While recovering from an injury, a snowboarder finds purpose on the water with a trash-collecting paddle around Lake Tahoe

The impact came out of nowhere. One moment, I was sitting at a stoplight after a dawn patrol splitboard mission up Jakes Peak, still buzzing from the kind of morning that fills your soul. The next moment, my blissful mood was shattered as a Hummer slammed into the back of my car.

Just like that, the rhythm of my life—movement, mountains, momentum—screeched to a halt. 

What followed was a blur of diagnoses: a broken collarbone, a concussion and shoulder damage that would require surgery. On May 21, 2025, Dr. Kyle Swanson at Barton Hospital repaired my rotator cuff and biceps tendon. I would have to wait at least seven months before snowboarding again.

For someone who measures time in sunrises, vertical feet and long days in the mountains, that kind of stillness felt suffocating. But if the mountains have taught me anything, it’s this: When the conditions change, you adapt.

Rewriting the Line

Tahoe has been my home for years. The lake and surrounding mountains have shaped the way I approach life, teaching resilience, perspective and deep respect for wild places.

When I was forced to slow down, I didn’t want to sit still and count the days until winter returned. I needed a purpose.

About a month into healing, an idea began to form. What if I could take something that had always been on my bucket list—circumnavigating Lake Tahoe—and turn it into something bigger than myself? The plan was simple in theory: kayak all 72 miles, stopping at beaches to pick up trash along the way. Because every piece of litter left behind eventually finds its way into the water. And Tahoe’s famed clarity isn’t guaranteed forever. 

This was bigger than recovery.

A Different Kind of Training 

Recovery has a way of humbling you. 

Just four months after shoulder surgery, Claire Hewitt-Demeyer set out to circumnavigate Lake Tahoe by pedal kayak

Two months post-surgery, I couldn’t lift more than 5 pounds. A traditional paddle kayak wasn’t an option, so I had
to adapt. Thanks to the generosity of Kyle Shaffer, who lent me his pedal-powered Hobie, I could circumnavigate the lake without compromising my healing. 

Training became less about performance and more about patience. Five-mile days slowly turned into 10, weight added to the kayak little by little.

Every time I landed on a beach, I picked up trash. Plastic bottles tucked into the sand. Food wrappers tangled in rocks. Debris of all sorts that would otherwise end up in the lake. 

Tahoe gives so much to all of us: adventure, peace, escape, identity. Yet people still leave pieces of themselves behind along its shoreline. The more I trained, the more it felt like a mission to protect this place.

When Things Get Real

About three weeks before the expedition, Lake Tahoe humbled me in a different way.

I was 6 miles offshore, training alone, when my kayak suddenly malfunctioned. A critical pin in the pedal drive (my only source of movement) had snapped. No paddle. No swimming allowed because of my shoulder. One bar of service.

For the first time since the accident, fear hit hard. It was a reminder of how quickly things can shift, how vulnerable we are when we step into the unknown.

I managed to get a message out before losing service. My boyfriend, Kyle Johnston, dropped everything to come find me, navigating open water and vague directions until he spotted me drifting alone. Luckily, the water was calm and the weather was warm. Had conditions changed, the situation could have become far more serious.

That day didn’t stop me, but it made me respect the lake in a whole new way.

Building Something Bigger

As training continued, I started building the heart of the project.

I reached out to companies and friends for support, not knowing what to expect. The response blew me away: gear, encouragement, shared excitement. People believed in this wild little idea even while I was still figuring it out myself.

More importantly, I partnered with Clean Up The Lake, a nonprofit dedicated to preserving Tahoe’s fragile ecosystem. With their help, the logistics fell into place: camping permits, route planning, cleanup coordination and a rare opportunity to camp in Emerald Bay after the season had closed. Huge shoutout to the Forest Service for making that happen. Without that stop, day two would have turned into a brutal 25-mile push my recovering body couldn’t handle.

We also launched a fundraiser supporting Clean Up The Lake’s ongoing efforts—because this was never just about kayaking around a lake.

The Push

Four months after surgery, it was time. 

My shoulder was still healing. I couldn’t swim. I was still restricted to light weights. But somewhere between the endless training laps, the fear and the setbacks, I started believing I could actually do this.

October 5 was the latest I could push before the weather turned. The week before, Tahoe had a big wind event that rattled me. Was I strong enough? 

I’d planned for a solo expedition. Then, at a wedding in Oregon two weeks before launch, my friend Quinn Randall lit up at the idea. Without hesitation, she booked a plane ticket. 

Launch Day

That morning at Hidden Beach, my stomach was full of nerves. Standing on the shoreline, looking across the massive stretch of blue ahead, felt overwhelming. 

Quinn went straight from her morning flight to a taxi to Incline Village, rolling in ready. Her energy was exactly what I needed.

Just four months after shoulder surgery, Claire Hewitt-Demeyer set out to circumnavigate Lake Tahoe by pedal kayak

At 11:15 a.m., we pushed off and started pedaling south. That first moment gliding away from the beach felt surreal. Three months earlier I could barely move my shoulder. Now I was setting off on a four-day circumnavigation of Lake Tahoe.

The lake graced us with smooth water. We pedaled hard for 7 miles until we reached Skunk Harbor for our first cleanup. I set a 15-minute timer so we could still navigate the remaining 11 miles to Zephyr Cove. We collected 22 pieces of litter and hopped back in to chase daylight. 

The sun had just dipped behind the mountains when we reached Zephyr Cove. Our bodies were wrecked, yet we were overwhelmed with joy. We’d gathered 59 pieces of trash weighing 3 pounds.

Friends greeted us with shrimp and marinara, a true delight after hours of paddling. They also prepared some warm food and started a fire as we set up camp. There’s something about ending a long, exhausting day with people who show up for you.

Day Two: The Crux

We woke long before sunrise, rushing to get on the water before the weather turned. The goal: 15 miles from Zephyr Cove to Emerald Bay. Forecasts called for strong afternoon east winds, the worst possible direction. Gusts would slam into us sideways, with real potential to flip our kayaks far from shore.

We left fully bundled, breath visible on the glassy water. 

Two hours in, our trash-grabber tool fell into the lake. We watched it spin into the depths and settle on the sandy bottom about 7 feet down. We glanced at each other and knew we couldn’t leave it. That would go against everything we were kayaking for. Without hesitation, Quinn launched herself in for a proper morning cold plunge. Seconds later, she burst back grinning like a lake mermaid, holding the grabber overhead.

One more piece of trash not left behind.

We reached Baldwin Beach at 1 p.m., made lunch to warm up and swept the shoreline. In 20 minutes, we collected 106 pieces of litter. Then the wind picked up. We made a mad dash back to the kayaks. 

Whitecaps started building. Strong east winds slammed into us sideways. The lake went from calm to chaotic. 

Suddenly, I was out there, unable to swim, still healing, pushing through one of the most demanding moments of my life. You stop thinking about the distance. You just focus on the next stroke. The next breath.

Somehow, we made it the final 5 miles to Emerald Bay, weary and humbled by how quickly the lake can turn. Our voices were stripped from shouting against the wind for an hour and a half. 

Camping in Emerald Bay after the crowds had disappeared felt like stepping into another world. Alpenglow lit up the surrounding peaks. Silence settled across the bay. I sat completely exhausted, staring at the water, realizing this project had become so much more than recovery. It was healing in motion.

Layne Howard and Anisa Kastle joined us that night to camp, and Kyle brought dinner by boat. A true dream come true.

Joy in the Middle 

On day three, we left at sunrise so we could stop at Fannette Island and have breakfast at the iconic tea house. Quinn surprised me with birthday decorations, turning an already meaningful expedition into one of the most meaningful birthdays of my life.

Fresh off surgery, 32 miles into a 72-mile mission, celebrating another year of life. It felt surreal.

We pushed on another 17 miles to our next base camp in Tahoe City. This time the lake gave us a break with calm water and sunshine—the kind of conditions that remind why Tahoe steals people’s hearts.

By the end of the day, we’d reached the 50-mile mark and collected another 92 pieces of trash.

The Final Push

By the fourth day, exhaustion had fully set in. But we could feel the finish line pulling us forward.

Four days and 67 miles into the journey, Hewitt-Demeyer and Randall paddle through a boulder-studded stretch near Crystal Bay

We launched from Tahoe City at 6:40 a.m. The lake feels different in those early hours. Quiet. Still. Forecasts called for stronger winds in the afternoon. We had 22 miles to go, our biggest day yet.

As we rounded the final corner back toward Hidden Beach, emotion hit. The moment our kayaks touched the sand, we shouted with joy, hopped out and jumped into the freezing lake fully clothed, laughing, tired, overwhelmed with gratitude. 

I couldn’t have done it without Quinn by my side, without Clean Up The Lake, without the sponsors, without the friends who brought warm meals after long days on the water, and without Tahoe itself.

We had done it. 

In all, we collected 253 pieces of trash, roughly 13 pounds removed from the shoreline.

On paper, it might not seem like much. But this journey was never about the numbers. It was about awareness. About intention. About showing that even when you’re sidelined, you can still create something worthwhile.

The journey reminded me that healing isn’t just physical. It’s mental, emotional and deeply tied to purpose. Setbacks don’t have to stop you. 

Lake Tahoe has given me so much. This was my way of giving a little back. And maybe, just maybe, it will inspire someone else to do the same. Because you don’t have to do something massive to make a difference.

A professional snowboarder based in South Lake Tahoe, Claire Hewitt-Demeyer thrives on “type 2 fun” and brings an infectious energy to every mission. Follow her journey and explore her media and film accomplishments at clairehewittdemeyer.com. Hewitt-Demeyer would like to thank the following companies for supporting her Lake Tahoe circumnavigation: Clean up the lake, Sports LTD, Chums, Teva, LifeStraw, Bio Lite, Sea to Summit, Salt Stick, Nemo, Heather’s Choice, and Aloe Up