Two Upper Cherries in a Day

I watched the black kayak in front of me disappear as it was engulfed in a sea of Manzanita. The midday sun beat down on us. I heard Ben Coleman grunt with effort as he picked up his kayak and put it back on his shoulder, safely through the first patch of bushes. I blinked sweat out of my eyes and plunged into the thicket Coleman had just navigated. 

We were in the midst of another masochistic project in the Sierra. This one had all the familiar ingredients-- sleep deprivation, lots of hiking in the dark, sour candy and the kind of vision questing that can only be found by running scary class V 14 hours into your day. Our goal was simple; complete Upper Cherry, including the hike via West Cherry, the river, and the five mile paddle across Cherry Lake, twice in a day. 

Ben Coleman, affectionately referred to as the “Phantom of the Sierra”, has spent more time paddling the rivers of the High Sierra than anyone in the last several decades. 25 years earlier, he completed the first one day descent of Upper Cherry. It had been a longtime dream of his to complete two laps of the river in a day, and I was deeply honored that he included me in this project. 

Our day started at 2:00am. For the first lap of the day, we were joined by Carson Lindsay and Johnny Chase, who would prove to be invaluable assets for both our physical and mental success. The trail was, at times, hard to follow. We got lost quite quickly and found ourselves bushwacking through a swamp, water filling our shoes as we staggered through the forest. Thankfully, we were able to get back on track thanks to a combination of modern mapping technology and Carson’s intuition. We made it to the ridge overlooking Upper Cherry just as the first signs of light began to illuminate the sky. We tried to make quick work of the descent, eager to maximize all available daylight for the kayaking portion of our day. 

We dressed quickly and began to stumble our way down the river. No one was kayaking particularly well. I felt sluggish and disassociated, overwhelmed by the scale of the endeavor we were attempting. As we began to connect the steeper rapids above the infamous Cherry Bomb gorge, I felt more settled; focusing on the present and my most cherished activity of flowing through whitewater with my friends. Cherry bomb, always an intense experience, felt especially transcendent at 6:30 in the morning. We made it through with minimal issues and continued into the heart of the run. The roughly 1.5 miles from the start of Cherry Bomb Gorge through the waterfall sequence of “Kiwi in a Pocket” and Dead Bear is a geographical marvel that facilitates exceptionally exciting and unique kayaking. Granite domes rise straight from the river bed, as the creek in the center of the topography cascades through bedrock slides and perfect ledges. It is steep and very runnable. We ran most of the rapids, elation and fear coming in rapid succession as we bombed one sequence after another. 

Below Dead Bear the gradient eased up. We paddled through meadows, absent of sunlight in the early morning shade of the surrounding walls. The final sequence of the run was exciting and featured some marginal lines by the team. We arrived at the lake wide eyed and depleted. Cherry lake was calm and thankfully absent of its infamous headwind; we drafted off Carson and arrived at the boat ramp just before 10am. 

We had a hard conversation back at the car. We were exhausted, and the temptation to be done for the day felt deeply enticing. I thought of how good it would feel to lie on my paco pad underneath a tree, maybe go for a swim and then drive home. My mind then wandered back to the canyon; flowing through the rapids again, entering a mental and physical domain that is so rare and so rewarding. As I sipped a coffee I looked over at Coleman, who was bleary eyed and eating a piece of dried mango. “I really want to do this”. Coleman nodded. I knew what this push meant to him, the way that this river had been a central force in his life for two decades. We quickly loaded the boats and began driving up the dirt road back to put in fast enough to occasionally bottom out Coleman’s 4Runner. 

Hiking in the light of day was mostly much easier. We moved efficiently, retracing our steps and sweating profusely as the mid-day heat fried the granite we were slowly slogging up. We arrived at the river well ahead of our targeted time. We put on, telling ourselves the river was definitely lower and this lap would be much chiller. 5 minutes downstream Coleman went off line into a nasty pothole. It took several tries, but he was eventually able to paddle out without assistance. Apologizing profusely, he continued to route downstream. 

Cherry bomb gorge was once again engulfed in shade, the canyon walls looking moderately more ominous than 11 hours previously as our mental and physical exhaustion slowly increased. I watched Coleman paddle over the lip, counted to three and peeled out. I was happy with my line, and was relieved to see Coleman safely sitting in an eddy. I nodded as I paddled over the next drop and in what felt like moments we were through the gorge. 

We paddled conservatively the rest of the way, portaging several drops we had run the lap before. As we ran the final drops into the lake, I felt myself finally start to realize that we had done it. Boofing through the last hole, Coleman turned to me, a massive grin on his face and exclaiming in a way that was uncharacteristically animated. 

Some dreams are your own, and some you inherit from others. The two Upper Cherries in a day was not necessarily a realization of a lifelong goal. I think maybe it was for Coleman. I feel so fortunate to exist in his orbit, to learn from him and the way he moves through river canyons.  I feel lucky to have carved another chapter in the long story of his relationship to this river. Hard kayaking is a team sport to the highest degree and his partnership, along with Johnny and Carson, is what I will remember more than anything else about this day.