SWIMMING LESSONS

 

Bogart: How'd you like it?
Hepburn: Like it?
Bogart: Whitewater rapids!
Hepburn: I never dreamed. . .
Bogart: I don't blame you for being scared -- not one bit. Nobody with good sense ain't scare of whitewater.
Hepburn: I never dreamed that any mere physical experience could be so stimulating.
-The African Queen 

Erik Allen looked at me sternly. Things needed to happen fast and now. I was soaking wet standing in swirling ankle-deep freezing water after being tossed about in the rapids of the North Fork of the American like a bobbing float toy. I had gathered enough strength to swim to the rocky shore and found some footing. The boat I had used was somewhere downstream, consequentially leaving me marooned on the wrong side of the river.  It was Groundhog's Day.

"You're going to have to swim across to the other side of the river," Erik said over the sound of the rushing water. "There is no trail here. We're on the wrong side dude!"

Moments before,  I had suffered a  classic boater's beat down nightmare. Upstream, I had rolled and was forced to swim. I could still see the emerald wave moving in slow motion. It was curling, big and looked ten-feet tall. I was hypnotized by its size and power. I lost focus and froze, committing the cardinal sin of white-water kayaking.  I had stopped paddling just hoping to ride it out.

"Fearful or tentative paddling is often a self-fulfilling prophecy, " said Team Pyranha's Pete Delosa, "When we are afraid of what might happen when focus on that thing and thereby cause it to happen. It's better to paddle aggressively and stay focused on the desired outcome. This is, of course, easier said than done a lot of the time. But, when you're tense the boat isn't able to rock with the water under you. You and your boat can't move independent of each other and that's when you get knocked over."

There is a saying on the river that every paddler, even the good ones are in between swims. According to the Whitewater Rescue Institutes's Mike Johnston, "When you fall in whitewater, it's common to be held underwater for a few seconds. Time seems to slow down. It's sort of like the dog years ratio, one actual second of submersion seems like about seven seconds. When you need to breathe and can't, three seconds can seem like twenty. This isn't a long time at your desk but can feel like forever at the bottom of a rapid. Don't panic."

When I rolled and broke away from my kayak,  I was on my back with my feet downstream.  I had one hand locked to my paddle and the other latched to the floundering boat as I bobbed along in the Class III torrent. The turbulent and aerated waves frothed and bounded dishing out its fury on my body and boat. Keeping my feet pointed downstream, I  used my body to angle through the current maneuvering right or left, with the boat in front of me.  I kept my body long and streamlined to maneuver smoothly and efficiently. The goal now was not to get hurt.

"The world goes dark, " writer and adventurer Joe Kane said in his book Running the Amazon, a firsthand account of the only expedition ever to travel the entire 4,200-mile Amazon River from its source in Peru to the Atlantic Ocean, as he describes his swim through the abyss of churning rapids. "The river— the word hardly does justice to the churning mess enveloping you— the river tumbles you like so much laundry. It punches the air from your lungs. You're helpless. Swimming is a joke. You know for a fact that you are drowning. For the first time, you understand the strength of the insouciant monster that has swallowed you. Maybe you travel a hundred feet before you surface (the current is moving that fast). And another hundred feet—just short of a truly fearsome plunge, one that will surely kill you— before you see the rescue lines. You're hauled to shore wearing a sheepish grin and a look in your eye that is equal parts confusion, respect, and raw fear."

Erik was quick to my rescue after I had bounced like a floating beach ball through the big waves. "Let go of the boat and grab on," he yelled out. In a moment of hesitation, I clung to my boat even tighter rolling into the fury of the rapid. People forget to emphasize that on single boat trips, the backup plan is always self-rescue. It's a good risk management to apply the buddy system to every river trip.

Erik Allen has what they call the water gene. A former Navy medic,  he has taken up adventure guiding as his true passion. He is at home on the water as he is on land. He often leads groups snowshoeing, camping and hiking as well as kayaking. He is used to taking care of others while out in the wild.
"Let go of the boat and grab on," he yelled again. I released my boat and watched it from the corners of my eyes drift away from me. "Give me your paddle!" I reached my paddle out from the waves. Erik snatched it from my hand. Then I swam with all my might to reach the back of his playboat. Stroke one, stroke two, and one more. The freezing water was leaving me breathless as his boat rushed ahead just out of reach. Another lunge forward and finally  I caught his stern handle as the waves punched at me again and again. As I caught breaths of air between the trough of waves,  I hung on tight to his boat as we were poured into a huge rapid.

Everyone should know about the potential for entrapment in moving water. I tried minimizing the risk of foot entrapment in moving water by keeping my feet up while hanging on the back of Eric's boat. My feet could act like hooks possibly to get caught between cracks in rocks or any type of nook or cranny on the bottom of the river. However in this improvised swimming position with my hands forward clutching Eric's kayak, I banged my knee and shins against the rocks. You would think after soaking for thousands of years they would be a little softer, but as we all know, rocks are very hard.

"Now swim, swim!' Erik shouted. I had turned from being a defensive swimmer to an aggressive one. Aggressive swimming is used to get from point A to point B as fast as possible. I let his boat go and with the American crawl kicked it into high gear,  setting a ferry angle to cross fast-moving current. Ferrying swimmers use the same techniques used when boating. Keep your head up so you can see where you are going, set a ferry angle and swim hard. Faster water uses a smaller angle and very slow water I could simply swim directly across at a 90 ° angle. As a former high school swimmer, I knew how to push my arms forward. Before long the I found some shallow rushing water.
After that long swim,  I was very tempted to stand up when I got close to the rocky and rough shore. The water was still moving very quickly and was deeper than my knees. Standing up to early I knew I could possibly get knocked down.  I took my time to stand when I found some decent footing. The only problem was it was on the wrong side of the river.

"You do not know how long you are in a river when the current moves swiftly. It seems a long time and it may be very short." Ernest Hemingway wrote in A Farewell to Arms. Joe Kane seems to follow it when he wrote, "That is River Lesson Number One. Everyone suffers it. And every time you get the least bit cocky, every time you think you have finally figured out what the river is all about, you suffer it all over again.”
I pretty much lost everything but my paddle. For boaters on the South Fork of the American River, Current Adventures Kayak School and Trips' Dan Crandall, offers these tips, "Any gear lost to the river will more likely end up in the reservoirs below, but in much worse condition than when it left you. All gear such as throw ropes and dry bags should be tied in and your name and phone number on each piece of your gear are always sound pieces of advice and will help tremendously in your gear's return." Mine gear, however, was lost for good.

"Catch your breath,"  Erik said, I sensed the stress in his voice, "We will go when you're ready." He said while peering downstream searching the shoreline for the missing boat. With every moment it was getting further and further downstream.

No man with any sense is going to willingly jump back into a freezing river again.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
Dripping, shaking and aching in pain, All I could say was "Let's go."
 I dove into the river clinging tightly to the playboats back handle. I didn't have time for fear and shook off the cold of the water. My goal was to push through or in my case be dragged over to the other side. Into another wave. It seemed to crash around us. I took gulps of air between plunges underwater. Losing track of time and feeling as the water and rocks beat down on my body.  Erik delivered me half-way and I had to swim the rest.

A lonely woman hiker watched the whole thing from the trail. As I climbed out of the river and limp up the side of the shore. She greeted me looking stunned.
"Should I call 911?" she asked.
 Still, out-breath and I shook my head no.
"Are you alright?"
I nodded and said breathlessly, "It's just another day on the North Fork of the American River."
"I almost died whitewater kayaking six years ago," she said with sympathy.
I laughed and said to her "It almost killed me today."
Then took off down the trail in search of Erik.

This article was originally published in Outside Adventure to the Max on February 19, 2017. 

 

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SNAKE CHARMED

 

Many a time I have merely closed my eyes at the end of yet another trouble some day and soaked my bruised psyche in wild water, rivers remembered, and rivers imagined. Rivers course through my dreams, rivers cold and fast, rivers well known and rivers nameless, rivers that seem like ribbons of blue water twisting through wide valleys, narrow rivers folded in layers of darkening shadows, rivers that have eroded down deep into the mountain's belly, sculpted the land, peeled back the planet's history exposing the texture of time itself. --- Harry Middleton

Loading up at other places that people find easier to get to. I sometimes get into conversations with boaters about where they like to paddle around Sacramento.
"Have you ever been up to Rattlesnake Bar?" I'll ask them.
The answer is usually either bewilderment or not for a long time as they think of the last time they were up there.
Rattlesnake Bar is part of the California State Parks Folsom Lake Recreation Area. Located on the north arm of the lake, it's down a long dead-end road after the fork winding past white fences and horse barns towards the entrance of the park.

The lake glistens, flashing through the oaks and willows while driving down the narrow road after entering the park. During the drought years not too far back, it looked more like Mars seeing the dusty remnants of the lake. But this year the lake is brimming. The lake is 50 feet higher than last year. Going into the last week of September, many recreation lakes in California have the highest lake levels for this date in more than 10 years.

Forget weekends. Come to Rattlesnake Bar mid-week in the summer or wait till late fall or early spring to escape the speed boat and jet ski crowd. This is a playground for them all summer long when the lake is full and the gate to the ramp is open.

The water was still touching the end of the ramp on my last visit. In previous trips, I can remember some lengthy treks while shouldering my kayak down the ramp or along an arduous trail down a steep bank to the lake. The guidebooks said to watch for rattlesnakes, hence the name, but it should have warned me about that thick layer of muck and slimy goo in front of the lake.
The water was a silty brown turned up by waves of jet skis and speed boats. It resembles more a choppy over perked coffee and cream color even past the 5-mph buoy about a mile north of the access. Those with a need for speed turn around and head back to the main part of the lake while those in search of the quiet of the lake, canyon, and river, proceed on.

Past Mormon Ravine, the lake widens and turns to the northeast. On the north side, the old Pony Express Trail is now a hiking path along the lake. Further up the lake narrows with rugged rocky ledges on both sides. I don't feel the tug of current on this visit, but I have before. It's common through here, for the lake to behave more like a river as the water level dictates where the river ends, and the lake begins. There is a sudden change of water temperature and clarity as the cool mountain North Fork of the American River pours into the lake. It was now a refreshing cold and running transparently clear.

"I have never seen a river that I could not love," wrote Canadian writer and conservationist Roderick Haig-Brown, "Moving water...has a fascinating vitality. It has power and grace and associations. It has a thousand colors and a thousand shapes, yet it follows laws so definite that the tiniest streamlet is an exact replica of a great river."

When I started kayaking, I dreamed of these river places Haig-Brown called "Water in its loveliest form." A clear water passageway between massive ramparts of broken disheveled texture, as the once molten rock now crystallized over millions of years, is exposed, lifted and shattered along the fault lines while large boulders have become their own islands raising from the depths.

The stream, flecked with little white waves and quiet inviting pools, while just around the bend there is the sound of the thundering water echoing off the chasm walls and the sight of a churning cascade, what naturalist John Craighead called, "A primeval summons to primordial values."

I have paddled upstream here before, even portaged through shallow rapids to the river's slow-moving pools. On this trip, however, the lake covers those rapids and the low water landmarks I'm familiar with going to north past Pilot Creek.  At Oregon Bar Rapids, there is no need to go any further on this outing, as the rushing water turns me back downstream.
Above Pilot Creek, I found a nice flat rock and water warmed by the sun. I beached my kayak and surveyed my river surroundings. Upriver, I could see the foam of whitewater while down downstream the rugged curve of the canyon suffused amber light of the late afternoon sun. I spent a good chunk of time there becoming a kid again. Diving off rocks, swimming between dives, and exploring the view of the canyon.
 Light and shadows dance across the water as the sun slips behind the horizon on my paddle back to Rattlesnake Bar. The hills and tree's obscurity are offset by the warm glow of the water. My senses are awakened by the stillness and coolness of the air as I glided silently and almost effortlessly across the placid lake of golden glass.

"We do not want merely to see beauty, " said writer C.S. Lewis, "We want something else which can hardly be put into words to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it."

 And with each stroke of my paddle, I soaked in all the lake's and river's tranquil magic.

This article was originally published in Outside Adventure to the Max on September 29, 2017

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OVER THE BOW: LAKE NATOMA

The first river you paddle runs through the rest of your life. It bubbles up in pools and eddies to remind you who you are. — Lynn Culbreath Noel

I have started off my paddling year on Lake Natoma many times in the past several years. Most recently, with the faith-based group Bayside Adventure Sports for this past weekend's annual Polar Bear Paddle. It was our sixth annual, it what has become a New Year's Day tradition.
It makes sense that Lake Natoma would kick off my so-called paddling calendar year. Located just blocks away from home, it is an easy jump to the lake.
As part of California's state park system, the lake has become more and more popular as the post-Covid pandemic paddling crazes continue to draw more folks to the water.
No doubt about it Lake Natoma is a paddler's favorite, with its nearly five miles of easy flat water nestled between Folsom Reservoir and Nimbus Dam, before flowing once again as American River toward its confluence with the Sacramento River some 20 miles away through the heart of the Sacramento urban area. The lake has three access points. One at each end of the lake and one in the middle.
On hot summer days, the accesses are oftentimes crowded with folks trying to escape the heat, but in January, they're left to only a few hardy ones.

Yep, I have started off my paddling calendar year here many times before, always shirking off the idea, it's just too cold to paddle in the winter.
Come on, folks! I tell them we live in California, where winter is only in the mountains. Back in my Minnesota paddling days, we locked our boats away dreaming of the day the ice would crack. I couldn't even consider taking a boat out, since all the rivers and lakes were frozen over. There I had to wait till spring. Which in January was a long way away.
I had been living in North Dakota a long time and never dreamed of paddling my newly discovered outlet in the winter. As canoe legend Bill Mason, said about those incurably hooked on paddling in the Northern tier, "You must also face the fact that every fall about freeze-up time you go through a withdrawal period as you watch the lakes and rivers icing over one by one. Cross-country skiing and snowshoeing can help a little to ease the pain, but they won’t guarantee a complete cure."

In 2013, I was in a long-distance relationship with Debbie, who, along with her beautiful brown eyes and smile, kept tempting me to come to visit California with pictures of the American River and Lake Natoma. She knew my weakness. How could I turn down such an offer in the middle of North Dakota winter?
In her quest to ensure I would have an enjoyable time; she scheduled several trips and activities. Two Sacramento Kings basketball games, a trip to Coloma to see the South Fork, and a drive up to Lake Tahoe. But before we could do any of that, we had to paddle on Lake Natoma.
Like tourists, we rented a tandem sit on top from Sacramento Aquatic Center on a chilly morning and set off across the lake.

 
"The water is clear and flat," I wrote in my paddling journal, "We're right above the dam over the American River. We have the lake pretty much to ourselves. Debbie sits in the back to steer. I told her the guy in front is the power as we move across the lake with ease."

We went on to discover the sloughs and back ponds that I still enjoy visiting today on the lake.

Since moving to California, I have paddled across Lake Natoma, now more times than I can count with groups, classes, solo, and countless more times with Debbie.
So, as I kick off my paddling year, I remember a quote by suspense novelist Karen Katchur, "The water. The lake. It flows through our veins, and there’s nothing we can do about it… It’s like venom.”

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, submit it to us at nickayak@gmail.com
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