OVER THE BOW: THE CONFLUENCE OF THE AMERICAN AND SACRAMENTO RIVERS

  


Looking downstream on the Sacramento River, we can see the Sacramento city skyline about a mile. It gave me a slight chuckle as I said to my paddling partner John Taylor, "Those are some strange-looking mountains downriver."
John retorted back, "Your right. And there is not any snow on top of them either."

When most people in vison kayaking or canoeing, they will think of places far away with scenic mountain views and tranquil pine-lined lakes away from the hustle and bustle of downtown. But remember you don’t have to leave the city to enjoy a day out on the water. Urban paddling is something you can do in many cities. In Sacramento, California, paddling the Lower American River offers an unexpected way to get active in the outdoors while seeing the waterway destination from a new perspective.

“We are so fortunate to have this 4,800-acre, 23-mile waterway in the middle of our urban core that we can ride bikes on, we can kayak, we can horseback ride, all of these things as well as have family picnics, that we don’t want to see that go away,” Dianna Poggetto the executive director of American River Parkway Foundation, told Fox 40 during a recent a volunteer cleanup effort of the riverway.
Multiple homeless encampments along the parkway have caused a myriad of issues for civic leaders and nearby residents. Their biggest complaint is the trash and debris that's left along the banks of the river. Throughout the year, volunteers participate in the effort to accumulate the trash left behind.

It was a left turn around the high bank of Discovery Park to the Lower American River from the Sacramento River. And it was easy to tell where one ends and the other begins. The Sacramento was colored darker with suspended soil, minerals, or other deposits, making it quite murky compared to clear running American. Paddling into the river's current, the change was instantaneous.

The lower American River was designated as a "Recreational River" under both the California Wild and Scenic Rivers Act and the National Wild and Scenic Rivers Act. One of only seven rivers in California to receive this protective status, the American River offers a rich array of recreational activities, wildlife viewing, along with its colorful history.
The Nisenan Native Americans were the first people to live here along the banks for hundreds of years. They called the river Kum Sayo, which translated means "roundhouse river." Naming it after their dwelling along banks.
Explorer and trapper Jedediah Smith showed in here in 1828, upsetting the Mexican authorities and freaking the Nisenan people along the river. He dubbed it the Wild River, but the name did not last. By the time, John Sutter built his fort further upstream, the area settlers and Native Americans named the river Rio de Los Americanos or American River.

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

Keep up with Outside Adventure to the Max, on our Facebook page and Instagram, and now on Youtube.

Adiós and Vaya Con Dios

      

                         I got my toes in the water, ass in the sand
                         Not a worry in the world, a cold beer in my hand
                         Life is good today, life is good today --- Zac Brown

 

We lounged there under an umbrella gazing at the unmistakable aqua splendor of the Caribbean Sea. The salt spray of the breaking surf hung in the air gave our lungs an instant feeling of ease. The snow-white sand sifted between our toes when we dared to rush toward the curling waves. The rhythmic waves seemed to leaves in a hypnotized state. It was hard to not look away. Not to peer out and wonder. I can't quite explain it, but there's just something so magical about spending a day by the ocean. 

Cancun paddling

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.'' said underwater explorer and conservationist Jacques Yves Cousteau.

The trip to Cancun, Mexico, was the kickoff to our summer. And after the last 16 months of living in the shadow of the Covid-19 pandemic, it was a pure pleasure to sit in the sultry sun relaxing at a luxury spa. I know I could get used to this all-inclusive lifestyle. We even got to kayak one day, where I looked down into the clear water and saw dozen of starfish just below my boat.
Our days in Cancun floated by quickly. Before long, we high in the sky, heading for North Dakota to see our granddaughter and attend to some family matters. It was followed by a cross-country trip in a U-Haul truck back to California back to reality.
There was little time for a return-to-trip hang-over. A day after unloading the truck, I packed up my camping gear and headed up to Sly Park and the pine-lined views of Lake Jenkinson and running Sly Park Paddle Rentals for a long weekend. I never had it so good. 

Sly Park Paddle Rentals

“Travel changes you," celebrity world traveler Anthony Bourdain said, "As you move through this life and this world, you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life — and travel — leaves marks on you.”

 

Here is a look at some of our favorite images from this year so far.

Slab Creek Reservoir

Lower American River

Lower American River with Bayside Adventure Sports

Rattlesnake Bar

Snowshoeing the China Wall with Debbie Carlson

Folsom Lake

The Lower American River

Keep up with Outside Adventure to the Max, on our Facebook page and Instagram and now on Youtube.

THE LAST JOURNEY HOME

Salmon are incredibly driven to spawn. They will not give up. This gives me hope. --- Kathleen Dean Moore

In the opening scenes of the 1992 film Last of the Mohicans, three hunters are on a frenzied chase through the forest. They are pursuing a bull elk that comes breaking through the trees, just as Hawkeye, played by Daniel Day-Lewis raises his rifle. With true aim, he brings down the creature with a startling crash. The breathless hunters are silent. There no cheers or accolades. Then in mournful sorrow, the Indian father pays tribute to the fallen elk by saying, "We're sorry to kill you, Brother. We do honor to your courage and speed, your strength."
That scene crosses my mind as I was paddling on the Lower American River and encountered the migrating Chinook or King Salmon. They were traveling up upriver from the Pacific Ocean to spawn.

As they had done for untold centuries, these creatures were completing their life cycle by spawning, laying eggs, and dying in their natal water, "Where they themselves had first known the quickening of life."
"It was the climax of existence," wrote naturalist Sigurd Olson after witnessing the eelpout spawn in Northern Minnesota, "The ultimate biological experience toward which everything previous was merely a preparation."  
Obeying their urges that were implanted in their genetic structure long ago, the salmons' entire life had led them to this supreme event. For eons, the salmon had spawning grounds of over 100 miles in the American River and its tributaries. But with Nimbus Dam just upstream, it is the end of the journey for these “wild salmon,” that avoid the fish ladder of the Nimbus Hatchery. Instead, they will lay and seminate eggs in gravel nests in shallows of the river beds.
At Sailor Bar, they find clean, cool, oxygenated, sediment-free fresh water for their eggs to develop. 

 The river was alive as it moves over the rocks with a quiet whisper. From my kayak, I watched the dazzling show of nature. The salmon were swimming against the flow of the current. I could see their single dorsal fins above the waterline. They were contorting their bodies and swishing their tail fins to clean any sediment in their nest area. It was like watching something prehistoric. This ritual to reproduce been has been practiced since the dawn of time.
"I have seen salmon swimming upstream to spawn even with their eyes pecked out, " wrote author and environmentalist Kathleen Dean Moore, " Even as they are dying, as their flesh is falling away from their spines, I have seen salmon fighting to protect their nests. I have seen them push up creeks so small that they rammed themselves across the gravel. I have seen them swim upstream with huge chunks bitten out of their bodies by bears. Salmon are incredibly driven to spawn. They will not give up. This gives me hope."

While spawning time celebrates the sheer primeval laws of procreation. It also marks the end of their life cycle. The salmon aging process has been accelerated as they migrate to the spawning sights like the American River's Sailor Bar. Scientists say it would be like if we as humans, aged forty years in two weeks. Most of them stop eating after they return to freshwater. Their bodies change. The male develops a hooked snout and a humped back. And in using every bit of energy they have for the return trip, they are simply exhausted, and they die.

As paddle back toward the lagoon of Sailor Bar, I came across one noble salmon lying motionless on the shallows more dead than alive. It was in the final moments of its epic life.
Like the hunters in The Last of Mohicans, I felt a certain melancholy as I witness the death of this river brother. I thought about its life of traveling in the distant ocean. How twice it swam twice under the Golden Gate Bridge. How it navigated the ocean dodging whales, seals, sea lions, and fisherman's hooks, and how it found its way back home to spawn.
Seagulls and turkey vultures were pecking and feasting on the numerous dead carcasses littering the riverway. No doubt this one would be soon included with those others. Its journey was now complete, as its body would provide vast amounts of nutrients back to the habitat. But not before I would say a prayer, to honor its courage, speed, and strength.
 

Keep up with Outside Adventure to the Max, on our Facebook page and Instagram and now on Youtube.

BLESSINGS OF THANKSGIVING

 

 "My Thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite — only a sense of existence.” –-- Henry David Thoreau

 

In this Covid-19 world, there might some might think there is little to be grateful for. After all, we are amid a surging worldwide pandemic. The death toll continues to mount at staggering 244,00 Americans, which health experts say could double by spring. The economic numbers are just as bad, with millions of unemployed Americans as governors and mayors across the U.S. are ratcheting up restrictions in the onslaught of the virus resurgence.
I reflect on those who have died and those who have fought to survive while being sick. I think about the overwhelmed healthcare providers and the ordinary people who are struggling without paychecks.

That is what was crossing my mind as I took a quiet morning paddle along a stretch of the American River just last weekend. It was a brilliant California mid-fall day with not a cloud in the sky. Storms would be bringing rain and snow in the week ahead. But that day provided an unusual view of the glistening Sierra Nevada Mountains to the east.
The customary array of waterfowl joined on the water. Big Canadian geese with blackheads and white cheeks come begging for food in the Sailor Bar lagoon, while white and grey seagulls canvass the shallows of the river. A blueish-grey great blue heron stands motionless on one leg at the water's edge while a small brood of merganser race by across the water. The dashing male wood duck with his intricate plumage of a green head and brown has caught the eye of two females, who look a little drab next to their male counterparts. Along the rocks of the shore, one small sandpiper hops along the rocks while soaring up above the half dozen turkey vultures circle in the sky.

 
A deer followed by another come out to the river's edge. Curiously both study me, till they decide, I'm a bit too close for their comfort, and they wandered back into the brush.
In the shallows, I catch sight of Chinook salmon migrating back home to spawn. I ponder the journey they have made after wandering huge distances in the ocean for several years only to swim back upstream to their original birthplace. Scientists have various theories about how this happens. Some believe that salmon navigate by using the earth’s magnetic field as a compass. Others suggest chemical cues that they can smell to find their way back to their home stream.

Like the salmon, we are pulled back to thoughts of home at Thanksgiving.
“There is one day that is ours. There is one day when all we Americans who are not self-made go back to the old home to eat saleratus biscuits and marvel how much nearer to the porch the old pump looks than it used to," wrote writer O. Henry.
Certainly, Covid-19 and some newly placed restrictions might make being home for traditional Thanksgiving gatherings hard for some of us to navigate this year. But we still shouldn't lose perspective of being thankful for what we have, even in these Covid times. As writer Charles Dickens wrote, “Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has plenty; not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.”

So on this Thanksgiving, I plan on making a few phone calls to my parents and having a few video chats with my children to see my new granddaughters that were both born this year. Madilyn came in the spring, while KDK arrived in the fall. Both are beautiful, healthy babies making both my wife and I very proud and grateful grandparents.
And maybe after a nice dinner, I will spend some time on the river to reflect on all the things, big and small, that I'm thankful for.

Keep up with Outside Adventure to the Max, on our Facebook page and Instagram and now on Youtube.

URBAN PADDLING: A TRIP DOWN THE LOWER AMERICAN RIVER

 

Most of us picture paddling out in the heart of nature. It is easy to see ourselves gliding along on a serene mountain lake or into the bays of a country lake. For the more adventuresome, maybe running a scenic wild river or out in the ocean against a rugged coastline is more your style. But as more and more people take up paddling, an urban kayaking trend is emerging. Paddlers from coast to coast say paddling along their urban waterway has changed their perspective of their neighborhood river and the city along its banks. Switching to panoramic views of skyscrapers, bridges, and other urban dwellings instead of mountains or forest scenes offer paddlers an alternate aspect of their town often not seen.

"We love urban kayaking and it was fun to see the Minneapolis skyline from the water," wrote Minnesota based blogger Jenna Kvidt in Wander The Map! while paddling through on the Mississippi through the heart of the Twin Cities, "It’s a perspective of the city we had yet to witness, plus getting out on the water is always a great time."
Once New York paddler Noriko Okaya got over her fears of paddling New York City's Hudson River, she wrote there was no better way to see the city.
"Just over the horizon the Hudson offers magnificent views of the Manhattan skyline and a unique view of some of the most iconic man-made landmarks of the world, including the Empire State, Chrysler, the Standard, Whitney Museum, and One World Trade Center," wrote Okaya in PaddleXaminer, " Not many people get to see the city the way we do from the water, and in my opinion, it’s the best way to see New York."
While Jennifer Koerner, who is with Up the Creek Expeditions based in Jacksonville, Fla., found beauty at every turn while touring the St. Mary's River.
"At first, I couldn't imagine why someone would want to paddle by buildings and bridges. But look at the railroad trestle up. It looks like art to me," Koerner told First Coast News.

After sliding my kayak into the Lower American River at the Rossmoor Bar Access in Rancho Cordova, Ca., just east of Sacramento, I said to my paddling partner John Taylor, "How lucky we are to have this river right in our own backyard just minutes from my home."
Taylor is a veteran of many voyages down the American says no trip has ever been the same.
"I'll see something different every time," John said.

The Lower American River meanders through a network of highways, suburban streets, and urban bustle for 23 miles immediately after leaving Lake Natoma and Nimbus Dam, all the way to the confluence with the Sacramento River. At least that is what the map says, but on the river, we are in a different world.
The American River Parkway is a looping green ribbon that shelters the river and its shore for most of the way to the Sacramento River. Often called "the jewel” of the Sacramento Region, the river is the central focus of the Parkway, which features a good-mix of fast-moving currents, along with some slow and lazy flows that are perfect for most beginning paddlers. Annually more than 5 million visitors use the Parkway, not for paddling, but hiking and biking also.

It was a late summer trip for us. Past the season when a large rafting crowd frequent the river in large yellow or blue rafts with full coolers and no paddles. Popular on the hottest days of the summer, the river turns into a jamboree of hijinks, loud music, and bad sunburns. During a mid-summer trip where I took two groups down the river on the same day, I told them that the morning group would see nature, while the afternoon group would see "wildlife."

We put in on the river below San Juan Rapids with two other paddlers, skipping the sometimes tricky rapid. We still have a long way to go with an estimated 17 miles to the confluence with the Sacramento River. There is a bright blue sky, a slight breeze, a relaxing flow, and no sign of anyone outside of a few fishermen.
Classified as a “Recreation” river within the State and Federal Wild and Scenic River Systems, it was a little hard to imagine we were surrounded by the city. Since being established, the American River Parkway has ensure the preservation of the river's naturalistic environment.
"With the American River at my feet," wrote David Dawson, in the American River Parkway Foundation newsletter Stories from the Parkway, "I saw nothing of the two million human beings who surrounded me in the Sacramento metropolitan area. I saw no streets, no cars, no buildings, and no lights."

 Varieties of animal wildlife such as wild turkey, deer, and hawks can be seen at every bend, while river otters and beaver wait till twilight. We saw a few deer passing over a few fast ripples near Ancil Hoffman Park. As the river turns to the south leading up River Bend Park, we paddle past a row of river homes and under the Harold Richey Bicycle Bridge, to signify that we are not that far from civilization. 

The river speeds up down to Harrington Access as we encountered Arden Rapids. It is not as challenging as the San Juan Rapids as the river pushes against gravel deposits creating some standing waves.
"Go right down the middle," John tells the others.
It's a rubber raft graveyard as we encounter sunken trees and shredded rafts along the way. On a summer trip, we watched the Fire Department rescue some rafters stuck in the snag of trees.

Islands and channels provide jungle-like exploring opportunities along the way, But now it was time to paddle because the current had slowed. We heard the roar of city traffic at the Watt and Howe Avenue bridges. While cruising past the monolithic-looking structure of Sacramento's' Water treatment plant, we saw the Guy West Bridge suspension bridge. Designed to resemble the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, it is used by bicyclists and pedestrians to get to the Sacramento State University campus. From now on, the closer we will come to the Sacramento River the more bridges we will encounter. 

Like most urban areas, Sacramento is plagued with a growing homeless population. We paddle past scores of tents, tarps, and encampments line the river shore along with shopping carts, abandoned bicycles, and piles of trash. It is illegal to camp along the American River Parkway, but efforts to rousted the homeless from the riverway have been limited since for most, there is nowhere else for them to go.
I told John, "As much as I love this river, this is a terrible existence for them. How stressful and dangerous their lives must be. My heart goes out to them.

A train horn bellowed from above on railroad trestle as we come up to Sutter's Landing. Like all river towns, Sacramento history intertwines with the river. Captain John A. Sutter established a permanent camp and later built his fort south of the river. There is not much evidence from the past here as the dirt used to construct levees were built to elevate the city to prevent flooding leaving behind open pits. It became the city landfill for number years. Now through restoration, it is a popular park along the Parkway.

As we continued downstream, the pace slows considerably. We might have been in a hurry to get to the Sacramento River and Discovery park but, the Lower American River was not. It's deep and wide now. The ripples are gone and the river appears idle. Our kayaks were tugged along lazily like Huck Finn on the Mississippi. We paddled by two railroad bridges, one with its supports spray-painted with graffiti and was a former railroad bridge now reserved for bikes and pedestrians.

We are in the heart of the city now, except it still seems wild. Here the river is cradled by trees, obscuring any urban buildings from view. Only the I-5 bridge and a few motorboats let us know our journey is almost finished.
In the distance, a jet ski and rider revs up and heads out on the Sacramento River just past the Jibboom Bridge, a historic metal truss dinosaur of a bridge built-in 1931. A swing bridge from days gone by, it now has only light traffic in its park setting. It is the last bridge we pass under during our paddle down the American River.
The Sacramento River was a dingy pale brown compared to the American River and its clear flows as we crossover into its murky water turned up by powerboats. We look to the south and finally see the city of Sacramento and its tall high-rise buildings and waterfront.
While we had to wait till the very end of our great urban adventure down the American River to see the skyscrapers of Sacramento, our trip still gave us all a new perspective of our city and its waterway. 

And no matter how many times I will paddle The Lower American River as John says, it will always be a new and different experience every time, especially when I see it over the bow of your kayak.

Keep up with Outside Adventure to the Max, on our Facebook page and Instagram and now on Youtube.

A STORY FROM THE PARKWAY

Since it's creation in 1983, the American River Parkway Foundation has been striving to protect and sustain one of Sacramento County's most valuable natural resources, the American River Parkway. Following along the Lower American River, the Parkway offers equestrian and hiking trails, a first-class bike trail, and most of all a great paddling venue.

In conjunction with Sacramento County Parks, the ARPF coordinates programs and works with volunteers to foster environmental stewardship, facilitate volunteer opportunities, as well as fund and implement many Parkway projects.

This past month, the folks from the ARPF asked me to share my experiences of paddling along the Lower American River in their Stories from the Parkway series in hopes of increasing awareness, use, and support of this amazing river trail.

Sliding my kayak gently into the water, it’s not hard to grasp why in a few short years how this river has become so significant to me. I’ve come to know this river’s fickle moods. Its high water winters and early spring rush, its summertime playfulness, and its autumn bounty when the native Chinook salmon swim back upstream to spawn. I’ve paddled its slumberous wide curves and through its fast water rapids. I’ve watched its water roaring like thunder pouring its last dam and followed its a clear and bright emerald ribbon of water all the way to its end to dip my bow in at its milky confluence.

Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes said, “A river is more than an amenity, it is a treasure.” I heartily agree. For me and many others, Northern California’s Lower American River is a rare jewel to behold. Fed by the melting snowpack of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the river is an essential source for the area’s drinking water, a productive provider of irrigation and hydroelectric power, and recreational highway for paddlers and fishermen. In its final twenty-some miles before pouring into the Sacramento River, it dispenses a peaceful serenity and magic to every creature along its wild banks despite being so near urban complexities of the city. And yes, to a certain extent it seems to be a living being in itself.

I often tell people paddling with me that after we push off onto the river they will be experiencing a totally different world even though we are in the heart of a densely populated urban area. Paddling down the river never ceases to amaze me of how I can escape into a backyard of nature just a few minutes from the buzz of city traffic. Where the only sound you will hear is that of birds, the wind and that primeval summons to our primordial values, the call of distant rapids coming from downriver.

As Henry David Thoreau wrote, “He who hears the rippling of rivers in these degenerate days will not utterly despair.”

“A river seems a magic thing,” declared photographer Laura Gilpin, “A magic, moving, living part of the very earth itself.”
Sitting alongside the Lower American River earlier this week, the river does seem alive as it moved steadily to the sea. Flashes of Chinook salmon among the river’s ripples, scores of gulls, ducks and turkey vultures soar and flutter above, while I catch sight of black-tailed deer bounding through the stream. A large beavertail splash serves as a warning that I’ve come a just bit to close to his domain while chattering otters bark at my passing. The trees, vegetation, and even the rocky pilings that extend all the way along the stream add to the inspirit to this living essence.
It’s nature’s age-old symbiotic relationships between the river and all of its creatures. As long as the water keeps flowing, the river and the life it nurtures will continue to exist.

As humans in the era of climate change, we need to recognize this natural world around us and make our duty to care for it, protect it, and pass it on to generations to come.

This article was originally published as part of the American Rivers Foundation's Stories from the Parkway Series. The series is about people and their experiences while on the American River Parkway in hopes of strengthening the understanding of the American River Parkway and the value it brings to the community. We encourage all of you to support the American River Parkway Foundation and its mission. And if you have a story you would like to tell about your experience using the parking, you can share it with the ARPF Newsletter.

Want to see more about Outside Adventure to the Max. Follow us on Facebook and Instagram