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Flood control projects endanger recreation

"Forward."

Six paddles enter the icy waters, peeling it back around the 10-foot boat where rain drops tap out a steady Mores code.

"Forward Hard!" the voice shouts over the roaring water ahead.

"Stop!"

The boat glides into position and the water hisses as it enters Satan's Cesspool. The water is running high and rising. Taking a last look at the rapid ahead, Fred chuckles, "Believe it or not, paddling will keep you in the boat." The nose dives for the first drop.

"Back paddle, HARD!" The boat swings around for the second drop sending a sheet of white water over the boat.

The river drovers of 1891 were the earliest rafters of the South Fork. Maneuvering wooden boats down Class III rapids (difficult, for experienced rafters), they prodded huge logs down to the American River Land and Lumber Co. holding Dam at Folsom. Along with gold rush mining in 1849, the lumber industry boomed as settlements began springing up everywhere to house prospectors. Panning, blasting, sifting, impounding and diverting the river, miners and loggers took over, leaving a rich but destructive history along the shores of the American.

The era of major dam construction started in the early 1900s and boomed in the 1930s, mutilating hundreds of miles of river canyon as dams became the nation's solution to dealing with an ever growing population. "It's a tradition, almost a religion, in California to harness waterways," says Charlie Casey, associate conservation director for Friends of the River. By 1971, 12000 dams had been built across the country; and between 1971 and 1974, 200 dams were being built a year.

Water levels on the American South Fork are controlled by the Chili Bar and White Rock Dams. Today, the Middle and North Forks, the only rivers in the Northern Sierras not impounded, face a dramatic overhaul with the proposal of a dam that requires more concrete than the Hoover on a river that is only one- tenth the size of the Colorado. "They really want to pour concrete," says Brian Smith at Friends of the River. "It's $1 billion worth of jobs and one of the biggest environmental issues for this election."

Today's Folsom Dam, built in 1955, broke in July after a decade of drought. The incident fueled controversy over a 30-year-old plan to build a 500-foot-high expandable flood control Dam at Auburn. The U.S. Army Corps. of Engineers' plan would drown 48 to 50 miles of river canyon, changing water flows and destroying natural rapids. Ten thousand acres of public land would be submerged, washing out over 70 trails and many historical sites.

If the Auburn Dam is constructed, the American River, the most rafted river in the West, stands to lose some of the seething Class IV and V rapids on its North and Middle Forks, according to Friends of the River.

"If the boat raps, I will say 'high-side' and you need to get to the highest point of the raft so that we can get it off the rock before flipping. If the boat does flip and you end up under the boat, don't stay under it. Put your hands on the boat, pick a direction and start moving your way out from under it. Remember, pick one direction and just go. You can get really confused and lost under there."

Moving from the shore at the Lotus put-in, the boat finds its own way down the river as the safety talk continues. "Oh, what ever you do, don't spill the beer."

The Auburn Dam, with it's $1 billion price tag, according to the San Jose Mercury News, is estimated to be the most expensive dam proposed in the United States to date. Backed by Rep. John Doolittle, R-Rocklin, and Rep. Robert Matsue, D-Sacramento, supporters estimate that in the event of a major flood, the dam would prevent $16 billion in property losses, including 160,000 homes and 5,000 businesses.

"This is a star-quality project," says Casey, "The biggest, most expensive Public Works water management project in the history of the United States."

Though the Dam would increase the federal water supply in California by 2.2 percent and secure, for the Sacramento Valley, a sense of safety from potential flooding. But, according to Friends of the River, if spillways could be modified for quicker release at the Folsom dam site, the Auburn Dam construction would not be necessary. Beefing up the American River watershed, with its dozen water storage facilities to manage water flows, and water management developments such as water meters, would be less expensive and more than adequate to secure the valley from flood waters, according to Casey.

The river winds through the lush Sierras, past rapids like Old Scary, an old mining diversion that has since been washed out, the Current Divider with its protruding rap rock, and calm waters like Turtle Pond and Old Chesapeake where trout are jumping and ducks are making their way upstream. "The river is a spiritual thing," says Fred, pointing to the colors in the rock that have been sculpted by the history of the water. "People forget."

Modern dredgers can still be seen on the river here. "Doodlebug rigs," are generator powered barges that suck up the river bed gravel that is sifted in a hopper separating gold from gravel. Hydraulic mining has affected salmon spawning grounds in the American River, and with the help of various dams without fish ladders, the salmon population grew nearly extinct.

Water management infrastructures such as water diversions and dams used for agriculture, electricity, logging, mining and flood control, change natural water temperatures and sediment transports, permanently destroying natural habitats for thousands of plants and animals, according to Friends of the River. The key concern, according to Casey, is the upstream damage where 38 to 40 miles of river canyon will be impacted.

River shorelines are home for 83 percent of California's amphibians whose skin secretions have vast potential in the field of health care. At least 238 birds, 47 mammals, 86 butterfly (many considered rare), 10 amphibian and 20 reptile species have been observed in the American river area according to Friends of The River and the American River Conservancy. Each species, some listed as endangered, suffer from the extreme habitat alterations imposed by dam construction.

Turning the bend, the lollipop-pop tree stands high on a hill as a caution that the gorge is just around the bend. The gorge is a 3-mile drop into a narrow channel where the big water starts pumping before the take-out at Salmon Falls Bridge.

Fred recalls the story his mother told him about how she sneaked through the woods to take food to a friend who had tied himself to a tree in protest. "They were putting in the dam on the Stanislaus," he says. "I'll lock myself to a tree if it comes to that."

Up and into the swells. "Paddle Hard," Fred commands.

The canyon is steep and the black amphibolite, an ancient ocean-bottom sediment, shoots out of the water narrowing passage and heaving the swells higher. The canyon is green and beautiful this time of year. Meal songs of the Ooti A Maidu natives, the cracking of wood drover boats against logs and hard rock, and the voice of elated miners "Gold, Gold in the American River!" can almost be heard. The boat swings backward. The tail dives for another trough, and a wave crashes over the back, "Back Paddle Hard."

As legislative bills bulldoze their way through congress, and starched shirts and penny loafers shuffle their statistics like a salmon fighting upstream
with no ladder, Fred prays that his rapids and the life in the river will be preserved.

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