Looking upstream from
Honeymoon Pool

Men Working

Unexpected Adventures on Dinkey Creek

Story and Photos by Charles Foster
May, 1997

We had no one but ourselves to blame. Well, OK, maybe Paul Martzen was the tiniest bit accountable... nonetheless, Paul was home eating dinner, while we were clinging to a cliff face, deep in the bowels of Dinkey Creek canyon. "Uprope!" My voice barely carried over the roar of the creek, one hundred feet below. Seventy feet above me, Keith Beck and Keith Dinger hauled yet another kayak up the slippery granite slab. We were miles from the takeout, an unknown distance below the rim of the gorge, and the evening light was fading. A forced bivouac was becoming more likely with each passing moment.

Paul, with several successful descents of Upper Dinkey Creek under his belt, had intended to introduce Keith Beck, Keith Dinger, and myself to this obscure Sierra run. Schedule conflicts prevented this, but Paul provided us with a wealth of information. We knew to avoid Lower Dinkey, the section running from Ross Crossing to Balch Camp. Although this "run" is only about eight miles long it drops at an average of over 350 fpm. Paul and Phil Martin had been helicoptered out of there after taking too long to complete the first descent.

Paul told us about the much more benign Upper section. "About five miles long... its been run in three hours. There are a couple portages, and some big runnable drops. The flow is perfect; Dinkey is running at about 500 cfs at the confluence with the North Fork Kings, so you should have about half that at the put in. Yeah, the put in; just go up to the very end of the road, upstream of Upper Dinkey Creek Campground. The takeout is down at Ross Crossing."

Armed with the above information the Keiths and I were confident we'd have no problems. Very confident. Too confident, as it turned out. We didn't go to the trouble of getting topographic maps and determining gradients, mile markers, and access points. After all, it was just a five mile run; we've done multiday, Class V wilderness runs such as the Middle Fork Feather and arrived at the takeouts smiling. Upper Dinkey would just be a lark. With a name like Dinkey, how hard could it be?

We got off to a late start. The previous day had been long; we'd driven to the Sierra from Southern California, hiked four miles with our boats, and run the beautiful bedrock rapids of the Upper North Fork Kaweah. We'd arrived in the Dinkey Creek area near midnight and sacked out in the first available turnout. A leisurely breakfast had led to leisurely packing, followed by a leisurely drive to Paul's suggested put in.

Peering into the mini-gorge at the end of the road, we got our first look at Dinkey Creek. The water was cranking; the flow looked to be at least double the anticipated 250 cfs. A procession of river-wide holes marched down the gorge as far as we could see. It didn't take long to decide that we should find an easier warm-up section. Maybe Paul had just meant to say that we should start near the end of the road?

Moving downstream to Honeymoon Pool things got better. The small gorge opened up and the gradient was obviously lower. This would be our put in. The boats and gear were dumped off of Keith Beck's trusty van and I began carrying them down to the water while the Keiths drove off to set shuttle. Having toted the equipment down to the pool I relaxed and enjoyed the beautiful high-country scenery. Granite domes and slabs frame the crystal clear, emerald green water of the creek. Pines, firs, and cedars flourish at this elevation, swaying in the warm breezes. Thousands of ladybugs had just come out of hibernation and were swirling lazily down the canyon. Fluffy cumulus clouds drifted slowly eastward, brilliant white against the deep blue sky.

Time passed. And passed. And passed. Sometime after 1 PM - almost two hours after starting the shuttle - the Keiths finally arrived. It turned out that, rather than the anticipated five miles, the distance to Ross Crossing was closer to 14 miles. We convinced ourselves that this wasn't a big deal; the road wandered high and far west of the river, before making a big switchback and descending to Ross Crossing, so while it seemed we were in for more than a five mile run it might not be too much longer.

Fortunately they'd been able to recruit a swastika-tattooed miscreant to drive them back up to our put in for $20. Unfortunately, while enroute, a bump in the road had sent the leftovers of the neo-nazi's morning wakeup - a nauseating cupful of stale coffee and cigarette butts - flying onto Keith Dinger's arm.

Aside from the unexpected length and events of the shuttle, a few other alarming facts surfaced. Keith's altimeter watch indicated a huge elevation loss between the put in and Ross Crossing; somewhere around 1600 feet. Keith Beck had also spotted at least one major gorge during the shuttle. We were now starting to seriously question Paul's beta. Better late than never, I guess.

We hopped into our boats and charged downstream. In just a short time we'd eddy-hopped our way through some continuous Class III/IV, and passed under the historic Dinkey Creek Wood Truss Bridge and the newer cement bridge (Mile 1.5*). "Maybe with this continuous gradient", I said, "we'll get rid of that altitude".

In the Gorge
Keith Beck prepares to boof
on alow-water Dinkey trip

Downstream we passed tranquil Camp El-O-Win, and navigated a short gorge with a scout and a portage. Briefly, the gradient eased, and the canyon opened. But before long, we came to a second gorge. While Keith Dinger and I scouted an impressive ten-foot ledge drop, Keith Beck scrambled off to look at the action downstream. He had bad news. "I'd run that ledge you're scouting a hundred - no, a thousand times - before I'd run the thing downstream! Its horrible!"

Since Keith Dinger and I had already opted against the first ledge, we immediately started portaging. Climbing high on river left, our view confirmed Keith's report. A sequence of difficult ledge drops culminates with Cherry Bomb Falls, a beautifully sculpted, fifteen-foot-high bedrock drop featuring a terminal hole on river left. With all the water we had, the series of ledges and holes was just too intimidating, but this entire stretch, including Cherry Bomb Falls, is commonly run at lower flows.

We put in just below the falls and paused briefly to admire the wonderful dome on river right. This small formation would have some great rock climbing were it more easily accessible. Fine paddling follows. The best drop is a bedrock rapid known "Max Headroom", which featured a nice river left boof. At lower levels, the normal line requires boaters to duck under an overhanging rock or risk brain damage.

The next rapid, at about Mile 4.5, was deceptive. A fifty yard long, stair-stepped affair, it seemed to harbor at least one serious hole when viewed from river left. Fortunately Keith Beck scouted from river right and convinced me it would go cleanly. Although I felt like a steer charging down a cattle chute, in truth the rapid is good clean fun. I plunged deeply into the hole at the exit, completely submerging, but both Keiths chose cleaner lines and barely got their faces wet.

A big pool flows past a deserted cabin below the rapid. Knowing that we had at least a couple miles to go to Ross Crossing, we paddled briskly past the cabin, and, as it turned out, into the unknown. Ignorance is bliss, it's said, but our bliss would be short-lived.

Fun, increasingly challenging and continuous Class IV lay below the pool. It was just difficult enough to keep us focused, but not so hard that it was scary. Eddy-hopping heaven, and it stretched on for the better part of a mile. We worked our way down into what rapidly turned into a vertical-walled gorge. Eventually I found myself in a big eddy at the lip of a blind drop. It was impossible to see what lay downstream. By clinging to a crack with my fingertips I was able to extract myself from my boat and peer into the gorge below. The horror!

The creek was squeezed into a narrow slot half the width of what lay just upstream. Meanwhile the gradient increased tremendously. Huge holes were stacked up one after another, and the creek was whipped into a white froth. We'd come to another portage, and it didn't look like fun.

Both Keiths got out of their boats, and we started exploring our limited options. River left seemed to have easier terrain up high, but there was no way to reach it from river level. Our side, river right, was sheer granite downstream, dropping straight into the enraged creek. After a few false starts, we began clawing our way up the precipitous, soil-covered rock walls, using shrubs and trees for handholds. At this point it was obvious that somewhere along the line we'd made a serious mistake. We'd either missed the normal portage route, or more likely, had missed the usual takeout. It was inconceivable that the gorge below was part of the standard Dinkey Creek run.

One hundred feet above the creek we hit even steeper terrain. It was impossible to continue further with boats on our shoulders. We decided to haul the boats up one at a time using throw ropes. Despite excellent teamwork, our progress slowed to a glacial pace. As the sky darkened I began steeling myself to the idea of a night spent in my sweat-soaked paddling gear.

We ascended two pitches of mossy slabs, the second featuring an exposed lieback up a long-dead tree. Everyone was fully focused - falling gear or bodies would tumble straight into the raging creek far below. Finally the angle of the slope eased and we were able to shoulder our boats. We were out of the gorge, but still a long way from the takeout. After a little uphill scrambling we paused to discuss our options. I was convinced we'd be bivying, but voted to try to hike downstream.

Keith Dinger, the most lightly dressed, had other thoughts. He proposed we hike back upstream to the cabin and from there hike up the road we agreed must service the cabin. Confusing the issue was what looked to be a trail high onthe opposite canyon wall. Weighing the tradeoffs it seemed that heading back towards the cabin offered the most options, so we started trudging uphill towards less-steep terrain. Deadfalls, loose pine needles, and the steep slope made for arduous going.

Keith Beck saw it first. Plywood, leaning against a tree. We scrambled up to see and all burst out laughing. "Men Working", said the old sign, and it couldn't have been more appropriate. The sign lay at the edge of an old trail. This changed the equation. Another quick vote and we agreed to head downstream, carrying our boats as far as possible before complete darkness fell.

As glad as we were to have the trail, to call it neglected would be overly charitable. Every few yards we'd be forced to step over, under, or through fallen trees and other forest debris. At times in the dim light we lost the path completely and had to crash through the woods until finding it again. The further south we went though, the better the path became. Eventually we found ourselves wandering down toward the creek again, in the area of what turned out to be Muley Hole (mile 6.5). The creek here was surprisingly mellow compared to the terrors upstream.

With darkness nearly complete and the prospect of navigable water waiting for us in the morning, we dumped our boats and began jogging up the ever-improving trail. A quarter moon lit our way as we groped our way up the path. Fortunately, the further from the river we went, the broader the trail tended to get. In a surprisingly short time we reached a small clearing, and moments later were standing on a paved road. We wouldn't be bivouacking after all! Just down the road was a sign: Ross Crossing - 5 Miles.

The walk to Keith's van was long but filled with moonlit views of spectral, blooming dogwoods and entertaining tales of past epics. Common sense says that beer and cookies don't mix but vast amounts of both were consumed at the van! Afterwards, a warm sleeping bag never felt so good. As I drifted off to sleep, Keith Beck called out "Happy Birthday, Charles". A memorable 37th it had been.

In the morning we took a look upstream from the Ross Crossing bridge. Any hopes getting into our boats and finishing the run died on that bridge; an endless series of huge drops continued upstream as far as we could see. In fact the two miles above Ross Crossing have an average gradient of about 400 feet per mile.

We actually couldn't have bailed out of the run at a much better place - driving up and retrieving the boats took less than an hour. Things could have been a lot worse. Next time though, we'll take out at the cabin.

Epilogue

We had a few things working against us. Ignorance with respect to the proper takeout, mainly, but that could have been rectified by glancing at a few topo maps. The rest of Paul's beta would have been perfectly correct given a normal runoff pattern. However, the freak storm of January 1997 wiped out much of the snowpack below 8000 feet. Thus the bulk of the 500 cfs reported for Lower Dinkey at Balch Camp came from much higher than it would have in a normal year, making Upper Dinkey much more exciting than we'd been lead to expect. In fact, according to other Dinkey veterans, we may have set a new high-water threshold for the creek.

Nonetheless, the next day we'd all have gladly repeated the run from Honeymoon Pool to the cabin if we weren't facing such a long drive home. Short on time, we just boated the short section from Honeymoon down to the cement bridge before reluctantly leaving. This wonderful 1.5 mile stretch gave us a few hours of excellent slalom and hole play combined with an effortless shuttle. We'll be going back to Dinkey Creek soon.

*Miles are relative to Honeymoon Pool, and were obviously not known to us at the time of our descent.

This document was last updated on Friday, January 09, 1998