The Plunge

Over the weekend, I asked Heather Hukins to marry me.

This was auspicious timing. She was very ill, severely dehydrated, and probably delirious.

I met Heather about a year ago when her father asked me to pick her up from the airport. I have been captivated by her since that day and I can sincerely say that I feel more fortunate than I have the skill to communicate.

Heather and I went to Sequoia National Park for the day on Saturday. The weather was truly horrible, but she was about to leave on the second leg of her planned transcontinental road trip and she wanted to see the tall trees. We walked for hours, off and on, ducking back into the car for shelter.

One sojourn took us all the way up to Moro Rock. The entire park was inside a cloud, so the incredible view from the highest perch was reduced to whiteout. The hike up to the rock, however, was amazing. The trail was quiet and empty, probably due to the better judgment of the other visitors. We walked up a hill and into the most beautiful natural setting that I have ever experienced up close. A cloud drifted toward us through a stand of trees as Heather snapped pictures of the magical scene. I knew that this was the moment that I would ask her to marry me. If I had the ring, of course. I had left it in the car.

The weather took a turn for the worse. We choked down some questionable food in a Sequoia eatery and made ready for our last stop at General Sherman. The sky was opening as we walked up to the old man. Heather and I stood in front of the largest living thing on the planet and I knelt down in a puddle. We were both freezing and soaking wet. Heather looked as green as the surrounding foliage. I asked her to marry me and she said "yes."

We paused only to slide the ring on before tearing off toward the car like thieves. Several would-be Sherman gazers waved us down along the way to ask how far in the tree was.

About ten minutes walk, but it is worth it. Well worth it.

Blood Diamonds

I've been doing some diamond shopping lately. Strictly educational, of course.

In the last few months, I've watched Blood Diamond, The Last King of Scotland, and Lord of War. This would be a good trilogy to take in if you wanted to learn a bit about conflict diamonds or just throw caution to the wind and embrace total despair.

I'd rate the conflict trilogy in this order:

1. Lord of War
2. Blood Diamond
3. The Last King of Scotland

Cool Tools

I stumbled onto Kevin Kelly's Cool Tools some time ago. Kelly is a contributor to Wired magazine and a serious blogger. Cool Tools is one of several blogs that he maintains on subjects ranging from the impact of technology on society to obscure uses for vinegar. Kill your Saturday morning with Cool Tools.

White Water Rafting - Day Two

Heather and I rolled out of the tent on Sunday and broke camp. In continuing the full-service style of All Outdoors, Darren whipped up a continental breakfast and cowboy coffee. Coffee grounds are surprisingly easy to put down when you are freezing to death. Heather confirmed our directions to the middle fork muster point while casting sidelong glances at me. I'm navigationally challenged. We engaged in a misty group hug and hit the road.

After our sedate beginning on Saturday, the middle fork facility was a completely new experience. There were ten guides and support staff milling around loading five rafts and associated gear onto a bus and trailer. We signed our lives away, checked in the car keys, and joined the knot of victims pacing around the bus, nervously applying sunscreen. The mood got even more dire when we were fitted with PFDs and helmets. The skittish herd was prodded into the bus with our guides for the day and we were off.

The guides were easy to spot. They were decked out in very sporty PFDs covered with important-looking carabiners and lengths of rope. They sat at the front of the bus. One guide crawled into the bus and lit it up. This was foul gas. Up all night drinking Guiness, held it down with reheated Taco Bell, I'm glad we'll be getting in the water soon gas. It burned us.

One of the things that I love about Heather is the way I can communicate with her wordlessly. I don't think this is due to a telepathic link- It probably stems from the relatively simple construction of my thoughts and the fact that I point a lot. One of the river guides flopped into the seat in front of us. He was tall and thin, quite tan, and sported a scraggly beard. There was a word painted on the back of his seat:

CARPENTER

I don't know if this was the logo of the manufacturer of the seat or graffiti, but it was totally appropriate. I caught Heather's eye and pointed to the seat, and then to its occupant. She immediately understood- I was notifying her that Jesus was our copilot. I think the guide's name was Ryan, but we just called Him Jesus from then on.

We arrived at the put in and met the full compliment of guides. Dave was the man in charge. He seemed very responsible and in command of the expedition. His large earrings and So-Cal accent suggested a deep desire to be reunited with his board, be it wheeled or waxed. Lindsey was the girl guide. She had complained loudly about the gas, so I knew that her nose worked. Also, we were wearing the same shoes. This is usually a bad thing, but I was reassured that my new sandals were approved gear. We've already covered Jesus. That left the bad seeds.

I think the best description that I can use to paint Kyle is that he wasn't stoned, but looked like he should be. His deadly pipes were the source of the bus-crippling fart, and he was understandably proud of the effort. Pat was less talkative and worked at strapping a rowing rig to a raft. He was apparently the pilot of the gear barge. I liked Pat straight off. He had one of those smiles that is most suited to working with explosives.

Once again, Heather and I reached agreement without speaking and drew a beeline away from Kyle and Pat. We sized up the rest of the victims. They included a bachelor party of haggard-looking guys, some random drunks, a matched set of terrified Indian and South American tourist couples, and four normal folk. We attacked the normals. Dave began assigning bodies to boats and we quickly bonded with our new friends and shuffled toward him, hoping to shoulder our way into the lead raft. It was not to be. While Dave did allow us to keep the band together, he directed us to Kyle's boat. Shit.

Kyle huddled us together after our safety briefing and tried to pump us up. He walked us down to the water with tons of enthusiasm. We followed like the condemned. Kyle applied a team-building drill and asked us to come up with a name for our crew. When we faltered, he decreed that we had no name, only a battle cry:

"Baby, cuz I'm a thug!"

Kyle lead the chant and we all chimed in on "thug." He warned the crew that the first rapid was the icy Cold Cup of Coffee. Heather and I earned quick props by volunteering to sit in front. We aren't really fond of hypothermia, and Darren warned us about the Cup, but we really wanted to get the full effect. It was cold. One of my legs stopped functioning for about 30 minutes.

The Sunday middle fork trip starts quickly with a couple of warm up rapids and the intimidating Tunnel Chute. This is a serious class V rapid followed by a long, dark tunnel under a mountain. It is a great way to start your day. There is a camera aimed at the belly of tunnel chute, but we didn't buy any photos. They consisted mainly of a huddle of paddles and helmets in the middle of a boat, sprays of white water, and Kyle waving.

The middle fork is great. There are multiple class IV rapids. Class IV rapids have exposed rocks, yard-long drops, and require synchronized paddling to get through. Kyle turned out to be an amazing guide. He taught us a lot about rafting and offered up optional activities like surfing our raft in eddies and spinning the raft in rapids to line up the perfect exit angle. We all grew together, and I gradually became sure that we had once again drawn the best guide on the river.

I was very fond of Parallel Parking and Driver's Ed, two rapids named on a theme due to the multiple changes of direction required to manage them. These were the precision drills of our tour. However, the best rapid was one that we didn't attempt.

Ruck-A-Chucky Falls is a class VI rapid. Even the lesser class V rapids are very serious business. They might have multiple large drops and require several changes of direction to avoid raft-popping or head-cracking rock faces. Class VI rapids are harder and more dangerous still. Rapids harder than class VI require you to jump out of the boat, take off your PFD, and stab yourself in the abdomen until you hit your liver.

Ruck-A-Chucky Falls is a thirty foot waterfall that terminates in jagged, seven-foot tall rock spears. The fact that it is a named rapid suggests that some idiot has taken a boat over it, likely resulting in dismemberment. The guides threw the boats over the edge and we all walked around. This means that some poor guide must bob at the bottom and grab the rafts, of course, and Kyle drew the short straw.

Darren told us about the Leap of Faith that the guides must take to retrieve rafts clogged in the bottom of the falls. Kyle repeatedly dove into the churn to rescue errant rafts. We watched in horror and even chanted our team battle cry while he threw himself against the torrent. Yes, Team Normal really bought into Kyle. There was some delay after the last boat came over the cliff. I'm not sure what the problem was, but I think Pat tried to pilot his boat over Ruck-A-Chucky and had to be sedated.

Kyle was not only a skilled guide. He was a concerned captain. After being scraped along a rock face that loomed over a rapid, I sat back up on my perch and waited for Kyle's instruction. When he was strangely silent, I looked back to see Kyle dragging one of our teammates back into her seat. Heather later told me what had happened. Our teammate hadn't realized how close the eight ton rock elbow was to her head, and Kyle had jumped from his perch at the back of the boat to pull her head in, shielding her with his body. Cuz he's a thug.

Thanks Kyle, Dave, Lindsey, Pat, and Jesus. We love you guys.

White Water Rafting - Interlude

On Everything Sandwiches, Perfect Bites, and Disintegrating Shoes

On the night that I met Heather, I noticed something peculiar about her. When eating, she maximizes her culinary experience through architecture. She builds bites. We talked about this process, which is intended to build the Perfect Bite. Heather cleaves off a bit of every feature of the meal and skewers it on her fork, creating strata of yummy goodness. I've taken to this process, as it combines my dual loves of food and blocks. I'm sure that there is food that doesn't deserve such high treatment, and I fully intend to cook her several examples.

Our guide for day one on the American River, Darren, was a true believer in the Perfect Bite. He has devised a way to front-load the engineering which Heather dubbed the Everything Sandwich. Having grown up with Dagwood and Scooby Doo, I understood the concept of a sandwich that leaves no ingredient behind. However, I had always thought that such arcane constructs were things of animated myth and legend. Darren taught me a thing or two.

As discussed in this comment thread, we are relatively sure that the Everything Sandwich includes any or all of the following:

Wheat Bread
Smoked Ham
Roast Beef
Turkey
Chunky Peanut Butter
Strawberry Jam
Dijon Mustard
Lettuce
Tomato
Diced Fresh Jalapeño
Pepperoncini
Pickles
Green Pepper
Cucumber
Sun-dried Tomato
Artichoke Hearts
A Cookie
Love
Meat-Eating Wasps to taste

The wasps are very optional. I really do tend to turn into a little girl around things that fly and sting, but these pests were pretty easy to deal with. They swarmed around the meat, sawing off millimeter cubes of flesh and flying off in drunken barrel rolls. They were hardly interested in a fight and very tolerant of waving hands taking their turn. If you cringe around stingers, these jovial guys are great therapy. You may have to decoy them with a sheet of turkey to keep them out of your Everything Sandwich.

Darren built a sandwich using all of the above ingredients. I didn't think this was possible or particularly safe. After Heather tasted this concoction and offered me a bit, sporting a stripe of sandwich from ear to ear, I told her that I was making a whole bundle of my own. It rocked. As I said last time, Food Network, pick up the phone.

The last wedge I'll smack in between days one and two is a sad tale of old sneakers. I brought my tried and true Nikes to Coloma. I love Nike trainers, particularly the ones that are not monogrammed by an athlete of the moment. No Jordans, thanks. These shoes served me well, but the American River was not on the list of approved environmental conditions. After day one, they sort of... Exploded. The Nikes were laid to rest in a quiet ceremony. We made an emergency shoe run to the local tourist trap and picked up some Keen Hood River sandals for something acceptably shy of obscene. These shoes are great for amphibious mischief. They are a bit hard to break in around the ankle, so bring some paper tape and save your skin.

White Water Rafting - Day One

We reported promptly on Saturday morning for the first part of our rafting trip. This was not difficult, since our campground was the meeting place. We met our team of four other would-be rafters, our guide, and our driver near the campground entrance. Our guide's name was Darren. I cannot remember our driver's name, so I shall refer to him as Tattoo Guy.

Tattoo Guy drove us up to the river and sprinkled in some tour guide time while grinding the van up hills and talking to Darren about a woman who was stalking All Outdoors guides. I gather that she might have stalked Darren, and that this would probably not be his first experience. Tattoo Guy noted points of interest and told us that he was one of a handful of Coloma locals. Apparently, the locals get a bit bored in the winter off season and pass the time doing terrifying things like rafting on the American in wetsuits when the water is sub-freezing and thirty feet higher than in the summer.

After a short drive to the river, Darren helped us into life jackets while Tattoo Guy unloaded the gear. He took off his shirt and we noted that he had a massive tree tattoo covering his back. I also discovered that a life jacket is now called a PFD and that only complete tools refer to them as life jackets. Point taken. Armed with PFDs and emergency instructions from Darren, we took to the water.

Darren instructed us in paddling as a unit. In addition to being a skilled pilot, he was very knowledgeable about the area. I was completely surprised when Darren pointed out the original site of Sutter's Mill on the river bank. The Williams side of my family spent some 49er time in Chinese Camp, California, so I was very into this brush with history. We even saw some modern gold mining equipment.

Armed with new paddling skills and a little history, we hit the first and only serious rapid on the south fork, Troublemaker. All serious rapids have proper names. This photo was taken in Troublemaker, which was even more fun than it looks like.


We saw some boats from another rafting company and noted that they were spinning wildly on the Troublemaker exit and bumping into rocks that we had hardly bothered with. This cemented my impression that Darren is a damn good guide. One member of our team did take an unintended swim in a calm area further down the river, but we pulled him back in and even rescued his hat. All seemed well, and we parked the raft for some lunch.

Darren provided chips and salsa, sandwich fixings, and fruit. It was quite a spread. He put a lot of effort into laying out the grub and then rewarded himself with what we have come to call the Everything Sandwich. This was serious business, and will get a post of its own.

After lunch, the swimmer in our party was feeling a bit beat up. Apparently, he had landed on some rocks when he went in. His wife stayed in the raft and he decided to wait for us to finish our journey so that she could double back for him with the car. Heather and I wondered how he could be hurt and decided that he was a pussy.

The second half of the trip was fun, if a bit sedate. I really enjoyed the rapid and was hoping for more excitement. Darren passed the time by talking to us about kayaking and rafting, pointing out interesting sites along the route, and letting us take turns piloting the boat. We pulled the raft out of the water at good old Mother Load and washed up for dinner while Darren and Swimmer's Wife went back to find the old girl.

When we met Darren for dinner, we were surprised to be the only guests. Two of our team had only signed up for a one day trip- No dinner for them. Swimmer and his wife were missing. It turned out that our poor paddler had broken multiple ribs and went straight to the hospital. We felt pretty bad about making fun of him. I think Darren felt bad, as well. This did not, however, stop him from unleashing his amazing grilling skills on us.

Darren can cook like a madman. He made chicken, tri-tip, pasta, vegetables, salad, bread, and brownies. He made brownies in a dutch oven packed in hot coals. It was sick. After we recovered from our coma, Darren told us that All Outdoors guides get to keep the leftovers. This policy is a great motivator and I support it. Since Darren is a good-looking, bilingual, world-travelling white water guide, I'm wondering why I have not seen him on Food Network yet.

Darren set up a slide show of rafting pictures and we picked out two, including the one in this post. After paying for our pictures at the surprisingly well-equipped Internet cafe and bidding good night to Darren, we set our alarms for "even earlier" and "frozen" and went to sleep.

White Water Rafting - Day Zero

Earlier this month, Heather and I decided to go white water rafting. I've lived down the road from the Kings River forever, but I had never tried this particular brand of fun. Heather had done a bit of kayaking, but she was eager to get into some serious white water. Our decision came late in the season, so we searched for a river in Northern California offering moderately challenging weekend trips that we could drive to on a Friday night. The American River, which lurks in the mountains between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe, fit the bill.

We selected All Outdoors based on tour availability and their great web site. We found out later that this was definitely the right choice. We read up on the options and decided that we could handle an "intermediate" trip. I booked a two day excursion on the middle fork of the American River and we were off to buy a tent.

Fresno now has an REI. If you have any interest in outdoor activities and are looking to kill an afternoon, go there. We took advantage of the opening day discount to pick up a two-man tent. The salesperson who helped us make our selection invited us to break down and set up the display model. We considered her offer for .5 seconds and ransacked the demo unit. The tent seemed sturdy and easy to operate, so we bought one. We also bought enough complementary gear to make the REI staff even friendlier than usual.

All Outdoors called us up to negotiate a change in our trip. Apparently, there were not enough brave souls to field a full trip down the middle fork on Saturday. We were offered a combo trip featuring the more sedate south fork on Saturday and the intermediate middle fork on Sunday. This sounded acceptable to us, and we went with the combo. If you have never rafted and want the full experience, book the combo trip.

I printed Google maps, maps from the All Outdoors site, and a few pictures of the area from space. Armed with all this material, I was sure to get us hopelessly lost. We set off after work on Friday and flew up 99 to the campgrounds.

Shockingly, I managed to get lost. We stopped for directions at a local restaurant, where the manager assured me that I was quite close to my destination and that Google and Yahoo don't know shit about Coloma, California. After a final 20 minute detour due to my poor navigation and creative signage, we found our patch of dirt at the aptly named Mother Lode River Center and pitched our new toy by flashlight. Heather brought a headband-mounted LED lamp, which I immediately fell in love with and attempted to use to set fire to her corneas.

After some convincing, I put the head lamp away. We set our alarms for "still dark" and "too cold" and went to sleep.