Diving In The River
Snorkeling at the Yuba
We skidded down a steep dry hill to the swimming hole. There were a good few of us there and the plan was, as it usually is for any of us tourists on the South Yuba River, to sit by the water, to sit in the water, to sit and drink, and to sit and admire all the rocks.
My first trip to the Yuba River, I was visiting a friend who grew up in Nevada City. He wanted to show us the river and drove us to some “local spot.” I knew nothing about the river then and, making it to the spot, was shocked by how massive the rocks were and how clear the water was—it looked like giant chunks of the sides of mountains had been carved out and placed into this small rush of water tucked between two steep ridges.
That day, I remember the sun being so high and bright. I remember getting drunk and stoned while we frantically jumped in and out of the water. I remember jumping into the clear pools and scurrying quickly up the bright granite boulders. In the midst of all our messing around, our loud talking over the rushing of the river itself, stuck in a canyon between bright granite boulders, one of us, I’m not sure who, spotted a giant fish hiding in the shade of a boulder in the middle of the river.
We all looked at it in stoned awe as it floated there, still, almost like it was resting. It was so big, maybe near two feet. After that brief stint of shock at how massive a fish this small river could hold, I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember if we jumped after it, or if we looked for more fish. Knowing my tolerance for weed it’s honestly a miracle that I even remember any of this day at all.
Ever since that first trip to the Yuba, though, I’ve been curious to know what lived in these waters. And so, now owning a snorkel after a trip to Baja two years ago, I took it up to the river.
My friend Michael also brought some goggles and, after the first dip in the refreshing waters, we started to scope about. I, always being cautious, swam up to a small waterfall at our swim hole. It was a strong current and you really had to work to get close, but once I got sort of near the falling water, I dove down. Just below the surface, completely unbothered by me was a healthy school of what I assume were either trout or pikeminnow.
I was so excited and immediately started incessantly telling everyone about it. Michael eventually headed out that way getting a bit closer to the waterfall. When he swam back he said he saw a bunch that were over a foot. I didn't see any when I went but, being a bit timid, I didn't dive too deep at all.
I went back to the waterfall, swam closer and dove deeper. There, in the rush of bubbles, were some seven of them, all easily over a foot long, floating completely still just under the torrent and just out of sight of all the people walking around and jumping into this seldom still pool. It, like so many things that rest right under my nose, hidden but ever present in my daily life, amazed me to think they could be here, throughout the years, just below the water.
The other week, walking around Lake Merritt, I watched two bat rays swim under a bridge (which I wrote about here). I’ve heard chickadees, and yellow-rumped warblers in the alley beside the busy street where I live in Oakland. In Berkeley, in San Francisco, we drive, walk,live over hidden streams, so much of the world is hidden only just below the surface. I guess I just wanted to share my excitement of seeing those big fish hidden right beside us. Maybe that’s all I wanted to say, that there are often things right beside us, so close, that we seldom recognize because we don’t have or take the time to look around.
The rest of the day we sat there, lucky to enjoy the sun and a final moment of summer before fall comes and the rain returns along with the omens of a storm of smoke and fire led by mountain winds.
