It's the song of the mountains. The annual spring anthem of harmonious hisses, splashes and gurgles that builds and swells into a roaring crescendo in each alpine stream and river. Writer Wallace Stegner called it "a steady renewal of force; transient and eternal, " that every sense applauds.
"Listen again to its sounds," he wrote in The Sound of Mountain Water: The Changing American West "Get far enough away so that the noise of falling tons of water does not stun the ears, and hear how much is going on underneath... The small talk of side channels, the whisper of blown and scattered spray gathering itself and beginning to flow again, secret and irresistible, among the wet rocks."
That rumbling symphony of raging water turned out to be a trumpet's call for elite paddlers after a series of late-winter storms pumped moisture into the veins of the Northern California water supply. Like a blast from a fire hose, these "atmospheric rivers," as these storms are known as, produced massive quantities of snow and rain, causing an explosion of high-water conditions in the region's creeks and streams. For extreme paddlers like Gavin Rieser, there couldn't ever be a more perfect storm.
"It is probably the gnarliest bit of whitewater I have paddled," wrote Rieser on his Facebook page, "It starts off with super fun and super nonstop Class 4 to 4+5, with an optional hike out for those not willing to brave the depths of the canyon below."
Sacramento's Rieser and his paddling partner Harry Lopez took advantage of flooded Alder Creek, a tributary to the South Fork American River, west of Kyburz, California. While the South Fork section is a local paddling favorite, the creek is more of a mystery.
"I'm sure I wasn't the only one wondering what might lay upstream," posted Rieser, "The creek has seen some descents both at the bottom and much higher up, and I myself paddled a short section above the meadows a few years ago. What amazes me is how much of it actually goes. While there are a few mandatory portages, most of the stuff we did walk was runnable. We either weren't feeling it or walked due to safety and time concerns."
Rieser estimated the steepest part of the nearly 2-mile section of the canyon has several drops between 5 to 15-feet, with its biggest fall at nearly 60-feet.
"It is relentless," he wrote on his Facebook post, "I dub it, the "Gorge of Gnarnia." Really, it's more like 2 gorges separated by super steep boulder gardens reminiscent of Middle Kings, but hey, who's counting? If you want your Class 5+ fix, I highly recommend the "Gorge of Gnarnia."
According to Rieser it took them nearly 8-hours to explore, scout and paddle the rugged and steepest nearly 2-mile section of Light Canyon's Alder Creek before hiking out very tired and sore.
"There were many more amazing and epic rapids," stated Rieser on Facebook, "Most of them we ran, many of the ones we walked were runnable but portaged due to safety and time concerns."
We are all called to that serenade of rushing water echoing through the canyons. In its encore performance, we look forward to hearing it every year in winter's finale and spring's overturn. Its repeated refrain of nature's chorus that seems to perpetually speaks to us. As mountain climber and environmentalist David Brower said, "Let the mountains talk, let the river run. Once more, and forever. "
Rieser is the Where is Waldo of kayaking in California. He, his pickup truck and kayak travel everywhere in Northern California looking for steepest roads and biggest drops. You can see all Rieser's' photos on Facebook and follow him on Instagram at @kayakerdude1435. Check out his videos on YouTube.
Over the Bow is a feature from Outside Adventure to the Max, telling the story behind the image. If you have a great picture with a great story, we would love to see it. Submit it to us at nickayak@gmail.com
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