off the pavement / By Patrick Carr

Slow Boat

An annual outing for rivers’ friends on the lazy Sacramento

(April 24, 2008)  Does going “off the pavement” always mean banshee-screaming down Class V whitewater, or clinging to cliffs 200 feet above the pounding Pacific surf? I think not. That stuff doesn’t work for those of us too old or young, or who don’t have the temperament or survival skills to enjoy defying death in the outdoors.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the wilds in our own way. Thoreau’s walks around Walden Pond were pretty sedate, but finding his own path in Protestant-work-ethic New England led him to see life differently. These days going off pavement can keep us connected to each other, tough when jobs and responsibilities pull us apart.

Generations of river-lovers on the banks of the placid Sacramento River. Photo by Patrick Carr.

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My friends used to be the adventurous sort that write “off the pavement” columns about their Class V whitewater runs. Alexander, for example, did a first descent of the Sierra’s Middle Fork Kings River by swimming it in low water, drybag in hand, diving as much as 70 feet down the frequent waterfalls. Linda guided oarboats in the Grand Canyon and commuted by crosscountry ski one winter when she lived in the mountains. I met them working for Friends of the River, a group that campaigns to preserve rivers. They were nice enough to tolerate my limited skills and cautious approach to the wilds; I flunked out of guide school and tend to get a dry mouth looking at rapids, but I’ve always loved rivers and the camaraderie of a raft trip.

That was years ago, and in the meantime age and responsibilities have caught up with us. Alexander’s son, Mark, was born 17 years ago, and then daughter Zane. Linda married co-worker Kevin, now a wind energy CEO, and had Kelsey, now 20. Brad’s son Matt came along in 1994. Wild whitewater doesn’t work for young families who want to raft together, but Linda and Kevin wanted to keep the Friends friends, so they started the first of many annual Memorial Day weekend trips floating the Sacramento River. Not the bouncing upper Sacramento known to whitewater fans and motorists who peer into the gorge below I-5 south of Dunsmuir, but the valley Sacramento, specifically the stretch between Redding and Red Bluff that lazes, Huck Finn-like, between momentary riffles of Class 1.5 whitewater before meeting its fate among the olive groves.

That little-known stretch flows between ancient lava flows and through woodlands of oak and pinyon pine. It’s a placid enough river that you can safely bring an infant, or Ray, a pet Chihuahua who comes with his personalized tiny lifejacket with a handle on the back.

Put-in and take-out vary from year to year, but lately we start at the Reading Island Nature Area near Cottonwood and end at the Red Bluff River Park. That’s 35 miles of river twists and bends, so unless the flow is high it’s a workout getting down the mostly placid water. That first morning always goes slow, dominated by hugs of friends not seen since last year’s trip, kids and teens checking out changes in hair styles and body shapes, and the hard work of inflating rafts and kayaks and loading gear.

Put-in quickly leads to a swim/lunch stop at Cottonwood Creek, just below Reading Island. With from 25 to 40 people along, a group circle gives a chance to say a little about who we’ve become over the past year. A lot changes in peoples’ lives. Over the years Kevin and Linda have gained some weight and gray hair, but also started a 19-unit cohousing community in Davis. Mary P., once the Friends’ San Francisco office manager, is now a psychotherapist, while Mary B. started a citizens’ group to halt air pollution in Bakersfield and the south San Joaquin Valley.

First night’s camp is on river left a couple miles below put-in. It’s a gravel beach below an oak-studded bench and though we’re in California’s bread basket it feels like wilderness. Alexander keeps the official list of critters seen on these trips, with lots of bald and golden eagles, ospreys, otters, pileated woodpeckers, nighthawks and deer. No salmon, though; the Red Bluff Diversion Dam cuts them off from this otherwise great habitat.

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