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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AULD LANG SYNE

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne.

The old Scottish song 'Auld Lang Syne' will usher in the new year again, as it sang all over the world at the stroke of twelve on New Year's Eve. The phrase Auld Lang Syne translated means, for old times' sake. The song evokes the spirit of friendship over the past year and raises hopes for a brighter future in the new year.
Let's hope so. I do not have to tell anyone, but 2021 was pretty rough for many. The Covid-19 pandemic continues to linger. The highly contagious Omicron variant is only making it worse, as the average number of daily US Covid-19 cases are reaching new pandemic highs during the holidays. Dr. Anthony Fauci suggests that people opt for smaller gatherings with vaccinated and boosted family and friends rather than attending large-scale New Year’s Eve celebrations.
For some of us, we will be outside enjoying an end-of-year kayak tour on the lake or kicking off the year in style on a Polar Bear paddling event. Just obey the same rules as last year. Socially distances, wear a max and stay safe.

After a year of extreme drought that triggered water shortages and stoked wildfires, rain and heavy snows are falling over Northern California. This past week nearly 17 feet of snow has fallen over the Lake Tahoe area breaking decades-old records as the snowiest December on record. Roads were closed, ski resorts were shut down, and avalanche warnings were issued as the Tahoe Basin was buried in much-needed snow.
And what a difference a few storms make! After more than a year of being well-below average, water levels at Folsom Lake are filling up at a rate of enough water to fill 400 backyard swimming pools every minute. That's a lot of water. So much so, that even though the reservoir is just above half-filled, the Bureau of Reclamation is releasing water from it. Dam officials say that with more storms are coming the water level is near the maximum allowed at this time of year for flood protection. The water is flowing through Nimbus Dam and downstream. The releases will raise river levels on the American River Parkway. While the release will have a minor impact, people venturing out onto the river should beware.

As 2021 now comes to an end, it's time to look back at all our paddling memories and leap forward in planning new adventures. And as the rain hits my window, I'll take that as a good sign we might have more water this year than last. At least, that is my hope.
One of the side effects of the pandemic has been the explosion of participants in paddling sports. The numbers have swelled as people have flocked to the waterways to escape the constraints of the global coronavirus pandemic.
From us old veterans, we say welcome. The paddling community is here for you. We will look forward to helping you and inspiring you as you continue paddling the rivers and lakes.  

Paddle Day #107
I paddled not even close to my record of 152 paddling days in the calendar year. But I did get to some new places and enjoyed some of the old ones. I started on California's Lake Natoma with Bayside Adventure Sports and finished the year with them as well on Lake Natoma. Without a doubt, I'm looking forward to leaving 2021 behind while eagerly anticipating an exciting new year in 2022.

                                And here's a hand my trusty friend

That gives a hand to thine

We'll take a cup of kindness yet

For auld lang syne

Happy New Year

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IT'S A WONDERFUL KAYAKING LIFE

Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends. ---It's A Wonderful Life

It never surprises me that the kayak community is much like the fictional town of Bedford Falls in Jimmy Stewart's classic Christmas movie "It's a Wonderful Life". In the movie, Stewart's character George Bailey was at the end of his rope and, all seemed lost. But at the end of the film, he wasn't thrown just one lifeline, but instead, hundreds as his family and friends from the town rallied around him by donating more than enough money to cover the missing funds and pulling him out of the depths of despair. His brother raises his glass and toasts George as "the richest man in town" while he receives a book with a note reminding him that no man is a failure who has friends.

I think we've all been there. Certainly, I have. I can't remember all the times I have been helped out by others while kayaking on the river or lake. When I forgot my paddle, need a boat? No problem, someone came through. When I needed a bit of help loading or unloading, the same thing someone came through. Once, I didn't want to be a burden to the paddling group and watched my whitewater boat float away on an untimely swim when I even turned down the help. I can handle I said. Which was not the case. It didn't matter. The paddling friend ignored my plea and helped gather my boat and gear anyway. 

Kayaker Scott Lindgren, the subject of the documentary film, “The River Runner” was released on Netflix. It takes an up-close look at Lindgren's amazing career as one of the world's most premier whitewater kayakers and his raging first descents on the epic and burly waterways of the world. In his prime, no challenge was too great, no drop was too big.
But it also gives a portrait of a paddler struggling with substance abuse and later a brain tumor that would capsize his kayaking career for ten years.
During the movie, Lindgren found that while the river gave fury, it also offered healing. Next-generation paddler Aniol Serrasolses presented him with an opportunity he had been waiting his whole life for, a run down a Himalayan river known as the Indus. It would be the final chapter in Lindgren's epic quest of running the fabled four rivers of Western Tibet's Mount Kailash.

"The fact that Aniol would consider inviting an old broken-down boater into his world blew me away," wrote Lindgren in Outside Magazine, "He was offering me something I never would have offered anyone in my condition when I was his age."

In his months of training, Lindgren wrote how the younger paddlers rallied around offering help, encouragement, and but mostly hope.
"The kids didn’t just teach me how to kayak again, they helped me open my heart," wrote Lindgren in the article.

When doctors told him the tumor had grown, Lindgren had a decision. Resume treatment or continue training. He chose kayaking. He skipped radiation, canceled his doctor appointments, and channeled his energy for the Indus run.
After what he described as a white-knuckle week through massive mountain peaks and the equally massive river, Lindgren completed his life-long dream. Realizing that, he leaned forward and put his head on the deck of his boat and wept.
And like a Christmas movie, three days after returning from the trip, he went back to the hospital for an MRI and found that his tumor had stabilized and there was no growth. The river indeed had offered healing.

Lindgren's is just one of the many paddlers helped by other paddlers. There are countless more stories out there. Many paddlers and non-profit organizations provide support and opportunities to wounded veterans and other adaptive sports programs. There are paddling groups that encourage diversification on the water. They organize welcoming paddling events for people of color to expand our paddling community that has traditionally drawn primarily white participants. And other paddlers are volunteering in thousands of river or lake cleanups across the country to remove litter and debris from our waterways. As I have said before, everyone is a friend when they have a paddle in their hand.

"Everyone recognized that we’d all have good days and bad days, and that there no shame in scaling it back when we weren’t feeling 100 percent, physically or mentally," Lindgren offered this perspective in Outside Magazine article, "The approach helped me measure my kayaking—and my life—not in wins and losses, but in whether I showed up with an open heart. If I had a bad day, I told myself it was my turn for the universe to kick my ass. If I had a good day, I enjoyed the flow of life. It was all so simple."

This Christmas, I would like to send a big thanks out to my paddling family for helping me paddle through another year. Thanks to Dan Crandall and the other superstars on Current Adventures Kayaking School and Trips, who have been there for guidance and encouragement. I look forward to returning a 2022 schedule of classes, tours, and moonlit paddles.
To the rangers and staff of Sly Park Recreation Area, thank you. I certainly hope for another successful season on shimmering Lake Jenkinson this year, with more water and no forest fires.
I lost count of my paddling events with Bayside Adventure Sports this past year. The highlights of our year included our annual Lower American River run, our camping kayaking trip to Loon Lake, and our always popular sunset and moonlit paddles on our area's lakes. Of course, none of it would have been possible without our leaders, John Taylor and Randy Kizer. Sure, I had some great ideas, but those two made it happen. I have more trips and adventures planned for the upcoming year.
My wife, Debbie, is and will always be my guiding light and inspiration. She has a deep devotion to God and love for everything living both great and small, like the starving kitten that found its way to our doorstep. I continue to strive to be like her in mind and spirit. We are both excited about being grandparents now.

And I would like to thank our faithful readers of Outside Adventure to the Max. I hope the future is now brighter for you all.

Merry Christmas

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2021 IN REVIEW: PICTURES OF THE YEAR

Before we take to the sea, we walk on land ... Before we create, we must understand. --- Ernest Hemingway

 
Cruising on a Carnival Cruise through the Bahamas really isn't the type of cruise. I'm a river guy more used to trail mix, power bars, and Hydro Flask half full of water, not an endless buffet and a boat I don't have to paddle. Still, who can argue with luxury, exotic ports of calls, and an endless buffet line?

Carnival Cruise

In all of my paddling days, I've never have lost sight of land. So, it was interesting to be out on the upper deck of the giant ship looking over the bow into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. Clearly an overpowering feeling of aloneness. I could help to think of those intrepid paddlers that have braved these vast seas, like famed Polish adventurer Aleksander Doba against this giant ocean, alone. He made three daring voyages earned him Guinness World Records titles, and in 2017 he became the oldest person to kayak across the Atlantic. "During the entire expedition lasting 110 days and nights," said Doba in an interview, "I survived 5 storms. One of them was special. It was 8, 9, and 10 on the Beaufort scale. The waves went up to 10 m. I know that no one had survived a storm like that in such a small vessel ever before. I proved that a Pole can do it! I was happy I got to survive a storm like that, although it lasted over two days and nights, and it was not easy."

Walking along the sandy beaches of Bimini, our first port of call, was pretty cool. Bimini is the westernmost island of the Bahamas. Located about 50 miles east of Miami, Florida, it's the closest point of the Bahamas to the mainland of the United States.
It was a favorite haunt of legendary author Ernest Hemingway. An avid outdoorsman and adventurer, Hemingway lived on Bimini from 1935 to 1937. While living there, he enjoyed fishing the deep blue offshore waters for marlin, tuna, and swordfish. It was from those fishing days that inspired his classics works of The Old Man and the Sea and Islands in The Stream.
In the opening chapter of Islands in The Stream, he wrote this about Bimini, "The water of the Stream was usually a dark blue when you look out at it when there was no wind. But when you walked out into it, there was just the green light of the water over that floury white sand, and you could see the shadow of any big fish a long time before he could ever come in close to the beach."

Like Doba, Hemingway had an intense passion for daring exploits and was always in search of his next big adrenaline-fueled adventure. 

Tybee Island with KDK

And while for me, 2021 wasn't that dauntless, I did gain some new invaluable new perspectives and insights during my experiences while traveling on land, sea, rivers, and lakes.
This year, my wife Debbie and I did get to some new places. We took a trip to Cancun, Mexico, a cruise through the Bahamas to the Dominican Republic. Going coast to coast this year, we took another cruise and sailed along the Seattle skyline in Elliot Bay and took a walk along the beach with my granddaughter on Tybee Island in Georgia. In May, another big trip. On the way back from North Dakota to see family, we went cross-country. We traveled through the Black Hills of South Dakota and along the old Oregon and California trails on the way home.

While I have been living in California for almost nine years now, I still feel a bit like a tourist. There is so much to do and see in this state. I explored Slab Creek for the first time, saw a bit more of the Mokelumne River, and finally made it down the famed Gorge of the South Fork of the American River. I snowshoed through the China Wall train tunnels at Donner Pass near Truckee, California, and logged another section of the Sacramento River south of Red Bluff. 

South Fork Whitewater

I also made a return trip to Loon Lake with Bayside Adventure Sports and enjoyed some great days on the Lower American River, Lake Natoma, and Lake Clementine. The Caldor Fire cut short my season on Lake Jenkinson with Sly Park Paddle Rentals, but now as the rain and snow have now returned to California, I look forward to a fabulous summer on the lake once again next year.

My desire to travel and experience the cultures of this world only grows with age. My long list of travels to all these splendid destinations this year will have a lasting influence on me for some time to come. I will forever remember the beauty and grandeur of these places. I can only hope that my pictures have somehow captured the spirit of these whereabouts.
Hemingway wrote, "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."
These travels have only fueled my yearnings for more adventures in years to come. And as the saying goes, as one chapter ends, another one begins. And I'll add, and the journey never ends.

Loon Lake with Bayside Adventure Sports

John Taylor at Loon Lake 

Lake Lodi

Lake Jenkinson 

Lower American River

Lake Clementine 

Lower American River

The Salt Flats of Utah 

Folsom Lake 

Glow Paddle on Lake Natoma

Slab Creek 

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A SHOW OF NATURE

These little fur balls are very good swimmers and can stay underwater for three to four minutes at a time. Otters are very much like young boys and girls because they spend most of their time playing. --- Michael R. Greyson

Usually the term, "a show of nature" refers to something dramatic such as a hurricane, tornado, or volcanic eruption. It's often portrayed in the media as a violent display of weather or animal savagery showing man's insignificant to his environment. When we see something like that, whether in person or on TV, we are intrigued, astounded, and maybe shocked by what we are seeing. Nature has power. Nature has force. Nature has fury.

"Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity, - the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of a storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heavens artillery," wrote writer Jack London in The White Silence.

 

But as we all know, the wonder of nature can display calmness, quiet serenity, and enchanting and amusing spectacles, just like my trip to my neighborhood lake last month. Thanksgiving Day was clear and bright as I paddled out of the Willow Creek access of Lake Natoma, located within the Folsom Lake SRA, east of Sacramento. It's a 5-mile-long reservoir of the American River and the favorite spot paddling of many. And even on Thanksgiving, many paddlers were taking a pre-feast trek around the lake on their kayaks and paddleboards. 

The fluctuating lake level was about normal for this time of the year. It has been a dry month since the aspheric river storm in October raised my hopes for wet weather and snow this season. I had high expectations after a series of storms had dumped snow and rain over Northern California. But looking eastward toward the Sierra, the mountains looked barren. The ski resorts that had hoped to open up for the Thanksgiving weekend would remain shut down for a while longer.

The slow speed and the quiet nature of my kayak make it ideal for viewing wildlife while paddling along the shoreline of the lake. Despite being so close to an urban setting, ducks, geese, and deer are at home and can be seen here all year long. However, just downstream on the other side of the dam, the salmon are returning as part of their annual migration. For centuries the salmon had spawning grounds of over 100 miles in the American River and its tributaries. But with Nimbus Dam, the dam that creates Lake Natoma, for thousands, their journey will end at the new fish ladder of the Nimbus Hatchery. Designed to let the fish swim up and around, and access more of the historical habitat in the river and enter the hatchery through a much longer flume trail along the American River. Equipped with 9 large viewing windows open for public viewing daily, offering a great show every day this time of the year.
Early in the week, my wife Debbie and I walked down to the fish ladder. We watched the salmon congregate in the pool in front of the ladder and periodically leap toward the gate. It was an amazing display of nature.

Paddling out onto Lake Natoma, the was lake was flat and calm. Looking out over the water, I spotted what looked like large ripples brimming across the surface of the water. Usually, such ripples were caused by the neighboring geese and ducks. But this time, I saw no birds, but large black hairless noses breaking the surface of the water. I gradually moved in closer and closer with my kayak to watch the family of otters swim and feast on their lake dinner. River otters primarily eat fish but, on that day, they were eating whatever was easiest to catch in the lake, like crayfish, frogs, and other aquatic invertebrates.

Up-and-down they bobbed effortlessly, treading water and emerging their heads out of the water, snorting and blowing to clear their nostrils. Excellent swimmers, the otters have long, narrow bodies and flattened streamlined heads. They are equipped with long thick tails about a third of their body length that propels them through the water and protective fur to help them keep warm in cold waters.
I counted six of them swimming along with me. They seemed as curious about me as I was about them. That is as long as I didn't get too close. I did my best to keep my distance. They swam about the sliver stream before climbing onto the shore to romp around a bit where I could get a better look and a few pictures. Just above them on the bike trail, a group of bicyclists pedaled by. I couldn't help to think how they were all missing on this great show of nature and that I had it all to my own.

Meanwhile, the otters had were more intent on having more of a lake feast and even more watery fun. Outdoor writer Sigurd Olson wrote after a similar encounter with some river otters, "In the wild one can never mistake an otter group at play, they're slipping in-and-out of the water their seal alike antics." They seemed to be just that as they splashed one after another back into the lake in what looked like a game of following the leader. They swam away in the opposite direction, leaving me with a smile after enjoying one of nature's shows.

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