Churning The Kern - Rafting California's Sierra

There I was, peering down over the edge of a cliff, shivering as the wind raced through my hair. I watched the droplets of river water fall from the tip of my nose 30 feet to the rumbling whitewater below. This was why I had come; to finally put my seemingly endless slumber of everyday apathy to rest. (Opening photo: Voyage with Jetsetters Magazine writer Josh Edelson down the Lower Kern River on a White Water Rafting Adventure.)

It had only been a few hours into day one and already we had carved a route through intense Class III rapids, participated in numerous water fights, and ate a lunch easily comparable to a five-course buffet on a cruise ship. Now, three stories above the taunting Kern River, I stood there debating whether or not I had the courage to jump.

A lot goes through your mind when you're standing atop a cliff, but this was what I came for to feel scared; to feel nervous; to feel. . . something. In a world where society has trained us to become money making machines, we tend to forget about the things that make us happy. We tend to forget what it's like to be out there, tasting the scent of the Earth, smelling the sun.

The moment I stepped off that ledge, something happened to me. My heart started racing, my eyes opened like oyster shells, and for one brief moment, I forgot about the years of career searching, the constant pressure to build a family and an above average house, the need for a status-symbol car. There was one thing on my mind as I was flying through the air that recurrent dream I've always had where I fall, and awake just as I hit the ground.

It was one of those dreams where you lose all control, and you know something? It felt good! I listened carefully as the pitch and speed of the wind in my ears rose as I fell faster, and faster toward the beckoning river below. The hairs on my arms trembled with fear, my blood pressure rose; my brain was on information overload. Then "Splashdown!" My shoes slapped the water like a bat on a tin trash can, and the Kern River quickly gobbled me up and spit me out downstream to the eddy where the rest of my crew welcomed me back. Now, I was awake; now, I was alive.

The Lower Kern river is warm. Now arguably, someone from Alaska might think a 45 degree shower is warm, but I'm from California, and I'm telling you, this river was warm. The reason for this is because the entire flow of the Lower Kern is runoff from the damn upstream which warms in Lake Isabella. It's based in The Sequoia National Forest a national park dedicated to wildlife, fishing, camping, hiking, and of course whitewater rafting.

The trip starts in Kernville, a podunk little pay-before-you-pump type of town dubbed the whitewater rafting capital; 40 minutes downstream on a rickety old bus, we reach our put-in. From here, the Lower Kern River stampedes down a boulder filled gorge littered with curls of whitewater all throughout. It sporadically dashes from a lazy-river-like feel to powerfully snapping rapids. Its banks are lined with wild elk, blue heron, and other sorts of creatures that quench themselves here from the scorching heat. In one spot, you actually have to exit the river, and carry your raft around the mother-of-all-rapids a class V nicknamed "The Royal Flush".

I've joined up with a company called White Water Voyages, of which the owner, Bill McGinnis, was named one of the top paddlers of the century by Paddler Magazine. Aside from being an excellent paddler and obtaining a Master's degree in English Literature, McGinnis pioneered White Water Voyages to be one that focuses on having an unmatched quality of service; and unmatched it was.

While stopping for lunch, I began to realize that our guides were not just professional paddlers, but also excellent chefs. Now I tend to eat a lot, especially if I don't have to pay extra for it. Try as I did, I simply could not put a dent in the cornucopia they had arranged at each meal. I'm talking sandwiches, cookies, crackers, lemonade, boat-shaped watermelon and pineapple, vegetables platters, and salad; this wasn't just average river food. Each and every item was extremely fresh and tasty.

I don't mean to make you hungry, but if you don't mind, I'd like to take a little more time talking about this incredible fare because it was excellent, and I'm hungry. At the camp site (which I'll get to in a minute), I had smoked salmon for dinner, corn on the cob, fresh salad and beans, and a brownie souffl that was ridiculously rich in chocolate. Then we woke up to eggs, sausage, bacon, omelets, and giant fluffy pancakes with real maple syrup. Cereal with milk, coffee and orange juice I don't eat this well at home and here I was in the middle of the wilderness, eating like a king. Now If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to take a break from the article I need to make a sandwich.

Ok, I'm back.

So the food is incredible and the service is definitely unmatched. Let me tell you about a few of the guides. First there's Neal, a burly-bearded surfer dude whose reputation as a skilled paddler is closely challenged by his uncanny ability to make the world's best pineapple boat. There's Darlene, an account executive from L.A. that drives up to Kern County every weekend to be a river guide.

Then there's Felipe, a scrawny little Costa Rican boy with the skills of a river god. All throughout the trip, the guides Ooohed and aaaahed at his tenacity to "surf the hole" (a concept in which the raft actually "surfs" upstream in a U-Shaped portion of water, stalling the raft mid-rapid). Lastly, there was Bruce, AKA "Curly from 'City Slickers'." Curly piloted the food and first aid kits down the rapids, leaving an offering of river rocks to the river gods for safe passage at each stop. But he didn't just put them in piles, he would deftly balance one upon another, creating graceful, eccentric cairns.

About the Author

Josh Edelson, Jetsetters Magazine Correspondent. Join the Travel Writers Network in th elogo at www.jetsettersmagazine.com