Also referred to as the Upper "T" ...man what a run. Driving down to California with the usual reckless abandon and flying on the coattails of our fellow PBR/Tour boaters Charles B. Taylor and I found ourselves seeking whitewater.
We were late though ...the water was dissipating faster than we had wanted and we were without our fellow PBR-Paddlers, alas work has been suffocating but we knew this and our spirits were high. A fist time run down the Burnt Ranch Gorge of the Trinity had us craving for more. The Burnt Ranch gorge was beautiful and had some worthy rapids to say the least; flows were mild and probably perfect for a first time down: 1500cfs.
Our mission at this point was to rendezvous and participate in the "Summer of Jim". The SOJ, as we shall refer to it, is essentially every paddlers dream; you start out as Jim Pytel (figuratively of course) and you plant your ass down in California during one of the best whitewater seasons the state has seen in years ...you get the point. After hooking up with the SOJ we camped at Lumdsen Falls Campground which is the take out for the Upper Tulomne or Cherry Creek. Essentially your put in is on Cherry Creek and then you confluence with the Tuolomne.
Stories of the SOJ had us laughing heartily through the night until morning light pried open our eyes. Immediately the day kick started our hearts into that all too familiar nervous rhythm one gets prior to embarking upon the unknown. As we made the long haul to the put in we started to get into the groove, dope tunes from Jim set the tone and as I have always said, "you need the right kinda song in your head for the river". I recall one time (one ...yeah right) having a sappy song from Oasis on loop in my head on the Green Truss, I swam my ass off that day and vowed to always have the likes of Soundgarden, Sex Pistols or Johnny Cash playing in my head ...trust me it helps.
Arriving at the put in Jim recognized the only other group of paddlers to be on the river that day as friends from other adventures. They were pretty much all pro/one-time pro boaters and most knew the run, cool this means for a potentially "faster" day. It also means that most likely Chuck and I would be providing on-the-river entertainment, hey its a hard job but somebody got to step up and be an ass.
It was hot as hell and the river was cold and about to open its lovin arms to we humble patrons of the kayak community ...hell yeah. I retreat into my shell and try to slow the heart and think good thoughts, the internal MP3 player kicks off with AC/DC's "Who Made Who" and it's off to the races. Lars Holbek in the California Guidebook describes Cherry Creek as a place where Class V boaters "come to strut their stuff or get stuffed." I was hoping to strut, the run kicks off in pool-drop nature mostly easy Class IV. Jim, Chuck and I jet ahead of the group and true to his form Chuck is flipping over in Class III and assing out in general. Let it be known that this is the tactic of one Charles B. Taylor: Get ahead of the group and eat shit a little bit and do it early in the "easy" stuff. This simply allows Chuck to shine when we hit the "meat" of the run as he does all day long sticking his lines with authority. The run is no-holds-barred good fun; continuous yet offering up breathing room between the more ominous drops. The first of four Class V drops is Mushroom which everyone styled, one of the combatants (though obviously a formidable kayaker) should have probably smoked less of whatever he was smoking and ended up looking like a lost puppy in the crux of this long and winding rapid ...no matter though as he cleaned the end of it. After Mushroom there are lots of great IV drops and rapids, too many to track or describe. We took our lunch break after a series of congested ledgey, boofalicious delights and prepped for the remainder of the run.
There were 3 more big V's two of which are commonly portaged. As I plugged in another mental MP3 I must have tuned out to a righteous guitar solo because I ended up blowing past several eddies where the group was parked, necks straining to see the "obvious" horizon lines. Apparently I had careened into the entrance of Lewis Leap rapid ...$#@!ing great, oh I how love aggressively boat scouting Class V rapids and make no mistake this was not a "drop" as much as it was a big rapid. In my head the drums pounded out the rhythm matching my strokes as I boofed the first move, next came "The Leap" of which my path was dictated by the bass-line thumping out its gravely notes. Perfect ...lucky ass bastard if you were to ask me. I blaze into an eddy, leap out of my kayak and set the camera, basically feeling more than a bit sheepish for my maneuver I try and mask it with the self-important air assumed of one who has a job to do ..Getting the shot. The group sets up the assembly line down the rapid, each person picking off their line as if they had been doing it all day, very nice. Jim Pytel as usual looking positively flawless in his execution and Chuck Taylor "givin them thar pros" something to write home about with his signature hunched form and PBR-Helmet powering through the hydraulics.
Allow me to digress into a description of the aesthetic difference in paddling "styles" inspired by watching Jim and Chuck.
The maze set before me like a map, undulating and changing yet staying true to its form. This was the place of reckoning, this was the rapid. I sit dazed as I witness the first to challenge the path; the motions are slowed to match the rising swell of the watery walls set before him. His body leans and slices, the paddle his accomplice and stealth his motive, he glides away muscles tense. I blink away the scene and flush as I am held witness to the closeness. The blink, eyes open and another takes his place, this one different. His movements are less liquid more palpable, raw in their nature. The paddle is held hostage to the will of its master, a samurai would envy the boldness as he navigates the garden of hydraulics. No qualm, no compromise, all outcome; he comes away eyes intense. The water’s route is defined, yet those who brave its path define it for themselves. Look close and you can see their passageway in the gardens wake.
I know, I know, bad poetry and cheap wine empowered by email ...whaddya gonna do? So after Lewis Leap, more rapids abound as we approach Flat Rock, this big bit of nastiness has a hazard that is basically most of the river pouring onto (and yes you guessed it) under a large flat rock. From what I was to believe far after the fact you enter the rapid, then make like hell into an eddy on the far right, then slide over the exit drop. Somehow, someway I find myself blowing past the eddy and realizing I am about to embark on yet another soul-finding mission. While I did not answer lifes deeper meaning as I plummeted over the first series of ledges I did get knocked over hard as hell and found myself upside down wishing like the dickens I was somewhere else. Here goes the roll ...up, oops, not really back over and BANG, that would be a rock and an angry one to boot (remind me to write Ed Lucero and thank him for designing an armored PFD) As I engage in defensive measures and kiss the deck, awaiting the opprotuntiy to snap off another roll I feel that not-so-lovely, bottom just dropped out of my ass, falling feeling you get when careening over a drop ...upside down. $#@! this, I muscle upright headless of technique and let out the obligatory primal growl as I see that I am through the worst of it. I make an eddy (imagine that concept ABOVE the rapid) and set up camera shop ready to catch the shot; meanwhile my heart is tearing stitches out of my PFD with its jackhammer beats. Two of our party is portaging river left and everyone else is hunkered in a large eddy river right, taking turns dropping the right slot. As the two guys who portage drop back down to the river where I am stationed they give me looks of either disgust or undisguised admiration ...I wonder which? Jim cruises by and asks "tell me you didn't just run that blind?" Shit, wish I could Jimbo instead I laugh it off and tell him that the left-line is a no go ...just FYI.
One more big one ahead as the group gathers down river, this one is a doozy .., a choked off, ledgy-entrance, steep as hell, right-side drop called Lumsden Falls. Chuck Jim and I had scouted the day previous and it seemed like a go. Two from our group gave the monster a run and ran it ultra clean, I personally made up my mind before getting to the drop ...I needed to give one back to the river; after running two large drops blind you count your lucky boof strokes and call it a day. We run the III-IV stuff after Lumsden to the campground where we pass out celebratory PBR's courtesy of "The Tour." After quenching the thirst we manage to load 8 people into Chuck's truck with boats for the drive to the put in. Needless to say the rack did come flying off and despite the near catastrophe we reloaded, shared a laugh and made our way inevitably home.
~Nate Garr~