Orletta Time Trial, White Salmon
The Orletta Time Trial on the White Salmon in Washington is a yearly gathering of whitewater paddlers who savor speed and the first cold breath of the coming season. It marks the end of summer and opens the door to the whitewater months ahead, giving everyone a reason to dust off their boats and reunite with friends. In this article, Kallie Kurtz reflects on the 2026 edition and what the event represents.
By early fall, the White Salmon River settles into its teal rhythm, a cold, glacial blue carving through black basalt and white oaks. The sun drops lower, the air sharpens, and the water runs thin. Some mornings, the canyon softens under mist; others, it glows with smoke and late light. Dippers skip across eddies, and if you’re lucky, river otters twist and play in the slowing current. The river mirrors the people who love it: vibrant, chaotic, driven, passionate, often messy, and a little afraid of the low water and the rocks it exposes.
Between summer’s end and the return of the rains sits the Orletta Time Trial, the community’s annual motivator to keep paddling through low water. It’s as local as it gets: a late-season ritual that keeps the stoke alive and the muscles tuned, a way to stay in shape for the return of the rains. Part race, part reason to get back in your boat, part end-of-summer family reunion where it all shows up: the excitement, the nerves, the tensions, and the familiar kindnesses. You can chase a podium or show up in glitter. The point is the people, the river, and the rhythm of being together.
Race morning is grey and cool, the kind of crisp air that makes everything feel a little sharper. Cars wind between the peaks toward BZ, roof racks rattling, coffee steaming in cold hands. Fartun, who learned to kayak this year through Diversify Whitewater PNW progression, comes to cheer and imagine the possibility of racing someday. There’s a hum of anticipation: people checking outfitting, swapping last-minute beta, texting to see what their late friends need, and moving with that focused, excited energy that only shows up on race day.
« Chaos and calm coexist in true Gorge fashion »
The BZ parking lot is not just a put-in; it’s a meeting place, old friends catching up, new boaters finding courage, laughter echoing across the gravel. Chaos and calm coexist in true Gorge fashion: someone missing a spray skirt, people helping each other through the hard things they’re carrying, someone else still trying to register. Between the noise, small kindnesses cut through. Hugs, jokes, quiet check-ins, people supporting each other navigating the currents. Brent, the race’s founder and quiet powerhouse, keeps things moving, somehow herding the whole crew toward the start line, mostly on time.
The women’s energy is undeniable. What started the week with just two names on the list had turned into a whole field by race day, thanks to a flurry of texts, practice laps, and last-minute encouragement. In the shallows of low water, the current of community runs strong, pulling people together, mostly for the good. It builds connection, courage, and the kind of women’s field that didn’t exist a few years ago. But that same closeness can cut both ways; the eddy lines are tight, and sometimes the current spins you beside the very people, or the sharp rocks, that break you. And yet, people still show up anyway, because the beauty, the belonging, and the hope that come with this river outweigh the fear of all of it.
« The women’s energy is undeniable. What started the week with just two names on the list had turned into a whole field by race day. »
Women and friends laugh and shout across the put-in’s rocky creek, the multitude of skittle-colored boats scattered around.
10, 9… Go.
Kitten Kisses snaps racers awake. Octopus funnels boats into rhythm, Triple Drop demands precision, and the Flume launches paddlers toward the lip of BZ Falls. The cliffs above erupt: friends, cowbells, laughter, cameras, and the occasional glizzy.
« The same universal thought flashes through: Please. Don’t. Piton. »
At the lip, everyone meets their own edge. For some it’s fear, for others freedom. The same universal thought flashes through: Please. Don’t. Piton. Fear and flow collide, the river takes over, and time blurs into motion.
Boofing through Maytag to the finish, the eddy bursts into color and noise, boats bumping, paddlers shouting, hands reaching to pull friends from the pit below Top Drop. Laughter breaks through the current. The runs are smooth, the falls kind, and that shared breath settles in, the one that only comes after risk, when everyone is upright, together, and still humming from the adrenaline.
That’s the real point of the Orletta, not just times or podiums, but the reminder to show up for low water. It’s the spark that keeps us from disappearing until November, the nudge to navigate the undercuts, stay connected, catch the small delights, stay in it. It inspires the Fartuns, levels the legends, dishes equal prizes for the ladies and gents, and hands out those small glimmers of karma that remind you balance always finds a way.
And every year, when the river is thin and the motivation thinner, the Orletta gives the same lesson: courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s finding the rhythm and sending it anyway. And sometimes, with glitter on your face, you end up winning, twice.
Words: Kallie Kurtz
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