Outside Adventure to the Max: Leonardo Da Vinci

Friday, March 3, 2017

FOUNTAINS OF FLOW

“Water is the driving force of all nature.” Leonardo da Vinci

A wave of storms has battered the Pacific coast this winter, hitting California particularly hard with heavy rains, mountains of snow and destructive flooding. It has all come after severe a drought that parched much of the state for the past six years. So while my area paddling chums are happy with the moisture recharging our area reservoirs and river. All this water, is too much of a good thing, keeping many paddlers away from usual peaceful waters that are now closed off to boating.

So between rains last week, with my familiar neighborhood location's water levels either too high, to treacherous or prohibited to paddling, I found myself at Folsom Lake State Recreation Area's Rattlesnake Bar on the north arm end of the lake. While taking in the flow from the North Fork of the American River, the lake in this past couple of weeks has been either up or down while accommodating California's rainy winter so far this season.

Now there has always been a long portage well past the gate at the boat ramp, as long as I've paddled there. It's been either lengthy trek down the ramp or an arduous trail along a steep bank to the water. The guidebooks say watch for rattlesnakes, hence the name. However, it should've of warned me about the thick layer of muck and slimy goo left behind after periods of high water blocking my path to the lake.

The easiest path, past the long boat ramp, looked like the La Brea Tar Pits. An oozing 100-yard field of muck, quicksand and flooded weeds before yielding to the lake. Going through there with my kayak in tow, I imagine myself quickly being sucked under like a scene out of Tarzan movie and entombed as a fossil of the lake.

The other path, much longer, of course, is a steep mountain goat like trail until you hit a slippery slope of sediment and rock about 20-yards or so down to the water. Choosing this track with my kayak on my shoulder, I slid through the gunk down to the water edge like I was on ice skates.

Even away from the muddy shoreline, I was not far from its dinge. The fluctuating lake levels of this winter season had left the water a silty and turbid brown. It will, of course, clear up by summer, but now, it appeared as the color of coffee and cream. It was similar to my days on the Red River between North Dakota and Minnesota. There, I watch the blade of my paddle disappear with every stroke into the murky water, only to reappear after leaving it.

I have paddle upstream here before, even portaged through shallow rapids just past where the North Fork of the American River flows into the lake. However, on this trip, the current was confused agitated, pushing my sea kayak in all different directions. Gone were the idle pools of summer, replaced by boils, hard eddy lines and perturbed water that had other ideas. After the first mile of going upstream, my kayak and I bent back, yielding to its flow and followed the lake's rocky shoreline.

Like the veins of blood returning to the heart, the water gushes back into the lake. Tiny capillaries of ravines, fissures, and crevices inundated with water, stream back to the vital artery of the river. It's plumber's nightmare. That constant resonance of running water from either that slow meticulous drip, drip, drip to the sound of that rushing cascade.

"Water does not resist," wrote Canadian poet, and environmental activist Margaret Atwood, "Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing, in the end, can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does."

Drifting alone, along the shore I find stream after stream flowing back to the lake. In one spot, a surge of water was passing through a green meadow, in another the water was rushing through a rocky gap, looking a mountain stream of crystal clear effervescence. The unexpected waterfall comes after twisting through the meandering channel just across from where I put in. A sweeping stream had cut away the side of the bank producing a mini version of the horseshoe-shaped Niagara Falls spilling over an embankment. It was the payoff for my afternoon paddle.

As long as I live, I'll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I'll interpret the rocks, learn the language of flood, storm, and the avalanche. I'll acquaint myself with the glaciers and wild gardens, and get as near the heart of the world as I can. -- John Muir

Friday, June 3, 2016

RIVERS, ISLANDS, AND MOUNTAINS

                                         I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
                                      Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
                                   Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
                                That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
                              Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
   Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
                                       For always roaming with a hungry heart
                                                 Alfred Lord Tennyson

On a clear day at access at Sailor bar, I can see the Sierra Nevada Mountains They're snow-capped, looming and like John Muir said calling for us come. In between are the forks of the American River brimming with spring runoff, roaring down to the basin. Turning to the west, it's a water trail to the Pacific. Down the American River, pouring into the Sacramento River and the Delta before reaching San Francisco Bay. In some places the water is slow and gentle, almost meandering lost without direction, while in other places it's quick and furious moving with such force that it has carved out the canyon that cradles it. However, water isn't concerned about the past, it lives in the now. Leonardo Da Vinci said, "In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time."

"One of the reasons I love whitewater kayaking to much is that it forces you to focus on the moment," wrote a former member of the Canadian Freestyle Whitewater Kayak Team and Bronze medalist Anna Levesque in her recent Girls at Play newsletter. " If you don't pay attention in a rapid you could end up somewhere you don't want to be. People are addicted to whitewater kayaking because they felt that intense joy that comes with being really present, at the moment. You don't have to be a whitewater kayaker to experience this. Sea kayakers experience this and lake paddlers who can get really quiet and pay attention to the beauty around them are also able to experience the present moment"

Some good advice as we head into the summer paddling season. It's great to look back on our experiences on the water, but we should be reminded that our best days are just any days we are paddling. So seize each day and enjoy each moment in the mountains, lakes, rivers.

Here are a few of my favorite images from this year so far.