Trip Jennings on Metlako Falls.

Boaters have been dropping waterfalls since the 1980s, setting the bar for biggest in Norway, Mexico and a few times in Canada. But in Oregon, where it's wet and steep to say the least, the record has been set and reset three times in the last eight years. Shannon Carroll made a first descent of Sahali Falls, a 70 to 80 foot rolling beast that is rumored to have rocks at the bottom, in 1998. Then 16-year old Pat Keller "fell" the 75 feet off Koosah Falls to set the junior world record. Most recently Dave Grove dropped off Eagle Creek's Metlako Falls to claim the prestigious, if somewhat odd title of the person to run the highest waterfall in a kayak cleanly.

These falls have become, for Trip Jennings of the Epicocity Project (EP), the Triple Crown of kayaking waterfalls. This last weekend Trip decided to run the Oregon trifecta just outside of Hood River, where the infamous Little White Salmon, the Green Truss and Eagle Creek plummet into the slumbering Columbia River. It was Metlako Falls, the tallest and most intimidating of the drops, that Trip would tackle first in his quest for waterfall glory.

"I'm stoked. It was definitely the biggest hurdle of the three," Trip said.

Running big waterfalls is Trip's signature in the kayaking industry. Over the last year and a half of filming for EP's latest video, Mission: Epicocity, he and his crew have logged footage and first descents of nearly a dozen waterfalls, flirting with drops at or above the 70-foot mark. The crew has traveled throughout South, Central and North America. So it's somewhat ironic that these three monsters are in Trip's backyard. Despite his hopes, Trip knew it would take a rare combination of skill, knowledge and confidence to safely run more of the biggest waterfalls ever run in a kayak. To do it, he's have to conjure the right headspace over the preceding week.

"I'm not some crazy idiot trying to set records or pin waterfalls on my wall like heads of animals. This is just a challenge that I'm ready to take," Trip said.

Based out of Eugene, Oregon, Trip has gawked at the big three for five years, but has not run any of them. Koosah and Sahali are less than a mile apart and about an hour and a half from Eugene. Both drops are roadside, with easy access. Even though Metlako Falls on Eagle Creek takes a bit harder to access, it is still pretty easy, requiring only a three-mile hike on a well-used footpath, compliments of the US Forest Service.

The trail straddles the ridge south of Eagle Creek as it meanders through old growth Doug Fir and past bands of broken basalt cliffs. Metlako, despite its size and beauty, is not a main attraction on the trail because of the challenge of building a safe viewing platform across from it. Below the drop, Eagle Creek has notched a hundred foot deep slot canyon between two of Mt. Hood's foothills. The canyon makes filming, shooting stills, setting safety and getting out once Metlako is run a task complicated by rappels, ascenders and the thick moss and vegetation that comprises Oregon's perpetually damp forests.

"Metlako is one of the most beautiful places I've been. Tons of people walk by it everyday, but few know it's there. It's so cool to think that I stood on a bank that only one other person has probably ever stood on," Trip said.

He put in about a half-mile upstream. The paddle down to Metlako included running 30-foot Punchbowl Falls and soloing through some class IV before eddying out in front of a horizon line that sucked water surprisingly calmly over a waterfall well over 80 feet tall. Trip got out and scouted again. The roar of the falls is less than many other drops of its size, but impressive nonetheless. Andy Maser and Lane Jacobs prepped for stills and video around Metlako's high-browed amphitheater while Karl Moser set safety creek-side just beneath the drop. From below Karl watched while Trip walked tentatively to the edge of the falls and peered over. Trip watched the water exploding below then followed with his eyes his desired line to the fold in the lip he would try to bury his bow into. He then made eye contact with Karl, and flashed a thumbs-up before disappearing from the lip. Karl prepped the camera and laid out his throw rope. Trip walked to his boat, adjusted his helmet and splashed a handful of water into his face.

"I felt really clear, really clean above the drop. I just felt ready. It was a drop I had waited to do for so long because it looked perfect. The lip was clean, it had the right amount of flow and I felt confident," Trip said later.

He rehearsed paddle strokes. A peel out into the eddy, a soft left stroke, a long pause, then tuck. Trip went through the process three times before looking to Lane, then Andy and flashing the thumbs-up.

"I was definitely nervous. It's kind of crazy to watch your friend kicking it above the eddy of a really big drop, especially knowing that in the next few minutes he's about to run it," said Andy Maser.

Trip pushed his boat from the rocks surrounding the eddy and took a left stroke into a soft current, then waited, the blade of his left paddle erect in the water, for the current to bring him slowly to the lip. It wasn't until feet above the lip that the water began to aggressively pull the boat downward. As his bow dip Trip followed though with his stroke and shifted his weight slightly to his bow. An natural movement that takes precise timing, but if it is done correctly it would set his weight for an easy transition into the desired tight body position that large waterfalls are run in.

"I counted to one and a half seconds before I tucked. I knew that if I tucked too soon I would pitch pole and that wasn't something I was prepared to do," Trip said.

Time slowed down for Lane, Karl and Andy when Trip hit the water. Their eyes searched the boils for anything solid. They saw the paddle Trip had intentionally released launch from the boil like a cork from champagne. They strained their eyes; then the boat surfaced. The line had looked clean and Trip hand rolled. He pumped his fists, stoked, a perfect line.

"I did exactly what I needed. I hit the line where I wanted to, tucked when I needed to and the impact was softer than I would have ever thought a low water 80-foot plus waterfall would have been. Now I've got two more to do," Trip said.

That was last weekend. Now Trip is thinking of the frigid water plunging over the grand ledges high up on the McKenzie River. This weekend, he plans to finish up Oregon's waterfall Triple Crown. There's only Sahali, Koosah, 150 feet and the challenge of maintaining proper headspace left between Trip and accomplishing his goal.

"It's sweet," Karl Moser cried out, referring to the view stretching out below him. Douglas Fir trees clung to volcanic soil, mist floated up from the pool at the base of the 75-foot waterfall and Trip Jennings paddled toward the lip. Moser hung from a carabineer, connected to half-inch thick steel cable just feet above the lip of Oregon's Koosah Falls. He dangled from his harness and peered through the viewfinder of his video camera, palms, no doubt, covered in a film of sweat.

"I'm a boater, not a climber. This is the second weekend in a row I've had to dangle from some ungodly contraption so I can shoot video of Trip hucking his meat off some ridiculous waterfall," Moser said.

The week prior Jennings completed the second descent of Metlako Falls, disputed to be the highest waterfall to ever be run clean in a kayak. Koosah is the second drop in the Oregon Triple Crown, the three Oregon waterfalls that each once held the honor of being the highest waterfall run in a kayak. The last drop, Sahali, is just upstream of Koosah and at between 75 and 80 feet, a similar height. These waterfalls have brought EP an opportunity to practice their "from the lip" shot, their newest approach to filming the waterfalls and waves they chase around the world. Koosah's the first time they actually pulled off the angle.

"It takes a lot of work and time to set up," Jennings said.

The crew fastened the steel cable around two stouts trees, one on each side of the river. Jennings, clad in boating gear, wrapped the cable loosely around his arm and ferried across the McKenzie. Not 200 yards below him, the lip of Koosah pulsed while Moser spooled out the reel of cable from one bank and Jennings stroked hard for the other.

"That was scary," Jennings said as he crawled out his boat on the far side of the river. "Turns out, it's not a light piece of steel."

Once the cable was set up, Moser was belayed across it from shore. His feet dangled close enough to the water that his socks were wet by the time he got down from the steel lifeline. Jennings, who at this point had ferried back across the river, was eddied out above the waterfall. He was moments away from again committing himself to his belief that his skills and mindset were where they need to be to be to run a drop the caliber of Koosah.

The approach rapids into Koosah are fast moving class III with an entrance hole just above the lip that makes the line thin and tricky. Jennings paddled toward the drop to ensure a clean line through this hole but, once past it, he took gentle strokes, trying to ensure he was floating at the speed of the water before being sucked into Koosah's folding lip. Jennings leaned slightly forward but counted, he swears by it, for two full seconds before tucking. Counting is his key to running big drops, because if you don't, he says, you're likely to land on your head or, if worse comes to worse, boof out. His impact was soft, but he didn't roll up.

His skirt had imploded on impact. Moser and the rest of the crew watched the bottom of his boat drift toward the run out rapids of Koosah's pool. Meanwhile, Jennings was struggling to reattach his skirt, grasping at the neoprene, tugging it back around the rim of his cockpit before he flushed over the outflow drops and into a heinous downstream logjam. He got it, and as quickly as it snapped reassuringly into place, he hand rolled. Everything was intact, and he was stoked to be two thirds of the way done with his quest to run Oregon's Triple Crown of waterfalls. If all goes as plans, a rarity in whitewater kayaking, Jennings will complete his goal sometime in the next couple of weeks.