Still Frothy

May 21, 2023

Still Frothy

I looked at the sky above and at the water at my feet. They were one and the same, frothing and bubbling, each in their own current.

The clouds were a surprise, and not a welcome one. They were monsoonal in nature - hot and heavy, a weight from the first pedal rotation. That was alright, as neither speed nor distance was the objective today. Instead the goal was twofold - to find out whether or not the passage to Old Mountain had been opened up and/or, barring that, to see if I could make my way up stream to what appeared to be some fine looking rapids I took note of a couple or three weekends ago.

The first endeavor proved futile; while the lake was gone, water still flowed down canyon and out through the dam and, where the crossing would be made, the wide creek was bordered by a ribbon of deep gooey mud. Well, the first objective might have been beyond question, but flowing water meant that the second was still in play.

Those rapids intrigued and have played upon my mind since I happened to notice them at the end of April. Seen from a distance the creek seemed to run right up to the wall of the canyon forcing it into an abrupt turn. There also seemed to be a drop in elevation, the water white and boiling, spilling over boulders before calming to a more placid tumble after bending around the solid obstruction in its way.

Unable to descend the boulder wall at my usual spot, I picked the next likely location and managed to scramble down, leveraging my bike here in front and there behind, without slipping and getting stuck in some void between the rounded blocks of granite (the climb back up went much quicker).

Once down on level terrain it was an easy walk along the creekside, balancing momentarily on one rounded rock before stepping to the next. And so on, skirting around a willow, or bending down to pass beneath some arching branches. At one point, and without realizing it, I stepped two feet from a mother quail guarding its nest. My next step was too close and she took flight, suddenly bursting from the leaves on the ground and giving us both a start.

The volume of the roiling water increased as I grew nearer the bend, a series of small cascades, boulders and driftwood strewn about, a piece of floral painted wood (I was going to haul it out and stick in the garden darn it, but forgot) a small sandy beach where blackberry canes have managed to take hold, and then there it was, a more dramatic drop, white water, solid bedrock forcing the water to change course. No one is going to run a raft here, I doubt even a kayak, but for all that San Antonio Creek is normally dry by mid-May, I would say it is still pretty impressive.