GALICIAN AND CANTABRIAN HUCKFEST
Siren dropping off Tobalina. ©Audun Holte
Heavy rain hit the Iberian Peninsula with historic force, flooding catchments that rarely see such conditions. When the forecast lit up with unreal water predictions, Norwegian paddlers Ruben Davidsen, Audun Holte, and Siren Saetre put wheels to pavement. What followed was one of the wildest flooding runs Europe had seen—months of planning, thousands of kilometers driven, stomach bug battles, frozen gear, late nights and a string of rare, perfect windows on waterfalls few have ever boated.
When Ruben shared the forecast with Audun and Siren, their immediate reactions mirrored disbelief—chart after chart showed an unprecedented low-pressure system aligning with warm rain on snow. A call to paddling legend Mike Krutyansky confirmed it: this setup was truly unique.
A week later, the crew was in Porto.
The first day was humbling. Everything was high, but not paddleable. They logged 600 km in search of runnable water—bouncing from one swollen river to the next, learning how Iberian rivers react. These waters don’t behave like their Scandinavian counterparts: levels rise and fall like a roller coaster as low-pressure cells push slow, heavy rain inland. Only the higher elevation streams responded quickly enough to create brief windows of opportunity.
But would there actually be paddling?
Ruben with a cobra off Tobalina. ©Audun Holte
Audun down Dynamite in Cantabria. ©Siren Saetre
Salto de Pombar, usually a trickle, came alive with perfect flow. A 10-meter drop that only shows itself in big rain, it delivered multiple laps and roused excitement among local paddlers: “We’ve never seen that level before!”
Encouraged, the crew drove into the mountains to scout Cascata de Ermida, a 1.5-meter kicker into a 10-meter plunge. Gear on, spirits high, but the water was still too low. Until it wasn’t.
By 7 a.m. the next day, a quick level check from Ruben had Audun and Siren up and eating breakfast. Half an hour later, the river exploded: 70 mm overnight and 8 mm per hour in the morning triggered a flash flood so sudden that the water turned coal-black with soot from an old burn area upstream. It was clear: this was no longer a safe line.
They pulled back.
« They pulled out grinning; this was the gold they had chased. »
The next day, the flows were still monstrous. The crew checked other rivers, but same story. Ego shelved, the crew waited. By the following morning, the river had dropped… too low, again. Frustration mounted.
But experience was paying dividends. After days of watching water gauges and rain intensity, they finally caught a forecast window: a short break in the rain followed by heavy precipitation. They camped by the falls.
Cards in hand, coffee in bowls, each round ended with a level check. Within thirty minutes, the river climbed 10 cm, just enough.
Forty-five minutes later, they had caught their window. Each paddler managed a couple of perfect laps before the rising water made the consequences too real. Below the falls lay a churn of boulders and unknown terrain—not a fun place to swim. They pulled out grinning; this was the gold they had chased.
Audun with a steezy boof on Porma. ©Ruben Davidsen
In the following days, they hit rivers labeled “easy” in guidebooks, though at flood levels, they were anything but. Currents grew fast, angles steeper, eddies smaller. Swimming meant real danger.
After an especially high lap in the Rio Louredo gorge, the crew turned their attention to Cantabria. Ruben, now dialed in on gauges and radar, spotted a two-day forecast window ripe for perfect conditions. Audun and Siren were skeptical and a high-water lap on Rio Grande did little to help. But mission mode kicked in. By 11:30 p.m., they were on the road.
« Streams were overbanks, fields were soggy, and the forest floor squelched with runoff. »
Overnight rain hammered the watershed. By dawn, the gauges were up a full meter. Warm rain on snow was doing its work. Ruben had one objective: Dynamite. Four drops of 4 meters, 4 meters, 10 meters, and 4 meters.
Locals weren’t sold, though. Too much water, they said.
But on the hike in—two wool layers under drysuits, neoprene hoods, pogies—everything said « in. » Streams were overbanks, fields were soggy, and the forest floor squelched with runoff. Ruben popped the first view of the falls and shouted with disbelief: “It’s f***ing perfect!”
Scout. Safety talk. Line choices. Total vertical: 22 meters. Ruben dropped first, clean, committed. The rain pounded. Audun and Siren shivered; big water tests nerves as much as skill. After discussion, Siren committed and became the first woman to run Dynamite, and she looked polished doing it. Audun followed in pure Trønder style. All clean, all stoked.
Siren with the first female descent of Dynamite in Cantabria. ©Audun Holte
Next up was a 6-meter drop in Tobera, a small creek snaking through a medieval village. Good flows seldom come up.
Chocolate-brown water plunged beneath an ancient stone bridge into a tight pool. Bars and restaurants hovered on the banks.
The crew dropped in. Within minutes, the village came alive with cheers, warm drinks, and locals watching from terraces as if it were a festival. Ruben decided to throw a freewheel off the lip. The crowd went mental. “Loco, loco!” the locals laughed. They finished the day with beers just meters from the waterfall.
Then came a message: Tobalina was shaping up for perfect conditions tomorrow.
Ruben finding his way down the Upper Cabreiro. ©Audun Holte
Overnight, gear froze solid. Audun woke up with stomach flu—a souvenir from dirty water in Tobera. Ruben and Siren felt every muscle the next morning; yesterday’s vertical still lingering. They dreaded the wet gear, but still, Tobalina was running sweet.
Ruben visualized next to the river, rolling on the grass, rehearsing moves. He committed to a cobra flip off the waterfall. First attempt, he spat it into the deck and landed on his head. Helmet cam confirmed the mistake. Second attempt: perfect. Stoked.
Siren dropped multiple laps. Audun, boots on and filming, was steadfast despite sickness. The left side of Tobalina looked perfect for a reverse freewheel.
With Tobalina in the bag, they hit the classic Rio Gándara for another lap.
« They finished the day with beers just meters from the waterfall. »
Maps said eight hours to Portugal. Rain-on-snow spikes kept water high at Isoba, so it became a park-and-huck on Porma before finishing off classic Galician sections: Rio Cabreiro and Rio Mouro.
Historic rainfall and Narrow windows. Frozen mornings and big water commitments. This was Galician Huckfest, and three Norwegians found the gold.
Words: Ruben Davidsen
