The Flying Paddle of Deer Creek

The Flying Paddle of Deer Creek

Story by Charles Foster

Spring, 1993. Deer Creek, California. Bill Murphy had the lead as we floated lazily through miles of Class III water, admiring the views of volcanic cliffs, oak groves, cool glades, and fern-covered grottoes. Minds and bodies were fully relaxed, although a particularly steep, basaltic cliff/pinnacle downstream had been triggering a few faint warning bells. Finally, as we drifted around a bend near the base of the cliff, we both livened up at the sight of a maze of huge, chocolate-colored basalt boulders obstructing our forward progress. We'd come to Ishi Falls, the only Class V on Lower Deer Creek.

Bill and I immediately eddied out. The narrow gaps between the first set of entrance boulders only gave us a view of perhaps ten feet of water, then more huge boulders. As we eased out of our boats, the third member of our party, Richard Penny, briefly eddied out to tell us he was going to boat scout the rapid. Bill and I took a little while to scramble up to the top of the nearest vantage point, a shorebound companion of the boulders in the river bed.

We ran into Richard at the top, looking a little less lackadaisical than he had moments before. And we saw why; this was definitely a difficult rapid. A long series of fifteen to twenty foot high basalt boulders were scattered throughout the riverbed and right up against both vertical canyon walls for the next hundred yards or so. The obvious route, which Richard had started before quickly deciding to scout, was down the left side, and involved a quick turn or two, then a hard right turn to avoid a strainer tree. This sequence led to a five foot drop over a steep ledge, followed by a few more fast turns to exit the rapid.

Richard volunteered to go first, and his run was not inspiring. He started out fine, but as he entered the right turn, he had to paddle furiously to avoid the strainer. He had a good line for the ledge drop, but got a huge backender that sent him screaming across the runout, bow up at a 45 degree angle, and headed for a nice splat on one of the boulders. Just in time, he managed to get his boat back under control and avoid the boulder. As he pulled into an eddy at the bottom of the rapid, his recommendation was clear - portage.

Bill and I were all for that idea, and started planning our portage route. There wasn't one. The same massive boulders that made up the rapid were also piled along the shoreline, right up against the steep canyon walls. Any spaces between these rocks were choked with luxuriant, five foot high poison oak. Maybe the rapid wasn't as hard as Richard had made it look. Back to scouting...

We decided on a route that, by going through a kayak-wide slot, totally avoided the tree problem. It also lined up very well with the ledge drop, giving one a chance to build up more speed to ski jump the hole. Also, it didn't involve intimate contact with poison oak.

Confident that we'd come up with a winning plan, we piled into our boats. Bill peeled out first, disappearing into the maze of boulders.

I waited about thirty seconds, then took my turn. The water was far pushier than it had looked (why does it work that way so often?). All too soon I was approaching the narrow slot, just in time to see Bill's kayak floating out, upside down. This distracted me enough that as I dropped into the slot, I didn't quite get my paddle parallel to my boat. As I slid down the drop, my paddle hung up on the rocks framing the slot. It literally flew out of my hands; Richard says it went thirty feet into the air, twisting and spinning, before clattering down atop a boulder, then bouncing into the river. I plopped into the slack water below the slot with a fair amount of speed, and not much ability to slow down.

As I hand-paddled desperately backward I caught a good look at Bill. He was within arm's reach of my bow, focussing his entire being on face climbing a steep, slick rock. Even with all my backpaddling, I was slowly creeping towards the big ledge drop. There was no point asking Bill for help, so I switched into forward gear. I actually managed to take a good line off the ledge, keeping my nose up and landing flat, but Deer Creek wasn't done with me yet. I had about a half second to congratulate myself for not pinning before I got a great view of the sky, then water - I'd done a classic backender, right back into the hole. The swim that ensued wasn't my worst, but it was right up there.

Epilogue: Bill made his way to shore, and hiked through the poison oak to the bottom of the rapid. We recovered both boats, and my flying paddle. We never saw Bill's paddle again; for all I know, its still somewhere in Deer Creek.

This story appeared in the January/February 1996 edition of American Whitewater

This document was last updated on Monday, June 01, 1998