Middle Kings Vacation
My good friend Sam Swanson once described the high sierra season as “drinking cheesecake out of a fire house”. It’s a lot of something good. It can also be a lot to take in, but you better make sure you get as much of the cheesecake as you possibly can before the hose turns off. I returned to this metaphor from time to time as my friends and I used every second of our time off from work to chase the melt that cascades down the Sierra mountains at sporadic intervals during the spring.
Coming into this season, I was less goal oriented than I have been in previous years. My main objectives were centered around getting outside with my friends as much as possible, sleeping on my Z rest, and perfecting fire-in-pot cinnamon roles (which still eludes me). So much of the high sierra is intangible; water levels fall well outside of the domain that we can control and the added work siphon made my schedule much more rigid than is necessary for the “drop everything and go” mentality that becomes so crucial in California.
Despite all this, a middle kings trip manifested itself— seemingly out of thin air— the day I finished my work obligations for the summer. Logistics, as usual, became an all consuming affair for the several days leading up to the trip, but came together at the final hour. Never an organic process, our team was dependent on the generosity of friends and family to facilitate— both directly and indirectly— this once in lifetime opportunity that I try to do every year.
8 of us arrived at the trailhead on a warm night in June and began the kayak yard sale, sorting chips, candy and the occasional piece of kayak gear for our 5 day journey through one of the most epic landscapes in the Sierra.
Dawn came early. My boat was on my shoulder before the morning light had touched anything but the top of Bishop pass. The hike started steep. I switched shoulders every couple minutes. After about an hour, I caught Liam at the lake that is often paddled across— a nice break from the long trod. We reconvened with Abel (who due to a fear of being left had started hiking at 3 in the morning) at the top of Bishop Pass. The landscape was rugged, devoid of trees, and deeply inspiring. The Kings occupies a high mantle in the minute world of expedition kayaking, and being at the top of the pass never feels any less surreal.
The social contract of expedition kayaking is a delicate document, and one that is revised with the creation of every new group. I had paddled with each person on our trip individually, but as we geared up for our first strokes on the river, the dynamics that would emerge as a unit were still largely unknown. The Middle Kings, I feel, will bring out one’s true nature. The whitewater is brutally honest. It’s not glory kayaking, line her up and keep her straight, keep the GoPro rolling for the fist pump at the bottom. Instead, it’s hard, complex, and sustained in an enjoyable, masochistic sort of way. People respond in a wide variety of ways. Some people revel in the complex puzzle of the river, while others grow frustrated by the unrelenting pace and difficulty. That’s why, in the formation of every new crew, a rigorous vetting process is essential.
That is also why I feel exceptionally grateful for the dynamic our motley group of individuals was able to curate on this trip. We found a rhythm on and off the water quickly; ego was largely absent, people accepted their roles and did their best to add to the group in whatever way they could. Jokes were in equal abundance with aggressive probing and efficient downstream progress. We found a delicate balance between playfulness and goal-oriented kayaking.
After the hike, the river started slow. The rocks to water ratio was not great. Fallen trees did their best to stop our downstream momentum. We split into two groups to maximize efficiency and eddy space. Team West Coast and our notoriously low tolerance for all the above hit the trail while Team East Coast continued paddling some really “good” whitewater. The river got actually good as soon as we hit Palisade Creek. We found Team East Coast at the big slide. Abel’s eyes were wide as we caught the small, last chance eddy above the stout. “This is the eddy?” Welcome to the Middle Kings.
Camp that night was a raucous, enjoyable affair. We ate Fritos and gummy worms. People fished, and the haul was good; Middle Kings fish are dumb and unaccustomed to people.
The next day, our pace was slower with less urgency for downstream progress. The “Middle 4” is notorious for being a day that is supposed to be chill but isn’t really. Alex lamented several times throughout our trip about the time his group from a previous decent has pulled into a beautiful fishing spot, thinking they were through the middle 4 and were only a couple minutes from Tehipite Valley. They had spent the afternoon lounging and relaxing, eventually deciding they might as well get to camp. They turned the corner and realized that they were in fact, at the very beginning of the hard whitewater that comprises the middle 4. “Oof, it was a time” Alex would always finish by saying, chuckling darkly.
Thankfully, we avoided this fallacy and dropped into the middle 4 early in the day. “This one goes, follow Cofer” was the underlying theme for the day. We arrived in Tehipite Valley around noon. We were surrounded by granite, our own private Yosemite. Unusually, there were no bugs. We lounged in the sun, eating snacks and savoring all that had gone into getting ourselves to this place. We ate as much of our food as we could, determined to have light boats for the infamous “Bottom 9”
There is a lot that has been said about the bottom 9. It is steep, continuous, and in my opinion, high quality. It can also bring you to your knees. It is common to hear stories of people losing momentum in the bottom 9, the section turning into a multi-day arduous affair, with the portaging to kayaking ratio increasing with every poison oak filled step.
We awoke well before the sun touched the confines of our camp. It was cold. As the fire crackled and smoked, we huddled around it, drying our sleeping bags which were covered in dew. The mood was noticeably more serious. This was the big one. No trail, no real break, momentum becomes everything. Cofer once again grabbed the reigns, aggressively probing and facilitating a quick day, considering we were 8 deep. Like many successful days on the water, there isn't much to report in retrospect. We went kayaking, it was awesome. We walked around some big boulder piles, and ran some slightly smaller boulder piles. Joy, terror, camaraderie, love, elation, relief were all experienced, sometimes simultaneously. We hugged at the confluence, one part relieved to be through it and an equal part sad to be past the final crux.
The Middle Kings is truly a once in a lifetime experience that I hope to have every year. My eternal thanks to the fantastic people who I was able to share this journey with, and those who facilitated the experience through logistical support. It’s August; California is now dry, and as we await the next Middle Kings vacation, all we can do is dream.
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