When Is Extreme Too Much?

By Temira, 12-29-06

Writer Temira Wagonfeld and fellow windsurfer Travis Ronk, both well known Gorge athletes, spent a bitter day on the Columbia some weeks ago. Below Temira considers the wisdom of “extreme.” Photos courtesy of Jon Malmberg

Hood River serves as an outdoor sports Mecca for local and visiting extreme athletes. In many cases, resident athletes sport the muscles and VO2 max scores of professionals. As ultra-fit Americans, reveling in their superiority over the flab-covered masses, Gorge extreme sports enthusiasts tend to think of themselves as near immortal; In their minds, Mother Nature’s theoretical worst is no more troubling than the buzzing of a fly.

The truth of the matter is this: there is such a thing as “too much.” Even extreme sports, where “too much” is almost part of the definition, have a safety threshold. Too often, though, extreme athletes think they’re exempt from nature’s limiting factors. Windsurfers try to sail in hurricane force winds. Kayakers paddle boats down flood-stage rivers. Mountain bikers ride at the edge of cliffs and launch themselves over huge jumps. Mountain climbers, including Brian Hall, Kelly James and Jerry Cooke, who lost their lives on Mt. Hood recently, climb in weather that’s too stormy or too conducive to avalanches.

We, the residents of the Gorge, have a tendency to forget the “too” in the equation for our favorite sports. Too often we lose a talented local to a climbing accident, a mountain biking wreck, a kiteboarding crash or some other overindulgence in sport.

Visitors are no different. Take James, Cooke and Hall, who started up Mt. Hood on December 8, 2006. Despite decades of climbing experience, including time on Mt. McKinley, multiple trips up Mt. Ranier, and summits in the Andes and throughout Europe, these men perished. Why? We’ll never know for sure, but here’s the scenario I picture. Climber 1: “The forecast looks really bad.” Climber 2: “Yeah, but we know what we’re doing.” Climber 3: “Hey, we’ve climbed tougher mountains all over the world. We’ll be fine.”


I’m as guilty as any other extreme athlete in thumbing my nose at Mother Nature. A few weeks ago, my friend Travis and I tried to windsurf in sixty to eighty mile-per-hour winds at Rooster Rock. Eighteen years of windsurfing experience gave me the arrogance to think this was a good idea. Temperatures hovered just above freezing. Ice covered grass and mud on the banks of the Columbia. Wind gusts prevented us from opening our car doors or walking without leaning into the wind. Despite this, we tried to windsurf. Given the conditions, we, like the climbers on Hood, could have perished due to our overconfidence in our abilities. Once we started walking through the shallows, though, we realized our mistake. “We’ll just sail in the shallows and take some photos,” Travis suggested. I agreed, fully aware that the conditions facing us were nothing like anything I’d seen in eighteen years of windsurfing.

This humble attitude is the attitude we need to cultivate in extreme sports athletes. “Too much” is a legitimate thing to say when conditions prove life-threatening. Whether we’re talking about cold, hurricane strength winds for windsurfers or a forecast of a huge low-pressure system bringing 100 mile-per-hour winds and blizzard conditions for climbers. James, Cooke and Hall were experienced climbers; they knew the forecast before they set foot on the mountain. With a graceful bow of surrender to Mother Nature, they could have been with their families for Christmas, instead of buried under tons of snow, somewhere on Mt. Hood. Hopefully other extreme athletes will take the lesson to heart: there is such a thing as “too much.”

Guest writer Temira "Two Mirrors" Wagonfeld
is a champion Windsurfer, and international traveler and a freelance writer. She spent the last year living in Japan , working as a cultural ambassador in Hood River’s sister city, Tsurta, Aomori. Check out Temira’s journal, which includes windsurfing articles and stories about her life in Japan.

Jon Malmberg is a freelance photographer, outdoor enthusiast, and sponsored kiteboarder. He lives and works in Hood River.

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