Well, we survived the South Fork of the American River. Five adults, fifteen high school kids, three rubber rafts and a mayonnaise jar full of Ritalin…it just doesn’t get any better than that.
On Day One we put in at Henningsen-Lotus park. Our guide was Gordy Ainsleigh, something of a local hero in those parts having been the first to pioneer trail ultramarathon running. Gordy was dubbed “Old Man River” by the kids in our boat when he deftly scrambled up a cliff, crossed the river and swam back through a stretch of rapids to rescue a paddle that one of our kayakers lost at Fowler’s Rock.
After that things got ugly. All the guides seemed to be having trouble getting hung on rocks that would normally be nothing more than a “whoop and a holler,” as Gordy put it. We had a nice wild ride through Satan’s Cesspool and slipped through Son of Satan without incident.
Then we came into Scissors and bumped hard into a rock on the left side of the gorge. Maureen parted company with the boat before I could say anything to change her mind. After inhaling about a gallon of water I think she regretted her decision to submit to the laws of physics.
Gordy and I scrambled to coax Maureen back to the boat and haul her in. By that time we were heading into the bottom of the rapids full throttle and back-asswards. Kevin and Matt who had been in the front of the boat took charge and got us through the rest of Scissors and Lower Haystack. By the time we got to Bouncing Rock, Gordy had managed to untangle himself from the pile of arms and legs in the back of the raft and re-take the driver’s seat. I found myself thinking, Honey, I’m sorry you can’t feel your legs, but yee-haw what a ride!