OVER THE BOW: THE SOUTH FORK OF THE AMERICAN RIVER

Wild rivers are earth's renegades, defying gravity, dancing to their own tunes, resisting the authority of humans, always chipping away, and eventually always winning. --Richard Bangs and Christian Kallen, River Gods

"This is why we came here." said Erik Allen, "We came to surf Barking Dog."
Maybe that is why he came. I was just trying to the learn my way down the fabled South Fork of the American River. The rain had stopped a little while after getting on the river. That didn't mean, I didn't find away to get wet. Right away,  I caught the edge of an eddy and rolled my kayak over. An unceremonious dump into the river.

During the spring and summer the South Fork in northern California is a playground for whitewater kayakers and rafters of all different levels.  The river descends at a steep gradient of 30 feet per mile. The first 5 miles from the Chili Bar access are chocked full of exciting Class III whitewater with rapids with scary names like Meat-grinder and Trouble Maker. The so-called easy section is the next, nine miles through the valley consisting of a number of Class II rapids including Barking Dog. After that, the river enters what paddlers call "The Gorge." It's mostly a series of challenging Class III rapids descending at 33 feet per mile toward Folsom Lake.

About mile down river from the Highway 49 bridge, the river makes sweeping curve to the right and then plunges into two standing waves and hole between as it turns again to left. The river's velocity, turbulence and converging currents have created a steep hole in its path making it an appealing and challenging site for area play-boaters.  Local legend says this Class II rapid got its name when a neighborhood dog barked loudly at the rafters and kayaks as they went down river.

Erik along with the rest of the play-boaters line up like kids, waiting to ride the roller coaster at the amusement park. Inching forward one by one to test skills their skills one at a time in the churning boil. Its cross between ballet and bull riding. A choreographed dance of spins, flips and rolls all before the wave spits them out and then back in line to try one more time.

Erik dips the nose of his Pyranha play-boat into the turmoil of the Dog, heading straight into its current. Skimming, then flipping at the edge of the standing wave.  He loses momentum and is buried by the water crashing down on him, only to roll back on the surface, surfing into the wave. Up right again he spins again on the wave in another maneuver .

Over sixty years ago Sigurd Olson said, "As long as there are young men with the light of adventure in their eyes or a touch of wildness in their souls, rapids will be run." It still hold true today at places like Barking Dog Rapids on the South Fork where souls sing and surf in the rolling whitewater.

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

BIOLUMINESCENT WATERS: TOMALES BAY PART II

Every drop of knowledge sparks a light, illuminating an ocean of darkness teeming on the edge of brilliance --CN Hamilton

The tide is out and the moon is gone. The only light is coming off the shine of distant headlights off Highway One, about a mile away across Tomales Bay. I'm sitting on the edge of space. Drifting in darkness, isolated from the world around me. Clouds block the stars and blackness engulfs the sea. I can barely see the front of my kayak's bow or anything at all. The dark has not only stolen my sight but my voice as well. Longtime veteran night-time paddler Sigurd Olson revered this quiet when he said, "At times on the water one does not speak aloud but only in whispers, for then all noise is sacrilege."

Abruptly out of the darkness the magic flashes alongside the bow of my kayak. A stroke of the paddle and push forward emits, even more, waves of bluish-green flickers across the water. Across the way, my paddling partner Jim Bryla exclaims, "Wow, It's like Disneyland!"
Not quite. As magical as it is, there is no fairy pixie dust here. It's bioluminescence, a light produced by a chemical reaction in living things. Similar to breaking a glow-stick, tiny singled cell creatures called dinoflagellates, think of two whip-like appendages that stick out from a single cell's body about the size of a speck of dust. These dinoflagellates, (dinos means “whirling” in Greek) contain a light-emitting compound called luciferin. When they are stimulated by a wave, fish or even a kayak they create a blue flash in the water around them. Scientists feel it's a burglar alarm in sense, to startle and ward off any potential predators.

It's ethereal and gorgeous. "This is our world, people." said filmmaker and deep-sea explorer  James Cameron  "You don't have to believe in magic. It's already magical! Look at these things. Bite your knuckle."

The same sparkling blue light designed to scare off predators is exactly what brings us to Tomales Bay and the eastern side of Point Reyes National Seashore, near San Francisco. Bioluminescence is present for a couple of months a year, usually in the spring and fall, when all the variables align: water temperature, air temperature, winds, currents, and tides. During the phase of the new moon, the bay offers an ideal location for observing bioluminescence. The narrow gap of the bay's entrance limits the sea water moving about during the tidal exchange, trapping a concentration of dinoflagellates between the mainland and Tomales Point peninsula. Federal laws protect the much of the seashore as wilderness, which keeps light pollution from fading the greenish blue flashes of the microbes.

As I paddle through the bioluminescent waters, I marvel with excitement while creating my own mini light show with my kayak, paddle and even my hands while jostling the water surrounding microbes-organisms. I can see a hint of  Jim's silhouette with sparks flickering around him. The bottom half of his kayak seems to be glowing as he leaves a trail of lights behind. Spellbound by the phosphorescent event we glide along the flat water enjoying the magical experience. The water now has switched places with the sky, as we paddle on looking down on a pool of meteors, comets and stars. 

ISLAND IN TIME, TOMALES BAY PART I

"We need to keep some of our vanishing shoreline an unspoiled place, where all men, a few at a time, can discover what really belongs there -- can find their own Island in Time." ---Harold Gilliam

The area outfitter gave us a stern warning. "Weather is moving in. Tomorrow it could be worse." she stated firmly, "We had a lot of rescues over the weekend. If you go out there you might not make it back."
We had all seen the weekend report of fifty-four kayakers on a nocturnal outing being plucked out of Tomales Bay by local fire departments when the conditions suddenly changed. Two were treated for hypothermia after a kayak capsized in the wind and rough seas.
A gray sky hung overhead while two-foot waves pounded Miller Boat Launch at Nick's Cove on the northern section of the bay as we continued unloading our kayaks and gear.  I saw the outfitter's tired eyes looking out over the water watching her crew retrieve kayaks from across the water, remnants of the past weekend's rescue operation. Her crew's motorboat with kayaks in tow seemed to make slow progress across the bay.

 "The little boat, lifted by each towering sea, and splashed viciously by the crests, made progress that in the absence of sea-weed was not apparent to those in her. She seemed just a wee thing wallowing, miraculously, top-up, at the mercy of five oceans." That's how American author Stephen Crane described the ordeal in his short story The Open Boat. The story is based on his own experience of surviving a shipwreck.  In classic literary style, he would narrate the tale that seemed to match my view of the motorboat crossing the bay. "As the boat caroused on the waves, spray occasionally bumped over the side and gave them a fresh soaking, but this had no power to break their repose. The ominous slash of the wind and the water affected them as it would have affected mummies."

I looked to the members of our five-man party all loading their kayaks with camping supplies. We had all paddled together in San Francisco Bay and camped on Angel Island. The conditions seemed similar, wind, waves and a little current. Nothing we had not paddled together before. "You know what we call a day like this in Minnesota?" I asked the group with a with a smile and then answered quickly not waiting for an answer, "A nice day."
The outfitter shook her and continued with her loading of kayaks. Her warning had disappeared in the wind. We had planned this trip to Tomales Bay for weeks. It was a scouting mission of sorts. We are looking forward to bringing other folks along on a future camp out as part of Bayside Adventure Sports, an active outdoor church group based in Granite Bay, California. The idea was to find a suitable beach for camping and viewing of the bioluminescence along the Point Reyes National Seashore. All we had to do was paddle out past Hog Island to the western side of the bay, about a mile away.
"A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave you discover that there is another behind it just as important," Crane observed in The Open Boat in enduring the test of the ocean swells. Loaded full with camping gear, the waves crashed over my bow putting a salty spray in my face. I was the last one trailing behind the others heading into the gusty bay. Memories of paddling the mid-west lakes floated back to me. There wind and waves are commonplace. I can remember, one windy day on West Lost Lake in Minnesota where I battled whitecaps while paddling along the Otter Tail River chain of lakes. Up and down my kayak bounced along in the same fashion across the bay.

Hog Island sits about five miles south of the entrance of Tomales Bay. Small in nature the uninhabited island covers only two acres, while its next-door neighbor Duck Island is even smaller. A haven for wildlife, the islands are managed by the National Park Service as part of the Point Reyes National Park Seashore and access in restricted. However, it did serve as a good rendezvous spot out of the wind as we all paddled between the two islands. Near the western shore of Tomales Bay the wind eased up and the waves ceased. While the other three paddled ahead into the cove with sand-colored cliffs called White Gulch, longtime paddling partner Erik Allen cruised the along the shoreline looking for a beach to camp on. From the shore, we heard the bugling sound of the tule elk. In the distance, we could see them grazing freely in open grasslands and coastal scrub. Once almost wiped out, the elk have returned to Point Reyes and are one of the largest herds in California.

Under the shelter of Tomales Point blocking the winds coming off the Pacific Ocean, the tempestuous bay calms yielding way to smooth paddling along the coastline of the bay. It's a mixture of sandy beaches, high bluffs and thistle plants clinging to the rocks and tall banks. The vegetation huddles close to the ground.  Coyote brush and grasses are the dominant plants on the peninsula. It may look quiet but its home to all the animals, birds and reptiles. Higher up and lining the draws are a full array of Douglas fir, Bishop pine and coastal live oak.

Conservationist and writer Stephen Trimbles
said, "To cross this valley to the peninsula (Point Reyes) is to leave modern California and enter an island of wilderness, forgotten by progress, a quiet land misplaced in a noisy world." We picked out a quiet beach along the coastal prairie almost directly across from the noisy world, where had we started. Pulling our kayaks on to the shore, we pitched our tents in the sand, ate freeze-dried food and watched the tide roll away. The weather and waves and warnings faded into the tranquil sound of the water lapping against the shore. Resting around a beach fire, we found own haven by the bay.

Photos by Erik Allen & Jim Bryla. 
Next week in Outside Adventure to the Max find the magic during a bioluminescence excursion in Tomales Bay.

KAYAK SUMMER 2015

As summer comes to an end, I look back. I long for the those lost days on the water with a paddle in my hand. Each day was an exceptional gift of either a journey into the past or a voyage into the future. With each dip of the paddle my senses awakened. The smell of the lake, the roar of the river and the spray of the ocean. Here are a few of my favorite images from this summer kayaking.

Lake Clementine

Eppies Training

American River and the Fair Oaks Bridge

Eppies Pre-Race

San Juan Rapids

North Fork of the American River

Loon lake

Lake Natoma

Tomales Bay

We are always looking for guest bloggers to share their adventures stories and pictures. Keep up with Outside Adventure to the Max on our Facebook page.

OVER THE BOW: FOLSOM LAKE

 

 "We, the people, still believe that our obligations as Americans are not just to ourselves, but to all posterity. We will respond to the threat of climate change, knowing that the failure to do so would betray our children and future generations. Some may still deny the overwhelming judgment of science, but none can avoid the devastating impact of raging fires and crippling drought and more powerful storms." --Barack Obama

Over the Labor Day weekend the surface of Folsom Lake hovered at dwindling 364 feet above sea. That is 7 feet above last year's low point of 357 feet and 17 feet higher than the all-time record low of 347 set in 1977. California's drought is taking a huge toll on the lakes and reservoirs and Folsom Lake seems to rest at ground zero as the lake level continues to drop by inches daily.
“It means we would no longer be able to revert water out of the reservoir for the City of Folsom and there would be no water for folks to drink,” Bureau of Reclamation spokesperson Shawn Hunt told CBS13.
The lake, which supplies water to nearly half a million people, is nearing the so-called dead pool level. That means that its water level is nearly too low for water to be pumped out. The Bureau of Reclamation is spending about $3.5 million to build a barge including 10 floating platforms with pumps, so if the water level even further drops, the agency can still provide 19 million gallons of water to residents daily.
The historic drought has also revealed some history as stone walls and foundations of the gold mining town of Mormon Island are revealed again after spending years at the lake. Hikers and explorers now tour the ruins of the town destroyed by fire in 1856 according to historians.
My trip takes me to the north arm and narrow section of the lake across from Anderson Island. In the low water, the island is anything but. Mammoth granite boulders choked the flow North Fork of the American River in past on both sides making it now the narrowest point of the lake. On my way there, I stick to the ever rising banks and paddle past stalagmite shaped pillars reaching out of the water. On both sides of the lake it relative wasteland up to the trees. It's an alien world. An ideal setting for the next Star Trek movie, bleak, stern with little signs of any living thing. The waterline is  shrinking the farther north I paddle, as the lake becomes a thin band of blue.
Benjamin Franklin said, "When the well's dry, we know the worth of the water." I can say the same now about Folsom Lake. As I paddle on I hope for a rainy winter.

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

A PADDLER'S JOURNEY, AN INTERVIEW WITH BRYANT BURKHARDT

The water is always calling him. In the Sierra and Ecuador it roars in his face with rush whitewater. In the blue of the Pacific, it serenades him with the song of the sea. Yes, water and Byrant Burkhardt have a kinship, a loyalty and sometimes rivalry. Generally combatants in nature, they share a brotherhood of triumph together with a kayak and paddle.
Burkhardt is nationally respected kayak instructor, both on the ocean and in the river. He has produced videos and published articles for magazines and his blog, Paddle California. In his new book A Paddler’s Journey, he recalls his life-long progression from a paddling newcomer to a guide and instructor. He is now pursuing a career as a novelist, while working and playing along California's Mendocino Coast.
Last week we asked Burkhardt about his new book, his kayaking successes and failures and his connection to the water.

NC: When did you discover that kayaking was your life long passion?
BB: One of my first times kayaking was off Catalina Island in a sit-on-top, in rather large swells. I grew up in Minnesota, the land of ten thousand lakes, and ocean swell was something new and different. It made me want to experience more. As I tried different aspects of kayaking – surf, whitewater, polo, I found different things to enjoy about each of them. The more I enjoyed it the more it made sense to build my life around doing something I loved.
I do think it’s important to point out that kayaking is not my singular passion. It’s one of several. Part of the point of the book is that our passions interact and reinforce each other – the joy I found kayaking spread to other aspects of my life. Most people who kayak have other things they are passionate about – as it should be – and the point is not that kayaking is something special and better than anything else out there. It’s an avenue for finding enjoyment and meaning in life, which is what we’re all looking for.

NC: What made you decide to write A Paddler's Journey? 
BB: I’ve written many kayaking stories on my blog and I enjoy that medium. I also write fiction, novels in particular, and really enjoy crafting a larger story that carries themes throughout. It made perfect sense to combine two to make a book filled with kayaking stories but also a progressive narrative. It was fun to relive my crazy adventures but also examine my past with a critical eye and study how I developed and how much I’ve grown since the beginning. And part of me hoped that other people would enjoy reading it as well.

NC: There are a lot kayaking books, what makes A Paddler's Journey different from the rest?
BB: Every book is different because every author is different. Many books focus on a single type of kayaking, often a single trip. My story includes sea kayaking, kayak surfing, whitewater kayaking, kayak polo, even a little canoeing. At the same time, I didn’t want it to be about my experiences per se as much as the types of experiences lots of people have. The point isn’t about grand expeditions and challenging whitewater - that’s in there, but it’s the background. The point of the book is the journey that all paddlers take – really the journey we all take through life. It’s about the learning process, where things go wrong and you fail. It’s about tasting success and wanting more. It’s about reaching a goal only to realize it isn’t the summit and you have more to learn and achieve.

NC: In Nancy Soares review of A Paddler's Journey, she wrote, "The book isn’t just the story of how to develop all those skills; it’s the story of someone who discovered his path in life through his passion for kayaking." How have you developed, in her word's this "philosophy of life" through kayaking and how can other paddlers apply to their lives as well?
BB: I wanted to share my experience and lessons learned because I think they are common but not always reflected upon. If we’re smart, we try to transfer the skills we gain from one piece of our life to all the others. Kayaking teaches the value of dedication and hard work. It rewards you for practicing and gives greater rewards to those who develop the abilities to handle tougher situations. It punishes you for mistakes and lack of foresight. It provides opportunities to help others and to learn when to ask for and accept help. It teaches you how to play well with others. Those lessons exist in most every endeavor, from kayaking to hiking to cooking to origami. It’s just a matter of paying attention and applying what you learn.
I didn’t want to get too far off on tangents in the book, but my kayak career has been the model for much of the rest of my life. When I decided to be a writer I started with lots of practicing and drills. I didn’t expect overnight success and I continually look for ways to improve and others to learn from. In my personal life, I approach my relationship the same way. I’m much more open to changing the way I do things when what I’m doing isn’t working or someone comes along and shows me a better way. I pay attention to the result instead of my intention. I try not to be goal-oriented but instead focus on enjoying the experiences along the way. All that comes from kayaking.

NC: You wrote in A Paddler's Journey, “No longer worried about accomplishments, kayaking became a means to an end and not an end in itself; a medium to reach other people and enjoy beautiful places. Part of me still wanted to push myself, to use my skill and experience to do something cool. But not alone this time.” Now in these days of bold solo trips, Why is it important to you to share these experiences with others?
BB: I’m an introvert, and I still enjoy solo trips. They’re very valuable and rewarding in ways that group trips are not. But I felt like I had learned enough about myself – not that there isn’t more to learn but to push my solo paddling any farther would have meant hitting high levels of risk, and that was never an attraction for me.
But when I paddle with others I get to enjoy the experience in ways I can’t alone. I love showing people familiar places to me that are new to them – it’s a chance to relive the wonder I felt my first time. I love to see people advance their skills and overcome challenges – it reminds me of my learning days. And I also really like to be able to share memories of experiences with old friends. It’s great to run into someone who you haven’t paddled with in years and be able to reminisce about some past adventure. Telling the story of your great solo trip to the same people over and over again is far less rewarding.
(As an aside, I don’t think there are more solo trips these days – there’s just a lot more GoPros and satellite trackers that allow us to share our solo trips with the world. I’ve done that myself, but it defeats a lot of what is valuable about a solo trip. There is a need and a place for commercialized trips, solo or not, but it takes away from some of the experience. There always have been, and hopefully always will be, individuals doing remarkable trips that no one else ever hears about.)

NC: In the foreword of A Paddler's Journey, you tell of a harrowing experience. Do you think every paddler might have a tale of overconfidence in their abilities and underestimation of the conditions? What do these misadventures teach us?
BB: You can’t have adventure with some failure. You can’t move forward without sometimes stepping too far. Hopefully it happens when the consequences are small, but every paddler I know has some story of when things went wrong. What you learn from those experiences very much determines what type of paddler you become. For me, the important part was to always improve my judgment. That’s what makes a good paddler in my eyes: someone who honestly appraises their own skills, whether high or low; someone who thinks through their decisions and understands risk vs. reward; someone who understands that just because everything worked out in the end it doesn’t mean good decisions were made in the beginning.
But it doesn’t have to be our own misadventures that teach us. I’ve learned a lot of things to avoid by listening to the stories of others. I think my book provides some of that – I hope others can learn from my lessons without having to put themselves in mortal danger.
I also think there’s more to learn than simple safety concerns. You can learn about what kind of people you want to surround yourself with. You can learn how strong you are when you have to be. I’ve seen other people overcome fear or sacrifice their own comfort for someone else’s well-being. Some terrible experiences have bonded me much closer to the people who I shared them with. There’s always something to learn in life from the difficult times that makes the better times even better.

NC: You share a lot of memories of the water, any favorites or places you never want to ever return?
BB: Right now I live on the Mendocino Coast and the paddling up here is amazing – the best sea kayaking I’ve ever found. To be able to have that ten minutes from my doorstep and be back home in time for lunch is really special. And there are some rivers I’d love to run again (if our drought ever ends), like the Middle Feather. I always love the Forks of the Kern, and the Channel Islands are like a former home to me. But mostly it depends on who I’d be paddling with rather than where.
There are a number of places I’ve paddled that weren’t spectacular: Piru creek outside L.A.; the Santa Monica Pier. But I’d gladly do them again if I was in the area and had some good friends to go with. I’ve never been one to chase far off destinations and exotic locations. It’s nice to travel now and then but I’ve always found plenty of interesting, beautiful, diverse, remote, and special places to kayak right here in California. And I still have more to discover.

NC: How has being an instructor and guide made you a better paddler?
BB: Teaching definitely sharpens your physical skills. You have to know what you’re doing and be able to break it down to teach well. It also forces you into a leadership role, which sharpens your judgment further and makes you more self-aware and self-confident. I think it makes you more appreciative of the variety of people in the sport and how different people get different things out of it. That makes it easier to paddle with others and also teaches you to enjoy different types of paddling.
Some of my favorite classes to teach are instructor certification courses, and I get a lot of people in there who don’t really want to teach but just want to improve their skills. It’s great to help them with that, but they also normally end up enjoying the teaching aspect and using it often even if they don’t teach for money. They ‘teach’ their paddling friends, they introduce new people to the sport. It really makes you an ambassador for kayaking and we need all of those we can get.

NC: You are a guide and instructor sharing your passion of kayaking with countless students. Who was your guide and inspiration?
BB: I’ve definitely had mentors. It’s one of the best traditions of kayaking. My buddy Pedro Frigola got me started in kayaking – he’s the one who organized that first Catalina trip, a story I recount at the start of the book. He didn’t formally instruct me as much as simply take me on trips and inspire me to do more. He was (and is) the best paddling buddy because of his positive attitude and endless enthusiasm. Traits I try to emulate.
Paul Macey and his wife Katherine introduced me to kayak polo and whitewater kayaking. Both disciplines are much more technical and Paul taught me skills while once again taking me on trips and modeling great leadership. It’s very rewarding to get to the point where you can handle the same difficulty level as the people who first inspired you.
I’ve had to opportunity to paddle and teach with some of the best in the world, and I’ve picked up things from all of them. The people are what make this sport great and I learn from my students all the time. There’s so much inspiration to be had!

NC: What is the future of kayaking today?
BB: It’s everything. I’m really excited that more people are doing more varieties of kayaking. I love that sea kayakers are trying out whitewater, that people are kayak surfing and SUPing. Cross-pollinating the disciplines helps them all and also helps connect the different communities, which is something I’d like to see more of. I see more people getting more training and pushing themselves further.
At the same time, I see the sport’s recreational aspect spreading. Kayak fishing is exploding. Meetups are making it easier to find people to paddle with. It’s great that cheaper kayaks and equipment, more access to waterways, and public programs are increasing participation. Great, but not without its own problems. I worry that the ease of buying a $150 kayak from CostCo makes people think it’s as safe as a bicycle. It’s not. Especially in a cheap recreational kayak that isn’t built with the safety features you’d find in a more expensive boat (bulkheads, deck lines). You don’t need a ton of education and safety equipment, but you do need a little knowledge and judgment, and too many people going out without either is a recipe for disaster.
It’s a big challenge for the industry to get the message across that people need to wear life vests and they need to be able to get back into their boat if they flip in deep water. The paddle community can help by valuing safety – new paddlers often take their cues from the more experience people they meet. Those who’ve been doing this a while need to let people know that classes are a good thing. Practicing rescues is necessary. Don’t go paddling with people who aren’t safe. It’s peer pressure in a good way. The alternative will be more laws and regulations to protect us from ourselves, and I’d rather not see this sport get buried under red tape.
The best part of kayaking is that it means so many different things to different people. It’s something that can challenge the young and hearty, it’s something you can enjoy into your eighties, it’s something you can share with your kids and grandkids. I hope it continues to become more accessible and draw more people in so they can experience the joy and wonder it brings.

ROUGH ROAD TO SERENITY

 

                              Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations

Up until then, we had been OK. Then the road suddenly stopped! Being a road, that is. Huge ruts and massive rocks block our way. We sat at the point of turning around, going back and finding another way. Meadow Lake Road on the east end of Bowman Lake looked more like a mountain goat trail than a lane travel.

In all my trips to the water, it has always been fairly simple. For trips to Lake Natoma or the Lower American River, stops signs, traffic and parking spots are my biggest concerns. With a little luck,  I'll squeeze into a spot at the boat ramp instead of having to park further away after dropping the kayak off at the water edge. For bigger trips,  I leave the driveway, wade through traffic to the interstate, speed along to the exit, before getting stuck a slow-moving tractor or truck on the blacktop. At the crossing, I turn off the blacktop and on to the gravel road down to the boat ramp.

"It’s the portage that makes traveling by canoe unique." said famed paddling guru Bill Mason. He, of course, was referring to hauling canoes through the northern woods from lake to lake. That's how it's done in places like the BWCA. Canoes are inserted into lakes and streams and then carried by hand to other lakes and streams in between, while whitewater extremists have no trouble transporting kayaks up mountain canyons on their backs to attempt the first descent of the waterfall. The paddling is the easy part, getting to the water is always the ordeal.

Our friend Curt Hough said it was a place we had to paddle. High in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, Lake Foucherie is an outdoor paradise. Clear water, mountain views and towering pines encompass the lake. A hidden and remote treasure that offers more that than just tranquil splendor, but serenity as well. It's so beautiful that photographer Ansel Adams might have switched to color film to photograph its grandeur. We gathered in my pickup with tandem kayak on top and looked forward to what naturalist John Muir described as an inexpressible delight of wading out into the grassy sun-lake when he wrote, "Feeling yourself contained on one of Nature's most sacred chambers, withdrawn from the sterner influences of the mountains, secure from all intrusion, secure from yourself, free in the universal beauty."

The Bowman Lake Road off Highway 20 on the northern end of California's Nevada County is bumpy but well-traveled by four-wheel drive pickup and Jeeps. It weaves and winds mostly on gravel in a northerly fashion past Fuller Lake, up to the dam site. The Meadow Lake Road begins just below Bowman Reservoir's Dam, turning off and winding up the mountain. The road is rocky and a bit unnerving with a steep drop off at ones the side. It would be a wonderful breath-taking view of the mountains and valley if I wasn't holding my breath at the sight of the depth chasm. About half way up we came to our roadblock. There was just no way my truck could clear those ruts and rocks. We regroup, turned around and went back down finding a different road up the mountain via GPS.

The first road must have been the express lane for four-wheel drivers and mountain goats, while the other road switchbacks up the hill and meets for the same view Bowman Lake. At an elevation of 5,585 feet, the lake gleams through our windshield. Its granite rock formations lining the lake buffer between the water and sky. The north side road runs parallel along the steeped lakeshore. It is slow going, however, our destination seems to be in grasp.

All the way to the end of the lake and Jackson Creek the road went from good to bad, to worse. My wife Debbie had taken the wheel now and compared the road to dried up river bed. It might as well had been an old creek bed. Washboard grooves and stones tested the truck's tires and shock absorbers while driving up what looked like an evaporated stream. I walked ahead in spots and clearing rocks and looking for even ground. At the Jackson Creek Campground, the road splits and leads to Sawmill Lake and Lake Foucherie. It wasn't any better. It was a rugged adventurous drive over a parched creek bed and a pine-lined path. When we limped into the Sawmill Lake Campground and saw the sight of Sawmill Lake, we agreed that we have to save Lake Foucherie for another day and unloaded our kayaks.

After the rigorous day of travel, the payoff came softly. Sawmill Lake cooled us in an instant. The water gave us relief, the pines refreshed us and the majestic mountain views mesmerized us with their beauty. It wasn't our original destination, however, its wilderness seems to sing to me. You made it!  It's the journey that matters, and the adventure lays in just getting here.  Now enjoy my serenity.

Naturalist Sigurd Olson thought of it that way when he said, "And that, I believe, is one of the reasons why coming home from any sort of a primitive expedition is a real adventure. Security and routine are always welcome after knowing the excitement and the unusual. We need contrast to make us know we are really alive."