This almost turned out the trip that was not meant to be in many ways... Here are write-ups on it by two of the folks that went, Jeremy's rafting report and Tony's below...
One of the principal New Year's resolutions that Wendi and I made this year was to do more outdoor activities. After a couple of very enjoyable ski trips in March and April (about the only thing we could think of during the El Nino storms), we turned our attentions to a first-intimidating but ultimately exhilarating whitewater rafting trip on the Tuolumne River (near Yosemite), organized by our friend Vadim. Of the nine people in Vadim's group, four of us had gone last summer on a trip down the Middle Fork of the American River. This time, again, we were all in the capable hands of All-Outdoors, a local outfitter which provides all the rafting equipment, experienced and personable guides, gourmet dinners (cooked up in the wilderness!!), and an all-around fun-loving atmosphere.
What is different about the Tuolumne is that it is a great deal more challenging than the American River. (A neighbor of ours in our condo complex, who is apparently a veteran rafter, called the Tuolumne "a REAL river, as opposed to 'play-rivers' like the American." His survival tips for managing the rapids were to hang on, scream, and bring at least two pairs of shorts!) We were frankly a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, and even after we signed up for the deal, we both made some furtive phone calls to All-Outdoors, sounding them out about exactly what is was we were getting ourselves into! The fact that yet another rain storm was forecast for that weekend didn't exactly inspire additional confidence! Eventually, though, we decided to throw caution to the wind (into the river?) and go through with what we had paid for anyway!
We both took a half-day off last Friday, to give ourselves a leisurely opportunity to drive to Tuolumne County and stay in a hotel near the meeting place the next day. We had a delightful stay in the Groveland Hotel, a historic Gold Rush-era building up in the mountains which has a pleasant B&B feel to it. (And no, the proprietor was thankfully not at all like the B&B lady from the movie, "Flirting with Disaster"). Also at the same hotel were two of our fellow rafters-to-be, Jed and Arthur, whom we recognized from some story-readings hosted by Vadim and some mutual friends. On Saturday morning, we all checked out of the hotel and drove 10 minutes to the All-Outdoors meeting place. We met the others in our group (who had gotten up at some ungodly hour to drive three hours that morning from the Peninsula!); we left our cars in the parking lot, signed our lives away (boiler-plate disclaimer forms distributed by AO), smushed our camping gear in water-proof bags, rented and put on our wetsuits, and hopped on a bus that took us through one of the most scenic mountain drives we could imagine. Kudos to our grizzled bus driver for managing gracefully to dodge several approaching cars on the narrow one-way road!
Having arrived at the put-in place, we listened to two of our guides give a crucial run-down of the various DOs and DON'Ts of our impending journey, while the other guides loaded the various gear and bags on rafts. (The Tuolumne has no access by car or - I believe - foot, between put-in and take-out, so our stuff was all carried on some extra rafts).
By this time, it was raining, as it would continue to do on and off for the next 24 hours, but eventually we got in our boats for a "practice session" in the calm waters just before the first rapids. The nine of us in Vadim's group occupied two different "combination oar-paddle boats," in which the AO guide used two huge oars for maximum control, and the rest of us paddled in sync (well, more or less) per the guide's instructions. Wendi and I shared a boat with Jeremy, Amy, and Pam (Pomona alums all, although not all of us actually knew each other AT Pomona; in fact, our boat collectively spanned 11 years of Sagehenhood). Our trusty guide Jamie sat at the stern, oars in hand. Another boat contained Vadim, his friend Matt (who was on our American River trip last July), Jed, and Arthur. There was also an all-paddle boat, which carried a bunch of middle-aged guys (but apparently VERY experienced rafters) who seemed to be almost too happy to leave their wives at home for what turned out --for them-- to be a cigar smoke-filled weekend in the outdoors! After a few important minutes for our paddling lesson, all boats were off on a 21-mile trek through a Class IV river!
After a few hundred yards, the "free ride" was over. We hit "Rock Garden," our first of the Class IV rapids that would set the tone of our trip. The boat lurched and bounced, but we all stayed inside and were the more confident for it. We got more of a chance to practice our paddling in the succession of rapids that followed, including Nemesis, Ram's Head, and India (on that rainy day, I felt like pronouncing it "In-jahh," so that the sun would never set... ).
We stopped on a riverbank, where the guides set up makeshift lunch tables and efficiently served sandwiches and cold cuts to tide us over. Soon, we were back in the water, and after a couple of more rapids, we arrived at a larger riverbank where we set up camp. By then, it was late afternoon, and even though the time seemed to have gone by quickly, we were ready for a rest. The remainder of the day was leisurely. We took off our life jackets and helmets, set up tent, and played some card games (Wendi, Vadim, Matt, and Amy tried to teach me "Hearts," which I was a bit slow in comprehending, so we later switched to Crazy Eights and Go Fish; afterwards, Wendi told me she's going to drill me in "Hearts" technique for our trip next year). The middle-aged guys broke out the cigars, although I was disappointed not to hear any George Burns or Groucho Marx routines.
In the meantime, our guides were preparing a delicious dinner that included tri-tips, breast of chicken (the latter for non-mammal eaters like W. and me), baked asparagus, baked potatoes, and cake for dessert. By this time, the rainfall had grown harder and more persistent, but somehow our guides managed to maintain their gourmet standards through it all (with the help of a huge tarp that covered and defined the kitchen and dining area). After dinner, the two groups got to mingle with each other, and I venture to say that everyone had some engaging and memorable conversations.
After some time at the campfire (in the rain?!), we were all ready for sleep, though some of us wound up having more than others. The rain was pretty intense, but the tent that Wendi and I had did its job; it kept us dry and maintained its structural integrity --which is about all one could ask in that circumstance! Wendi slept so-so, but I actually had some quality time with the sandman; the pitter-patter of the rainfall over the roof of the tent, and the sound of the rushing Clavey River a few feet away from us (a tributary of the Tuolumne, at whose junction we were camping) did as much for me as any number of sheep I could have counted.
The same Clavey River that enhanced my sleep that night was to play a big role in our trip the next day. After a breakfast of omelettes and blueberry muffins (compliments once again to the culinarily-talented guides!), we set out on what Jamie correctly said would be the "highlight of our trip." The junction of the Clavey and the Tuolumne Rivers creates a Class V rapid known as "Clavey Falls," which is actually not a waterfall but rather a staircased slalom course through boulders, holes, and the most intense hydraulics you would ever wish to encounter. Our guides actually took us on a hike to get a good view of Clavey Falls, so that the more timid among us could decide whether to raft it or walk around it. We all decided to "go for it."
During the first stretch of Clavey, our boat seemed to be doing quite well, paddling in unison according to Jamie's rapid-fire commands. And then, WHAMMO...our boat came close to flipping on a gnarly wave, and all of us (except for Jamie) came tumbling out of the boat like dominoes. Actually, I didn't know that at the time; I somehow thought that I was the only one to get knocked over. I found myself swimming underneath the raft, and I remembered what I now consider to be the most important instruction given at the pre-trip orientation: when caught underneath the raft, make a decision to swim to any side and KEEP SWIMMING THAT WAY! Once I made my way to the surface, I realized how heavy my wetsuit and gear felt (but the wetsuit did prevent me from feeling cold, even though the water was extremely chilly); through the shock of the experience I could feel myself hyperventilating as I was swimming down Clavey Falls; after what must have been only a few seconds, though it felt like an hour, Jamie tilted an oar in my direction, and I clung on to it. He then pulled me into the raft, where I saw Wendi, Amy, and Pam. I assumed that they never fell out to begin with, although it turned out that they got pulled in just before I did. Jamie yelled at us to retake our positions, which we did. Most of us didn't know at the time what happened to Jeremy, although Jamie had seen him get pulled in to another raft. We were now in another rapid called "Son of Clavey," and while we were dealing with its own particular exigencies, we noticed Vadim swimming in our direction! Pam and I helped pull him in, so he got to ride the remainder of "Son of Clavey" with us. (Personally, I don't have a problem with the son, but Dad seemed a trifle cantankerous that day!) As it later turned out, most everyone except the cigar-smokers wound up falling into the river. One exception was Jed, who deserves high praise for staying in his boat! Some of us (myself included) lost our paddles during the adventure, although Wendi, Pam, and Amy hung on to theirs! We retrieved the paddles eventually, though.
We stopped at another riverbank for a "post-trauma" rap session, as well as lunch. After that, the lengthiest part of the trip followed. We hit another succession of challenging Class IV rapids, beginning with Gray Grindstone. Under any other circumstances, this WOULD have been the nail-biting highlight of our trip; but somehow, after Clavey (pere et fils), it seemed almost anti-climactic. It was fun, though! In fact, most of us were saying that we would like to do Clavey Falls again, this time without falling out of our boats! The Tuolumne gave us one last, rousing send-off, called "Pinball," (as in, "...sure plays a mean pinball!...") before calmly veering us towards the take-out point.
After carrying the equipment and bags up a long hill, we got into another bus, where an equally grizzled bus driver (but not the same one as before) drove us through yet more scenic mountain vistas, dodging yet more cars on a narrow one-way road. After reaching the original meeting place, we handed in our wetsuits, packed up our stuff in our cars, and headed for dinner in Groveland, where we reflected on our wonderful, adrenal two-day excursion down the Tuolumne!