Black Canyon Feb 28-Mar 1

When a neighbor suggested an interest in climbing Picacho Peak in southeastern California it sparked thoughts of how to make it into a weekend with camping, hikes, and potentially a packraft float down the lazy brush-walled Colorado River there. I threw out a wild card suggestion of perhaps going to Black Canyon for an overnight river trip. After sifting through options, an overnight in Black Canyon in which we backpacked down Gold Strike Canyon and had a company shuttle our vehicle to the Willow Beach takeout won out. I was excited to get out of town with Heather for the last opportunity in a while and to introduce Paul and Vanessa to packrafting. Only later did I realize my last trip to Black Canyon was in 2017, the better part of a decade ago. We had a 5am departure from Riverside that gave us surprisingly good time of arriving to Gold Strike around 8:30am. The trailhead lot was already filled to capacity so we had to park further down the spur road. By 9am we were packed and set off down the steady grade of the gravel floored canyon. My hopes were not the highest with the sheer number of vehicles and sure enough the canyon had more graffiti, trash, and trashy people (Bluetooth speakers blaring) than ever before. Powerlines and freeway bridges overhead, eventually we got to the deeper and wilder portion of the canyon. We all were impressed at how green things were. 

We worked our way down the many boulder scrambles and dryfall downclimbs, passing packs a few times. I was surprised to see that the uppermost springs and one of my favorite middle springs with a cave alcove were completely dry and filled in with sediment. The upper spring was much as I remembered it with a shallow source pool and a deeper soaking pool hidden behind boulders that most people probably walk past. From here on we enjoyed the ribbon of hot water and greenery it brought with it. The main middle pool was looking a little shallow and had a group of teenagers in it so we carried on. The weeping overhanging wall of springs just beyond was as good as I remembered it, an amazing hanging garden of hot water trickles, maidenhair ferns, and biothem cave formations. The lower springs below were much more different than I had seen previous and were currently the clear standout for soaking and scenery. A large sandbag dammed pool led into two sub-pools at its back, one a pleasant depth pool with a perfect (hot!) soaking temperature and the other a smaller but more photogenic pool at the base of a cascading waterfall. This was too good to pass up and we all enjoyed a good soak having the pools more or less to ourselves. 

After our soak we shouldered our packs for the last 300ft to the Colorado River. The river was clearly on the low side compared to most other times I had seen it. The meager beach here was bustling with activity with many people swimming in the cold river (maybe brain eating amoebas successfully discouraged people from soaking in the hot springs?). In front of the crowd we unpacked all our gear for the transition to packrafts. To get us all down the river we had to rely on Heather and my Gnarwhals to stow all the gear, the maiden voyage of my barebones Scout, and my downright silly 1.5lb pool toy Supai. I drew the short straw to start but Paul helped a lot by trading off with me.  

We started off by paddling upriver 1200ft to briefly check out Sauna Cave, a hundred foot-long mine shaft related to dam construction tests of rock strength. It has a concrete dam at the mouth making for a pleasant warm water wade into it. As soon as we took two steps into the passage we were blasted by the sauna-like hot humid air and felt like we were instantly transported to summer in the tropics. No pictures due to the instant camera fogging, but we worked our way to the back where a hundred years of calcite growth made for some nice white curtains and flowstone formations. Back at the mouth, we portaged our boats over the only gravel bar of the whole trip and paddled upstream against the current about 2000ft to catch a partial glimpse of Hoover Dam.

Now floating and paddling with the current, we stopped at nearly every side canyon the next two miles. First was a brief stop in Secret Canyon, nearly opposite the mouth of Gold Strike. On only one trip I found a perfect hot pool hidden in the shadows here. This time that spot was filled in and all I found was a small knee-deep pool of scalding water, too hot to soak.

Next I was excited to stop at the base of the Lone Palm waterfall to try to find the route up to its pool at the top. Sure enough there was a footprinted trail exactly where I expected that led us into a mini-palm oasis. A short awkward climb allowed us to gain the rocky slope and to find trails that worked their way into the canyon. Right at the top of the waterfall we found the wonderful infinity-style pool of Lone Palm Hot Spring comfortably in the shadows with a framed view of the blue-green waters of the Colorado. The pool was a little on the cool side but tops for scenery and I was glad to finally visit this one I had paddled past several times before. We enjoyed a nice soak (and I frantically took pictures) before heading back. It is a unique spot with its mini palm grove looking out over blue-green waters.

I pulled in briefly to climb up a side canyon looking for Lost Man Hot Spring. I found only a trickle and so returned to paddle across the current to the mouth of Boy Scout Canyon. Here we tied off our boats to a bolt for a longer hike up this classic canyon. This one had a pleasant little hot stream to walk up the whole way, with some nice sweeping bends in the canyon and corridors of towering canyon walls. Soon we got to the narrows where there were a series of ropes to assist in climbing up the hot waterfalls- always a novelty. The main slot canyon hallway with three cascading wall-to-wall pools looked much as I had remembered it except instead of being the perfect soaking temperature it was scalding hot, barely alright to walk through and no place to linger. At the next trickier rope climb after this, Paul and I continued for a quick jaunt up five more rope climbs to the base of the enormous amphitheater with its 340 foot-tall dryfall. After testing the acoustics, we retreated back down the scenic canyon and joined the other two soaking in a pool. 

Returning to our boats we found that the waters had risen at least a foot. Unfortunately we were running out of daylight and so passed on the opportunity to hike up to the Devil's Canyon Hot Spring which usually has a great pool at the base of a waterfall. Instead we paddled straight on to the beach for Arizona Hot Springs to see what mayhem our camping situation might be. We passed some haphazard campsites along the river including a tent city with some tents below the high water mark and others tilted at bizarre angles, which had us worried about the prospects. We managed to find two tucked away spots to camp a hundred feet up the beach which served us well. There were several other large groups that must have totaled at least a hundred people around, almost all clearly backpackers that had hiked down from the road for an overnight. We quickly set up tents to claim or spots and then opted to check out the hot springs with the last light of day before dinner. We followed a group of about a dozen people up the watery narrows. The rusty old primitive ladder had been replaced by a modern steel one with a much more generous slant that was much easier to climb than the old one. Once up we dipped into the first of the three pools dammed in the twisty section of slot canyon. It was crowded and a bit noisy but the soaking temperatures were perfect. It remains a pretty special place unlike many other hot springs in the world. Looking up I could see bats swirling around in the narrow confines of the canyon. 

Back at our camp I retrieved the four pack of canned margaritas from the river to pass out alongside our dinner. The temperature was pleasant enough I could lay shirtless on the ground resting on a lifejacket. I put in earplugs and slept well enough in my 40F bag, but it was obvious the groups of teenage backpackers were loud and poorly behaved until the very early morning. We hiked 2.8 miles in Gold Strike, 1.6 miles in Boy Scout, and paddled about 4.3 miles.

In the morning Heather and I rallied for a quick morning soak in the hot springs, walking through camps that looked like disaster zones on the way. We resisted the urge to steal all their shoes and collapse their tents. Thankfully the early morning soakers were quiet and respectful and the waters were nice and clear. After a half hour or so noisy dayhikers began appearing from upcanyon which we took as our cue to return to camp. We packed up at pushed off the beach around 8:30am, knowing we would have a long slog of 8 miles of flatwater paddling ahead of us. I enjoyed the calm and cool shadows of the canyon until we reached Bighorn Canyon, after which we had sun the rest of the day. I missed it but the others saw a group of four or so bighorn sheep. Paul and I traded off in the Supai, calculating that it took about twice as many paddle strokes as the other packrafts for the same amount of progress. It was discouraging progress but at least it was not scolding hot out and the scenery was great.

We stopped for a quick snack and leg stretch at the river right beach 0.7 miles above Crane's Wash where there were over a dozen large ?carp hanging out in the warm shallows. Our peace was broken when we reached Emerald Cave where at least 50 tourist kayakers were waiting their turn to go into the modest alcove one by one with no deference given to us by the tour guides. We were not going to wait for that nonsense but Paul and I did pull ashore for a quick jaunt up to the old catwalk cantilevered over the cliff. Good views at least, better than the same old rock-framed photo of green waters underneath us. On the way back Heather spotted a chunky chuckwalla which I briefly pursued for some photos. 

From here it was just the final two mile slog to Willow Beach, passing a whole armada of kayak tours like I hadn't seen before. I spent a good long while searching for my car considering it could be anywhere in one of five parking lots. I was about to admit defeat and return to the others on the beach when I spotted it out of the way in a parking lot all by itself. We made good time packing up, largely throwing stuff in the car as the stinky dumpsters nearby encouraged rapidity. 

Across the bridge back into Nevada and then more driving to reach California. Initial drive estimates had us reaching Riverside at 5pm but these shifted brutally with Cajon Pass accidents to the point that we actually went up and over the San Bernardino Mountains through Crestline to side step it. The marathon drive instead had us back into Riverside at 6:30pm. All in all it was a great trip with healthy doses of relaxation, exercise, and scenery. It was certainly marred somewhat by careless overuse and a noticeable degradation since my last visit, but Black Canyon remains a special place. Thanks to Heather, Paul, and Vanessa.

San Juan River Nov 23-25

 

A rare week to do something together and Heather and I somehow managed to drift back to the call of the Colorado Plateau for Thanksgiving break. Early discussions involved warm and tropical suggestions but somehow we settled into the familiar frigid cold of off-season canyon country like several Thanksgivings before, the lack of people partially offsetting the short days and low temperatures. To help ease the sting we were getting used to getting cozy in the rooftop tent and I invested further this trip in a battery bank and electric blanket. We both were eager to get in some river miles this year and considered the San Juan River to be one of the few reliable options for the time of year. Two years previous we did a slushy pre-New Year's overnight on the Sand Island to Mexican Hat section of the river so we thought we could survive a longer 57 mile two-night trip on the lower San Juan from Mexican Hat to Clay Hills in slightly warmer temperatures. I had seen the middle 26 miles of this stretch of river previously on a Honaker to Grand Gulch packraft trip but the rest would be new to me. To this San Juan River trip I added a few other possible days of excursions including Cedar Mesa, Capitol Reef, Hanksville, and San Rafael Swell areas. We ended up having 900 cfs when we started on the river and peak flows of 1400 cfs, which was great overall.

I convinced Heather to rally for a 5am departure with the hope that there would be just enough daylight left on the end of the day to fly a drone over the San Juan Goosenecks and find a suitable campspot. The drive was long but otherwise without incident. Recent storm puddles in the Mojave, snow in the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff, and some sticky muddy mud as we crossed the Navajo Nation. The forecast was calling for rain overnight and in the morning, which was going to be an additional plot complication for us to contend with. I had nice calm conditions at the canyon rim above the Goosenecks and enjoyed flying my drone over this ridiculous stretch of river. We had the whole place to ourselves other than a couple campers. Due to the highly sinuous nature of the river canyon here the river takes about 6.5 miles to end up about 1.5 miles away from where it started. It was even sillier to float through. With concerns over muddy conditions overnight and having a covered shelter to get organized under in the morning rain, we decided to check out the Mexican Hat boat launch, and finding it completely empty, decided it would be the best option for us as we could literally park feet away from the shelter there without having any impact on anyone (key advantage of being off-season). We gassed up, detoured behind the Inn to look at Gypsum Creek Rapid (straightforward, no worries), then drove to the San Juan Cafe with dashed hopes of Navajo tacos (they were closed so it was dehydrated meals on the boat ramp for us). We settled in for the night, cozy, but several times waking to the patter of rain in the morning.

We got up around 7:30am with plans to be ready by 9am when the shuttle driver should have arrived. The rain was more persistent than forecast so the shelters were a godsend for us to hide under and get organized. We were ready at 9am but the shuttle driver did not appear until 9:30am...when the rain was worse. The shuttle driver took the car and we were left trying to decide if we could wait out the river or should jump on the river. We waited fully until 11:15am to push off (shivering with all my warm layers packed away); in hindsight we would have been better off just starting right away as I was warmer paddling on the water despite the rain. Gypsum Rapid was a breeze and we quickly passed the last signs of town into the canyon. We had lots of miles to try to make up for our later start and the weather was not really conducive to side hikes so we largely just carried on other than me needing to stop every 20 minutes to reinflate my seat. With moderate paddling we averaged about 4 miles per hour the first two days. Through several twisty bends we paddled until an overhang provided a nice spot for a quick snack. From here we got our first of many views of the Gooseneck State Park lookout on the canyon's rim as we paddled towards it, then away, then towards, then away, a thoroughly silly way to spend an hour. Along the way we enjoyed ephemeral waterfalls and saw four beavers and a raccoon. 

At Mile 18 I pointed out the Honaker Trail on river right, at first and second glances an impossible set of cliffs but after we could pick out the series of ledges and stacked rocks connecting them that switchbacked from the rim to the river. We never did see the sun but the rain did stop at least. The day was getting on and it was getting clear it would be a hard and unpleasant push to try to make it to Ross Rapids Camp at Mile 26 so Heather managed to convince me to stop at Twin Canyon Camp at Mile 22 at 4pm. Just before was the first little rapid with a dramatic horizonline that made for a engaging read-and-run. This camp had an awkward climb out of the banks at this water level, but after that we had a nice spot to leave our boats and a short distance upward to a nice sandy tent spot. Although this was only about 25 feet vertical above the river, it was many degrees warmer. We got changed into warm dry clothes, pitched the tent, and settled into dinner and canned margaritas. I brought us each a pair of down booties, Heather with plastic overshoes and me with gallon plastic bags and hairties, certainly luxury over fashion. Even before dark the dew was horrendous and moisture began to material on every exposed object. We settled in to watch a show on a phone in the tent and slept warm if not completely comfortable due to a slow leaking air mattress. We paddled 21.7 miles over 4.8 hours, averaging about 4.5 mph.

Day 2 we awoke with every wet that was left out, which slowed us down a bit. The river was up quite noticeably at the banks, now swelling to about 1400 cfs as the result of the passed storm. We hoped for a sunny start but the sun did not appear until 11am. At the first reliable sun I stopped to repair my seat with UV curing AquaSeal, truly a marvel considering the short time it took and that it held for the remainder of the trip. Overall this was the most interesting day of the trip with a couple named rapids and many other riffles. The canyon had more variety and we both enjoyed the riffles that cut tight against a cliff. Ross Rapid was straightforward and overall probably less spicy than some of the unnamed riffles. We both enjoyed the corridors of sun. When we hit the shade again our paddling pace would inevitably increase in search of the next sun patch.

The mouth of Johns Canyon (Mile 32) was a great surprise with a very picturesque freefalling waterfall plunging directly into a grotto on the river. It was too much to pass up so we stopped to walk a loop behind the falls before continuing on. From here on down virtually all the side canyons had flowing water, which was a rare treat. We continued to pass on through patches of sun and shade with turns of the canyon.

Government Rapid at Mile 37 had a quite obvious horizonline that was worth pulling over and scouting. Though there was a clean near-splashless line through it, this was arguably the only notable rapid on the run with some holes to avoid. Heather wasn't feeling it so I got to run it twice. About 2:30pm we reached Slickhorn Canyon, having left the last of the sunlight behind us. The last 4 miles to Grand Gulch the river was particularly slow without riffles, a style and pace that unfortunately persisted for the rest of the trip. 

As we approached the mouth of Grand Gulch at about 3:30pm we could see we weren't alone, a group of three in inflatable kayaks that were the only other people we would see in the three days on the river. We were cold and ready to be done despite having more daylight. Fortunately they were quite friendly and willing to give us a portion of the camp (furthest from the cool air at the mouth of Grand Gulch so no complaints from me). Before setting up camp we walked into the mouth of Grand Gulch which had a series of very nice muddy ledge waterfalls cascading down the canyon right into the river. This was quite different than I had seen Grand Gulch on my last trip and I was particularly glad that we packed sufficient water that we did not need to attempt filtering. Again we got situated and set into our camp routine. Once again the dew was aggressive. Day 2 we paddled 22 miles in 5 active hours for a 4.4 mph average.

Day 3 we awoke to clear skies but sun that would arrive too late to our camp to benefit us. We were both impressed that despite lots of gear the IKs got packed up about 40 minutes earlier than us, sufficient that we would not see them again. Almost immediately downstream of Grand Gulch was the first of many sandbars we would encounter. With the opaque waters we had to take care to not beach ourselves in the shallow waters, looking closely at the ripple patterns on the water to try to identify the deepwater channel. A few times we guessed wrong but generally we were able to feel our way down without having to get out of our boats. We stopped briefly at the mouth of Olijeto Wash for a brief hike. We crossed some deep sticky mud and turned the first corner to enjoy a nice sunny patio as a rumbling falls tumbled. On the way back down my eyes were attracted to some of the cobbles and pebbles at the stream's edge, several of which were identifiable pieces of petrified wood.

From Olijeto the canyon walls began to shrink as the bedrock layers sunk below the river. This section had some nice overhanging sandstone cliffs but avoiding the sandbars remained our key concern. After hours of steady paddling we finally rounded the last turn in the canyon and could see the dramatically different geology of the Clay Hills towering in front of us. The last 3 miles were the longest and straightest stretch of the river. Finally at 1:30pm we reached the takeout, a muddy bank with some gravel more than a boat ramp. The last day our pace definitely slowed as a result of the lower gradient sandbar-ridden river, covering the last 13.5 miles in 3.7 hours for a 3.6 mph.

The sun was feeling mighty so we took the opportunity to go full garage sale in drying gear on the lonely boat ramp. Retrieving the car a few hundred feet up, Heather and I were both impressed to see the extensive mud splatters up to the roof of the car and thick cakes on the wheel wells. We spent close to 1.5 hours cleaning and organizing before starting the drive. The 11 mile long Clay Hills Road had clearly seen a lot of rain recently, leaving us an exciting 45 minutes of wet wash crossings and one deep mud pit I half slid through, spraying mud to the top of the windshield.

When we finally reached the pavement we were short on daylight but decided to detour west a few miles over Clay Hill Pass to check out Castle Ruin, a multi-room cliff dwelling in a near-roadside alcove. It was certainly worth a quick stop. 

We then circumnavigated nearly the entirety of Grand Gulch's canyon network to drive down the spine of Cedar Mesa, then turn off onto Cigarette Springs Road for 7 miles to a Road Canyon trailhead. The road had a few wet spots, ruts, and slickrock crawl sections, but thankfully less intimidating than the Clay Hills Road and easy enough to tackle by headlights. We selected a nice level spot to park and set up our rooftop tent. When it was time we cranked the heated blanket to the max and enjoyed the coziness.

Temecula Gorge Nov 17

 

An unusual mid-November atmospheric river (which ended up setting rainfall records for the day throughout southern California) prompted me to set up a group text with SoCal boaters almost a week in advance to watch for the possibility of the Santa Margarita River coming into boatable range. The loose firehose nature of the storm meant that the forecast was constantly shifting and highly unpredictable but seemed to be converging on boatable flows on Sunday. Gavin attempted to rally folks for a Saturday run but ended up showing up to the put-in solo to find a too low river. Tim and I made arrangements for a 4:20 am check-in of the gauge (higher than we thought and rising!) and so activated for a 7am meeting.  On the drive I realized just how little boating I had done for the year- a measly 12.5 miles of Class II+ on the Hoh River (after 200 miles in 2024 and 500 miles in 2023!)- and was starting to feel ill-equipped to handle this run at the 660 cfs flow the gauge read. Heather kindly offered to handle the shuttle, which meant we got started earlier, meeting straight at the put-in. Tim was nearly ready to go when we arrived and I instantly felt flustered. Adding to the fluster it was cold and drizzly, my packraft seat had a leak that needed to be repaired, I forgot my GoPro mount, and the rubber gaskets on my drysuit were sticky from disuse (also regrettably I should have had a spare breakdown paddle). I said goodbye to Heather and gave her what ended up being a highly inaccurate estimated arrival. Against this backdrop I carried the boat down through the willows to the flooded river's edge (which seemed way too high for 660 cfs!) and strapped in with limited confidence. 

The initial half-mile on Murrieta Creek was as always a welcome warm-up but at the end of this stretch Temecula Creek was pushing in more water than I had ever seen, easily several hundred cfs not being recorded by the gauge. This was going to be a pushy and potentially rough ride. At the confluence we turned the corner and entered Temecula Gorge, the non-stop action beginning immediately.  

I remembered some of the rapid sequences but there was woefully little time to react between obstacles, read-and-running through vegetation and blind exits to rapids. I stopped to scout a couple things, having to inflate my seat each time. I managed to flip and self-rescue a couple times, more confidence draining. We scouted the against-the-wall rapid above the first side creek falls, both deciding to take a sneak route. We also scouted the rapid at the corner past the road crossing, this one having a nice steep chute that launched us past the main hydraulic maw. 

As we approached the prominent double-bend in the canyon, I began anticipating some of the longest and most continuous rapids. Coming onto the first bend was some of the worst vegetation choking we had seen. I could not see a way through and so nearly got ready to eddy out when Tim, ahead of me, decided to plod forward so I followed. By the time I saw Tim (in his low-nosed kayak) barely slide under some branches just above water level with a sweep of his paddle and barely make it through I knew it was too late for me in my packraft. I was committed and gave it my best shot but unsurprisingly got slapped by the wall of vegetation and flipped. This was the top of a frustratingly long and bouldery rapid. For perhaps 200ft I battled to stay above the water, avoid dangerous vegetation, and do my best to hold onto my boat and paddle. My knees slammed into a large submerged boulder prompting me to drop my boat, then at the worst point in the rapid another abrupt bang caused me to let go of my paddle, likely jamming it deep in a hole between two large boulders. I eventually exited but my paddle never did. After 10 minutes of looking for it to appear and walking back up the side of the rapid to see if it was visible, I was hosed, up a fierce creek in a steep-walled gorge without a paddle. I did not have the forethought to added a spare paddle but I did stash a backpack at least. 

After some discussion, Tim would carry on alone and I folded up my boat to hike out, the second time in a row the Santa Margarita spanked me with this. I was a full mile upstream of the last place I hiked out, where an additional 2 miles took 2.2 hours and included poison oak and reinflating my boat to cross the river that would be difficult to try without a paddle. If I could make it upstream back to the road crossing that would only be a half-mile followed by a simple road walk so that seemed to be the best option to try. I set a meeting location with Tim and said goodbye as I started hiking upstream. Tim was instantly out of sight and I was alone to feel shitty about my mistakes and abilities. I made it only 500ft to where I was cliffed out against the river with no option but to climb. I clung to the vegetation as the soft saturated soil frequently gave way underneath my feet. As I climbed I got nice views of the river, but also realized that there was going to be no easy way to return back to the river, and so my only option was to continue climbing. I had a pretty open sage ridge to hike along initially but the more I climbed the more I was wading and jungle-gyming through dense chapparal, sweating up a storm in my drysuit. Brutally I climbed to where I could see a radio tower on a ridge, hoping for a forgiving trail. There was no such luck, just occasional clearings and an oddly placed pole in the middle of nowhere with an Emergency Push button. It was more than slightly tempting to push.

Eventually I gained the high point, 700 feet above the river, and could see a cut-trail across a thick chapparal valley. I had cell reception here and could confirm that if I got to that trail the remaining travel would be smooth. I crashed my way down the hill, my drysuit nearly as much black and brown as yellow by the end of it. 

Once I hit the trail it was better and I breathed some relief, although mostly I just felt deeply deeply discouraged. It took my 2 hours to go 1.7 miles from the river. I met Tim and Heather and the road and stripped out of my suit. I drove back with Heather, tail between my legs and a general feeling of defeat that has persisted for a week if not a month or more. It is hard to shake the feelings of decay- all my gear falling apart (or lost) at once and the decay of my abilities and confidence. The only consolation is that I did enjoy seeing the river from a unique vantage few get to see and the intact native vegetation. This is now two times in a row I have had bad Santa Margarita experiences after many good ones, including solo. I'm still not sure if I am done with this river or am willing to try to break the curse. Thanks to Heather.