 45-minute drive to Stevenson, WA to catch the Wind River on it’s way down. The Wind is a perfect switch up from Washington’s usual steep creeking. Fast, powerful big water with few true defined features at that flow but a ton of huge waves and waveholes. The first mile is essentially one continuous rapid with one big pinch at ‘Rams Horn.’ Since we rarely make our way to the Wind except at high water, it’s always a scary lap looking over the horizon of each wave wondering if you’re about to drop into a beatdown. After the pinch at Ram’s Horn, a sigh of relief and then pure joy kayaking and kickflips to the takeout.
I was more than ready to call it a day but Owen dragged me over to the Middle White Salmon (a section I admittedly avoid) promising perfect surf waves and kickflips the whole way down. He was right. Since the river isn’t walled in on the Middle and not as steep as the wind, high water made it into a flowing playground of clean, crisp green waves. Happy days in the Gorge!
Insights
1. Risk and Intrusive thoughts: It’s easy for outsiders to look at photos like these and call us reckless, stupid, young adrenaline junkies…I got plenty of those comments after posting Mosier Falls. What those perspectives miss is how much thought goes into these decisions. While I scouted Mosier, I dropped my phone in the river. Walking down to put-in, I had a brief, vivid mental spiral through a worst-case scenario: breaking my back, being broke and unemployed, down a thousand dollars from the lost phone, moving back home to the East Coast. Surely I’d find someone to sub-lease my room in winter kayaking paradise, and I could just write-off paddling until the summer.
Those are strange thoughts to have after already deciding to run a waterfall, but I’ve never tried to ignore that part of my brain. Some people when scouting a risky line would say only focus on the positives, the line you want to have, but I believe in letting worst-case scenarios run their course in your brain. It’s important to be aware of those outcomes, think about how you’d respond, and whether you’re willing to accept the consequences. From the outside, it may look like I’m turning off the risk side of my brain and focusing on the reward. In reality, it’s the opposite – I always let my mind go to plan D, E, F…not because I expect them to happen, but because I want to be prepared if they do.
2. It’s a team sport: None of these days would’ve happened without the people I paddle with. I didn’t end up at Youngs, Mosier, or Beaver Creek Falls on my own – hell, they weren’t even on my radar. Having like-minded, strong paddlers around me raises the standard, not just in terms of what’s possible, but how we approach risk. A strong crew keeps each other honest – bouncing ideas around, thinking through safety in real time, keeping each other in check when someone’s dreaming up a line that might be a bit too ambitious.
What matters most is balance: surrounding yourself with people who encourage progression without letting ego take the wheel. No one told me I had to run anything, and no one told me I couldn’t. Having people who will challenge your decisions but let you be responsible for making the call is what makes days like these possible.
Photos & write-up courtesy of
Isaac Hull
My name is Isaac Hull and I’m a 23 old whitewater kayaker born and raised in Richmond, VA; now calling the Columbia River Gorge home. I’ve been addicted to whitewater kayaking since I was 8 and am obsessed with the challenge the unpredictable medium of water provides. Whether it’s pushing high water levels, fastest descents, or pushing my own body’s endurance on long efforts in the mountains; I find I feel the most ALIVE when I’m at the boundary of my mental and physical capabilities.