hortly after [World War II], when I was about seventeen, my dearest friend in Poprad found, in wrecked train, a relic of the war: a German inflatable raft. It was a pretty heavy, rubber-coated canvas raft, but it was very nice. We went to a gas station and had it inflated. We brought an old pickup truck, put it on, and they inflated it. It was not very big, but it was, to our way of looking at it—a giant. It was a German small assault raft, and very heavy, and it even had some rations in it, and papers, a survival kit, and a light, some kind of a beacon that would run on batteries, and what have you. Anyhow, we inflated it and then we made paddles from a fence. We stole some wooden fencing and made paddles. Three of us decided to go on a journey on a beautiful river that runs through wilderness from the Carpathian Mountains, throughout the whole Slovak Republic, due west, and eventually the river—named Vah—joins the Danube River, and together with the Danube, flows east to the Black Sea. Anyhow, we decided to take the journey on the Vah River. So we got supplies of food, which we accumulated from our homes. We didn't want to tell our parents, they would be scared stiff, and it was after the war, where there were a lot of mines and unexploded bombs and what have you, all over, through the country. However, we told them we ’re going to visit some relatives, and we brought the boat to the river and took the journey. The journey was fantastic. The river, running through some magnificent, beautiful mountains, and a lot of ruins along the river of old castles and old chateaus, long abandoned...it was an amazing journey. However, there was no way to get from the river. It was going through wilderness. There were no towns and villages for a long distance. And shortly, after a day or two on the river, we ran out of food. So we had to go at night to villages and try to get from sheepherders camping, as much food as we can. Usually what happens in this country in the mountains, the sheepherders, when they travel with the sheep, they make circles around, and they have small huts where they have their supplies of food when they come back, so they can eat, such as dry cheese and biscuits and different kinds of food. So we would supply our boat with different things to continue the journey. What was memorable, what I will never forget, was the fact that sometimes we parked the boat under the ruins of an old castle, and we would climb at night, and spend the night in those ruins. All of us were scared to death, but we pretended we are doing real fine and we feel okay, and feeling brave, and telling stories to each other. Usually, we never slept. All night long, we kept talking. Everyone was scared to go to sleep, that we probably wouldn't wake up. (laughter) So, as the journey continues, we were getting more and more tired. After about ten days or two weeks, we finally ran out of food- it was hard to get, and we were weak, and we were missing our parents and friends, so we decided to sell the raft, which we did, to some commercial people who needed to ferry things across. They had farms on both sides of the river, so they decided it would be a good transportation from one side to the other, and they gave us a fairly good sum of money, which we then bought tickets for the train, and some supply of food, and returned back to Poprad, to our parents. Anyway, that was our journey and my introduction to the river, that I have never forgotten. And I suppose that my eventual decision to go in the river business must have had something to do with the very first journey in Slovakia.

***

One of the best, brightest, and certainly most colorful characters ever to grace the passageways of the Grand Canyon (or more appropriately—the planet Earth) is a crazy Czechoslovakian named Vladimir Kovalik (VK). Most of us owe the man (and, as he himself constantly points out —his beautiful family, fine friends and wonderful crew) more than we know.Back in the good old days VK, along with his extremely competent wife Nada and his good buddy Ronn Hayes (the actor), started a river company called Wilderness World (which ultimately —after a seventeen year run —was sold and thereby metamorphosed into the modern day Canyon Explorations). What we all owe him for, besides that impossibly cool little company and all the great trips and hot-spit crews and magical traditions thereof, is a passion for design and perfection that led to more advances in boats and boating technology than you could shake a stick at: the Campways Havasu, Miwok, Apache; today’s Avon Spirit and Pro; whole companies like Riken Inflatables and Maravia that were sucked into the business in part through VK ’s energy and enthusiasm; as well as boats by Caligari and Metzler; features like self-bailing floors, lace-in thwarts, sitting on the cooler, collapsible frames; not to mention music trips and silent float outs to Diamond Creek...all these things and many more VK had a major hand in. He’s brilliant, fearless, an unrestrained doer. Like a few other Grand Canyon giants (John Wesley Powell, Martin Litton, Fred Burke, OC Dale, Kim Crumbo, Wesley Smith, Whale...) VK too was shaped by war—

***

Shortly before the end of the war [when VK was fourteen], it was getting pretty hectic in Slovakia, because more and more partisans were fighting Germans who were returning from the eastern front through Czechoslovakia, through Ducla Pass, and through Czechoslovakia, back to Germany. At the same time, they were picking up—the Germans, wherever they could—young people, and training them to fight partisans with German soldiers, military...Czech and Slovaks they were picking up, and my father decided, “Son, the best decision would be if you go to your uncle’s place in the country, where you will be quite safe,” because it’s a little village in the southern, south-central part of Slovakia. So he took me to the railroad station. He found out there is a train going west. It is not a passenger, but a freight train, going to go. But, he decided, you could always get in a caboose, and go as far west as you can, and then you know the way and everything. Just go visit, so just keep going away, because if the Germans find you here, they will take you, just like they’ll take all the neighbors’ kids, youngsters. And so he brought me to the railroad station about eleven o’clock in the evening. It was cold, it was the end of January. I will never forget it, I had a lot of warm clothes on, and the train, sure enough, it was already at the station, waiting there, and filling up with water for the steam. The unusual thing was the whole freight train, all the sliding doors were locked, and there were wire things with a seal. It was sealed—all the doors looked sealed. And the caboose on the end was empty, and so he put me in. When the train whistled, he opens his jacket and pulls a cigar box, and he gives me a cigar. You can imagine my father giving me a cigar! You can’t smoke, you can’t drink, you can’t do anything, and here is my father, and he’s saying, “I’m giving you this cigar. It doesn’t mean I’m giving it to you to smoke right away. But if you get cold or something, light a cigar. Don’t inhale, just kind of smoke, and you will feel good, you will relax.” And he gave me a cigar and a box of little matches. So I thanked him, and I was very proud. He didn’t want to look, he turned around, he turned away, because he had tears in his eyes, not knowing what will happen, but he felt it was much better to go before it would be too late. And so, shortly after, the train started to go. And what happened is that from Poprad, the train going west has to climb to the highest point of railway station in Slovak Republic, which is about—thirty miles from Poprad there is a high point, and the train goes very slowly. Anyhow, I thought that steam in a caboose would be delivering steam and heat. However, it was disconnected, and it was pretty cold. Although I had a good parka and good clothes, eventually I decided, when the train slowed down, I decided I would just go up and go and jump from one...and it’s a long freight train; however, I decided I’m going to take a chance, because I would freeze here, not knowing when the train was going to stop, etc. So I climbed up, and I went from one wagon to another. Sometimes I had to go using ladders going between. And I perused my way. But I came to about the middle of the train, and suddenly I hear the door sliding, the side door, and I look around, I couldn’t believe it, it’s a freight train, all the doors were sealed. But here comes the barrel of a gun, and it’s coming up. Here comes an arm, a hand, and a man lifting up and looking at me. I look at him, and I freaked out. There is a gun, but he can’t— because the train is moving and it’s slippery, and it’s winter, and there’s the gun, and I freaked out and I went in between the wagon, and the train slowed down. Then I actually, what happened, in reality, I jumped, eventually...because the train started to put the brakes on. I guess they signaled, or pulled the thing. And the guys came in, and I jumped in the snow and I ran away. There was a lot of noise, a lot of commotion, a lot of things going on. And eventually, what happened, this was a train that was carrying wounded German soldiers, escorted by German police, and some citizens of German origin, from the eastern part, from either Russia or Ukraine, that were going back to Germany. So my climbing on top of the thing disturbed them, and they were very, very unhappy. What eventually happened— the train going through, because of the partisans mining the railways, had two flatcars in front, that they pushed, so in case there were mines, they would explode, not to injure the locomotive. Eventually, the train actually exploded. A tunnel not far from there was mined. I was not far away. The train was like maybe a kilometer or so away when it exploded, and there was a big fire. I mean, here it is, I jumped—I was then on my feet. The train went in, it exploded—whatever happened, I don’t know. I have no idea. So I bypass and I went, but I was caught by the police. And the police were Slovak police, but they were under the jurisdiction of the German command, and they had to, whenever somebody was caught, like I, without id, they had to contact the German office, and I went for interrogation. I was brought up to a town, and for about a week or two weeks, they were training me with a Panzer-Foust [phonetic], which is called Panzer-Fist. It’s an anti-tank weapon...the Germans were training. I was caught, and there were some other young people. This is what my father was afraid of. And eventually, I ended up there. And what happened, they were going on a patrol, approximately six or eight Germans, and two of us—the other Slovak who was there, I had no idea who he was, but he was there. None of us trusted each other, we didn’t talk, I didn’t know whether he was a volunteer for Germany, or whether he was caught like I was. So anyway, we went to the woods, and we already had a gun and everything, we were on a patrol looking for the partisans. And it was very, very cold, so the Germans decided to make a fire. And they made a fire under— they cleared up snow, under a big pine tree or fir tree, where the limbs were quite high. They made a little fire and they were warming up their hands, and pounding their feet, jumping back and forth. Everybody put their guns down in the snow, and we were standing there, and suddenly the bullets start flying. The partisans were watching us probably for quite a while, and so they started to shoot. One of the Germans got wounded, and everybody dispersed for cover. I ran. It took several days, but eventually I ended up on my uncle’s farm. It was not a farm, it was a...vineyards and an orchard. I eventually ended up there...The saddest story is what happened after I returned home. You see, this is again, how stories pop up. What happened is, there was no communication on telephones, because Germany destroyed every telephone link, and they carried their own underground cables, which was just general staff communication and military. And anybody who would make any effort to wire into it, were automatically shot. And nobody would dare. So anyway, there was not much communication. My parents didn’t know where I am, they couldn’t communicate, they couldn’t travel. My father’s car was confiscated for military use, etc., etc., and they wouldn’t even dare to go anyway, because this was towards the end of the war, and there was a lot of fighting and a lot of bloodshed, and a lot of mines, a lot of artillery shooting—Germans to partisans, and vice versa. So anyway, I eventually ended up at my uncle’s place, and after a while, after I recovered and was fed well and felt pretty good, I started a journey back to Poprad. And this is something which is really hard for me to talk about. What happened, the journey took longer than I anticipated. I was fourteen years old, whatever, fifteen. I was going from village to village, hitched with cars, but there were very few cars going. Usually they were trucks delivering things between villages. And whichever way, primarily hiking and climbing. I became so exhausted, my clothes rotted up, and I had absolutely nothing warm, everything was soaked, cold. I eventually ended up in Poprad. I had a very hard time to breathe. I had a tremendous problem with my lungs. And so I came to the house, to my family home, and the war ended. It was the end of the war, and many people returning from the woods, from the forests, broken up, frozen up. So the family, the people would stop in the house, and the families automatically brought warm coffee or tea or soup. When somebody walked through the gate, my mother used to try to feed the people and help them. And so what happened, I came to my house, and I was almost delirious. I was ill, I had a hard time to breathe. There was a wooden walkway from the gate to the main entrance, I was going in the back of the house. And I walked in, and I was hunched, I had my jacket over my head, and I was shaking and freezing. I hear the door open and my mother coming in, and she had warm soup and she looks at me, she’s getting me soup, and she looks and I see, she drops the soup and says, “Pepana boha” [unclear], “Oh, my God!” And she’s recognized me, and she gets hysterical. She yells, and my father comes. They took me to the house, and they call a doctor, but there is no doctor, they’re all gone. So there’s a Catholic hospital, and they went to the hospital. The neighbors came and carried me to the hospital. No doctor available, end of the war, still shooting, still going on. But the sisters, they immediately recognized...I had water in my lungs. And so they had absolutely no thing—and I’ll never forget to this day—they made me kneel on a chair, held onto it, they tied a line around me—whatever it was—and a sister came, one of the sisters who was a nurse, I suppose, and she gave me a big needle. I remember she put a towel in my mouth, and she said, “Bite hard! Don’t open it, don’t scream.” And she stuck this needle right between my ribs, in, and then inserted a stainless steel little tube. And then with a needle they were pulling out the water, which looked like beer. (Excuse me for saying it as you’re drinking beer!) They were pulling up. And that’s what happened, because what was happening—I didn’t even know what it means—but water was flooding my heart...So the sisters saved me. Then eventually, a few days later, we went to a nearby town, about twenty miles away, where a hospital was fully functioning. So I was treated there until I recovered. That was my journey to my uncle’s place, and coming back.

***

It would take a book to tell all about VK’s experiences in WWII and then after the war, behind the Iron Curtain, under the thumb of Communist Russia. Suffice it to say, here, that after running afoul of the Communists soon after the war, VK attempted one escape and saw a childhood friend get shot as they attempted to swim the Morova River into Austria. VK, after being sentenced to hard labor in Siberia, finally escaped from a train taking him there (by hiding under a railroad turntable at the border and having to pee on the shaft of it to get it to turn around by hand in the dark of night and dead of winter...). After an epic journey he crossed into Germany and there, in a displaced persons camp, met a beautiful American volunteer named Nada. Against all odds he married her, came to the U.S.A., learned to speak English, got a degree, and finally ended up a graduate student at Stanford University, where he met another larger than life character, Ronn Hayes—who later became a famous tv actor starring in shows such as “Lincoln Vale of the Everglades,” “Lassie,” and “The Rounders.”

***

After I registered at Stanford, then they gave us a choice to some other activities...so I was going to register in the Stanford Alpine Club—climbing, and diving. This was about my third or fourth day at Stanford. I’m waiting in line, and here comes this handsome dude with a motorcycle—I heard it, “Vroom, vroom!” So he parks the bike, and there was somebody, his friend, ahead of me in line. So Ronn came and joined him. I am in line, and one of the ladies asked me, “Are you a climber?” I said, “Yeah, I was born in the mountains, and that’s why I’m registering.” And suddenly this voice comes from in front of me, “Where are you from?” I said, “From Czechoslovakia.” He said, “Oh, I can tell you are from someplace in Eastern Europe. What is your name?” I said, “Vladimir.” So this is how I met Ronn Hayes. He immediately left his friend and came to me, stood with me in line. He said, “You know, you need to join me. I have about three foreign students and some American students, and we get together every week. Tomorrow evening we have a meeting at my place.” So, sure enough, I came there the very next day, and he had these three foreign students come in, and some other students, and they were very enthusiastic and asked me what I’m doing. I said, “I just came here, I’m going to graduate school,” etc., etc. And he said, “Well, how do you make money?” I said, “Well, I have a scholarship, but I will find some jobs, like I had in Portland, different things.” He said, “No, I will give you a job. I am a tree surgeon. I am a student, but when I was in high school, I had polio in my left arm, and the doctor told me I have to work physically so it doesn’t return,” because he had just the beginning of polio. “So I get a job at Stanford at a high school in Marin County to work for a tree surgery company. And now, as a student at Stanford, I got this job from Stanford to trim the trees around Lagunita Lake and on Stanford campus. And I need people to work, and you’re a mountain climber, you got to work with me.” So he told me about tree surgery and working on the oak trees around the Lagunita Lake and Stanford campus. And, to be honest with you, seeing Ronn’s enthusiasm, and he’s wonderful...he’s a horticulturist, because he studied trees. He didn’t just butcher trees or cut them down. He fixed them, he cabled them, he trimmed them, he fixed cavities so the trees would grow, because he believed in things like that. Most tree surgeons, the biggest money is made cutting trees down. It’s easy, anybody can do it. But he wanted to fix them, to make them beautiful. And so he taught me all these things. And I became a tree man, as well as a graduate student. So a long time after I finished, before I got a job at Stanford Research Institute, I did tree work around Palo Alto. And because we were climbers and we could use climbing techniques—you know, you would harness, tie yourself on a big redwood tree and swing around to do this. We were unsurpassed. Everybody wanted us to come and work. So for a long time I was making money, working as a tree surgeon, before I went to research. And even after I went to Stanford, when my friends and neighbors in Los Altos Hills or Woodside asked me, I went to—of course, free of charge—but I continued working all my life, to this day as a tree surgeon. As an example, look at this tree. You see? Two days ago, I was—look at the bottom where it’s cut there. This tree was dying, they wanted to cut it down. And you see on the bottom? I trimmed it and I still need to trim the top. I’m making a beautiful tree out of it. It was nothing but suckers growing in it. So, to this day, I work on trees for me and my friends, just gratis, a little bit. So that’s how I met Ronn. When we met, he said, “Vladi, you need to become a member, and we’re going to call it Cosmo Club.” I didn’t understand what it’s all about. I said, “Okay, what is Cosmo Club?” He said, “It’s Cosmopolitan Club. We have different people. We’re going to get together, we’re going to have a meeting, and we’ll just get together.” Because Ronn was extremely interested, being in political science and foreign affairs, he wanted to know, from foreign students from all directions, to get them together and to talk about—he was very concerned about the communist countries, the freedom. He had these meetings, and every week we would meet. And it started as the Cosmo Club, which became a huge success at Stanford University. He started it. And when he started it, and we grew up, about a year after I met him, we had an annual opening of Cosmo Club, and getting more and more people. It was advertised in The Stanford Daily and all over. So there was a big meeting, and I will never forget, to this day, he was so enthusiastic. And in his little cabin, there was a tub that was one of these old-fashioned with legs. So he said, “Vladi, let’s clean the tub. There’ll be probably 100–200 people. Let’s clean it. I have nothing to serve for any drink or anything.” So for two hours we were scrubbing the whole tub, and put it on, and we mixed—I don’t even know, orange juice, Kool-aid, a couple of quarts of vodka and...Mixed everything in the tub! (laughter) And bought some plastic thing, and filled the tub to the gills. And people came from all over. Everybody brought friends, and there were foreign students, American students, you name it. It was the Cosmo Club! And he played music, it was in a garden, it was outside, and people would walk to the tub, get a drink, come outside, and it was wonderful. I think it was the first year anniversary of the Cosmopolitan Club, which seems then grew from what I know now. Not only did they grow big, they even sponsor scholarships, I believe, and they do a lot of wonderful work. And I have to find out if it still exists, but I believe that it still exists. This is the kind of man Ronn was. And you can see the impact this guy had on me. Here I couldn’t even communicate, my vocabulary was maybe 500 words when I met him. Okay? And here is a man who so much entrusted things in me, and I in him—there’s no words to describe it. This is why you understand he was my best friend, and always will be...Ronn Hayes was my mentor in many ways. His beautiful relationship with rivers, with the mountains, with nature, surpasses everything I have ever known. He is a man who gave me so much, and whose enthusiasm I carry to this day, and will carry for as long as I live. He’s the one who asked me on the first river trip on the Colorado River, when he and Frank Hoover had the private permit in 1968. And ever since ’51, Ronn has been to this day, my definitely best friend I have ever had in my life. He was more than a friend. He was a brother, he was a friend, and he was someone who contributed tremendously to my life. It was a sad day when I had to speak at his funeral [last winter]. Part of me died at the same time, when he died. I’m sorry about that. Ronn was a phenomenal contribution to the boat design, to my evolvement with nature, to my and Nada’s, my dear wife, that we became very much involved with preservation of wilderness. And the stand that Wilderness World—and our boatmen—had was oriented towards: carry on the message of David Brower, Martin Litton, and going way back, to the people who really cared and wanted to preserve this phenomenal country that we have, and wild rivers, and forests and lakes, and the great nature that we have.

***

The first time in Grand Canyon was on a private trip in, I think, 1968. Frank Hoover got the permit, and Ronn called me, he said, “Vladi, I want you to come and be a boatman.” Marvin Stevens, Ronn, Frank Hoover, George Mancini, and myself. We were the boatmen. And Jomo! Or maybe not.
Steiger: So you rowed your own boat, the first...
V. Kovalik: This was the first time. I had no concept of Grand Canyon. I had no idea what Grand Canyon is. But on the other hand, a river was a river. I read about it, but I never was in details what it is. And the rapids, I decided, “Well, people have been going there, so why not?” So I went there, and we met at Lees Ferry. I will never forget the meeting, because many of the people had never met each other. Frank Hoover put an ad in the Sierra Club Journal, I believe, “People who want to participate on private trip, you should contact...” him. And there were several people from the East Coast. So they had never met, other than by letter and telephone. And the result was we will meet one day prior to departure at Lees Ferry, and meet together, have a dinner, and we will the next day go. So sure enough, I came to Lees Ferry a couple of days before—Ronn and I—and we helped inflate the boats. There was a conglomeration of every kind of boat. There was Green River, Yampa River, there was a basket boat, the lifeboats. I don’t have any idea, but they were just inflatable boats. Funky boats. Some were pretty hard when inflated. Some were losing air within hours of inflation. And we had seen a lot of people going back and forth and looking at the boats, and bringing bags full of clothes and putting it in the boats. Nobody knew whose boat is whose. We had no idea. It was very disorganized. All we knew was there were six boats and six boatmen and X number of passengers, which came to about three people per boat, plus a boatman. So we had a dinner. I recall I think it was in that big trailer there, and had hamburgers or whatever we ordered, and some beers. And then we first time met the people. So we talked to each other, and there were more women than men that came on the adventure, which was wonderful! So that evening, people came and decided, “This is my boat, this is my boat, this is my boat.” And all of us, the passengers, the boatmen, everybody. So I ended up with a boat—I don’t even know to this day what it was, but it was a funky boat. And in the morning when I came to my boat, it was full of wine in plastic one-gallon jugs. The girls brought some wine and filled up the boat, and they put their name with a spray can. There was sign on my boat, “No virgins allowed.” (laughter) With a spray can paint, which never dried up, and would never be washed, because I recall every time somebody sat on it, they had an imprint on their butt— either on bathing suit or the lower part of the legs, which were exposed. That paint was some surplus paint that the girls got from somewhere, and they wrote on each boat, something. My boat had “No virgins allowed.” I ended up with three beautiful, statuesque, bikini-clad women the next morning. I was in seventh heaven. Full of wine and full of girls. What a journey— introduction to Grand Canyon! So I remember floating down the river, and everything went fine. You know, we got wet, we bailed, we did everything we were told. And in fact, some of us were frightened because of some of the stories about waterfalls and this and that. But we were heroes because we were all young, we competed amongst each other, and we were experienced in different outdoors things, such as climbing, diving, swimming, etc. So anyhow, the journey was very successful. We were going down and going down. Prior to our departure, I met Martin Litton who was there with the Dories. And they departed before us. The campsite was set up, as I recall to this day, that Martin always camped, being the fact that he was a day ahead of us, he was always one campsite ahead of us. But he had decided, and I recall he introduced me to a man in his boat who was one of the editors of the travel section in the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper. I can’t recall his name. I will remember it after a while. Anyhow, so a day’s journey ahead of us. But Martin decided, since we were going to camp at Redwall—at that time it was legal to camp [there]. He decided to wait for us with the photographer from the San Francisco Chronicle. And he hid his boat behind the rocks, right below Redwall, and they walked into Redwall Cavern and waited for us. They were hiding in the back, we didn’t have any idea that somebody is there. We knew Martin was camping a few miles down. So anyhow, as we were approaching Redwall Cavern the third or fourth day of the journey, I can’t remember, a passenger in my boat, named Carol Neblitt [phonetic] said, “Vladimir, is this the place we’re going to camp?” Here is in front of us, about half a mile, this giant cave. I said, “I guess so, I don’t know. We have to ask Frank Hoover.” And so we waited, and Frank said, “Yes, this is the place.” So Carol said, “Would you mind? I feel, can I sing?” I said, “You can do whatever you want. Why not?” So she stands in the boat, I put the oars in the boat, and we’re just floating, sitting. She stands up and starts to sing an aria from an opera—“Aida” or something. And it was so overwhelming, her voice, her echo, that each boat just stopped, put the oars in, and it was silent. And she is singing...I didn’t know then, but eventually...She was from the Metropolitan Opera, from New York. And here she is singing, just unbelievable operatic arias approaching Redwall Cavern. And so she sings, and she finished the aria, and suddenly a male answers from Redwall Cavern! There is a man singing! A man walks up to the beach, and we are all freaked out. Nobody had anticipated, nobody knew about it. In fact, the funny thing is, Martin didn’t know when he came there, that we had an opera singer. But it so happened that the man who was a photographer, at one time he was a professional singer, or at least had belonged to some singing group, so he was a fair kind of singer. So Carol freaked out. She sits down and she says, “Vladimir, what is going on?! Have you known about this?!” I said, “Absolutely no.” Nor did anybody else. In the meantime, the boats, we have merged together, and everybody’s talking, “What is going on?!” And finally I see Martin Litton walking, joining the singer, and I said, “Oh, my God, Martin must be there hiding!” And sure enough, Martin is there, and he waves. So we land there, and we have a nice discussion. About an hour later Martin decides, “We have to go, and go to our campsite.” So he and the gentleman, they sit in the boat, he brings the boat from behind the rocks, puts it in, they load it. And as they go down, the man—Carol Neblitt’ son the beach in Redwall, and he, in the moving boat, start to sing to each other, “Indian Love Call.” The boat is departing and he is singing and she is singing from Redwall Cavern. It was one of the most unusual and unprepared concerts that you can imagine in Grand Canyon, having a professional singer and a semi-professional—maybe professional man—to this day, I don’t know—singing. And eventually there was a beautiful article in the San Francisco Chronicle that came out...Martin has a slightly different version of that. You know how he likes to build up.

Steiger: And that was on your very first trip.
V. Kovalik: Very first trip in the Grand Canyon— the very first trip. It was a phenomenal conglomeration of people. What is so important is, the magic power that river has, that people have to recognize, that once you enter that canyon, there is no way out except one place in all of Grand Canyon. So once people recognize the camaraderie, no matter what part of the world you came from, no matter Vladimir, 1972. what background you had, there’s something that immediately becomes a fantastic power: the communication, the relationship, the sharing things, the beauty. It is unbelievable. And this is where the first time in the United States I felt so close to really do something like this eventually in my lifetime: first being in Slovakia when two of my compatriots and I floated down Vah River, and the second time was being introduced to Grand Canyon. Grand Canyon had probably the greatest impact in my life. There is nothing that I have ever before or after, to this day, experienced, that had this great impact. And especially with Ronn Hayes’ contribution when we walked around, and his wonderful delivery, as far as human/nature relations is concerned. It was a very powerful thing to me. I have compared it to one of the great major cathedrals that affects me the same way, which I visit around the world occasionally. It was a wonderful trip.

***

So immediately in my mind, I started to design a boat to myself. It was a fairy tale type of thing. I decided, wouldn’t it be nice to have a boat that can carry four or five people, with a cargo enough for fourteen, eighteen, or 21 days—whatever it may be. And all the way through our journey down the Grand Canyon, I made notes. I was watching the behavior of different boats, and I made notes, both mental and written on a paper, as to what would be a perfect boat to take down the Colorado River, or for that matter, on any other river. So we floated down, and as I said, I became very preoccupied with that. I don’t know why, because I had never believed that this will be my future eventually. But so I did. So upon the completion of the journey, Ronn and I have discussed—we both fell in love with the Grand Canyon—and have discussed the possibility of maybe some day being able to run trips, commercial or private, on the Grand Canyon. So it was decided that we will go and visit National Park Services and apply for a permit in Grand Canyon. I didn’t know if I ever would be able to do it, as I had a secure job and a family with three children. However, we did go to Grand Canyon and wrote a proposal, with Ronn Hayes and my wife, Nada, and presented it to the Grand Canyon National Park Services. Our emphasis was on oar-powered trips, where a lot of things can be shared, as far as ethnobotany, geology, history, and what have you, where we can float down and discuss things, and bring different people from different professions—professional people, such as geologists, such as environmentalists—and share the beauty of Grand Canyon with whoever we would take down the Colorado River. I didn’t believe we would get the permit, and shortly after my trip down the Colorado, I went to Vietnam to work as a scientist. I signed a contract for one year. I took my family. However, while in Vietnam, I couldn’t get the boats and the Colorado River out of my mind.

***

While working as a scientist for Stanford Research Institute analyzing and evaluating weapons systems for the U.S. government, Vladimir was offered a job by the State Department, which wanted an independent study done on statistics coming out of the Vietnam War. The question was, “If the numbers” [i.e. body counts] “are so good, why haven’t we won this war already?” VK— having grown up in a wartime environment, and not wanting to separate from his growing family during the year required of him—accepted the job after getting Nada’s okay. He traveled, unarmed, all over war torn Vietnam in an open Jeep, often accompanied only by one or both of his youngest children—Kyle and Karen, aged eleven and eight. Another book or two worth of amazing stuff happened to them all and, suffice to say, the Kovaliks came back to the U.S. with a different view of the American Dream than they’d had before.

***

Throughout my being in the Vietnam, both Nada and I frequently talked about if we get a permit, we’ll have a new life, which we both wanted—especially being in Vietnam, experiencing the war, my experiencing war when I was a young man in the Second World War. We really felt it would be good to get away from all work related to war, and start something new that would make Nada Kovilik, on the first music trip, 1976. everybody more happy and satisfied. So we had thought about and planned theoretically about if it happens, what we would do. And so we were prepared that if we get a permit, that we would dedicate our life to the river running and outdoor activities. And indeed, when we came back, the first effort was to contact Ronn and go visit the National Park Service. It just kept coming up and popping up, and sure enough, after my completion of the work in Vietnam, I had returned to the United States, and immediately contacted the Grand Canyon people. Ronn Hayes and I drove there, and they told us that they would give us a decision, as far as our permit is concerned, in a very short time. We were so convinced we would get the permit, because with our discussion in Park Services, they were asking questions, they were very intrigued with our proposal. So I decided to start working on a boat design. Immediately I started to write letters to Firestone Rubber Company, to Rubber Fabricators, and anything I could get ahold of, anybody who manufactured boats, both in the United States and foreign countries. I wrote letters about I would like to design a boat, if they would be willing to work. Naturally, everybody refused this. “Oh,” they asked, “who do you represent? Are you talking hundreds of boats? Is it for defense, for the U.S. military, or whatever?” Of course I said “It is a private thing.” I was rejected everywhere. However, in South San Francisco, I had found out that there is a company that were manufacturing the life chutes for the commercial airlines, which were made out of neoprene rubber. And so I went to visit the company. And I had a discussion with the president of the company, and again, he was very receptive and listened to me. But when I told him this is for private use, they immediately refused to make a boat for private use in Grand Canyon or anywhere, for that matter. While I was leaving, I was approached by a man who had been in the meeting when I was presenting my proposal on the private boat. His name was Gordon Holcomb, who was working for the company. However, he also had a company in Redwood City that made vinyl shelters for the navy submarine, overhauling engines. They would cover the submarine so nobody would see. And other shelters, for what, I have no idea. However, he approached me, and he said, “Vladimir, I am very interested in talking to you about the boats. I would love to see something like that, and I wanted to make a boat, but there was no interest at the time, until I heard you talking. And your enthusiasm really got me going. So would you please come to my office tomorrow, can we get a meeting? I would love to work with you on a boat.”

***

Thus began an odyssey of boat design and building that would take VK all over the world and lead to many of the aforementioned advances in the technology we all know and love today. And thus also began the company itself.

***

Nada’s typical attitude towards things is to really go deeply in something. Unlike I, who makes a decision within seconds, Nada is a thorough investigator. This is due to her journalistic background...What she did, she encompassed thinking of what the Hayes and Kovalik families could do. And she felt there is a great potential of adventure to diversify, to go to different things which would be a human relationship with things outdoors, etc. She felt “Wilderness World” would be the thing. Both Ronn and I felt just a simple thing, Adventure [something], probably one of the common names, Adventure whatever. We were more interested in running, to doing things, rather than doing the research. We were eager to get on the river, to discover new rivers, discover new things, rather than sitting down and thinking about a good name. Nada’s dedication, and her thorough investigation has proved otherwise. In other words, she came up with a name that encompasses all the future development: Wilderness World. Why was it good? If you take a globe apart and open it up, you get a “W” which encompasses the world. This is exactly what she says, Wilderness World. And we felt there’s a lot of open vistas, a lot of future to develop the company and grow. And indeed, we have done it. We have pursued it on a large scale.

***

Indeed they did. In addition to Grand Canyon, Wilderness World sought and won permits in California, Idaho, and Oregon. Almost immediately they were running trips on the Stanislaus, Tuolomne, Middle Fork, Main Salmon, Rogue Rivers...(eventually they ran trips in Baha, California, on the Usumacinta River in Guatemala, sailing trips in Turkey...) overnight the entire family was swept into the business. Young Kyle and Karen were pressed into service painting rubber, fiberglassing oars, licking stamps, mailing envelopes. Nada was writing brochures, answering the phone, booking trips, buying food at the grocery store. VK bid a ridiculously low amount on a lot of surplus rubber and a couple of months later an Army truck showed up on their doorstep with tons of the stuff. They used some of the boats at first and then VK traded side tubes for Green Rivers; but soon the first Havasus showed up; and not long after that, the second generation (which was good, because those boats actually held air). The early crew in Grand Canyon was VK, Ronn Hayes, Henry and Bill Wenner, George Mancini. Pretty soon Tom Olsen was aboard, then a star studded cast of characters streamed through, including Floyd Stevens, Gary Casey, Carl Ochsner, Larry Stevens, Johnny Walker, Mark Jensen, Bart Henderson, Whale, the Dierker boys, Sue Basset, Jim and Deb Hendrick, Thad Stewart, Mike Marstellar, Mark Arnegard, John Markey, Jim Irving, Howie Usher, Tony and Ann Anderson, Brad Dimock, and many more...Through it all VK was constantly on the move—dreaming, scheming, wheeling and dealing... *** One of the great things that evolved—and this is a story that should be written—Ronn, all his life, since I met him in 1951, he always wanted to visit my country. And of course it was impossible because it was a communist country. But eventually I got him to go to Europe. We came to Europe, he and two other friends, John Penquite and Les Kiska. We bought an old taxi car, and I asked them, “Okay, you guys...”
Steiger: Now, what year would this have been?
V. Kovalik: Oh, I can’t remember. I will tell you the years later on. But I asked him, “What would you like to see in Europe?” And Ronn said, “To see as much as we can”—in whatever short time we had—“I don’t know if I will be able to go to Europe again.” So I said, “Okay. Let’s buy an old car.” It is easy to buy in Europe an old taxi, because the taxi drivers change their car every three or four years. They want to have a new car, and they are diesel cars, which gives a lot of mileage, and they are large and comfortable, and you buy them for a very good price, because they have a lot of mileage. But on the other hand, they are maintained by the taxi drivers. So I bought a car for $2,000—four of us each gave $500. And we went on a journey, and we went all over. I will never forget when we came to Greece. Ronn always was talking about theater: Greece, Delphi, that was something he wanted, as an actor, and as reading a lot of history. So we went to the Delphic Theater in Greece. And it was very unusual, because we came in, in the evening, and the gates were closed. So we slept in the car, outside. And in the early morning, we got up, and we went to the gate, and there were some buses waiting to get in, to go see the Delphic amphitheater. We came into the gate, and the guard said, “Well, you can’t—it’s only nine o’clock when we open.” The guard was young, and I decided, “Hey, there’s a chance maybe they’ll let us go.” So I said, “Look, I have a friend here. He’s a very famous actor from Los Angeles, from Hollywood.” And he said, “What?!” I said, “Yes, his name is Ronn Hayes. He’s in the car right now. And he would theater, and Ronn gets on the stage. And I have never seen anything like that. He looks, and he completely transformed to a different person. He is walking on the stage, and suddenly he starts to recite Shakespeare. I think it was “Henry the Fifth” or something. And he goes on and on. He stops, and this gateman looks at us, and then he looks at his watch, and he runs away. And Ronn looks, he doesn’t know what is going on. The three of us are sitting, and watching Ronn, and let him be. And what happens while he is doing it, the gateman opened the gate, and the buses pulled in, and of course you don’t hear it, they are way behind. And then people are listening. The first bus, they are English people, in the first two buses, the tourists. And so they’re coming in, and they hear Shakespeare. And they tiptoed on the benches. And Ronn is not aware, because here is the theater, this is the stage, and these are the benches [motions with his hands to show the setting]. Okay? This concrete thing, just built the way it was built in ancient times. It’s dilapidated somewhat, but it is original. And there is a stairway where you come to the upper...the British tiptoed right here, and they’re sitting there. And Ronn is going on for another fifteen minutes. He goes about the stage and recites, and he’s in seventh heaven. And we are so quiet you can hear the flies, and there’s these people coming in, two busloads. Ronn finishes, and this big applause comes from the people. And he looks up, not aware of what is there. And there he is. He turns red as a rose! But the people just coming down to him and congratulating him. They said, “Was this prepared for us, or was it a coincidence?” And of course it’s a coincidence. Ronn had no idea about the people. But this stayed with him forever. As a result, if you recall—when we floated down the river, he would take me for a walk. Whenever he came, we went down, the two of us would be there on a commercial trip. He would take me for a walk. And Ronn is an enthusiastic hiker, climber—and likewise myself—and I would go with him. And then he said, “Vladi, remember Delphic Theater?” I said, “Of course.” He said, “What does this remind you of?” I said, “My gosh! It looks like the Delphic Theater in Greece!” He said, “Sure. We have to do something.” And then we would go down and walk different places, and he didn’t tell me what, but he already had this in mind, so we would go down, and two, three trips, the same thing—we explored side canyons, everything. And then he says, “We are going to take Arriaga String Quartet. And instead of me performing Shakespeare—the Grand Canyon is much too holy a place—we will have music.” And sure enough, the next year we organized a trip, and the Arriaga String Quartet came. But at that time we had Michele Shikovsky [phonetic] from, I think, the Chicago Symphony, and a clarinetist—I can’t remember his name—I have all the photographs and pictures, so I can find all the names. So anyway, we go. The third or fourth concert in Grand Canyon is in the Delphic amphitheater. And it was so magnificent! The concert people loved it so much, on the first trip we paid them. Of course the tourists paid more money because of the six concerts I billed, which we had. But the musicians said, “We will come free of charge, but we would like to come.” And for a number of years they’ve been coming and performing—not only on the Grand Canyon. They came on the Rogue River. We had a concert on the Rogue River. And the most wonderful things...I’m sorry, I keep deviating and going back and forth, but it is important, it’s a part of the story...I was in China recently, when Ronn died. They wanted me to come to the funeral, so as soon as I came back from China, Kyle was arranging everything at Ronn’s place. He was there with Ronn when Ronn died. You know how it all happened—Kyle will probably talk [about it]. Okay, he will tell you. This should be a part of it, because if there for the funeral and give a eulogy. And many of the friends who came, including Rod Nash, who was a friend of Ronn and I, and the Arriaga String Quartet came and performed, played the music that Ronn loved so much! I have no words to say, but that was so powerful. Let’s stop for a while. We are mixing a lot of things, but you can improve and you can make it, because these are extremely important parts. You know, one thing guides you toward the other thing, and it has to be a support, because one person cannot do all the thing. There is nobody like that. It’s always a great support. And the support is much more valuable than somebody who does it together and puts it together, because without that support, you couldn’t derive to do something, unless you had the support, unless you had different inputs from different people who experienced different things, and can contribute a lot, too. So it’s a mutual thing. The other thing is, that you are aware of, or perhaps you may have been on a trip...Through Ronn, I have met the heroes in my life: David Brower and Martin Litton, who I have, ever since I have met them, been friends until Dave Brower died, and Martin Litton, to this day, who I speak—at least every few weeks we are in contact—and will remain dear friends forever. Ronn has introduced me to these people. What was also beautiful, when you go to history of Grand Canyon, of the wilderness, of redwoods, of anything, these are two people— Martin Litton and David R. Brower—who have contributed so much in preservation of Grand Canyon, who saved Grand Canyon, who saved redwoods, who saved wilderness, who saved many different things. And on Ronn’s and my part, we wanted to bring these people together. Wemet Mark DuBois [who chained himself to a tree in a hidden location to stop the damming of the Stanislaus River in California], and Mark and David Brower had never met. So we have invited—Ronn and I—invited David Brower and Mark DuBois, to meet, since both of them, in a different direction, but worked towards the same principle, towards the same goal. We wanted to bring these people together, so we arranged for them to come to float, with Wilderness World, down.
Steiger: Do you remember what year that was?
V. Kovalik: No, but Kyle will know. So anyway, what was very beautiful, that David volunteered. Every day we had lectures. He spoke on different issues. We had dam building, redwoods, this and that. And all the lectures I have here, and I’m going to let you use—if you want to use them for anything.
Steiger: Well, you know, we ought to copy ’em if we can.
V. Kovalik: Yes, I’ll copy it. I have a copy machine. But this is a very—the lectures are preserved that he did on Grand Canyon. Ronn and I gave copies to Mrs. anybody, I want Ronn Hayes to be [recognized as] the man who really made all these wonderful things possible. There’s no greater encouragement for my designing boats, and his design, for our designing boats, and our involvement in nature, than Ronn. He became one of the most important parts of my life, in just about everything I have done: as well as later on, Jomo—Ken Ward—who is also a very dear friend, whose enthusiasm and charm and kindness and love also made evolvement in design very much possible. These are the people—and all the other people...But the credit primarily [goes to] Ronn, Jomo, and George Mancini, and my wife, who sacrificed everything in her career to go to something that we didn’t know we could survive on, but we did. Her phenomenal hours, her input, brochure writing, naming Wilderness World, designing things, and her enthusiasm and support—there is no money in the world that could compensate for. Her dedication and her love was phenomenal. But anyway, this is the music that Ronn started. And the thing that I want to say is that when I came back from China, immediately Kyle arranged for me to fly Brower, after he died. And Sierra Club, I believe, has a copy. Because it is a memorable thing, of David talking about—you know, before he died. This is a history. This is a great, great thing. And these are the people who saved the Grand Canyon, for God’s sake. So to this day, I remember the enthusiasm of David Brower meeting Mark and traveling with us. And the people we took on this trip, who were dedicated people. And when we finished the trip, here is—“Tarzan,” I called him—Mark DuBois, 6-foot 8-inch muscle man, beautiful man, wonderful man, loving man. He’s picking up everybody on the boat, before we landed, and throwing all of us in the river! The enthusiasm, to meet David Brower, to have these fantastic, unforgettable lectures, and questions asked, and participation. He didn’t know how to reward, so he threw all of us boatmen in the river. And you couldn’t fight, because we felt like midgets, when this giant—he picked me up and threw me six feet from the boat! And he did it to everybody! It was so memorable, and so beautiful. And so now, you see my enthusiasm jumping from one thing...Tthis is all interwoven, this is all interdependency, one to another. You know, one thing created this, this, and this. And so we zigzag back and forth. But this is the story of our lives. This is the way it is, the way things evolve. And so I want to share so much , in a short time, and every time I say something, it reminds me of another thing.
Steiger: Well, that’s an oral history, that’s what happens.

***

Another microscopic slice of a very large story...excerpted from an extensive interview conducted in January of 2005, as part of a grant from the Grand Canyon National Park Foundation, pertaining to the Historic Boat Project.This oral history presentation has also been made possibleby a grant from the Arizona Humanities Council. The results of this project do not necessarily represent the view of the Arizona Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.