The river mild The river mild (May 30, 2003)

For summer adventure seekers, a two-hour drive to whitewater

By Julie O'Shea

It was bound to happen.

Never mind that the Stanislaus River is not one of Northern California's wilder waters. Never mind that the rafting groupies had all told us these "baby rapids" have never flung anyone overboard.

We were six slightly giddy girls with life jackets, oars and eight miles of river, yet no guide.

So of course someone fell in. It wasn't me, though.

It is still unclear how Christine slipped off the side of the big yellow raft and into the frigid river waters that had turned wild 15 minutes downstream in what would be our only taste of Class III rapids.

No one had seen her fall. So it came as a rather shocking surprise to see Christine, a blur of long brown hair and flaying arms, come flying out in front of us, the river pushing her a good 20 feet ahead of the raft before she was finally able to stop herself.

She had been screaming something like "Get me, get me" as she swept past us. It was one of those surreal moments that seemed like a daydream. I could only sit there, mouth a gap, and stare, suppressing laughter as I reached for the camera.

In our dash to rescue her, we managed to get the raft entangled in low-riding tree branches by the riverbank. And Christine, floating on her back at that point, decided to aggravate matters with some encouraging words: "You guys are pathetic."

Despite her ungratefulness, we saved her anyway.

As it turned out, Christine's pair of black sandals was the only casualty on an otherwise a perfect day.

Our adventure began on a recent Saturday morning that seemed more summer than mid-spring. From my house -- an urban shoebox -- Knights Ferry, the "put-in" spot for our journey, was a two-hour drive, about 30 miles east of Modesto.

Originally, I had wanted to raft down the American River's South Fork. The Internet was headlining it as this summer's "premier whitewater adventure." The prospect of cruising through "Satan's Cesspool," "Bouncing Rock" and "Hospital Bar Rapid," left me numb with excitement.

Unfortunately, the summer's "premier whitewater adventure" comes with a hefty price -- $100 to more than $150 per person, at least according to the Web sites I checked out.

My friends balked at the notion of paying big bucks for a three- to four-hour rafting trip. Although I argued that one river company had virtually guaranteed our group would be accompanied by "one really hot male guide," my posse was not impressed, and I was sent back to hunt through the endless listings on Yahoo! and Google -- which is where I came across River Journey, a small rafting company in Oakdale, a quiet town surrounded by strawberry fields and ranchland on Highway 120.

Advertised there was an unguided trip on the Stanislaus for only $19.50 a person. Bingo! It was a price we could all afford, and I made the reservation immediately.

We left at 8 a.m. and as we sped farther away from the city, office buildings were replaced by fields and trees and eventually John Deere tractors. We were headed toward California's Gold Country, though it seemed like we'd somehow ploughed our way to Iowa.

The sign to Knights Ferry is small, and easy to miss. The road down to the river is narrow. And if you aren't paying attention, you'll end up back out on the main road (the cow I passed twice seemed to find my erratic U-turns amusing).

But once you get there, the view is amazing. The Stanislaus this particular May day was nearly empty, sans our rowdy group and a smattering of fly fishermen. The rapids, for the most part, presented tame obstacles for us beginners to practice our back paddles.

Except for our occasional (okay, frequent) run-ins with tree branches, our time on the river was quite serene, each bend presenting new eye candy.

Halfway through the canyon, my friend Melanie turned to me and demanded to know if I'd be leaving the "girl talk" out of my article. Of the six aboard the raft, five were journalists, who were suddenly curious to know if on-the-record, off-the-record privileges applied to them as well.

I promised I'd leave out the snippets of our "most embarrassing moment" stories. But sorry, girls, we'd not gone off the record when one of us decided to strip down to her skivvies and jump in for a swim.

It took us nearly four hours to make it to Blossom Hill Road, where Dave, the river "babysitter," pulled us out. On the bus ride back to our cars, Dave gave us the names of a few cowboy bars we might want to check out on our way back to civilization.

On his advice, we pulled off the main road in Oakdale into a cul-de-sac that was home to the Hershey chocolate museum and a row of quaint-looking store fronts. There, nestled on the corner of South Sierra Avenue was El Jardin, which serves what must be some of the world's best nachos. And to think, we almost didn't go in!

"I thought it was a flower shop," commented Alexandra, the fluent Spanish-speaker of the group. El jardin means the garden in Spanish.

Inside, we collapsed exhausted at the table and ordered two pitchers of wine margaritas (the only kind the bar served.) Raising our glasses, we toasted good friendship and a fine day on the river wild.

The rest is off the record.

E-mail Julie O'Shea at joshea@mv-voice.com

RIVER JOURNEY

Cost: $19.50 per person with a $78 minimum for weekends
and a $50 minimum for weekdays.

Call: 800-292-2938, www.riverjorney.com