California Part II

While the boys were running the Golden Gate section of the SF American, my personal mission was to be as helpful as possible. I drove 3 separate groups of paddlers to the top of the run. I bought the guys a 24-pack of PBR (Portland!). I flirted with Safeway bakery girl and ate too many donuts. Trying to maintain public optimism in the face of increasing swelling and discomfort in my shoulder was difficult. I didn’t want to smile and joke.  I wanted to be miserable. I wanted to be kayaking. I didn’t want to be sitting in a truck in the middle of a whitewater fantasyland.

Friday we awoke to slow, steady rainfall. Breaking camp, we drove westward to check out South Silver Creek, a steep granite playland near Icehouse Reservoir. As we expected so early in the season, South Silver pumping huge. There were not takers among our group at that flow. After destroying Dan’s rocket box, we headed north for a combo multi-day on Giant Gap/Generation Gap on the NF American. Rainfall continued, increasing throughout the day. Ice on my shoulder, hoping I might paddle the next day,  I fell asleep in a puddle beside the truck. 6′4″ Mike slept across the bench seat of his truck.

At daybreak, soaking wet, we found the American to be brown and flooded. Despite a poorly dressed German telling us “it iz just ze partickles!”, we wanted none of it. The guys ran a rarely paddled stretch of the South Yuba.  Water into the trees, they reported the run still felt low. I iced my shoulder and finished 2 books and a box of Cheez-its.

From there we headed farther north to the isolated  town of Downieville, the NF Yuba River and Pauley Creek. The rain continuing, Pauley Creek was stomping. The final drop, Pauley Creek Falls, is just outside of town and I took some great shots. Downieville, a mountain town with no cell service, was hosting a summer kickoff party that evening for a group of Reno city slickers. We quickly found ourselves in Cougartown, USA, had a blast, and Scott got us kicked out of the bar shortly after 11pm. The constant mooning of 40 year olds was a poor choice. We repeated our truck-sleeping habits. A nice spot under an overhang at the sewage treatment plant allowed me to drift to sleep to the sounds of Dan and Scotty drunkenly brawling in the gravel parking lot.

Thoroughly desheveled, we headed to the MF Yuba, and paddled a wonderful stretch of river. Dan kept complaining that his elbow hurt. Then it really started hurting (he was sobering up) and we figured he had a fucking piece of gravel in his arm.  I dug it out, Dan bled and Scotty laughed. We made plans to meet up for a run of the SF Merced River.  Soctty and Dan never showed up.