Goin' Native

 "Ignorance, there's no authority in the world like it."

                      Greg Toland: "I want to work in your picture. My name is [cinematographer] Greg

                                             Toland."

                      Orson Wells: "Why do you, Mr. Toland?"

                      Greg Toland: "Because you've never made a picture. And you don't know what 

                                              cannot be done."

                                                                                  - Orson Wells on making Citizen Kane (1941)

Our impromptu, unknown inquisitor, surfacing shortly after our arrival at the large gavel park and fish parking lot, upon being told of our intended (and easy) three mile hike in to a favored fishing spot, reacted as if we were commencing Death Valley's Badwater 135 endurance race in one hundred twenty degree heat...

"Well, that's where the natives are. Besides, it's a nice hike" our reply.

Better yet, after spying the curious looking, cork handled, compact, short nested fly rod in our hand...

"What's that?"

"That's my fly rod."

Maybe ten seconds in, to break the silence as well as his scrutinizing dismissive gaze, gradually turning to scowl, we opt for a cursory demonstration...

"It's called a Tenkara rod. A Japanese contraption."

So we telescope the rod out to it's full length, from a compact 11in to a fully extended 8ft...

"A mini small stream version. Eight foot rod fully extended. Eight foot furled fly line. No leader. Just fly line and tippet. Three to five feet of either 4x or 5x. Simple."

"What's that little string for?"

"Ya' girth hitch the fly line to it."

Now perplexed...

"Where's your reel?"

"There is no reel."

"Waddya mean there' no reel?"

"No reel."

'There's no reel?"

"No reel."

"Can ya' put a reel on it?"

"No... ya' don't use a reel."

"Can ya' put a reel on it if ya' want to?"

"NO... YA' DON'T USE A REEL."

"How do ya' fish without a reel?"

We were going to reminisce to 'em of the guy we happened upon on the Laurel Highland Hiking Trail (LHHT) many years ago. A fellow hiker, a bit older guy, who was hooking native highland trout from a small brook crossing the trail. His rig - an improvised six foot rod he fashioned from an oak sapling ("Willow saplings are best" he stated), eight feet of light monofilament, and small split shot for weighting the line. To our prying friend we'd have emphasized, "No reel." A hand-tied size 20 metal bead copper wire brassie for lure. Alternately, baiting 'em - minute grub looking larvae that he'd gathered feeding behind the bark of rotting deadwood. We were a huge disciple of the writings of Bradford Angier, particularly his collaboration with Colonel Townsen Whelen, the still relevant 'On Your Own In The Wilderness', since forever before then, so this guy was an immediate hero. We decided to break for lunch to hang with 'em for a spell. Dangling our feet over the edge of a split-log bridge crossing, inches above the water, eating a can of cold chicken noodle soup, we watched 'em land a small, maybe four-inch, brook trout from a small drop pool just downstream. The stream was barely ten feet at the widest. Most ways you could hop across. Topo showed it as an unnamed headwater secondary to a primary branch (and popular trout stream) to the eventual river (also trout water). We'd have never expected to see a fish in it. Enjoying our lunch, we accidentally dropped a spoonful of noodles and chicken into the stream which immediately triggered a large crayfish from beneath a rock which began feasting on this unexpected manna. We tossed in a few more small chunks of chicken for 'em, and within a minute had a mess of crayfish battling, some pretty violently, over the spread. A bit of lively little stream. 

But, anyway, we were in a rush to move along. And truthfully the prime reason for even being out in the first place is to escape from such annoyance.

"So what flies do ya' use?'

"Not much. Mainly jig head hares ear nymph pattern. Hook size #14 thru #18. Drys - then elk hair caddis - somethin' visible. And the usual anything buggy."

"And ya' catch fish?"

"Yea, why not... good days and bad days... don't matter... [we slip 'em an old maid] mostly for the serenity... we're primarily a seeker."

"A whaaat??...... and ya' don't use a reel?'

"No reel."

A final long silent stare at the rod...

"Huh... no reel... I still don't see how ya' fish without a reel..."

_______________

The past two years of extending summer and fall drought conditions did a bit of a number on the small creeks hereabouts. Many were reduced to near trickle and shallow stagnant pools. A few went completely dry. It did a number on our small creek angling as well. We hadn't touched a creek rod throughout. Conditions finally returned to typical this season. Actually, frequently beyond typical as the past summer was inundated with heavy precipitation. Particularly the month of August. We're only Autumn small creekers anyway. A preference for natives. We're not much interested in the stocked park and fish.  Although far from being what ya'd call an avid angler, this just recent October we persisted in getting out as many days as practical. Besides missing our time out on the creeks, we were also curious as to how the two years of extended drought affected the native brook trout population.

Steep creekin. About a half mile of drop pools, swift runs 

and pockets flowing a deep limestone hollow.  A 

combination of surface drainage and limestone springs

Early October the hollow was a riparian wonderland of various variety of mushroom and shelf fungus  

A lot of the time we're content to just hike around exploring the creek hollow and all its natural detail.

The creek could have stood a bit more flow. But that's OK. Weather and conditions were great

The weekend of the 18th the area received a bit of rainfall which brought water levels up a bit. We bet the primary creek was staging at least six inches over that in the images. Since we planned to be out the week following anyway, M-F, we decided to perform a small experiment. We fished the same secondary daily. Actually four days. Had business on Wednesday and couldn't make it out. Same hours daily, 12pm thru 2pm. Fishing upstream the same 1/4+ mile of tail run. Consistent fly pattern. Consistent sunny, blue sky weather throughout. Here's our stats for the period:

Days: 4

Total hours out: 8

Fish caught: Total 18 = 17 Brook Trout, 1 Brown Trout (all native)

Pattern: Dry, Elk Hair Caddis, Size 16

Daily Low Catch: 2

Daily High Catch: 7

Average Daily Catch: 4

Average Length: 4 inches

Largest: 4 inches (Brook Trout, Brown Trout)

Smallest: 3 inches (Brook Trout)

Total snags (trees/brush/debris/bottom): Quit counting

Flys lost (snagged): 3

We're never this anal of keeping track of the day. We just go fishin'. But after all, this was science.

The drought doesn't have appeared to have affected mortality at all. Actually seven ties our personal high for a daily catch for the creek. And at a significantly longer day of fishing. Guess that a bit stunted growth should be expected. They were probably pretty lethargic if confined to warm, low oxygen stagnant pools with dwindling food supply. We'd have expected to hook a five or six inch fish or two. We've caught up to seven inch "monsters" in the past. Those brook trout are one of nature's most resilient creatures. It appears that if ya' asked a fish he'd have replied "What drought?" Not like those imposter rainbows. Speaking of which...

... here's a maybe eight inch stocked rainbow we hooked in the primary creek. We were surprised to catch it so far upstream. Encroaching into wild brook trout territory. We also ran into the Fish and Game Commission doin' their fall stocking. Said that they put in 300, rainbows only(?), accompanied by some muddled logic. Made about as much sense to us as tossing kyotes and fishers out the truck bed. One of the few times we fished the park and fish section, working upcreek we stopped counting the rainbows that were lounging in the pools and slackwater at the count of fourteen at the number that were ignoring dangling flies at the tips of their nose before we moved along. We mentioned in a previous post the we've seen folks in there scooping them out with nets when the creeks low. Regarding the obviously poorly focused image; heat of the catch. We'd once seen a similar shot on a fishing calendar, so thought that we'd include it. We'll consider it an artistic composition. Sort of like the movie chimp who aimlessly squirts tubes of acrylic all over the canvas and creates a multicolored masterpiece. Whatever ya' can get away with, as they say.  

We rigged a few interval exposures to give a bit of scale to the landscape. 

_______________

The 28th we took a hike into an isolated, small backridge mountain stream that we hadn't visited since probably the late 80's. At least a mile and a quarter in from the nearest road. A partial bushwhack, as an old skid trail can be traversed. Still, a steep winding descent into a deep hollow. A real wilderness experience. We'd spoken to local guys over the years who had said to have caught native rainbows in the creek as far back as the '60's. Coincidentally, we'd spoken to two guys within the just prior two weeks who again, off the cuff, mentioned the creek and wild rainbows. We took that as an air of positive karma for a return visit.

We'll just call it a secondary headwater tumbling from high off the ridge

The waters were flowin' a bit dry. We had toted a fly rod. This being an exploratory return trip to just confirm our recall of the approach, didn't matter

Traversing the creek bank we by chance took notice of a small fish that we spooked in this pool, which darted under cover of that large boulder at the head of the pool. A small brookie? A fabled native rainbow? Didn't notice what it was. May have been only a shiner. We tossed a few casts to no avail. We know that the native brooks in such water would typically strike first or second cast. We figured even after being spooked in this almost never fished stream. They're pretty aggressive. Nothing, we moved along.

We hiked the adjacent logging trail down creek a distance of maybe a half mile. From there we hiked the creek bottom back upstream casting a few shallow pools, rock ledges and root banks. Moving pretty fast. Considering the shallow conditions we didn't expect much. That is what we got...

... and that's OK. Give the creek another two to three inches of flow and we'll be back. Plan is to hike downstream to the primary, then fish the creek bottom back upstream to our put in, estimating only a half mile distance scaled from our location on topo mapping. Boy were we wrong.

That hollow makes a heck of a rugged, what we thought, four mile trail loop with near nine hundred feet of relief. We planned to return to hike the entire route to explore the remaining creek and confirm our assumptions. We knew just the two souls to coerce into an expected tough hike...

We returned the 31st along with Muscle Girl Sarah and ZMan. Reaching our turning point of a few days earlier, the skid trail shortly terminated and the remaining distance to the primary quickly turned into an arduous bushwhack traversing the creek bottom. Steep banks, numerous large deadfall trees and boulders, jagging vines and thick brush. And our expected mile and a half mile hike turned into three and a half miles. On the first incursion days earlier I'd mistaken my mapped location upon reaching the creek. I'd been a mile and a quarter further upstream. That added another mile and a half to the quest. This was confirmed a bit later after wondering why it was taking so long to navigate the creek and subsequently checking our GPS location - both those guys had GPS capability on their phones and ZMan toted a Garmin wristwatch. 

Finally reaching the primary we had another half mile hike to the river confluence where we planned to ascend another "known" trail back up the ridge and return to the vehicle. Problem was, being many years earlier since last visit, I'd lost track of the trail. Reversing our tracks and re-navigating the route was out of the question. Our only alternative was to follow the river downstream four miles to a second steep trail and ascent of nine hundred feet, then two mile hike to the truck. Considering that we'd been hiking three hours straight and now burning daylight, we opted to just keep following the river to return to civilization, five miles distant. From there we phoned for vehicle backup and evacuation. Wild Bill picked us up and provided a ride three miles back up the ridge. Total hiking distance of 9.9 miles per GPS. Let's just say ten. Nine hundred feet relief. Total time a bit over four hours. We'd have to say a bit beyond our estimated three and a half miles. 

Still, we're always learning. As usual from mistakes:

- The tail end half mile of the creek, beyond confluence with a second feeder tributary, the flow really    picked up. Boulder strewn. Continuous drop pools, some deep, and pockets. Appeared spring fed. Possibly limestone springs considering the elevation and geology.

- Appeared to be plenty of the fish in the creek. We spooked a few lounging in the pools. Couldn't positively identify any, but definitely trout.

- There is backroad 4WD access to near the mouth of the creek. However the trail traverses private property and is currently closed. A long MTB ride in from a separate route is doable. Around ten miles r/t.

- Considering the bushwhack we personally would expend at least one overnight camp. Don't think that much could be accomplished even in a single long day hiking in and out unless ya' stayed to the upper headwater.

- Recalling our many encounters with rattlesnakes and copperheads, we wouldn't go near that bushwhack during snake season. That rocky southern exposure hollow has viper written all over it.

Halloween '26

 A Happy Halloween from Lily...

(Internet Image)

... and we bet a happy Herman too!

(YouTube Video)

_______________

Always brilliant stuff by Ian Gordon/HorrorBabble...

(YouTube Video)

'The Horror of the Heights'

by 

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

(1913)

Production/Narration by Ian Gordon/HorrorBabble (2019)

39:44

Walls Come Tumbling Down

The recent rock slide along the Youghiogheny River Trail (aka., Great Allegheny Passage), which claimed the life of an elderly cyclist and seriously injured another, was an unpredictable, catastrophic accident. We offer our sympathies to the victims and families.

(Internet Image)

A screen shot obtained from drone footage photographed by videographer ©John Tremba

What a mess. The sheer knife-carved failure plane of that massive scarp only suggests the stability of the standing wall to appear ten times more ominous. Whaddya do now? Vertical drill and blast appears to be the worst alternative. Looks like ya' got at least fifteen feet by what length of potentially unstable face to dislodge. Then hundreds of tons of rubble rock debris to bust up and haul away. Or judge it safe. Who makes that call? And who writes the check? You can bet that the lawyers will be right up there circling that cliff along with the turkey buzzards.

We have a bit of dated history associated with that, even then, shaky wall...

Climber Rob Goodman about twenty feet up the face (1983). Note that the crack splits the entire height of the wall.

In the early '80's we spied a pretty nice thin vertical crack that split the wall bottom to top. The actual cliff face itself sat maybe fifty feet up a loose, steep angled slope. Massive sandstone setting atop what appeared highly weathered shale. Textbook SWPA differential weathered geology. Made no difference to us. We're just out lookin' for new rocks to climb. Standing at the base of the sandstone exposure, it was a bit of a struggle to keep solid footing to avoid backsliding down the shaley slope, overhung by a good eight feet, while trying to focus on the intricacies of the near dead vertical crack above. To our right was already a somewhat large scarp from a previous small slide. We both commented as to what was holding the base of the wall in place.

We hiked around the north end of the cliff to a foot trail that led to the top. We fixed a rope and rappelled the face to scope out the crack. Other than in need of scaling of loose rock, the sandstone in all was pretty solid. The crack was a thin seam its entire length. Void of any finger locks or hand jams. It would take sparse but solid gear placement, at the time solely passive gear of wedged or jammed wire nuts. Small ones. Free climbing would be confined to whatever face holds existed. Looked like mostly small edges and crimps. This being Sunday evening, I had to head out of town for work for the week. Our buddy Rob vowed to return to rap the face later in the week, scale and better expose the immediate face for hand and footholds, and perform much needed gardening of roots and such growth from the crack and face. We'll return next Saturday with ropes and gear. See ya' then.

Saturday quickly faded into aimlessness. Handholds right off the bat were for the most part small crimps. No matter how well brushed the handholds remained coated with a slippery dust. Once a tad off the deck ya' invoked the gods that ya' grabbed the correct racked small nut placement as your grip hand slowly greased. We switched leads until we reached a high point of maybe half way up the seventy foot wall, when we achieved what up to that point was the crux. We had placed five pieces of gear which included our opposition piece at the ground. Next placement appeared near six feet above. Trying to advance further and taking repeated short falls on a small wire nut became nerve racking to terrifying thinking of that nut pulling and falling on a similar placement six to eight feet below. In effect a twelve foot fall at least. As long as that piece held. If not, a ground fall. Finally, switching a final lead with Rob and re-ascending to our high point, "secure" by the toprope from above, I inadvertently pulled and dislodged a blocky handhold and fell, which unexpectedly jolted a relaxed Rob from his belay. The maybe eight inch, ten pound block bounced off my chest and missed Rob's head by inches. At that point we both pronounced concurrently "F*k it I'm done!!"

The excitement didn't end there. Rob's lone prepping of the route the preceding Friday involved gardening of the crack of a long reach poison ivy vine. Although he'd taken the necessary precaution of wearing gloves and whatever "ppe", it didn't occur to him that his rope was dangling below in the vine and leaves. As he descended, garbed in short pants, the rope was rubbing his bare inner thighs. His subsequent case of poison ivy was bad enough that he had to seek medical treatment and suffered for about another week or two.

If you compare our image and configuration of the crack against the drone image and vertical fracture of the slide, you can see that the crack was indicative of the fault condition way back when. The slip occurred right along the crack seam.

_______________

Having been involved with climbing rocks and ice on and off for goin' on five decades, we've encountered our share of rockfall events. We'd last climbed the 'Gendarme' rock formation, a forty-foot free standing spire teetering high within the Seneca Rocks, W.Va 'Gunsight Notch', only two week before it finally tumbled several hundred feet into the valley below. And setting on the Seneca summit ya' always felt a bit uneasy when the occasional military jet fighter roared down the valley near summit level. You could feel the vibration. Although a great place, Seneca still always looks as if the whole formation could collapse at any time. At Bellefonte Quarry located near State College, PA, we last climbed a route named 'The Bitter End', a bit of a long, angled hand crack (and one of the best climbs there), again earlier the same year that it collapsed to the ground. 

More recent times, here's climber Tim Anderson on a rarely formed ice route on the 'Pistol Whipped Wall'

located at the South Connellsville Gun Club. The upper arrow points to a massive rock at the top of the route. Seemingly solid. Nothing to worry about here...

... the same rock in Tim's image the following spring. Jeep KJ included for scale.

Finally, ice is considerably more unpredictable and potentially catastrophic...

'Collapse of the Sick-le'

(Running Time: 11:02)

Tim and Laura Anderson and a shaky day at the free hanging 'Sick-le'

Keep watchin' the skies.

 _______________

Correction (maybe):

Taking another later look at the video, we realized that we may have misidentified the location of our bygone crack climbing route. It could possibly be the location we've circled above. There was a second crack, a bit widely flared. The location of the earlier right facing small scarp we mentioned. We rapped down and checked it out as well. It was too widely flared to protect, so we passed. We currently can't get in there to verify. Quite frankly don't care to. If our assumption is correct, we wouldn't want to be standing anywhere below the reach we've identified without a pair of swift running shoes. Just mentioning this for anyone who may be in there stumbling around thoughtless. Don't say we didn't warn ya'.

What the ##!!?? Is A Thalweg?

SNAFU (Situation Normal, All F*k'd Up)

TARFU (Things Are Really F*k'd Up)

FUBAR (F*k'd Up Beyond All Recognition)

                                                       

                                                                      - United States Armed Forces                         

                                                       

To which we add SOP (Standard Operating Procedure)...

The conference room at the main office served a dual purpose, with the lesser of the two being storage area for the archival collection of old reports of completed projects. Overflow from the company library. Numerical by job number. All well organized and filed row upon row along standing metal shelving the length of the rooms featureless long span interior partition wall. Maybe five shelves high. Neatly bound in three ring binders. As many as three to a project depending on the project size and scope. We were sequestered at the very end of the centerpiece conference table, facing a tabletop sprawl of open binders and reference field mapping. Research for a current project.

Opposite end of the maybe twelve-foot length conference table, a small meeting in progress. Project manager. Project engineer. Survey manager. Drafting manager. Another new project startup. None of our concern. Glad too. The project manager (PM) was always a handful to work with. They were going over the specifications for initial site investigation for planned renovation of a two-lane, twin span bridge overpassing a small stream. Some remote location north-central in the state. We're well within earshot albeit passively indifferent of their conversation...

"... which includes establishing cross-sections and plotting thalweg two-hundred feet upstream and downstream of the structure." The survey manager, quoting from the specification, immediately pauses and adds, "What's a thalweg?" The three glance blankly about. A shrug of a shoulder or two. 

Following a bit of collective surmise, a turn our direction, "Hey, you're always out on the river somewhere... what's a Thalweg?"

"No idea."

The PM immediately consults his laptop, citing "Thalweg, pronounced TAL-veg; the primary navigable channel of a waterway." Adding from another source, "The line running along the low point of a river, where the riverbed is deepest, and the current is strongest."

The survey manager (SM) expresses issue, "That's not even a navigable waterway. It's not even a river. It's just a small creek. And it's pretty swift just downstream of the bridge!? And that channel looks deep. How are we supposed to get out there to shoot bottom elevation...?

PM: "Who knows... it's in the spec." (in other words, "that's your problem.")

Standard Operating Procedure: First win the bid, then figure out how to do the job.

(Internet Images)

Thalweg illustrated

The following week the SM stops by our office...

"Hey, the crew was up at the bridge today. That creek's too swift, rocky and high to wade out into. The narrow main channel is about six feet deep... about twelve feet wide. The rodman had slipped and went under. Above the bridge and upstream it's barely up to your knees the whole way across. Do you have a small boat that we can borrow?" We had a twenty-foot construction boat. V-hull. Outboard engine. Too large for the creek channel. And for the most part the creek was too shallow to float it anyway. Also, they would need a launch site for the tow trailer. We also had a small Jon boat that should float 'em over the shallow rocks. We gave 'em that with some paddles. And they could strap it to the roof of their truck. Off he went.

End of the week the SM returns...

"That creek currently is too high and swift. We can't hold the boat to any position. Do you have a long rope? At least 200 feet. The crew says that they can anchor the boat from the bridge."

We didn't possess one at the shop. However, I just happened to have a personal 300ft length of static climbing rope at home. Last used it spent the better latter half of the winter frozen in on a two hundred foot ice fall. Had subsequently trimmed off about fifteen feet that had badly frayed while swaying in the winter wind and weather for a month. I brought that in for 'em next day. He's on his way.

Mid following week he's back...

"That creeks too swift to steadily hold the boat. They lost control of it and flipped... we're wastin' too much time on this project... we only had a week budgeted for the surveying... it's goin' on three weeks... a three-man crew... travel, motel, expenses..."

I knew what he was suggesting. I'd helped 'em out a time or two in the past on the water. Each time taking a kayak out as the rodman. The last and final time they had me out in some shi**y urban runoff creek with floating black "sludge" and drifting trash, including hypodermic syringes and whatever else that we don't even want to think about. Trying to hold steady the telescoping 25ft prism pole to shoot the soffit curvature of a tall stone arch bridge, it was impossible to not flip the boat when the rod was extended beyond, say 15ft, at any angle. To our surveyors amusement, must have rolled over and gone under five times in that mess.* A few days later developed a burning red rash on the side extending from armpit to waist. Lasted for about a month. Never had it checked out medically. Didn't even want to know what it was. Finally went away. On the positive side, considering survival, we figured it to be a heck of a boost to the immune system.

"I'd try it with a kayak, but I know that there's no way that I could hold the boat in that current and manage a rod or depth finder." Which was true.

A day or two later I had just happened to be talking to the project manager for the client concerning another job. I brought up the subject of the thalweg and project. His engineer seal was on that specification...

"Hey, what is the deal with this thalweg on the XXX bridge project. Our surveyors are havin' a heck of a time there... and they're way over budget."

'The what?"

"The thalweg."

'What's a thalweg?" he responded with a slight chuckle and as if expecting a punchline (like asking if the "kneuter valve" needs to be left or right handed.) I went into further detail. He subsequently went and pulled a copy of the specs to review.

"Let me get right back to ya' on that..."

About forty-five minutes later he calls back...

"I just sent you guys an addendum. Tell 'em don't worry about the cross sections and thalweg. Unnecessary. The staff engineer (a young guy) here in the office, when piecing the spec together from previous specs (standard verbiage) pulled that section from an old navigable waterway spec involving commercial river traffic... tugboats, barges and such. It got missed in checking... and sorry, there's no money in the project to reimburse you guys."

Standard Operating Procedure: He should have added "... even though we f*k'd up." Mistakes are generally understood..."We'll make it up to ya' next project." Press the issue and... "Hey, you guys should have picked up on that, too." Bottom feeders are frequently left somewhat "hangry".

I relayed his comment to the SM. More than tight with a penny. He was immediately on his cell phone pulling his crew back to the shop while still alternately engaged in our inter-office call... 

"... and cancel the motel before 2pm so we don't get charged for another night!"

Later that afternoon we're stopped in the hallway by the currently irate (and always over budget) drafting manager... "Those ##!!??'s dumped all those surveying charges into my drafting budget!!..."

"Hey, Standard Operating Procedure."

*After much subsequent controversy we eventually managed the shot. Hot topic of dispute: why not just sight on the outside edge of the soffit and be done - and not have to dump your rodman into a shi**y cesspool. Basic right angle geometry...

"Just because your total station can measure to a thousandth of a foot don't mean ya' need to be that precise!... That elevations good to half a foot or better!... What the f*k, we're not establishing control!"... 

"This stuff has to check!!" - his favorite phrase. It'll go on his tombstone.

"I can measure that elevation to within a tenth of a foot without an instrument!"

Our always stressed, old school military trained survey chief was a stickler for precision no matter the function. We engaged 'em in a bit of amusing debate with the loser buying lunch. Using a wooden lath we employed rough stick and step (tape for our effort) survey method. Rounded to the nearest 0.25ft (under),

and short of dropping a plumb line, while estimating horizontal distance to the vertical by eye, our elevations were identical. Good enough for this general site survey (our opinion).

"I was gonna' buy ya' lunch anyway for helpin' us out."

Thrilling Days Of Yesteryear (aka, Bucket Boats)

 "Skin you eyes for him, men; look sharp for whitewater;

if ye see but a bubble, sing out."

                                              - Captain Ahab

                                                                                            Moby Dick, Herman Melville, 1851 (book)

"... good... good... pull softly now... oh, did ye see him, men

did ye see his hump like a snowhill? Did ye see the way he

slides along; oh there's majesty for you! Did ye see the

lances in his back? My lances, mine! Struck in him years

ago!... oh soft now... pull... don't look... I'll look for ye..."

                                                - Captain Ahab

                                                                                               Moby Dick, John Huston (dir.), 1956 (film)

This past month of August was certainly rain drenched throughout resulting in some consistent, albeit infrequent, amped summertime paddling levels on the lower Yough river. Gauge levels for the most part fluctuated between a respectable 3 to 6 feet with an abrupt, but quickly dissipating day or two of 10 feet thrown in for good measure. Solid Class IV. Paddler habitat.

What a convenience nowadays to be able to set in front of the computer screen and immediately chart the current vital statistics such as water level and flow rate with swig in hand. Temperature too if that's a thought. Hour by hour. Search around and you can find details such as recommended raft length and tube size for the conditions. Even what to wear and bring for lunch. All "expert" advice. Scant information back in the day. Other than the two staples wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Not much print data nor mapping. Definitely no internet. Personal computers were at least a decade off. Call the park office early morning opening to get the current stage level from the live front desk operator. As an informal standard we just always figured water temperature to be around nighttime air temperature. If weather and conditions were expected to be a bit rough the park would just hammer a wooden 'DANGER HIGH WATER' sign into the lawn adjacent the rough trail leading down to the old put-in. No check-in. If one spotted ya' a park ranger may stop over and advise "I don't think that I would paddle today if I were you guys" before watching ya' shove off.

You'd see the occasional wrecked and abandoned boat on the way down river. A wrapped aluminum canoe here. A trapped fiberglass kayak there. For a few years there was a white fiberglass kayak tree-wrapped just upriver from the mouth of Indian Creek. At the time the old outfitter take out before the park constructed an official parking lot and take out further upriver along Bruner Run. Battle scarred to say the least. Close inspection revealed the boat to be patched upon top of patches. Finally one trip it was gone. Washed away. We always wondered the story behind those remains. 

Our first trip ever we at least had one crew member, a buddy, who had worked a previous summer as a part-time raft guide for a paddling outfitter. Had a few trips under his belt. And our borrowed Army Surplus inflatable "bucket boat" raft had a somewhat detailed river map inked onto the rubber floor. An addition meticulously scribed by the buddy's uncle who owned and lent us the boat for the day. No knowledge or even thought to gauge level or discharge. The old orange "horse collar" style life jackets. An unmatched set and length of wood paddles. Milk jug bailers. No patches, repair kit nor pump. Never even thought of it. So if we sprung an air leak or blew a seam or tube we were f*k'd on the spot. Didn't matter anyway. The old twin chambered  bucket boat had a set of three-piece brass air valves that when wet were impossible to open without a set of pliers. We found that out at the end of the trip when deflating the boat. It made no difference. All we knew was that we were looking forward to a trip into the great unknown. Here be dragons. Beyond, the Golden Fleece - an iced cooler case of cold brews stashed miles down river for the final several mile flat water return to civilization. For our first venture into whitewater paddling, via inflatable rubber raft navigating the lower Yough river, tame stuff by todays measure, we may as well have been hundreds of miles out within the open sea amongst Ahab's crew chasing an aggressive, ferocious white whale. 

The classic full-size 1975 Yough River map. Our friends uncle had 

hand drawn a river map with an individual inset detail of each rapid,

similar to this map, onto the floor of his raft which we borrowed. 

Meticulous work. Second trip we tore a gaping five foot hole into that 

floor. We still have a copy of this map rolled up and stashed somewhere at home.  

Bottoming out at Cucumber Rapid we ran into two guys who had called it a day (at only the second rapid and a half mile into the run) and were hiking their boat back up along the shoreline. They'd completely torn the floor off their boat while running Cucumber. One commented "F*k this!... this boat wasn't made for this river!". They were paddling the exact same raft as ours.

(Internet Image)

Recently found this image on-line. A Udisco?

Exact same raft as our Army Surplus model(s)

We're figuring the river was running at near 4 feet that first trip. We'll say Class III+. Other than an occasional man overboard, all went uneventful. No dragon sitings. No white whale. And we were ready to get right back at it. Maybe two weeks later. We added a man to now form a five man crew. A bit tight roster for the four-man boat. 

Next trip all went well until navigating 'Rivers End' rapid. With a swamped boat full of heavy water we missed the sharp left eddy turn and plowed directly into 'Wall Rock', the large mid river boulder which shoots the river hard left after smashing into and careening off it's immovable bulk. A lucky, out of control complete spin to the left directed us back on course. Unfortunately, right over a series of smaller left facing rocks which includes the sharp pinnacled 'Snaggletooth' rock. Carrying an additional ton of water ballast snaggletooth easily carved a five foot tear in the rubber floor. So much for our borrowed boat and the elegantly mapped floor. Still, we persevered down river. Our buddy was none too happy when we returned the boat, for him to in-turn return to his uncle. A year later we were talkin' to 'em as he was unloading the trunk of his car. We noticed that he was still totin' that raft around. Still hesitant to confront his uncle.

Map of 'Rivers End' rapid

From 1987 'Great American Rivers Flip Map Series'

©Ron Rathnow

Strongman Matt viewing back toward treacherous 'Snaggletooth' rock...

... and later carvin' thru a hole somewhere along the lower Yough

Now without a boat we went and purchased a similar raft from Army Surplus. We made an adapter from an automobile tire valve stem and carried a bicycle pump, a small tube of adhesive and a few patches cut from an inner tube as a river repair kit. That raft held up well for several years before finally blowing a seam while inflating one day. That was at the compressor air pump at a local service station. It really blew. The guys inside the station said that they thought a car had hit the building. 

Luckily we had just upgraded to a real river raft that we had mail ordered from Blackadar Boating out in Salmon, Idaho. Hypalon 18" tubes with wrap-up neoprene floor. Length 12'-10". Two hypalon thwarts. Twin chambered with 1" military style nylon valves. None-the-less a bucket boat. Self bailing floors were still a year to two away. That boat held up well for several years before blowing a seam while paddling the lower Yough down near Stewarton Landing. We repaired it (somewhat) but by then had long since been paddling open canoes. Had lost interest in inflatables and rafting in general.* Still have it folded up down in the basement. 

We've paddled both bucket boat and self-bailer. The only merit we could apply the bucket boat would be for a high volume, low technical river and the extra ballast that the water inside provides for added stability. We were glad to have had the extra weight when once unintentionally paddling the lower Yough at near 12ft level after an unexpected storm. We were sure glad to have not flipped a boat and then try to recover the boat and five paddlers, and surely a few paddles if not all, in a flood without a pool in sight. For anything technical we'd always take the self-bailer for the maneuverability. On the negative, applied to either style boat, or any inflatable for that matter, we also begin to distrust the glued seams after around eight years of constant use after having blown a few. A near impossible repair when out on the river. Two (modern technology) inflatable SUP's we own, same make, same model, both purchased together same day, each blew a seam after ten years use. Both within the exact same spot along the seams and within five minutes of each other while out on the river.

As for our quoted Moby Dick intro, we always found, time after time, and no matter the crew, that always after running a significant drop most all would cease to paddle and turn around to look back at the rapid just assailed while seconds ahead a larger, usually potential boat flipping drop or pinning boulder obstacle loomed. Echoing Ahab's "Don't look back... I'll do the lookin' for ya!" became a oft repeated and amusing refrain.

* Correcting ourselves for modern times, viewing videos of current folks steep creeking and playboating those compact R-1 rafts sure looks like fun. But at least get a hard boat and develop some paddling skills on the side.

What Not: August 15, 1945; Frigid Conditions

"Ya' know, I've only ever swam in the river one time my whole life."

"Yea?" 

Our former neighbor, Bob, breaking a bit from his foundation landscape weeding chores, seeing us servicing a few river boats in the back yard, walks over and leans against the nearest fence post. This a few years back. At the time he's well into his eighties in age. He's since passed along...

"Yea. That was durin' World War II at the time. "Chisel' [an old pal of his], a few other buddies, and me were down at Flat Rock. I was only around ten years old and had never been in the river. Those guys convinced me to swim with 'em over to the old stone pier. We swam out and were sitting on top of the pier. We're within an hour out, and all of a sudden the fire and air raid sirens started going off in town. Then cars start blowing their horns. Police, fire and ambulance vehicles are circling the city streets, sirens blaring. Church bells were resounding.... It was big news that the U.S. had just days before dropped atomic bombs on Japan. No one even knew what an atomic bomb was. Top secret until then. As far as we knew one bomb could blow up the whole world. We're stuck out alone on the pier expecting to any second get blasted to kingdom come by who knows what. A short time later we found out that Japan had just surrendered to the U.S. It was all celebration."

Google mapping with annotation identifying 

Flat Rock and Pier... and, 'Fabians Swim'

_______________

So what is (or was) Fabian's Swim as mapped?...

Not your modern day "polar plunge". No briefly dipping toes in the frigid shoreline then quickly turning tail to girly-run squealing back onto the beach. Back in the day there was a guy in town who carried out an annual New Year's Day SWIM. Not for attention or publicity. Not a sideshow (although it usually attracted spectators). A personal endeavor. This guy was the real deal. Dave Fabian. Always on New Year's Day. There was no cancellation or postponement for better weather or conditions. We personally witnessed his swim only once. Late 1960's. Temperature 22ºF. He plunged in off of Flat Rock. Catching the down flow current, he swam swift and effortless diagonally cross-river to exit an old river access path low end of what is now Yough River Park. Go with the flow. Let the current do the work. Maybe a minute total time. Two minutes at best. He exited the water, walked up the path, got in his car and left. Mapped distance we scaled at around 580 feet. Let's say 600 feet considering drift.

Sadly, he drowned a year or two later repeating his annual swim. The circumstance was always vague. One conjecture was that he was repeatedly pelted with snowballs from a group of shoreline miscreants which led to his "accident". 

_______________

"Paddlin' Rob" checkin' out the thickness of 

the ice pack after a late winter surge

(Note the ice encrusted large drift wood)

A few years back we were doin' quite a bit of local creek paddling with our buddy, paddlin' Rob (as opposed to our other buddy, climbin' Rob). Usually always during late fall/winter/early spring when the creeks were running. We caught quite a few frigid days.

Rob in a casual environment

Rob at the time worked daily eight hour shifts in the freezer section of a local food distribution warehouse. We asked 'em once how cold they kept the freezers. He said by regulation that they had to maintain 0ºF for the large freezers and that they typically maintained -10ºF (or colder). Cold paddling days were typically in the low 30's. Although, a check of the thermometer registered as low as 25ºF a few, rare freezing cold days we were out. No dry suits - wet suits, paddling jackets and neoprene gloves and boots. 

The freezer work apparently had 'em well acclimated to the cold. Never, ever once heard 'em complain. Never mentioned the cold, nor weather for that matter. Subsequently, we couldn't either. If he ain't complaining, we ain't. Quite often we got back to the vehicle near dark. [At least our] fingers and toes too frozen to even remove gloves and boots. Rob's first step was an impromptu grab of an ice cold Budweiser from the ice packed beer cooler... "Ya' want one?"

Creekside with Strongman Matt, no slouch for the 

cold himself, and Rob, on a balmy forty degree day

_______________

Is this water really that cold?...

Strongman Matt at lower Colorado River boat launch, 

viewing Hoover Dam and then under construction

Interstate 11/U.S. Route 93 bypass bridge

Black Canyon, lower Colorado River

Cold, but brief, swim

... or maybe it just feels "chilling to the bone" considering the abrupt transition from 102ºF dry desert heat to the 50ºF river. We did a bit of research and found that water is discharged from below the dam at a maximum depth of roughly 300 feet depending on reservoir water surface level. Deep water/bottom temperature (behind the dam) stays stable and cold at roughly 50ºF to 55ºF. As we recall from dive training, lake thermoclines typically form at roughly forty foot depth, with water temperature roughly around 40ºF down to the bottom. Added research indicated a Colorado river depth of 90 feet the reach of the Black Canyon section with water temperature typically between 50ºF to 53ºF.

Don't know. But given 2-3 minutes immersion we were ready to hop back on shore. Can't recall when we were in colder (feeling) water.