Partial Disclosure

First Descent of Dry Creek, Fresno County, California

Story by Charles Foster

Bill Murphy was hot to run Dry Creek. He'd called and e-mailed repeatedly, enough to finally shake me out of my winter torpor. Bill assured me that the forecasts for an additional four to eight inches of rain, coming on top of nearly a month of heavy storms, wouldn't raise the creek's level too high. It was called Dry Creek, wasn't it? How high could it get? He'd also managed to incite some mutual friends - more or less level-headed fellows - to participate in the trip. So it was that Bill, Paul Martzen, Mike Latendresse, and I met on the drizzly morning of January 25, 1997.

Standing in the rain we discussed the impressions we'd garnered of the creek on the drive to the put in. Muddy brown water racing through oaks and sycamores; all manner of logs, driftwood and flotsam forming numerous sieves; and most troubling, barbed wire and sheet metal fences, most destroyed by earlier floods, but some still straddling the creek. Hardly the images that come to mind when one reflects on their favorite whitewater moments.

"Who's idea was this anyway?" Bill was silent. "What else is running?" "How far downstream can we put in and still claim a first descent?" "You know Nightmare Island on the Merced" said Mike. "And the Miracle Mile on Cherry Creek? I call that section halfway down 'Nightmare Mile'!"

Somehow though, we decided that the run looked feasible, with a put in at Humphreys Station. At no point does Dry Creek stray far from the road, so we could always get off. Persuaded in part by visions of disaster, we left our vehicles parked at intervals along the four mile section we planned to descend. This would prove to be a good idea.

Having run the shuttle and geared up, we were out of excuses; it was time to get on the water. As we carried our boats across Tollhouse Road a small group of locals followed us. "Look out for the bob wire", one warned.

Bill had further words of wisdom. "We might have some problems with dogs on this run, if we have to portage". Great; I was already worried enough about being able to spot the portages in the first place - now we might not even be able to carry. We joked about "Class VI rotweilers". What other hazards was Bill neglecting to disclose?

Given the speed of the water and the congested nature of the creek, we decided to run as two teams of two. Paul and Bill took the first lead. They disappeared from view in seconds. To give them room and get a feel for the water, I decided to do a little eddy hopping. The first eddy gave me a scare; only as I carved in did I notice the long steel cable guarding the inner portion of the eddy. I avoided the cable, but my stress meter was redlining. The next few eddies were unobstructed, however, and the water wasn't as pushy as it had looked from shore. Tensions dropped to a more manageable level.

Mike and I worked our way downstream, exploiting every eddy we could, shooting through a gap in a sheet metal barricade, and eventually catching Paul and Bill. Along the way we got enough of a feel for the creek that we even surfed a few waves. "Maybe we'll survive this after all" I thought.

Almost every bend in the creek presented new hazards. Fallen trees were everywhere, and in a few places we had to portage over tangles of blackberry bushes and driftwood to pass unrunnable jams. One Class III drop was guarded by a waist-high, river-wide cable. Navigating this required us to flick the cable overhead whilst simultaneously carving into a small eddy.

Perhaps a mile into the run, though, everyone was having a good time. We'd been swapping leads, surfing, and even had opportunities to admire some of the Sierra foothill scenery. We'd found ender spots, spinning and sidesurfing holes, and plenty of nice waves. Then we started hitting Sierra gold - bedrock rapids. Ribs of granite poked up from the green pastures and oak groves on either bank, and extended across the river, beneath the brown torrent. River wide holes, sliding falls, and other such classic features appeared. This was some good boating! None of the holes were so big that they weren't easily punched, and many were excellent play spots. The section culminated in a clean double ledge drop, plunging perhaps eight feet into a nice pool. Everyone had big smiles as we finished the mini-gorge.

Soon we crossed under Tollhouse Road. We were back in open pastureland and the gradient had dropped significantly, but two significant hazards lay downstream. The first, a fully intact barbed wire fence, was easily portaged. While we were carrying, a local landowner, presumably unaware of our constitutional right to use this navigable stream, began shouting at us from the road. The sound of the stream drowned out most of her words but the general tone was not positive. We hustled back into our boats and continued on.

Soon we arrived at the next problem, a steep rapid dumping down into a rock garden. Paul thought he saw a line. Within seconds though he was vertically pinned in the boulders at the bottom of the drop. We scrambled out of our boats and sprinted downstream, just as Paul dragged his boat to shore.

The pin had been about as bad as they get. Bow up, hull facing upstream, and his body trapped against the rocks, Paul had been unable to exit his pinned boat. For several seconds he'd been able to breath from a small air pocket, but as his boat settled deeper his air pocket vanished. Only by twisting and squirming violently was Paul able to free himself and his boat from the boulders, but the creek took his paddle as payment. This incident reminded me that even large keyhole cockpits don't guarantee an easy exit from a pinned boat.

"Y'all got no business down there!" A hostile-looking local stalked along the roadside above. After a hasty conference we decided to take out; we'd done the best part of the run and there seemed to be little point in risking further confrontations. Granted, state law was on our side, but none of us wished to get involved in a Deliverance scene.

Dry Creek had provided us with some good boating, at the cost of one paddle, some frayed nerves, and a little walking (to retrieve our vehicles). I have no doubt that the creek will see repeat descents. Hopefully future parties will have better relations with the local inhabitants than we did.

Additional Notes

To get to the creek, follow Tollhouse Road from Clovis to the small settlement of Humphreys Station. Most of the creek can be scouted from the road, but the best section is hidden. It lies downstream of a house with a large windmill in the front yard.

We had 400-500 cfs on our run, according to CDEC's online gage. At this level the creek is probably Class IV-V. It is certainly no place to take a swim. It's also very likely that the landowners will repair their fences after the creek drops!

This story was previously published in the San Joaquin Paddlers Club Newsletter Feb 1997 Vol 3 Number 3

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