Two Reluctant Rafters Make a Splash on the American River

By Henry Fenwick
Photographs by Mark Leder-Adams

y wife, Suzanne, and I are both wimps. That has to be understood from the outset. And we like luxury. We stay at hotels with heated swimming pools and dine at restaurants with rave reviews. But we are wimps with ambition, and the prospect of white-water rafting on the American River in Northern California seemed potentially broadening, a good thing to take on before we became set in our ways.

I had always believed that I was less adventurous than Suzanne was, but then she revealed the full extent of her wimpdom. She beamed at the brochure's picture of a raft, full of smiling people, floating down a serene stretch of river, then yelped at the next picture: a raft full of screaming people careening almost vertically down what looked like a waterfall.

"I don't want any of that," she said.

"That's just a highlight," I told her consolingly. "It's all much more like the first picture."

"I don't want any highlights," she said with a moan. "I accept that I'll get wet. That's all!" But her fears seemed to disappear as we shopped for nylon hats to keep off the sun.

Wet Feat

We arrived at the EarthTrek Expeditions camp in the late afternoon on a Friday after flying into Sacramento and driving about 40 miles northeast. The camp, located near Coloma, sits gracefully on the riverbank and has a green lawn where guests can set up dome tents. The tent cabins that are the camp's only permanent accommodations are set farther back, closer to the dining area and bathrooms. We strolled to the river's edge, admired the tall pine trees across the way, and dipped our toes in the cold water that we planned to brave the next day, then made our way back to our assigned tent cabin.

Two sets of bunk beds pretty much filled the space, but since only the two of us were staying here, we put our things on the top bunks and decided to sleep in the lower ones.

The beds turned out to be remarkably comfortable, and that night the sound of the river lulled us to sleep. The next morning, a hearty breakfast from the camp kitchen and T-shirt shopping in the camp store (which also stocks necessities guests might have forgotten) fortified us for the day ahead. Most people at breakfast were on a two-day outing, rafting first the lower, and then the upper stretches of the American River's South Fork. A stocky, fit-looking policeman told us he'd come back for a second time, just for the day. He was hooked on the idea of tackling the more challenging Middle Fork. The South Fork has Class III rapids, labeled in the brochure as "intermediate" with "fun action." The Middle Fork has Class IV rapids, billed as "advanced" with "wild excitement." Suzanne and I were booked for two days, the first on the South Fork and the second on the Middle. Were we being too adventurous?

Our early fears returned when Randy, one of the river guides, provided some pragmatic advice before we set out. Sunscreen, of course, is recommended, he said, "but don't lube the back of your legs or the trout will see more of you than we do." And don't put sunscreen on your forehead, he added, "because the alcohol will get in your eyes, you'll be blinded, and you'll miss the trip." He demonstrated how to use the paddles and how we should duck into the boat when the guide told us. He warned us to keep tight hold of the paddles in case one gets out of control, "hits you on the forehead, breaks your glasses, you get the red stuff, and the fun's over."

The red stuff! We hadn't thought of the red stuff! We'd only been thinking of the cold, wet stuff.

Randy predicted that there would be at least one "out-of-boat experience." Suzanne and I looked at each other warily, wondering which of us would be bounced or washed out of the raft, and we checked to make sure our life jackets fit snugly.