San Antonio Creek

Happier Times
Tom McDonnell on the Lower Kern

San Antonio Creek

Story & Photo by Charles Foster

The descent had been fun and incident-free, but as I watched Tom McDonnell careen down the crux section, paddle windmilling, I felt a twinge of guilt. Tom had signed up for a mellow Class III day, but was now in the heart of a long, screaming, Class IV rapid.

I'd lured Tom out of his winter hibernation with second-hand stories of a short but fun run in the foothills of Mount Baldy, a big peak northeast of Los Angeles. "Yeah, its supposed to be a little fast, but a girl from San Diego ran it last weekend and had a blast - and she's only paddled a couple times. Its probably easy Class III." So encouraged, Tom joined me for a morning outing on San Antonio Creek. Too bad I hadn't got the story quite right; the woman in question had been paddling a much easier run, the San Gabriel, and had actually received a bit of a pummeling there.

We had hoped to pioneer some of the upper portions of San Antonio, but were soon dissuaded by the vast quantity of fallen willows choking the streambed. However, the last half mile or so, before the creek is impounded by a small reservoir, was free of trees and looked like a winner. Nonstop, very steep, and a good flow... for LA boaters used to driving three or more hours to paddle, this creek was a real find. The shortness of the run is compensated by the shortness of the drive.

Tom hadn't been expecting this kind of excitement, though. From the moment we put in, we were fighting for control. There were no pools, eddies were almost nonexistent, and a flip in the shallow water would probably yield a beating on the rocks. And this was just the start of the run; we knew it got alot harder below.

The final hundred yards of the creek winds through a couple of tight S turns, and is so steep that one can sit in one of the rare eddies and look down on those last curves. The feeling is very much like looking down a black diamond ski run. I caught an eddy at the lip to try to plan my line. As I looked downstream, a flash of yellow streaked by. Tom had missed the eddy and was paddling the crux rapid on-sight!

Through some fortuitous combination of adrenaline, muscle-memory, and luck, he made it through upright. I peeled out and in an amazingly short time joined Tom in the reservoir's calm waters. Avoiding eye contact, I gazed back up at that final rapid, and tried to look nonchalant. "Uh, pretty fast stuff, huh?"

Tom looked at me and shook his head. "How come, whenever I go boating with you, I always end up feeling like Charlie Brown, after Lucy swears she won't pull the football away. How come?"

It was awhile before we paddled together again. Tom's never asked about returning to San Antonio Creek.

This document was last updated on Thursday, September 04, 1997