The end of dry January; getting skunked; being intimidated

Saturday: Dry January? Meet moist February.

As a different kind of dry January wound on, all of us kayakers, skiers, and winter sport enthusiasts slipped deeper and deeper into a lack-of-precipitation induced depression. Though just as things were getting dire, precipitation forecasts started showing signs of a fairly large atmospheric river approaching the west coast. 

Sure enough, t-2 days to the start of the precip, my iPhone flood warnings started popping off. Usually this means it’s going to be a great time. 

All in my crew slept tight Friday as the rains began, knowing that the giant storm was raging and the rivers were rising. Our agreement was to wake up early and check the flows then decide which river to run. 

There were a handful of runs we were eyeing; however the forecasts were calling for some absolutely outlandishly high flows. In fact, even the most seasoned veterans in the crew were concerned that flows would be too high. So our safe bet was the South Yuba drainage - projected to flow high, but not as high as the other drainages (North Fork American etc). 

Saturday morning rolled around and I slapped at my snooze button three times. Hmmm. That’s odd, I usually don’t need to snooze on Saturday mornings when there’s good flows to be had. As I cleared the sleep from my eyes and refreshed my dreamflows home page, what I saw was startling. Almost no flow bumps in any of our favorite runs. Immediately the group chat started blowing up with lamentations about the lack of water. 

Here's the North Fork forecast for January 31, 2025 in green, with the actual observed flows in dark blue. For context, a flow of 3,000 cfs for the Chamberlain Falls run is generally considered high. Forecasts showed flows up to near 30,000 cfs (it has been run, but seriously, by the top 0.000001%)  

Here's the South Yuba forecast (Edward's to Purdon's) for January 31, 2025. Again, same colors showing forecast vs. observed flows. Prior to this weekend, the highest I'd ran it was about 2,200 cfs. So if we timed it right for Saturday, we'd get on it at 1,500 to 2,000 cfs, a very manageable flow. 

As the sun rose behind storm clouds, I sipped my coffee while checking flows. To my dismay, all hydrographs were completely flatlined despite the precipitation that was clearly happening outside my front door. The particular run we had our eye on, Edward’s Crossing to Purdon’s Crossing, was at 150 cfs and not rising at more than a handful of CFS per hour. Even accounting for the fact that the gauge for this run is 6 miles downstream, we weren’t hopeful we would get anything to boat on. For context, the lowest I have paddled the run was 700 cfs. At this flow, it was scrapey and borderline dangerous. 

Initially I was hesitant to make the hour long drive to the takeout. However, with some convincing, I loaded up the truck as the optimists in our crew chattered on in the group chat about rising flows and big rain coming down the pipe. Originally we all meant to meet at the takeout at 10am; though slowly through hectic group chats filled with conflicting optimism (or pessimism, depending on your POV), the time was pushed to 10:30am, then 11am. 

As I rolled over the Purdon's crossing bridge, I was alarmed to see the color of the water. Instead of the usual milky brown to orange hue, the trickling torrent was almost gin-clear. A far cry from the sediment rich mine runoff the South Yuba is equally famous for.

Hard to tell, but I took this photo to see if flows rose from where they were covering the gravel bar beside the fin rock. Spoiler, they didn't.

Once parked, we milled around shooting the shit and twiddling our thumbs while waiting for the river to come up. As minutes turned into hours, flows stayed the same. Visual cues like the color of the runoff and the water height relative to marker rocks cemented our beliefs that the river just wasn't rising. 

A typical South Yuba hue - jokingly referred to as Trump orange.

So after two hours of standing around and getting cold in a steady drizzle, 6 out of 8 in our crew members decided to bail.

Sometimes that’s just the way she goes. Not just in paddling, but in life. You win some, you lose some. While we took a pretty hard L this time, there'll be many more opportunities to paddle. Besides, this season has been pretty sweet so far.

Sunday: building comfort in uncomfortable situations

With almost guaranteed flows from the all day/all night precipitation of Saturday, Sunday’s wake up call was a stark contrast. Not only were flows forecasted to be ripping high, but getting out of bed was a lot easier. 

Though things were different, some aspects remained the same. The group chats were blowing up with people trying to make last minute plans and mobilize to rivers. My crew was poring over the hydrographs, trying to decide between drainages. The South Yuba? No, let's hit the Middle Yuba. The Middle Yuba? Never heard of that run. Oh it never runs, sweet, easy choice. Middle Yuba it is. 

From the very beginning of my miniscule paddling career, I had heard whispers of the Middle Yuba's Our House run. Whispers because only a very select group of people ever really had the privilege of running it. If you were lucky, it would run once every couple of years, due to the nature of the dam and the diversions the reservoir was subject to. 

The beta for this run is a little bit murky as boatable flows are so scarce. Therefore most paddlers jump at the opportunity to put on. I had heard great stories of the run at 3,000 cfs, but also read beta that it was runnable at 900 cfs. The difficulty of the run is greatly debated as well. Some say it's IV with one IV+, while I've heard it described as "stompy IV+." Personally, the IV+ rating scares me quite a bit, but that's a story for another day.

So as we watched the Middle Yuba hydrograph Sunday morning, it was abundantly clear that there was enough water. In fact, I saw perfect flows for a first time descent (or so I am told).

Flow forecast for the Middle Yuba Sunday morning. Flows at 1,900 cfs and dropping.

As the crews committed and started driving to the takeout, flows were 1,900 cfs and dropping. Slightly high, but manageable I'm told. Some say it's easier at these flows with less rocks to get pinned on. However, as in character with the weekend, things weren't going to go as planned. Right as I was about to leave cell reception, I checked the flows one last time. It was barely perceptible, but the hydrograph had made a 180 degree direction change and was heading up, in line with the heavy rain we were experiencing at the moment.

Pulling up to the takeout was a wild sight. A bunch of stout paddlers sitting around organizing gear. Some wore worried looks on their usually stoked out faces. I jumped out of the truck and immediately started chatting with folks. From the beta I was receiving, the side tributary by the takeout had risen 6 inches in 30 minutes, and some key visual cues of high water were completely covered. There was some speculation at takeout that flows were at 5,000 cfs.

For me, the decision was easy - E to P, a backup run just a few minutes away. No way in hell I was getting on a run I'd never seen at record flood stage flows. Our group was in a near unanimous state.

A quick drive later and we were at the takeout for E to P, getting dumped on and hurriedly stashing gear in trucks and loading boats. During our mobilization from the Middle to South Yuba, we had gained some cell reception and saw that the flows for the South were forecasted to be high, but manageable. 

So we put on. I was in my creek boat and immediately felt the power of the river. Eddies were surging, and I had to work extremely hard and start moving extremely early in order to make any sort of cross current move. My abs were on fire and I was breaking into a sweat inside my dry suit. Safe to say I was quite intimidated and slightly gripped.

I brought my camera with me, but flows were too high and I was just too focused on the run to care about stopping and shooting. What I do have is screenshots which

certainly warrant further discussion.

Head held high, my normally decent brace fails me here in S-turn. Little did I know that I was in for one of the more violent spankings of my life.

Same brace, about to really get it. Didn't really notice it at the time, but it almost looks like my hand came off the paddle here.

Between a rock and hard place here. Soon after flipping, I felt my arms get windmilled over my head as I struggled to get into setup. A couple of attempts and not much progress, just mostly getting pushed up against the wall repeatedly. 

...and my paddle's sticky, so here I am trying to pull and reset to brace out of the roll. My head isn't yanking out of the water either, so likely just the strong current pushing into the rock keeping me from uprighting.

More bracing for my life. At this point, the thought of swimming started to creep into my brain. So I channeled my inner Steve and calmed my growing panic. 

Brian looks on with concern after rolling up in the outflow. 

Staring down one of the larger holes I've come across.

Boofing for my life.

Typical views, crashing waves and general chaos.

It wasn't all beatering, here I'm rewarded with a satisfying skip out of a mid sized pourover.

Scott receiving a spanking. I've never seen a boat twist like that. The power of this river on full display.

About to plug a massive hole off balance here. One of three flips during the day.

In total, I flipped three times on this run, which I wouldn't have rated harder than IV+ at these flows. Holes were very manageable and easily spotted, but the moves required much more energy, strength, and focus. I was scattered that day - so scattered in fact that I left my keys on my tire at the put-in in addition to my phone on the dash.

In terms of the flips, all were my fault. The first flip at S-turn was the result of a misjudged line (too far left), and a crappy brace, complete with head lifting. The second flip at Easy Ugly (the one that concerned most - there's a pretty nasty sieve fence in that rapid) was also due to user error and inability to manage a surging eddy line. My paddle dove on that one too so I had zero brace. Luckily I was able to roll up pretty quick and get back on line. 

The last flip was the result of slamming into a giant hole leaned in the wrong direction. My reactions just weren't fast enough here to catch the subtle tell of the lean direction. 

So all in all, a tough disorienting day. But with all these tough days, there's always something to take away. Saturday's skunk fest instilled a sense of appreciation for when things went right. Sunday's beatering revealed my weaknesses - left side brace and lack of focus when things get intimidating. 

Upwards and onwards, here's to continuous improvement.