Cancer anyone?
If you start to read this, you can blame Pam since she requested multiple times that I do a journal describing the tour of Neck cancer.
If you continue to read this you have only yourself to blame.
Yep, though I'd retire and try to wear out some motorcycles and burn as much fossil fuel as possible. Things don't always go as planned. About the time I get my feet in the starting blocks I find out the game has changed and instead of managing a company, I'm managing my own health care future.
During our vacation in Maui this past February I developed a lump under the right side of my chin that seemed like the lymph node that I've had a half dozen times during my past 57 odd years. When I returned home my Nagy assistant at the office, Erin, made a DR appointment for me to see about the lump. A fine needle biopsy revealed Squamous cell carcinoma, AKA head and neck cancer.
The first step is getting educated about head and neck cancer. This day and age the internet will teach you how to crush grapes, build an atom bomb, or enlighten you from hundreds of web pages describing your condition. Additionally, everyone that feels the need to share their story adds to the drama. I think its part of the disease. The more dramatic, the more you read on. Several times Suzanne banned me from the web due to the dark pained pictures some folks paint.
It's fair to say that contracting a disease that starts with the letter C is enough to spook anyone with a pulse. I decide it probably won't help my cure by stewing on the "why me question". Didn't seem to fit. So, with a positive attitude I contacted friends that had friends that either had a special doctor friend or had a pal that had a similar case. Now I'm getting first hand accounts of the treatment and the life challenges that go along with it. Except for the death-if-not-treated option, the cure plan side effects seems worse than the cancer. Promises of burned throat, inside and out; swallowing problems, feeding tubes for 6 months to a year… and that's just the radiation part. We've all heard the Chemo side effects; hair loss, weight loss, weak and tired, barfy feeling. WOW, sign me up for 2 session of that one. Sounds like a dandy.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
#2 Dr selection
Bring on the doctors
Through a referral I started in San Diego meeting with a doctor who performed a pandoscopy (a what?) by using a general anesthetic he snipped small pieces of skin in my nasal, base of tongue, and throat in search of a “primary” cancer site. It’s all new to me so you are likely learning the terms as I have: one by one rapid fire. His analysis was “no known primary” which calls for infusion chemo: 3 different type chemo’s infused 2 to 4 times, then carpet bomb my throat with radiation to catch any possible cancer cells in the typical areas. Just like cops, round up the usual suspects.
Time for a second opinion.
Met with the Stanford folks where they had an impressive “tumor board” review of many doctors and interns poking and prodding in order of rank. Their analysis was the original Pandoscopy was not complete enough and it was time to try again to identify a primary. Through my readings it was clear that head and neck cancer regularly hides in the tonsils so I instructed my doctor to be certain to eliminate that possibility and remove anything that was doubtful. During surgery he determined that my right tonsil was irregular and upon doing a biopsy on it determined it was the primary or source. Whoopee!
A third opinion?
In the meantime I had an appointment previously scheduled for an opinion at UC San Francisco, a highly recommended treatment center. Upon meeting the ENT (ear nose and throat) specialist, Dr Wang, and meeting Sue Wong, the radiation oncologist I felt a connection and liked their team approach to treating me. Beside, I always wanted to hang out in San Francisco which is one of the top ten cancer centers in the US and home of the Rice a Roni trolley car. Hey, may as well have some fun while they torture you with chemo and radiation eh?
With that decision made I meet with the medical oncologist, Sarita Dubey, AKA the Chemo lady. After much discussion I settled on a drug regiment similar to chemo called Erbitux, a drug that was made famous due to Martha Stewart trading the ImClone made drug. There were several nasty long term side effect tradeoffs that I was avoiding. One being permanent swallowing issues and the other was to save my hearing which is already damaged from motorcycles, nail guns, guns, with a pinch of genetics. Huh?
Last second news
The ultimate cure is the radiation that is intended to kill the cancer cells which also kills healthy cells but the healthy ones should regenerate successfully. I guess that’s why doctors get the big bucks to figure this stuff out. A mask was formed around my head, neck, and shoulders to prevent any movement on my part while the radiation was to be delivered. Yep, they bolt you to the table to remove any movement. Time for one last PET scan: a CT scan that identifies heavy concentrations of glucose, a need for hungry cancer cells. The scan revealed a “lit up” left tonsil. My radiation doctor, Sue Yom, told me that she wouldn’t treat me with an inconclusive diagnosis. The choice was to treat both sides of the neck or prove the left tonsil was clean. I returned for a 3rd surgery to remove the left tonsil which revealed cancer in that side too. Now we’re having fun.
Through a referral I started in San Diego meeting with a doctor who performed a pandoscopy (a what?) by using a general anesthetic he snipped small pieces of skin in my nasal, base of tongue, and throat in search of a “primary” cancer site. It’s all new to me so you are likely learning the terms as I have: one by one rapid fire. His analysis was “no known primary” which calls for infusion chemo: 3 different type chemo’s infused 2 to 4 times, then carpet bomb my throat with radiation to catch any possible cancer cells in the typical areas. Just like cops, round up the usual suspects.
Time for a second opinion.
Met with the Stanford folks where they had an impressive “tumor board” review of many doctors and interns poking and prodding in order of rank. Their analysis was the original Pandoscopy was not complete enough and it was time to try again to identify a primary. Through my readings it was clear that head and neck cancer regularly hides in the tonsils so I instructed my doctor to be certain to eliminate that possibility and remove anything that was doubtful. During surgery he determined that my right tonsil was irregular and upon doing a biopsy on it determined it was the primary or source. Whoopee!
A third opinion?
In the meantime I had an appointment previously scheduled for an opinion at UC San Francisco, a highly recommended treatment center. Upon meeting the ENT (ear nose and throat) specialist, Dr Wang, and meeting Sue Wong, the radiation oncologist I felt a connection and liked their team approach to treating me. Beside, I always wanted to hang out in San Francisco which is one of the top ten cancer centers in the US and home of the Rice a Roni trolley car. Hey, may as well have some fun while they torture you with chemo and radiation eh?
With that decision made I meet with the medical oncologist, Sarita Dubey, AKA the Chemo lady. After much discussion I settled on a drug regiment similar to chemo called Erbitux, a drug that was made famous due to Martha Stewart trading the ImClone made drug. There were several nasty long term side effect tradeoffs that I was avoiding. One being permanent swallowing issues and the other was to save my hearing which is already damaged from motorcycles, nail guns, guns, with a pinch of genetics. Huh?
Last second news
The ultimate cure is the radiation that is intended to kill the cancer cells which also kills healthy cells but the healthy ones should regenerate successfully. I guess that’s why doctors get the big bucks to figure this stuff out. A mask was formed around my head, neck, and shoulders to prevent any movement on my part while the radiation was to be delivered. Yep, they bolt you to the table to remove any movement. Time for one last PET scan: a CT scan that identifies heavy concentrations of glucose, a need for hungry cancer cells. The scan revealed a “lit up” left tonsil. My radiation doctor, Sue Yom, told me that she wouldn’t treat me with an inconclusive diagnosis. The choice was to treat both sides of the neck or prove the left tonsil was clean. I returned for a 3rd surgery to remove the left tonsil which revealed cancer in that side too. Now we’re having fun.
#3 Ready, set, treat!
Treatment
Enough discovery and pondering. Time to start treating. Monday morning I arrive at the chemo induction ward where my nurse is wearing a button on her lapel that states “cancer sucks”. Amen.
Needles, IV bags, inject able Benadryl, and finally the Erbitux. After my Benadryl induced nap Suzanne and I head for home. The next day was a sleep fest with bouts of nausea and exhaustion. The recipe calls for Erbitux in advance then start the radiation a few days later. The idea is the Erbitux causes the cancer cells to awaken the receptors and allow the radiation to do its job better.
So, here I sit after 4 days of radiation and 2 rounds of Erbitux. I have a predicted case of acne on both sides of my nose and on my forehead. They tell me I won’t feel the effects of the radiation for about 2 weeks. In the meantime I’m settled into a pal’s house here in the city about 4 miles from my treatment center. I pass thru the Haight-Ashbury district and Golden Gate Park every morning on my way to treatment. I’m quickly learning my way around the city. Muni trains, busses, Democrats, aggressive drivers, hills, guys holding hands, and amazing views on a clear fall day after the morning marine layer lifts.
Life in the city
Film at 11:00
Enough discovery and pondering. Time to start treating. Monday morning I arrive at the chemo induction ward where my nurse is wearing a button on her lapel that states “cancer sucks”. Amen.
Needles, IV bags, inject able Benadryl, and finally the Erbitux. After my Benadryl induced nap Suzanne and I head for home. The next day was a sleep fest with bouts of nausea and exhaustion. The recipe calls for Erbitux in advance then start the radiation a few days later. The idea is the Erbitux causes the cancer cells to awaken the receptors and allow the radiation to do its job better.
So, here I sit after 4 days of radiation and 2 rounds of Erbitux. I have a predicted case of acne on both sides of my nose and on my forehead. They tell me I won’t feel the effects of the radiation for about 2 weeks. In the meantime I’m settled into a pal’s house here in the city about 4 miles from my treatment center. I pass thru the Haight-Ashbury district and Golden Gate Park every morning on my way to treatment. I’m quickly learning my way around the city. Muni trains, busses, Democrats, aggressive drivers, hills, guys holding hands, and amazing views on a clear fall day after the morning marine layer lifts.
Life in the city
Film at 11:00
Thursday, July 25, 2002
Charlie's Swin at Horn
Charlie’s swim through Horn Creek Rapid
by John Volkman
February 23, 1995
We arrived at Phantom Ranch after spending the past 5 days with a group of young, athletic, energetic paddlers on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. “Day five” on an oar / paddle trip is well known as the “Day of Terror”. It starts out at Unkar rapid then on to run Nevils, Hance, Sockdolager, Grapevine, Zoroaster and a few more big rapids before arriving at Phantom Ranch.
My paddlers busted their butts, paddling like mad-dogs until we shot through every rapid upright. They were an awesome group. Five days with good folks and you really bond. We all hugged and gave high five’s when they had to hike out, leaving me to a new group of guests to finish the next 8 days. So goes the trips on the Grand Canyon. Not everyone can spend 12 days to do the whole trip but the ones that can, get hooked on an experience that can’t be duplicated anywhere else in the world. The group dynamics are unique in a place where you experience the beauty and awe of the “Ditch” for 12 days.
Our equipment consisted of four, eighteen foot oar boats; a twenty two foot gear/baggage boat; and I was guiding the only paddleboat: a 14 foot Avon Adventurer. It’s the smallest commercial raft on the Colorado and when paddled correctly is a wild and woolly ride.
As we introduced ourselves to the new group of guests it became apparent to me that the entire new group was a generation older and not overly athletic. Upon my first survey of fifteen guests, I couldn’t pick out six that would’ve signed up for a paddle trip. I checked with Andrew, our trip leader, asking for the names of my guests. As I called out the names, the oldest and least fit looking (half of them women) raised their hands. Damn! I’ve got about one river mile to get these folks trained to paddle through one of the biggest, potentially boat flipping rapids right in the middle of the “day of terror”. My group didn’t even know what kind of trip they signed up for! Someone sold them on “paddling” the Grand Canyon but they didn’t know what they were in for.
After getting them collected at the boat and sitting in the right direction (we’re talking basics all facing forward) I began the river talk. I try to keep the orientation talk light but express the importance of listening, learning the basics of paddling, and river safety rules. They had just finished hiking 9.5 miles down a desert trail in the hot sun. That in it self will drain you pretty good, even if you’re in shape. These folks we already pooped.
The group was about half attentive and really didn’t have their heart into it. One of them named Charlie is especially joking around and taking the whole thing way too lightly and suggested that I just wanted to get to the Playboy magazine he has stashed in his black bag. “Forget the Playboy Charlie, you guys have about 5 minutes to learn to paddle, or die!” I was doing my best to deliver a crash course in paddling when Andrew signals that we need to get going and pushes off downstream.
“Forward paddle” I call. What a joke. I can’t get them to paddle hard enough to get out of the eddy (we’re in deep Kim Chi). Once again I try to get through to them that we can laugh later but we’ve got some serious Whitewater to get through first. Twenty minutes later I find us sitting at the top of Horn Creek Rapid. With the river flowing about 8,000 CFS (cubic feet per second), the right side of the rapid develops into some serious holes that the boatmen call “The Train Wreck” for its violent crashing waves. Even in a heavy (more stable) oar powered boat, it’s a wild ride that most boatmen try to avoid. In “The Minnow”, I have no intentions of running the right. But to avoid it I will need some decent paddle power.
We crest the top (called the horn) about in the center of the river trying to work our way left. These folks won’t paddle (like I didn’t know that from the first moment I laid eyes on them) and here we float directly down to the right. That’s bad. I’m screaming out paddle commands hoping the fear and anger in my voice will spark some enthusiasm. When we hit the first wave, they’re all knocked to the center of the boat, paddles out of the water, floating deeper into the Train Wreck. The next wave hits us sideways and knocks Charlie out the right side of the boat. I’m still screaming paddle commands with little results as I spot Charlie bobbing for apples. Boom, another huge wave pummels us completely swamping the boat with five tired, out of shape folks, flopping in the center of my boat floating out of control down the right side. I look again for Charlie but he’s gone. He’s stuck under the boat.
Boom, we get blasted by another huge wave almost flipping us. I look out the left side and there’s Charlie floating within paddles reach of the boat. His eyes are as big as cantaloupes and focused downstream. I reach out poking my paddle handle in his chest screaming “Charlie”. He’s petrified and not hearing me. Boom, we get pounded again with another breaking wave. Once again I try to get his attention to grab my paddle since he’s slightly out of my reach. He’s still dazed and confused. More breaking waves. One last try and Charlie hears me, grabs the paddle and I pull him close. With wave still crashing on us I manage to grab him and pull him into the boat without falling in myself.
He’s totally disoriented and has the 1000 yard stare. He starts to heave so I turn him over and he pukes over the side. By now were past the waves and floating upright below the rapid. I start laughing, slapping Charlie on the back as he’s puking saying “where’d you put that Playboy Charlie. I’m ready for it now after the screwing Horn just gave us”.
We had made it through the first rapid upright (by the grace of the river gods) but we still had Granite and Crystal Rapids left to run. That would complete their first day with only 7 left to go. Why me lord. We get the boat bailed out and I signal to Andrew letting him know that we were in for a long day with this group. “Do the best you can John” and off we go downstream heading for Granite. At lunch, Andrew just finished telling me the story of his last run through Granite where he flipped this very same paddle boat at the top. The group had swum the full length of Granite. Not my idea of a good time.
“Forward hard”. Off we go down from the top at Granite. First big wave and everyone is back in the bottom center of the boat. On the bright side they all stayed in the boat. The bad news was we ran the entire rapid sideways, full of water, almost flipping twice, and at the bottom found that Kay, a quiet but hearty lady had slipped under the rear thwart and broke her ankle. We got her transferred to Andrew’s oar boat and floated to schist camp a short distance downstream.
After everyone gets dried out and feeling better, Charlie corners me over on the beach alone and gives me heartfelt thanks for saving his life. He thought he had seen God when he went out at Horn Creek rapid. I pointed out to him that when he was stuck under the boat and he didn’t really see god - just the picture of Jesus I had painted on the bottom of the boat just for him. Shortly after that he saw his messiah, me, pulling him into the boat. “My pleasure to save you Charlie but now you owe me that Playboy”
After the trip Charlie wrote me a nice letter, thanking me for a great 8 days, a spectacular rescue, and disabling Kay’s leg so she couldn’t kick him in the ass for signing her up on the paddle boat on their first river trip.
They turned out to be a lot of fun and Kay, being the heartiest of the group, finished the entire trip with us carrying her to and from the boats, her tent, and the groover (toilet) for 8 days.
You never know what kind of trip or group you’ll get on the Colorado in the Grand Canyon.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. JV
by John Volkman
February 23, 1995
We arrived at Phantom Ranch after spending the past 5 days with a group of young, athletic, energetic paddlers on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. “Day five” on an oar / paddle trip is well known as the “Day of Terror”. It starts out at Unkar rapid then on to run Nevils, Hance, Sockdolager, Grapevine, Zoroaster and a few more big rapids before arriving at Phantom Ranch.
My paddlers busted their butts, paddling like mad-dogs until we shot through every rapid upright. They were an awesome group. Five days with good folks and you really bond. We all hugged and gave high five’s when they had to hike out, leaving me to a new group of guests to finish the next 8 days. So goes the trips on the Grand Canyon. Not everyone can spend 12 days to do the whole trip but the ones that can, get hooked on an experience that can’t be duplicated anywhere else in the world. The group dynamics are unique in a place where you experience the beauty and awe of the “Ditch” for 12 days.
Our equipment consisted of four, eighteen foot oar boats; a twenty two foot gear/baggage boat; and I was guiding the only paddleboat: a 14 foot Avon Adventurer. It’s the smallest commercial raft on the Colorado and when paddled correctly is a wild and woolly ride.
As we introduced ourselves to the new group of guests it became apparent to me that the entire new group was a generation older and not overly athletic. Upon my first survey of fifteen guests, I couldn’t pick out six that would’ve signed up for a paddle trip. I checked with Andrew, our trip leader, asking for the names of my guests. As I called out the names, the oldest and least fit looking (half of them women) raised their hands. Damn! I’ve got about one river mile to get these folks trained to paddle through one of the biggest, potentially boat flipping rapids right in the middle of the “day of terror”. My group didn’t even know what kind of trip they signed up for! Someone sold them on “paddling” the Grand Canyon but they didn’t know what they were in for.
After getting them collected at the boat and sitting in the right direction (we’re talking basics all facing forward) I began the river talk. I try to keep the orientation talk light but express the importance of listening, learning the basics of paddling, and river safety rules. They had just finished hiking 9.5 miles down a desert trail in the hot sun. That in it self will drain you pretty good, even if you’re in shape. These folks we already pooped.
The group was about half attentive and really didn’t have their heart into it. One of them named Charlie is especially joking around and taking the whole thing way too lightly and suggested that I just wanted to get to the Playboy magazine he has stashed in his black bag. “Forget the Playboy Charlie, you guys have about 5 minutes to learn to paddle, or die!” I was doing my best to deliver a crash course in paddling when Andrew signals that we need to get going and pushes off downstream.
“Forward paddle” I call. What a joke. I can’t get them to paddle hard enough to get out of the eddy (we’re in deep Kim Chi). Once again I try to get through to them that we can laugh later but we’ve got some serious Whitewater to get through first. Twenty minutes later I find us sitting at the top of Horn Creek Rapid. With the river flowing about 8,000 CFS (cubic feet per second), the right side of the rapid develops into some serious holes that the boatmen call “The Train Wreck” for its violent crashing waves. Even in a heavy (more stable) oar powered boat, it’s a wild ride that most boatmen try to avoid. In “The Minnow”, I have no intentions of running the right. But to avoid it I will need some decent paddle power.
We crest the top (called the horn) about in the center of the river trying to work our way left. These folks won’t paddle (like I didn’t know that from the first moment I laid eyes on them) and here we float directly down to the right. That’s bad. I’m screaming out paddle commands hoping the fear and anger in my voice will spark some enthusiasm. When we hit the first wave, they’re all knocked to the center of the boat, paddles out of the water, floating deeper into the Train Wreck. The next wave hits us sideways and knocks Charlie out the right side of the boat. I’m still screaming paddle commands with little results as I spot Charlie bobbing for apples. Boom, another huge wave pummels us completely swamping the boat with five tired, out of shape folks, flopping in the center of my boat floating out of control down the right side. I look again for Charlie but he’s gone. He’s stuck under the boat.
Boom, we get blasted by another huge wave almost flipping us. I look out the left side and there’s Charlie floating within paddles reach of the boat. His eyes are as big as cantaloupes and focused downstream. I reach out poking my paddle handle in his chest screaming “Charlie”. He’s petrified and not hearing me. Boom, we get pounded again with another breaking wave. Once again I try to get his attention to grab my paddle since he’s slightly out of my reach. He’s still dazed and confused. More breaking waves. One last try and Charlie hears me, grabs the paddle and I pull him close. With wave still crashing on us I manage to grab him and pull him into the boat without falling in myself.
He’s totally disoriented and has the 1000 yard stare. He starts to heave so I turn him over and he pukes over the side. By now were past the waves and floating upright below the rapid. I start laughing, slapping Charlie on the back as he’s puking saying “where’d you put that Playboy Charlie. I’m ready for it now after the screwing Horn just gave us”.
We had made it through the first rapid upright (by the grace of the river gods) but we still had Granite and Crystal Rapids left to run. That would complete their first day with only 7 left to go. Why me lord. We get the boat bailed out and I signal to Andrew letting him know that we were in for a long day with this group. “Do the best you can John” and off we go downstream heading for Granite. At lunch, Andrew just finished telling me the story of his last run through Granite where he flipped this very same paddle boat at the top. The group had swum the full length of Granite. Not my idea of a good time.
“Forward hard”. Off we go down from the top at Granite. First big wave and everyone is back in the bottom center of the boat. On the bright side they all stayed in the boat. The bad news was we ran the entire rapid sideways, full of water, almost flipping twice, and at the bottom found that Kay, a quiet but hearty lady had slipped under the rear thwart and broke her ankle. We got her transferred to Andrew’s oar boat and floated to schist camp a short distance downstream.
After everyone gets dried out and feeling better, Charlie corners me over on the beach alone and gives me heartfelt thanks for saving his life. He thought he had seen God when he went out at Horn Creek rapid. I pointed out to him that when he was stuck under the boat and he didn’t really see god - just the picture of Jesus I had painted on the bottom of the boat just for him. Shortly after that he saw his messiah, me, pulling him into the boat. “My pleasure to save you Charlie but now you owe me that Playboy”
After the trip Charlie wrote me a nice letter, thanking me for a great 8 days, a spectacular rescue, and disabling Kay’s leg so she couldn’t kick him in the ass for signing her up on the paddle boat on their first river trip.
They turned out to be a lot of fun and Kay, being the heartiest of the group, finished the entire trip with us carrying her to and from the boats, her tent, and the groover (toilet) for 8 days.
You never know what kind of trip or group you’ll get on the Colorado in the Grand Canyon.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. JV
Thursday, January 2, 1997
90,000 CFS
The South Fork American at 72,000 CFS
By: John Volkman January 2, 1997
New years day
Some of my pals have an annual ‘first day of the year’ river trip that they call the Don Favor Memorial. They usually start out at Chile Bar and raft down to the top of the Triple Threat rapid and have a drink in his memory. Shawn called me a couple of days earlier and we agreed to join the group. After suffering through the morning with a Pisco Sour (a Chilean Margarita) hangover, we arrived a little late at Dick’s house. Meri and Glen hopped in my truck and we went to take a look at Troublemaker Rapid, just upstream from the town of Coloma. The river was impressive but runnable. We had rafted this section at this water level but never had we seen so much trees, wood and debris in the current. We were all astonished that the river had risen about 2 to 3 feet in the past hour as we passed through Coloma Park.
With such a late start, it was decided to put in on river right several miles below Coloma to run the 12 mile section down to Salmon Falls Bridge. The trip included One paddle boat guided by Ann, a fifteen year professional guide and a second paddleboat guided by Mike, a fifth year pro guide. The paddlers consisted of many second year river guides, a couple of veterans, and a couple of unseasoned guests. The third boat was my 16' Sotar raft with an oar frame mounted with 2 other veteran river guides, Glen and Meri, paddling. The fourth paddler in my boat was my brother in law Steve who has joined me on several trips in the recent past. Rumor said that the flow was about 15,000 to 20,000 CFS. About the same high spring run-off levels we have rafted during the past 2 seasons.
Although the river was swift the rapids were pretty flat since the high water covered them with about 10 to 15 feet of water. When we reached the first rapid at the entrance of the Gorge both Ann and Mike flipped in a huge hole at the top of Fowler's Rock Rapid. In our rescue mode Steve and I hopped on one of the upside down boats, flipped it over, and paddled downstream picking up several visibly shaken swimmers. Shawn doing the same, pulled over to river right to drop off several of the paddlers to make room for more. On a funny note Ann, trying to lighten the boat, was trying to get folks out onto shore. Not wanting to waste any time she turned to the lady with no river experience and yelled “GET OUT OF THE BOAT”. When the lady didn’t show any sign of moving quickly Ann, A firefighter and used to controlling a scene, grabbed the lady and chucked her out of the boat in about 2 feet deep water and immediately said in a pleasant voice “thank you.” They then immediately rowed back out and continued to retrieve the balance of the swimmers.
After retrieving all of the swimmers and eddying out on river right Mike hiked up the river bank to retrieve the people that Shawn had dropped off. There wasn’t much of a trail to hike on, just rocks and brush. When he finally did reach them the river had risen even higher, submerging the original trail. Now it was going to take them about an hour to hike back downstream. After that flip and a long swim, I felt the inexperienced folks shouldn’t continue so I hiked out to the road and got the shuttle vehicle back to pick them and the boat up. An hour later I returned with Sue; the truck; and Dick, a 20 year veteran of the American River. Dick told me the river was flowing at about 50,000 CFS and looking straight out at Satins Cesspool Rapid he said the river was flowing about 30 feet higher than normal summer flows. Now we were witnessing appliances, out houses, dredges, picnic tables, signs and entire 40 foot tall trees floating by.
The truck left and I hiked down stream to where the others were waiting for me to continue. Glen and Steve were the only ones holding the boats while the others were downstream scouting rapids. By the time all of the group returned it was nearing 3:30pm and we were anxious to get going before the river rose anymore. Glen, who was holding the boat, told me that a 16’ pine tree had entirely disappeared in front of him in the past one hour from rapidly rising river. They also told me about a boat eating hole just around the next corner but it could be avoided by pulling to the inside and going right of it. While they were scouting, a large floating gold dredge that had pulled loose from its mooring ran through the hole getting tossed like a toothpick in a tornado. A few minutes later 2 large propane bottles the size of small cars floated by along with the endless supply of logs and branches.
Most of the remaining paddlers, after staring at the rising river and debris stream, decided to hike out. It was just a shame that we had let the scuttle vehicle leave before the decision was made. Instead of having them hike out carrying the boat, I thought the additional weight of their boat. rolled up and tied into ours would help our chances of punching through a marginally runnable hole. It took about another twenty minutes to get the boat rolled up and tied in just in front of the rowing frame. Glen opted not to continue with us and there was a bit of discussion about who would ‘get’ to go. Mike and Ann both wanted to go but Since Meri had started out in the boat she had first tight of refusal. The final order was Shawn rowing with 11 years of guiding experience; myself with similar experience - paddling in the front left; Mike with 5 years guiding experience paddling in the right front; Meri with 10 years guiding experience paddling behind me; and Steve, who’s been through some guide training and several other river trips, filled out the last spot.
I figured it was running above 60,000 CFS by now. My belief was that the river would flatten out as it continued to rise. We knew about the hole around the corner and how to avoid it and figured that we would read and run our way to the takeout. Shawn and I took a moment for a reality check then announced that anyone that stepped foot in the boat was on their own from that moment on. With one last high five we pushed off into the current.
The current was raging as we moved slowly across the channel, narrowly missing the huge hole at the next bend. In catching the edge of the hole Shawn let out a holler as though he was enjoying the run. I felt differently. I was intent on cheating the entire run.
“Stay right and out of the main channel best you can” I yelled to Shawn.
“That’s not always possible since it forces you back out from the strong diagonals” Shawn shouted back.
We approached the drop and next set of waves as Meri shouted “lets scout from here before we run”
That would have turned out to be the right decision. As we crested the drop we realized that even though we were right of center there was a strong diagonal to the right of a large drop with a boat flipping wave at the bottom.
“Forward paddle” shouted Shawn as we attempted to break through the diagonal wave. Our boat hit the wave with the bow. Without any momentum the boat bounced back and careened down into the waves in an uncontrollable fashion. Shawn was shouting commands but the boat was being drawn downstream into a huge breaking wave. Where I sat in the left front was the first place to hit the wave and like a potato chip in the wind I was thrown back upstream taking Mike out and going underwater.
I surfaced with hopes that we were just knocked out of the boat and not flipped. But my first sight was the bottom of my boat with people bobbing around it. At first I was upstream of the boat with my attention focused on breathing between the breaking waves. Then a fairly long period of time underwater I popped up 50 yards downstream from the boat with one helmeted rafter standing atop the upside-down boat. He was helping someone climb up on top. I figured that anyone that quick had to be the 2 most experienced boaters, Shawn and Mike. My first instinct was to get to the boat and started swimming toward it. I knew I needed to be there but could see I was moving downstream faster. Next I saw Meri. I motioned to her and yelled for her to swim my way. I was still holding my paddle and instinctively grabbed another paddle that was floating by. I outstretched the paddles to Meri and pulled her in closer. Realizing we were still floating away from the boat I told Meri that we’ve got to get the hell out of the river. She had saucer eyes and was clearly jolted as I’ve seen swimmers a hundred times before. As we floated through he next wave train I became more aware how difficult it was to get good breaths with all the turbulence happening around us. I was extremely careful with every breath I took even waiting longer than I wanted to catch my next breath. The last thing I wanted was to catch a wave in the mouth and lose any of my ability to self rescue that I knew would be essential. Understanding that our only chance for self rescue was to keep getting good breaths I looked Meri in the eyes and told her “be sure of your breaths. Relax if you can but be sure you don’t catch a wave in the mouth.” She seemed to be listening to my voice but the look on her face stated that she was very scared.
I kept talking to her when I could, asking her if she was cold and if she was OK. I kept telling her to be sure of her breaths. I wanted her to be as ever aware as I was as to our only chance for survival. We stayed close for what seemed like a couple of more sets of rapids that contained sets of huge breaking waves. Still holding the other end of the paddle we looked at each other and she had water spouting out of both nostrils. That’s when I knew it would get more difficult for her. She had taken in water.
“Lets swim for the bank” I yelled as we both swam, arm over arm for the side. It was futile and we were sucked back in the current and into another set of breaking waves.
The next set of waves and I felt Meri’s hand on my shoulder and my head went under water unexpectedly. She was struggling for air and I was the buoy. At that point I knew if I was held under again I might not get that all important next breath so I released the paddle and kept a short distance from her. We continued to float close but next I noticed she was on a chunk of wood and floating pretty well. I found a chunk and did the same. It gave a bit of confidence but we were still flushing downstream at a rapid rate.
There seemed to be a long stretch of flatter water so I yelled to Mary “lets swim for the bank again”.
She heard me and we both released our logs and started swimming double time for the left bank. Within seconds I felt the strong draw of the current pulling us into the next set of large rapids. Swimming was futile. We couldn’t escape the magnetic draw of the current even though we were both swimming strong. Same program. Timing every wave, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t make that fatal flaw of catching a wave in the mouth causing me to caught and breath uncontrollably which would make you inhale more water.
After making it through that next set of rapids I lot sight of Mary. All I could think of now was saving myself and how my wife would feel if I ended up in a black body bag on in the coroners black Suburban. Over and over again, all I could think about was how hurt Sue is going to be just from me doing something as unnecessary as this. Self inflicted. So unnecessary. I put myself there. How could I do this to her. I remembered how distraught she was over losing each of our pet labs. How would she take this. It just isn’t fair. I must survive.
I started looking for an eddy to swim to and to my amazement and disbelief I was feeling some slack water and realized I was only 10 feet from a solid eddy. Hand over hand, again I swam for the eddy. Every stroke using all my senses feeling for that all important upstream current. Yes. I’m in the eddy but I’m not letting up until I’m on the river bank. Feeling the strong upstream current from the eddy I use the momentum to lurch for a rock on the side. The rock was solidly anchored and I had a good grip on it. I still won’t feel safe until I am totally away from this magnetic monster that’s been uncontrollably dragging my downstream. I stagger up the bank. My head feels like its going to pop and I feel dazed and confused. I’ve never had this feeling before. It must have been a huge overload that my mind had just dealt with. I was standing on the bank. My plan to not catch a throat full of water was a success. I had cheated death. I would be safe.
I began to look up and down stream looking for anybody or any thing that looked like part of our group. No bodies, no boat, no paddles, no gear. Nothing. I craned my neck to see around the bend, hoping and praying I would see that white boat come out of nowhere. Nothing. I prayed for Meri. I prayed for Steve. I prayed for Shawn and Mike. Please lord let live like you let me.
10 minutes was long enough to wait. I they weren’t by now, they wouldn’t be by. I needed to get to Sue and spare her any thoughts she might have of me drowning. I started climbing out through solid brush. No trail of any sort. Breaking branches and stomping over 4 to 5 foot tall bushes. The going was miserably slow but I had to get to the truck and let them know I was OK. I had to get back and see my pals, hopefully once again. The hike out was brutal. The physical part would have been very difficult if it weren’t for wanting to be back to Sue and the rest.
About one hour after dark I arrived at the road only to have Sue, Ann and Norm pick me up. Meri had managed to hike out before dark. She had floated down to the next bend and was washed into an eddy. She was lucky enough to land at a spot that had a road leading from the river to the highway. The rest of the boys were OK too. About a half hour behind me hiking out a different trail and road.
The parking lot at Skunk hollow was filled with fire trucks, paramedics, swift water rescue teams, and 2 coroners. The bridge was covered with rescue equipment, lights on the river and ropes hanging down, preparing to catch one of us floating by. They had received a call from someone earlier, before our flip, that a couple of people were lost in the river. I thanked all of the rescue workers for their time and energy even though they weren’t needed.
How did we get ourselves in that position? Couldn’t we see, especially with all of our combined experience, that we shouldn’t have gone? We started with a reasonable flow. We certainly wouldn’t have even inflated the boats with the water that high. So why did we continue when we knew the water had risen so high? With so much debris in the water? I thought the water would be flattened out for most of the run. I even told Shawn before we pushed off “if we flip I’m just swimming to the takeout.”
Shawn said to me “do you know how far the takeout is? We’re still at Satins Cesspool.”
“Yah but It will only take about 10 minutes to get to Salmon Falls from here at this fast flow.”
I’ve just never seen that much water in that small of a channel. Last March I attend a high water, 50,000 CFS guide training trip on the Colorado in Grand Canyon and most all of the rapids were washed out. I guess that’s what I expected to see. Fast flat water.
Meri and I talked for several hours the next morning about our ordeal. Comparing notes. She told me how much my talking to her helped her to gain strength and to stay calm. She said at one point she was waiting for that calm, peaceful feeling that they say comes over you in a watery death. I don’t know about her but mine would have been a violent one with me fighting off every breath. We talked about the hundreds of swimmers we’ve both pulled into boats in the past and how they sometimes say “I saw God.”
Mary said “Well our God was a lot bigger than their God. We are always there to pull them in a boat.” We both laughed.
Meri has worked ski patrol at Vail Colorado for the past 10 seasons performing rescues and maintaining control on the mountain. After our brain purge and near death stories, she headed out the door for her home in the city. Her parting words were “I think I’ll go back to doing something safer like chucking dynamite over cliffs starting avalanches.
3 days later when I called Mike to retrieve the boat the river was flowing about 8,500 CFS. With the flooding and rain over for now we inflated boat and convinced Dick to help us with a shuttle. The rumor in town was the afternoon that we were on the river the water was flowing 17 feet over the top of the dam at Chile Bar and flowing at around 78,000 CFS. Dick figures with the additional run-off downstream from the dam it could have been around 90 to 100,000 CFS in the Gorge about the time we were there. Holy shit. That’s a bunch of water. The town of Coloma was devastated with about 3 feet of water covering the road at the State Park during the peak flood. Sutters Mill had actually started working for the first time in over one hundred years. The State Park was littered with trees, trapped in the fences along side of the highway.
Mike and I pushed off on the river and were constantly amazed at how the greenery was stripped of all the riverside foliage. Nearly every riverside campground was cleansed of picnic tables, kitchens, propane tanks, and out houses. The high flow didn’t seem to affect the river channel or the rocks in it. All of the rapids seemed in tact.
When we arrived at Recovery Room Rapid, the eddy that the boys ended up in. The boat was about 25 feet up the bank. There was another 15 feet above the boat where the water had peaked. The river had actually risen 40 feet while we were in that section of the Gorge. Maybe in another hundred years the canyon will see this much water again. The scary part is, I wouldn’t mind trying it again if we had a little different equipment: A bigger boat. One with more low weight and maybe even a spare air rig… JV
By: John Volkman January 2, 1997
New years day
Some of my pals have an annual ‘first day of the year’ river trip that they call the Don Favor Memorial. They usually start out at Chile Bar and raft down to the top of the Triple Threat rapid and have a drink in his memory. Shawn called me a couple of days earlier and we agreed to join the group. After suffering through the morning with a Pisco Sour (a Chilean Margarita) hangover, we arrived a little late at Dick’s house. Meri and Glen hopped in my truck and we went to take a look at Troublemaker Rapid, just upstream from the town of Coloma. The river was impressive but runnable. We had rafted this section at this water level but never had we seen so much trees, wood and debris in the current. We were all astonished that the river had risen about 2 to 3 feet in the past hour as we passed through Coloma Park.
With such a late start, it was decided to put in on river right several miles below Coloma to run the 12 mile section down to Salmon Falls Bridge. The trip included One paddle boat guided by Ann, a fifteen year professional guide and a second paddleboat guided by Mike, a fifth year pro guide. The paddlers consisted of many second year river guides, a couple of veterans, and a couple of unseasoned guests. The third boat was my 16' Sotar raft with an oar frame mounted with 2 other veteran river guides, Glen and Meri, paddling. The fourth paddler in my boat was my brother in law Steve who has joined me on several trips in the recent past. Rumor said that the flow was about 15,000 to 20,000 CFS. About the same high spring run-off levels we have rafted during the past 2 seasons.
Although the river was swift the rapids were pretty flat since the high water covered them with about 10 to 15 feet of water. When we reached the first rapid at the entrance of the Gorge both Ann and Mike flipped in a huge hole at the top of Fowler's Rock Rapid. In our rescue mode Steve and I hopped on one of the upside down boats, flipped it over, and paddled downstream picking up several visibly shaken swimmers. Shawn doing the same, pulled over to river right to drop off several of the paddlers to make room for more. On a funny note Ann, trying to lighten the boat, was trying to get folks out onto shore. Not wanting to waste any time she turned to the lady with no river experience and yelled “GET OUT OF THE BOAT”. When the lady didn’t show any sign of moving quickly Ann, A firefighter and used to controlling a scene, grabbed the lady and chucked her out of the boat in about 2 feet deep water and immediately said in a pleasant voice “thank you.” They then immediately rowed back out and continued to retrieve the balance of the swimmers.
After retrieving all of the swimmers and eddying out on river right Mike hiked up the river bank to retrieve the people that Shawn had dropped off. There wasn’t much of a trail to hike on, just rocks and brush. When he finally did reach them the river had risen even higher, submerging the original trail. Now it was going to take them about an hour to hike back downstream. After that flip and a long swim, I felt the inexperienced folks shouldn’t continue so I hiked out to the road and got the shuttle vehicle back to pick them and the boat up. An hour later I returned with Sue; the truck; and Dick, a 20 year veteran of the American River. Dick told me the river was flowing at about 50,000 CFS and looking straight out at Satins Cesspool Rapid he said the river was flowing about 30 feet higher than normal summer flows. Now we were witnessing appliances, out houses, dredges, picnic tables, signs and entire 40 foot tall trees floating by.
The truck left and I hiked down stream to where the others were waiting for me to continue. Glen and Steve were the only ones holding the boats while the others were downstream scouting rapids. By the time all of the group returned it was nearing 3:30pm and we were anxious to get going before the river rose anymore. Glen, who was holding the boat, told me that a 16’ pine tree had entirely disappeared in front of him in the past one hour from rapidly rising river. They also told me about a boat eating hole just around the next corner but it could be avoided by pulling to the inside and going right of it. While they were scouting, a large floating gold dredge that had pulled loose from its mooring ran through the hole getting tossed like a toothpick in a tornado. A few minutes later 2 large propane bottles the size of small cars floated by along with the endless supply of logs and branches.
Most of the remaining paddlers, after staring at the rising river and debris stream, decided to hike out. It was just a shame that we had let the scuttle vehicle leave before the decision was made. Instead of having them hike out carrying the boat, I thought the additional weight of their boat. rolled up and tied into ours would help our chances of punching through a marginally runnable hole. It took about another twenty minutes to get the boat rolled up and tied in just in front of the rowing frame. Glen opted not to continue with us and there was a bit of discussion about who would ‘get’ to go. Mike and Ann both wanted to go but Since Meri had started out in the boat she had first tight of refusal. The final order was Shawn rowing with 11 years of guiding experience; myself with similar experience - paddling in the front left; Mike with 5 years guiding experience paddling in the right front; Meri with 10 years guiding experience paddling behind me; and Steve, who’s been through some guide training and several other river trips, filled out the last spot.
I figured it was running above 60,000 CFS by now. My belief was that the river would flatten out as it continued to rise. We knew about the hole around the corner and how to avoid it and figured that we would read and run our way to the takeout. Shawn and I took a moment for a reality check then announced that anyone that stepped foot in the boat was on their own from that moment on. With one last high five we pushed off into the current.
The current was raging as we moved slowly across the channel, narrowly missing the huge hole at the next bend. In catching the edge of the hole Shawn let out a holler as though he was enjoying the run. I felt differently. I was intent on cheating the entire run.
“Stay right and out of the main channel best you can” I yelled to Shawn.
“That’s not always possible since it forces you back out from the strong diagonals” Shawn shouted back.
We approached the drop and next set of waves as Meri shouted “lets scout from here before we run”
That would have turned out to be the right decision. As we crested the drop we realized that even though we were right of center there was a strong diagonal to the right of a large drop with a boat flipping wave at the bottom.
“Forward paddle” shouted Shawn as we attempted to break through the diagonal wave. Our boat hit the wave with the bow. Without any momentum the boat bounced back and careened down into the waves in an uncontrollable fashion. Shawn was shouting commands but the boat was being drawn downstream into a huge breaking wave. Where I sat in the left front was the first place to hit the wave and like a potato chip in the wind I was thrown back upstream taking Mike out and going underwater.
I surfaced with hopes that we were just knocked out of the boat and not flipped. But my first sight was the bottom of my boat with people bobbing around it. At first I was upstream of the boat with my attention focused on breathing between the breaking waves. Then a fairly long period of time underwater I popped up 50 yards downstream from the boat with one helmeted rafter standing atop the upside-down boat. He was helping someone climb up on top. I figured that anyone that quick had to be the 2 most experienced boaters, Shawn and Mike. My first instinct was to get to the boat and started swimming toward it. I knew I needed to be there but could see I was moving downstream faster. Next I saw Meri. I motioned to her and yelled for her to swim my way. I was still holding my paddle and instinctively grabbed another paddle that was floating by. I outstretched the paddles to Meri and pulled her in closer. Realizing we were still floating away from the boat I told Meri that we’ve got to get the hell out of the river. She had saucer eyes and was clearly jolted as I’ve seen swimmers a hundred times before. As we floated through he next wave train I became more aware how difficult it was to get good breaths with all the turbulence happening around us. I was extremely careful with every breath I took even waiting longer than I wanted to catch my next breath. The last thing I wanted was to catch a wave in the mouth and lose any of my ability to self rescue that I knew would be essential. Understanding that our only chance for self rescue was to keep getting good breaths I looked Meri in the eyes and told her “be sure of your breaths. Relax if you can but be sure you don’t catch a wave in the mouth.” She seemed to be listening to my voice but the look on her face stated that she was very scared.
I kept talking to her when I could, asking her if she was cold and if she was OK. I kept telling her to be sure of her breaths. I wanted her to be as ever aware as I was as to our only chance for survival. We stayed close for what seemed like a couple of more sets of rapids that contained sets of huge breaking waves. Still holding the other end of the paddle we looked at each other and she had water spouting out of both nostrils. That’s when I knew it would get more difficult for her. She had taken in water.
“Lets swim for the bank” I yelled as we both swam, arm over arm for the side. It was futile and we were sucked back in the current and into another set of breaking waves.
The next set of waves and I felt Meri’s hand on my shoulder and my head went under water unexpectedly. She was struggling for air and I was the buoy. At that point I knew if I was held under again I might not get that all important next breath so I released the paddle and kept a short distance from her. We continued to float close but next I noticed she was on a chunk of wood and floating pretty well. I found a chunk and did the same. It gave a bit of confidence but we were still flushing downstream at a rapid rate.
There seemed to be a long stretch of flatter water so I yelled to Mary “lets swim for the bank again”.
She heard me and we both released our logs and started swimming double time for the left bank. Within seconds I felt the strong draw of the current pulling us into the next set of large rapids. Swimming was futile. We couldn’t escape the magnetic draw of the current even though we were both swimming strong. Same program. Timing every wave, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t make that fatal flaw of catching a wave in the mouth causing me to caught and breath uncontrollably which would make you inhale more water.
After making it through that next set of rapids I lot sight of Mary. All I could think of now was saving myself and how my wife would feel if I ended up in a black body bag on in the coroners black Suburban. Over and over again, all I could think about was how hurt Sue is going to be just from me doing something as unnecessary as this. Self inflicted. So unnecessary. I put myself there. How could I do this to her. I remembered how distraught she was over losing each of our pet labs. How would she take this. It just isn’t fair. I must survive.
I started looking for an eddy to swim to and to my amazement and disbelief I was feeling some slack water and realized I was only 10 feet from a solid eddy. Hand over hand, again I swam for the eddy. Every stroke using all my senses feeling for that all important upstream current. Yes. I’m in the eddy but I’m not letting up until I’m on the river bank. Feeling the strong upstream current from the eddy I use the momentum to lurch for a rock on the side. The rock was solidly anchored and I had a good grip on it. I still won’t feel safe until I am totally away from this magnetic monster that’s been uncontrollably dragging my downstream. I stagger up the bank. My head feels like its going to pop and I feel dazed and confused. I’ve never had this feeling before. It must have been a huge overload that my mind had just dealt with. I was standing on the bank. My plan to not catch a throat full of water was a success. I had cheated death. I would be safe.
I began to look up and down stream looking for anybody or any thing that looked like part of our group. No bodies, no boat, no paddles, no gear. Nothing. I craned my neck to see around the bend, hoping and praying I would see that white boat come out of nowhere. Nothing. I prayed for Meri. I prayed for Steve. I prayed for Shawn and Mike. Please lord let live like you let me.
10 minutes was long enough to wait. I they weren’t by now, they wouldn’t be by. I needed to get to Sue and spare her any thoughts she might have of me drowning. I started climbing out through solid brush. No trail of any sort. Breaking branches and stomping over 4 to 5 foot tall bushes. The going was miserably slow but I had to get to the truck and let them know I was OK. I had to get back and see my pals, hopefully once again. The hike out was brutal. The physical part would have been very difficult if it weren’t for wanting to be back to Sue and the rest.
About one hour after dark I arrived at the road only to have Sue, Ann and Norm pick me up. Meri had managed to hike out before dark. She had floated down to the next bend and was washed into an eddy. She was lucky enough to land at a spot that had a road leading from the river to the highway. The rest of the boys were OK too. About a half hour behind me hiking out a different trail and road.
The parking lot at Skunk hollow was filled with fire trucks, paramedics, swift water rescue teams, and 2 coroners. The bridge was covered with rescue equipment, lights on the river and ropes hanging down, preparing to catch one of us floating by. They had received a call from someone earlier, before our flip, that a couple of people were lost in the river. I thanked all of the rescue workers for their time and energy even though they weren’t needed.
How did we get ourselves in that position? Couldn’t we see, especially with all of our combined experience, that we shouldn’t have gone? We started with a reasonable flow. We certainly wouldn’t have even inflated the boats with the water that high. So why did we continue when we knew the water had risen so high? With so much debris in the water? I thought the water would be flattened out for most of the run. I even told Shawn before we pushed off “if we flip I’m just swimming to the takeout.”
Shawn said to me “do you know how far the takeout is? We’re still at Satins Cesspool.”
“Yah but It will only take about 10 minutes to get to Salmon Falls from here at this fast flow.”
I’ve just never seen that much water in that small of a channel. Last March I attend a high water, 50,000 CFS guide training trip on the Colorado in Grand Canyon and most all of the rapids were washed out. I guess that’s what I expected to see. Fast flat water.
Meri and I talked for several hours the next morning about our ordeal. Comparing notes. She told me how much my talking to her helped her to gain strength and to stay calm. She said at one point she was waiting for that calm, peaceful feeling that they say comes over you in a watery death. I don’t know about her but mine would have been a violent one with me fighting off every breath. We talked about the hundreds of swimmers we’ve both pulled into boats in the past and how they sometimes say “I saw God.”
Mary said “Well our God was a lot bigger than their God. We are always there to pull them in a boat.” We both laughed.
Meri has worked ski patrol at Vail Colorado for the past 10 seasons performing rescues and maintaining control on the mountain. After our brain purge and near death stories, she headed out the door for her home in the city. Her parting words were “I think I’ll go back to doing something safer like chucking dynamite over cliffs starting avalanches.
3 days later when I called Mike to retrieve the boat the river was flowing about 8,500 CFS. With the flooding and rain over for now we inflated boat and convinced Dick to help us with a shuttle. The rumor in town was the afternoon that we were on the river the water was flowing 17 feet over the top of the dam at Chile Bar and flowing at around 78,000 CFS. Dick figures with the additional run-off downstream from the dam it could have been around 90 to 100,000 CFS in the Gorge about the time we were there. Holy shit. That’s a bunch of water. The town of Coloma was devastated with about 3 feet of water covering the road at the State Park during the peak flood. Sutters Mill had actually started working for the first time in over one hundred years. The State Park was littered with trees, trapped in the fences along side of the highway.
Mike and I pushed off on the river and were constantly amazed at how the greenery was stripped of all the riverside foliage. Nearly every riverside campground was cleansed of picnic tables, kitchens, propane tanks, and out houses. The high flow didn’t seem to affect the river channel or the rocks in it. All of the rapids seemed in tact.
When we arrived at Recovery Room Rapid, the eddy that the boys ended up in. The boat was about 25 feet up the bank. There was another 15 feet above the boat where the water had peaked. The river had actually risen 40 feet while we were in that section of the Gorge. Maybe in another hundred years the canyon will see this much water again. The scary part is, I wouldn’t mind trying it again if we had a little different equipment: A bigger boat. One with more low weight and maybe even a spare air rig… JV
Friday, September 1, 1995
Where you ladies from?
9/9/95
A couple of trips ago I had the words taken right out of my mouth by a sharp and witty young lady.
We were on a 12 day, 6 boat Grand Canyon river trip. Following protocol, two lovely young ladies rode in a different boat every day. We do this in an effort to get to meet all of the guests. On the fourth day our two ladies climbed into my boat (for the first time) and before we could push away from shore Cindy asked me if she could row the flat water this morning. Happy to be able to finish my coffee and wake up a bit before launching into another day of entertaining guests I granted her request and put her on the oars right out of camp.
Like a pro she pushed the boat off of shore and pulled hard on the oars until she was well into the current. She worked the oars smoothly, eventually pointing the bow downstream. Just as she had seen for the past 3 days (imitating a boatman) she slipped the handles of the oars under her knees (holding the blades out of the water), put her feet up on the frame, and leaning back with her hands behind her head said to me "so, where are you ladies from"?
John Volkman
A couple of trips ago I had the words taken right out of my mouth by a sharp and witty young lady.
We were on a 12 day, 6 boat Grand Canyon river trip. Following protocol, two lovely young ladies rode in a different boat every day. We do this in an effort to get to meet all of the guests. On the fourth day our two ladies climbed into my boat (for the first time) and before we could push away from shore Cindy asked me if she could row the flat water this morning. Happy to be able to finish my coffee and wake up a bit before launching into another day of entertaining guests I granted her request and put her on the oars right out of camp.
Like a pro she pushed the boat off of shore and pulled hard on the oars until she was well into the current. She worked the oars smoothly, eventually pointing the bow downstream. Just as she had seen for the past 3 days (imitating a boatman) she slipped the handles of the oars under her knees (holding the blades out of the water), put her feet up on the frame, and leaning back with her hands behind her head said to me "so, where are you ladies from"?
John Volkman
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