Featured Writer Alex Garver on Lost, the IMF, and the lost art of Wamping

T-minus 12 hours. Nik and Sam drove to pick me up after a long bus ride from New York City where I spent a few days with my sister, cousin and friends. We arrived at Nik’s house just in time for the last 40 minutes of the Lost finale, the capstone of 6 seasons, all of which I had devoted the equivalent of several consecutive days watching. Interspersing the viewing with comments and questions made it fun, but the ridiculous drama that was so unbelievable- like the forest being magically bulldozed to create a runway for their plane, and more importantly the inability of the episode to answer many important questions- so why was the Dharma Initiative or Hugo’s numbers important- made it disappointing. Though I must say when I watched the whole finale, it and the show in general grew on me. Important topics were explored- a possible afterlife was depicted, faith and reason intertwined and conflicted in Locke, Jack and Jack’s eventual conversion to faith, and the characters were really important to each other and had a lot of love for each other. Plus the characters were quite international and diverse (which the actors commented on and thought was groundbreaking), though the white males dominated as usual- Whitmore, Linus, Jacob, Locke, the Black Smoke and Jack. The Last Airbender and the Prince of Persia were criticized for whitewashing its cast, taking roles that in the original show and game should be played by people of color and filling them with white males. Why does the industry continue to do this?

T-minus 4 hours. Wake up at Nik’s house. Delicious coffee cake and cereal. I made loads of sandwiches- about 15- for Greg, Nik, Sam and myself for lunch. We ate at least three lunches, one directly before ‘dinner.’ I threw some stuff together and decided to take my backpack in the canoe so that I could wear it as we portaged in case we found it easier to carry the canoe with it thrown over our heads. I packed my watertight bag with the clothes, a flashlight and toiletries that I would need that night to be dropped off at the campsite. In hindsight this was quite silly since the canoes inevitable were covered with mud if not sloshing with swamp water. Even worse, I left two extra water bags I had carefully brought from home at Nik’s house. On the second day, after having to go through some trouble to save my backpack from drowning in water I switched the arrangement so that the drybag stayed in the canoe. It was vital in keeping Nik’s Dad’s fancy camera safe from the raging waters. They weren’t actually raging, but they would have ravaged a nice camera.

0:00. Launch time. After paddling across our first pond, I portaged for the first time this trip. Interestingly, I learned to pronounce the word “portage” with a French accent (por-taj), while my fellow Bostonians took a more American approach (por-tij). I learned the word from my Mom who grew up in upstate New York, which I suppose is influenced by the French in Quebec. My pronunciation seemed more natural to me, and plus had a bit more panache so I tried to continue to use it even through an onslaught of ‘correct’, American “portages”.

This portage was quickly followed by another, this time over train tracks. I happen to love train tracks- my dad and I would regularly walk them for miles at a time and the thrill that a train might come barreling down always kept the walk a notch more thrilling than other hikes. We took several great pictures with the canoe strewn across the tracks, but I do feel they would be a bit more epic with a train approaching in the background. When we had just that opportunity, Nik and Greg intelligently got as far away as possible. Sam and I decided to enjoy the feeling unique to passing trains- just a few feet from where we stood a mass of metal locomotive whizzed past, pushing in front of its path a wall of air and sound. The conductor blasted his horn so obnoxiously and the train was passing so close at such great speed, that my amygdala got the best of me- a wave of fear and self-preservation washed over me and I began running down the hill away from the train, screaming. Twas fun, I must say.

1:25 hours after launch. The next section was a narrow stream that became increasingly impassable, with strainers blocking the way. Apparently all part of the plan. We took out the canoe, put back in again. Repeat. Sam and I got stuck on the wrong side of the stream and had to force the canoe over bushes, grass and around trees. I called this activity “mowing.”

Back on solid ground, we began executing the next segment of our trip- a mile long portage. I have no clue how far we walked in reality, but it was damn far for carrying a heavy canoe! After 15 minutes of portaging I asked Nik how much further. He said matter-of-factly, “We’re one third there,” and gave me a large grin. I didn’t smile back. It was about this time that I decided that if I returned home and told people I had gone canoeing they would get the completely wrong picture. They might imagine what I had imagined- pristine rivers with strong flows winding their way through idyllic Massachusetts. No, the activity we were then engaged required a new verb to begin to encapsulate its essence. Wamping, derived from the Wampanoag Nation, was born. Wamping connotes the type of adventures found on the Wampanoag Commemorative Canoe Passage- long portages, mosquitoes, shallow water, numerous strainers, and cold refreshments at the end of the day. Those of us who love gnarly canoe trips use it.

As we paddled a narrow, windy water passage, Sam and I discussed economics. He, a star of Pomona’s econ classes, had much to offer in the chat about its uses and role in the world. I, the son of an econ professor, had recently begun exploring the field through books and late night chats with my mom and even though I knew little about the subject, found it interesting. Specifically on trial was the IMF. Based on my reading of Joseph Stiglitz’s Globalization and its Discontents, I contended that it had often pressured other countries to adopt economic policies that were not helpful for the country at large, let alone the poor of those countries. The culture of the organization did not allow for much criticism or discussion, and the process of making decisions only involved a single 3-week trip to the country under review. The end result was usually the IMF’s one-size-fits all solution, which has most often been to reduce spending and raise taxes. This was needed and effective in Latin America in the 1980’s, but the issues in Thailand in 1997, for example, were substantially different, but the IMF did not take a nuanced approach, but merely implemented its standard approach. Sam responded by explaining some of the reasons why the IMF does the things it does- its loans have conditionality to ensure that they are repaid and that sound economic policy is implemented even though it is difficult for governments to implement policy that is painful. Sam also believed that economic growth required some painful changes, and that this was okay. I agreed, but argued that the IMF uses that logic to rationalize policy that need not be so painful- such as demanding countries liberalize as soon as possible rather than taking a more gradual approach like the one China has chosen. The IMF pushed the liberalization of capital markets before countries had the ability to regulate them, such as in Thailand when capital markets were liberalized without the domestic ability to regulate them. According to Stiglitz, the deregulation of the capital markets was the major cause of the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis. Finally, the IMF’s response to raise taxes and cut expenditures has been widely criticized even from within the IMF, which does not happen often enough. I think Sam and I agreed in the IMF’s role in general- that it could be greatly beneficial to the world at large by developing economies and bailing out economies, but questioned its past performance while Sam defended it.

Day 2. I woke up refreshed and ready to go. The sun was just coming over the horizon, but the sky was already bright. I chose to begin the day with a nice period of meditation looking across the pond. Silence. Beauty. The present moment brought alive with breathing and energy coursing through my body. Then I get ready for the day and put in my contacts, but there wasn’t anything else to do. My three friends were still fast asleep. So I got back in my bag and slept another couple of hours. When we all woke up for real this time, Nik wanted to know why in the world I was up at 4:45 am. I wanted to know why he wasn’t. “Well, there isn’t that much to do if you get up at 4:45 but are supposed to meet people at 9.” Yeah, Nik, that makes a lot of sense…

The morning was blessed with a delivery from Paula and Justine- food and coffee, some fuel for our next day. With 5 people and two canoes, one of us were allowed to, or forced to depending on one’s perspective, ride in the middle of a canoe. I began the day in the middle when it was so shallow that everyone had to get out and push the canoe- except me. I had the important job of documenting the trip, so I sat with Nik’s Dad’s super nice camera taking classic shots- of him pulling me. Justine wanted to get a picture of me to capture the full ridiculousness of the situation.

The challenge of wamping today was not so much portaging as strainers. Log after log would block our passage. I imagine that back in the golden days of the Wampanoags they would make sure these rivers were free of these trees and we talked about doing the same- if only we had had a chainsaw! Well, I don’t think the day would have been easier with one, but at least successive passages would be easier. I think Greg’s face in this picture successfully captures our shared experience.

During the whole trip I would sometimes look around and wonder how I came to be here, in this beautiful place, with these fun people, canoeing. Just a few days prior I had been sitting at home with no big plans for a long time. But on the spur of the moment, I decided to fly standby on Airtran, which everybody should consider! If you are under 23, it costs anywhere from $50 to $100 to fly between two cities. It cost me $80 one way, which was more than 50% cheaper than comparable flights. On both legs I got the flight I was aiming for. So when I decided to visit NYC, I called Sam to see if we could hang out. We could, he said, if I came canoeing. Hell yeah, I said, that would be so awesome. And there I was, wamping around with friends!

Day 2: Hanover to Osceola Island (Sam Trachtman)

The second day of the canoe trip began at the Tyack’s home. We were well-rested and well-fed—ready for the second leg of the canoe trip, which Nik had warned us would be one of the hardest days.

The group had shrunken since Sunday, with only Nik, Greg, and I remaining from the group that set out Sunday (Justine would come back Tuesday). We had a new arrival though—Alex Garver—a Pomona friend who had come up from Atlanta, Georgia to join us.

Nik set out before the rest of us to do a leg of the journey that was too narrow to be navigated by canoe, so he went solo in a kayak. From what I was told, much of his 3 hour journey consisted of dragging the kayak through shallow water deep in the woods. While Nik was fighting off bugs and mud on the river, the rest of us brought the canoes out to the launching point, and brought some things to the island where we’d be staying the night. We picked Nik up, drove to the launching point, and began the day’s journey.

At the outset, the river was beautiful, wide, and easy to navigate. This would quickly change. After around half an hour, we reached an obstruction—railroad tracks running over the river. We disembarked and hoisted the canoes up a steep embankment and over the tracks, but not before taking some pictures.

The short portage over the tracks turned out to merely be a harbinger of things to come. After getting back on the water, we soon found ourselves in less navigable waters. The underbrush became thicker, the water dirtier, and the river more narrow. We finally reached a point where continuing in the water was unimaginable, and we were forced to drag the canoes through some almost impassibly thick brush to finally reach… a construction site.

At this point, we had our longest portage of the day—a quarter mile one which brought us out of the woods, down a road, and back into the water. I think it is safe to say that canoes are meant to be paddled and not carried.

Back in the water, we had a nice stretch of navigable river, before reaching a dam, where we ate 2^nd lunch (we had the first one right when we were setting out). The dams were built in order to help irrigate cranberry bogs, but now, they are mostly just damaging the ecosystem, and making our lives much more difficult. Beyond the dam, the water level was far lower, and we had trouble navigating the canoes through the tall grass. The area, though, was beautiful.

At the next dam that we had to portage over, the reentry into the water was a little bit precarious. Alex and I ended up getting taking some water into our boat. Unfortunately, I was the one stuck in the unstable boat.

After that little mishap, we were back on our way. Reentry into the water at the next dam again proved to be problematic. Trying to get the canoe over the dam and into the water, Nik stepped on a shark rock, and opened up the bottom of his foot. He didn’t lose too much blood…

After moving from the narrow river to a pond, we could finally see our final destination.

We arrived at an island in the middle of a beautiful pond, where we planned to spend the night.

Although our tent turned out to be dysfunctional, we had a relaxing night sleeping under the stars. A special thanks to Nik’s sister, Sophie, who brought us much needed provisions so that we could go to sleep with full bellies.

It was a brilliant day—difficult, but hugely rewarding. Having the company of Nik, Greg, and Alex was great fun. More importantly, spending 3 days on the rivers of New England made me believe more than I ever did in the cause of the trip—raising money for organizations like the North and South Rivers Watershed Association that protect our rivers --- the lifeblood of the ecosystem. Preserving them is of the utmost importance.

Thanks to Nik and his family, thanks to those who donated, and thanks to our beautiful rivers!

- Sam Trachtman

Day 1: Scituate to Hanover (Sam Jones and Lucien K)

When Nik asked Sam and I to join him on the first leg of his North River paddle journey I admit I was hesitant at first. I had not grown up on the river as my friends Nik and Sam had so I had no relationship with the river except to imagine the mosquitoes, leeches or other foul critters that could inhabit those murky waters. Furthermore, I had kayaked only once in my life and was afraid I would be a burden on the group (not to mention embarrassing myself). In the end I managed to hold my own on the water–floating breaks helped–and the critters we saw were egrets and ducks not leeches. In fact, I got more mosquitoes bites at the post paddle barbecue than during the whole paddle.

Looking back on the trip, I cannot imagine a better way to have spent that day. We took the thirteen miles at a relaxed pace which gave us time to take in our surroundings and explore the river instead of rushing through it. There is something special about being so close to the water, floating just above the surface, so you can feel the water beneath you. It is an intimate feeling that you can’t get from a bridge or on a motorboat, and most of the time we move to fast to notice what we are missing out on. Seeing Nik and Sam’s connection to this river that they have known all their lives rubbed off on me, and experiencing it for myself made clear why they love it so much. The four hours we spent on the river that day changed my relationship to the river and was an experience I will not soon forget and hope to soon repeat.

- Lucien Kahn

I have lived next to the North River my entire life, swimming and kayaking in it since I can remember. My family loves the river, the most enthusiastic member being my dog Jack, who escapes down to the river whenever he gets a chance. The major reason my parents moved to our home in Hanover was because of the North River. When I was young my dad was the NSRWA director, and is still involved as the North River Commission Representative for Hanover. Starting at age three I was attending river cleanups and clambakes.

The annual NSRWA Great River Race is a tradition with my family, and I’ve raced in it since I was in middle school. The growing enthusiasm surrounding the race and the increase in participation is really remarkable. When Nick asked if I wanted to be a part of the Wampanoag Canoe Passage I was thrilled, but a little nervous because I hadn’t paddled in the river since last summer. In comparison to the next few days of the journey, Day 1 was a relatively tame 13 mile stretch. Seven of us started at the mouth of the North River (the Spit in Scituate), taking one double kayak and two canoes, and ended a couple hundred yards before reaching the Washington Street Bridge in Hanover. The North River is truly beautiful. We saw a variety of birds and even a muskrat in the reeds. The Wampanoag Canoe Passage is fun, but also a great opportunity for fundraising. In its 40^th year, the NSRWA is an incredible non-profit organization that has continued to grow in numbers, educating people in the towns surrounding the rivers, working to restore and preserve our incredible natural resources.

- Samantha Jones

Wampanoag Canoe Passage 2010

This year's team was made up of Sam Trachtman, Justine Selsing, Alex Garver, Greg Keches, Samantha Jones, Lucien Kahn, Sam Lind, and myself.

Here we are before launching our boats on the first day:

Day 4: From the Summer Street Bridge to Shay's Boat Yard and Dighton Rock State Park.

Day four began with cloudy skies over the Taunton River at around 8:30 a.m. DJ and I were excited that the current was at our back, and that there would be no portaging, but less excited about the prospect of rain. The first landmark we reached after going under the Summer Street Bridge was a railroad bridge, while next came the spot where the Nemasket River flows into the Taunton --- if one has time, the Nemasket will lead the paddler to the eastern seaboard's largest alewife run, the Royal Wampanoag Burial Ground, and the site of Tispaquin's village (Tispaquin was one of King Philip's allies during King Philip's War). Soon after came the Titicut Street Bridge, featuring some rapids which we ran successfully (but only after running the camera over to the other side). Throughout this stretch birds sang and flitted back and forth between the forest on either side of the river as we passed underneath; an osprey flew overhead; and Great Blue Herons stood motionless along the banks, hoping to catch a minnow or two unawares in the water below.






















From Titicut Street we continued to follow the current downstream, passing the Rt. 28/18, Plymouth Street and Vernon Street Bridges (we thought it would be appropriate to name this fourth day of the paddle the "Day of Bridges," with a grand total of 18). The rain held and we thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful, forested upper reaches of the Taunton. After several more bends in the river we reached the Rt. 495 bridge (we could hear it before we could see it), and shortly after we spotted an otter, the third and last of the passage. From here it suffices to say that the river continues to be both beautiful and forested, for the most part, until Rt. 24; meandering past the Rt. 44 Bridge, the Church Street Bridge, and the South Street East Bridge. We saw many more Great Blue Herons and other birds, including an osprey or two more, and came to the conclusion that one Great Blue Heron that stayed just ahead of us for something like two hours was a Wampanoag spirit that was strying to lead us astray (though it in fact continued to lead us the RIGHT way). We started to feel like we were settling into a groove or rhythm in our paddling; the action of paddling and switching every so often began to feel automatic. This was probably good because we still had many miles left to paddle (the day's total was around 25).


















We saw a cool factory-turned-condominiums development right by the South Street East Bridge, and also discovered that the tide was with us (as the river becomes tidal at this point). We stopped for lunch somewhere between here and the Rt. 24 bridge, hopping up on a bank of the river for a pleasant break. After Rt. 24, the passage became more urban --- for example, we were able to stop and use the restroom of a McDonalds along Rt. 44 --- the Wampanoag highway running parallel and just hidden by riparian growth from a modern suburban highway.



































From there we passed from the outskirts to near the center of Taunton, passing under several more bridges. We had to paddle under two separate railroad bridges, both including what looked like liquid natural gas pipelines, and continued past the Oakland Mills Ponds. Past the Plain Street Bridge and the Weir Village Riverfront Park, the river began to open up and take on a more salty, oceanic feel, and on our right side, we were surprised to notice that several factories of the Bacon Felt Company ("America's First Felt Maker - Since 1825") were being demolished.














From here the Taunton broadened out even further and began to be bordered by beautiful tidal marsh. It had definitely started to rain, softly but relentlessly. We paddled past the Taunton Municipal Lighting Company's Flood-Cleary Drive Station on our right; continued past the Three Mile River, and finally reached where Center Street crosses the river on a green one-lane bridge, the last real landmark before our final destination. At this point, however, the tide began to turn against us.
















The tide continued to turn as we passed under the bridge and settled into the last stretch of the Wampanoag Canoe Passage. The Taunton River had achieved its widest point so far, contrasting greatly with the claustrophobia of Stetson Brook during the second day --- the increased amount of water, however, was now working against us. We craned our necks desperately for any sign of sails that might mark where the yacht club would be, but in vain. We hugged the side of the river to avoid the strongest part of the incoming tide, only cutting across when we had to. After passing the mouth of the Segreganset River on our right and turning a final corner, we finally spotted the yacht club and congratulated ourselves. The last paddle to reach Shaw's Boat Yard seemed to drag on forever, but finally we made it and dragged the canoe up to the parking lot, victorious.

From the Carver Cotton Gin Mill to the Summer Street Bridge on the Taunton River

When we hit Rt. 106, we went under the bridge (mistakenly) and ended up in a complex of the Carver Cotton Gin Mill. The mill was owned by the Carver Cotton Gin Company between its establishment in 1842 and was used to manufacture cotton gins and later oilseed processing equipment until the early 1990's. The Carver Cotton Gin Company is still around as Cotton, Inc, with its new headquarters in Savannah, Georgia.

The dam and factory must have been of great use over the years for making cotton gins; however, it posed a problem for us as the only way to follow the river was to paddle down a narrow spillway through the dam. Instead, after investigation, we decided that the best way to move forward was to carry the canoe up the steep bank and portage around the spillway, putting in just afterward to carefully make our way past and underneath the factory.


































After making it past the factory, we entered the last stretches of the Satucket River --- an incredibly tiring portion of the trail --- where it winds behind residences in a forested area. Pretty as the river continued to be, we were tired and dehydrated enough to not appreciate the many oxbows and even more numerous downed trees. It seemed as if there were always a downed tree right around the corner, so that right after we had gotten back in the canoe, we'd spot another obstruction ahead and have to get out yet again to portage. Needless to say, about halfway through this part of the trip we realized it was probably best to eat lunch, and jumped up on the bank for a much needed break.

We were never happier when the river finally came out into the open and broadened, the frequency of logs blocking our way decreasing to a tenth of what it was before. We saw our first otter of the trip; along with maybe 8 Snapping Turtles, and started to pick up speed, making up the distance we had done earlier in a quarter of the time. Trying to make some headway down towards the Taunton, we paddled through the gorgeous last portion of the Satucket River before Bridge Street, the beginning of the Matfield up til High Street, and finally saw the transmission lines that marked right before where the Matfield meets the Town River, and took the left into the Taunton.


















The much broader Taunton River proved to be much more navigable than some of the other parts of the passage, and we were able to get around any downed trees in the river --- that is, until we reached one huge tree that spanned the entire passage. Spotting an area where the trunk dipped down, however, we tried to go over it and were rewarded, prompting Seth (and all of us) to celebrate not having to portage. Even more exciting was our completion of the last official portage of the passage: a dam and spillway right after Rt. 104. After 104 the Taunton leaves development behind temporarily to enter a beautiful wooded area, especially right above the Cherry Street Bridge, and this was reflected in the abundance of songbirds, warblers and Great Blue Herons we saw. I was particularly excited to see a few Wilson's Warblers flying back and forth, along with a couple Ospreys we frightened off. We soon passed the Cherry Street Bridge as well, continuing on to where the Taunton flows past beautiful farmland before returning to the forest. Here we saw our second otter of the trip carrying some green vegetation to its burrow, but it ducked underwater before we could take a picture of it. We coordinated at this point with my father, Peter, and friend, D.J. (my dad was coming to pick up Seth and Olaf to drive them home, their portion done, while I would go with D.J. to get ready for the last day) to pick us up at Summer Street, as the Auburn Street Bridge turned out to be non-existent, other than a few burnt pilings.












Along our way to the end-point of our day's journey, we became more and more impressed with the beauty and tranquillity of the forest-bound, swift-flowing Taunton and its wildlife. Trees on either side seemed about to fall in, their roots often exposed by the bank, while other old-growth beauties reached their coronas upward towards the sun. One particular dead tree lying partly in our way looked almost like a post-modern sculpture. By the time we had reached our destination for the day, we were all happy to have experienced the beauty and relative facility of the Matfield and Taunton Rivers --- and to have actually been able to paddle without stopping for more than ten minutes!

Day 3: Osceola Island to the Carver Cotton Gin Mill at Rt. 106

We woke up to rain on day three of our journey, but made the most of it, enjoying a wonderful breakfast of eggs, bacon and tea thanks to Seth's exquisite backcountry cooking skills, and even invented a new food: Fitness bread cooked in bacon grease! We disliked the rain at first until we realized how shallow the beginning of the Satucket River was at the north end of Robbins Pond, and saw that the rain was actually helping us by raising the water level. The first item of note once we had set out was, somewhat ominously, an abandoned boat --- and soon enough we felt like abandoning our canoe when the river broadened out into a shallow, muddy meadow. Even with the addition of a night of rainwater, we had to get out and drag the canoe, contending with deep mud that seemed like quick sand at times.

Just before a small, wooden footbridge, however, we were able to get back in our vessel and forge ahead, ducking carefully to avoid the poison ivy that seemed to reach out towards us from the left-hand side of the underpass. After the bridge, the Satucket finally becomes deeper and opens up into a verdant, secret river world, hidden by pristine green forestland. The river meanders through a floodplain covered with Sensitive Fern and other wetland plants along with beautiful White Swamp Oaks.












We followed the winding path of the river, having to portage a good deal around the many downed logs, and even found moose tracks. We passed the Washington Street and Bridge Street bridges, after which the river becomes shallower and straighter, without the floodplain corridor of before, and followed the Satucket to the Carver Cotton Gin Mill at Rt. 106.