Waterwheel Falls

Waterwheel Falls

Noel Laflin

My older brother and I took off in search of adventure one summer solstice.  Accompanying us was one of Bob’s roommates, a kooky Canadian by the name of Romeo Rivers.  I had decided that a back packing trek to Yosemite was just the way to celebrate my high school graduation.  While classmates danced, and no doubt drank the night away, Romeo sped us northbound on Highway 99 as I slept most of the way in the back seat of his Super Charger.  He drove like a man possessed.

After the all-night drive we finally emerged from the tunnel that gives travelers that first fantastic view of the Yosemite Valley.  The raging falls were at their peak with snow-melt from the Sierras.  The valley floor was a brilliant green of trees and meadows.  The Merced River meandered its way through this land of plenty. 

Not really having a clue as to where we start our hike, we eventually made our way to the other side of the park and stopped at Tuolumne Meadows. We located the ranger station, got a map, filled out the camping permit and took off across the vast meadow toward the mountains and the Grand Canyon of Yosemite.

            

It was not by design that we made an early camp that first day.  Had we known that Romeo had filled his bota bag with cheap white wine, instead of water, we might have talked him out of the idea of quenching his thirst in this fashion.  Well, the wine and warm sun eventually took their toll on Romeo. As it was, Bob and I soon realized we’d be pitching an early camp when Romeo suddenly stumbled to a halt about three that afternoon, toppled over, and promptly fell asleep.  He was dead drunk.  My brother and I laid him out, like the happy corpse he resembled, and decided that this wasn’t such a bad spot to make camp at after all. 

Following an early dinner Bob and I sat around our little fire and watched Romeo sleep.  The twilight across the meadow was long indeed at this time of June and prevented those sober among us the immediate desire to give in to slumber.  But it came in time and we eventually crawled into our sleeping bags.

When the first rays of daybreak finally broke over the mountains and began to creep ever so slowly across the meadow, I spied a large bolder not far from where I lay, shivering in my cheap, thin sleeping bag. Reckoning the sunlight would find higher elevation first, I shuffled, like an ancient chief – dew drenched bag draped about me - and climbed the rock, awaiting warmth. I listened to my teeth chatter as I watched the sunlight slowly slide my way.

It was about then that I noticed a family of deer cautiously creeping from the shadows.  The buck was huge. Right behind him crept his mate and two fawns.  The small family was coming our way.

As they approached my brother’s sleeping form, the buck stopped and sniffed both air and ground - then proceeded on.  Gingerly, they all circled the giant green worm (my brother - snug and warm in his Marine Corps-issue mummy bag).  Once, twice, three times they looped him, smelling the musty bag which, had recently returned - along with my brother - from a year in Viet Nam.  Perhaps the smell of rice paddies and bamboo was something invitingly new to them and held their curiosity.  I don’t know.  After a moment more they departed across the meadow and leapt easily over shallow streams crisscrossing the land.

Eventually I climbed off my rocky perch and started the small camp stove, fixing coffee and sausages.  When my brother finally stirred and popped his head from the bag’s opening I told him not to move, but to rub the sleep from his eyes and look at the ground all about him.   Dozens and dozens of overlaid tracks, both large and small, surrounded where he lay, as I told him the story of the visitors.

After breakfast, we packed up and started up the switchbacks.  We hiked all day.  We made camp that night at Waterwheel Falls, a monster of a cataract looking more like a white water roller coaster twisting and curving through the canyon.  We all concluded that his would be an fine place to make camp. 

Upon exploring the falls we discovered a side creek, some three to four feet across (an easy hop) that divided the mainland from an island of rock that jutted out into the middle of the twisting water. The main body of water, rushing around the other side of this island suddenly plunged deep below and snaked out of sight and down the canyon. Romeo announced that he would make camp on the island.  Bob and I chose the safety of the forest.  Leaving our packs beneath the shelter of the trees, we grabbed dinner fixings, a flashlight, and easily jumped over the small narrow stream that divided us from Romeo.  He had selected a pretty cool place to sleep, I will admit.  We had our supper there, drank a little wine, watched the sky darken, and marveled as the multitude of constellations took their rightful place in the heavens.  The roar of the water all about us was incredibly loud.

By eleven that night, Bob and I decided to turn in.  It was getting cold.  We bade Romeo pleasant dreams and made our way back over the rocks to the dividing stream we had easily jumped a just few hours before.  Our lone flash light scanned a now unfamiliar bank before us, as something had changed in the course of those hours.  Our little puddle hop was suddenly a minor raging river which had expanded its width, depth and ferocity three-to-fourfold. The Tuolumne had swollen considerably.  We now faced, in the dark, a forbidding  torrent, ten to twelve feet across, and cascading into the smaller of the falls some six to eight feet to our left. The pool of water that caught here spilled back into the main waterfall itself, crashing and twisting its way down the canyon.

“Oh, man!”  I whispered.

  

Bob had some other colorful thoughts of his own.

We walked up and down the embankment.  We gingerly peered over the edge of the successive falls and tried to make out the bottom by the dim light of our only flashlight.  The noise was deafening.  We yelled our concerns to one another.

“What do we do?” I shouted. All of our gear was on the other side, including jackets.

Bob pondered but a second and said, “We jump.  Running leaps. Me first, while you shine the light on the other bank so I can see where I’m landing.  I make it, then you toss me the light and I’ll shine it for you. We’re not staying here all night.”

“Shouldn’t we get Romeo to help?” I asked.

“He’s asleep by now, probably still hung over. Besides, I don’t see what good he could do,” Bob shouted back to me. “We can do this,” he concluded.

I swallowed hard.  I really didn’t like this plan, but saw no other choice.  I deferred to my big brother’s judgment. 

With limited options, we selected an area that provided a small space by which to get some sort of a running start.  I took the light and shined it on the ground before us and then across the water to the other bank.  Bob took several deep breaths and bounded ahead.  He leapt.  He made it!  My heart danced with joy.  Piece of cake, I thought. Faintly I could hear a voice.

“Toss me the light,” Bob was shouting as he gestured with his outstretched hands.

On a count of three I tossed the flashlight with an underhanded throw. It fell short.  The light hit the fast running water, went over the first drop and lit up the pool below, growing dimmer as it sank.  Suddenly it winked out. 

Total blackness. 

I could faintly make out my brother’s voice once more.

“Jump!”

He had to be kidding.

“I’ll grab you if you don’t make it!”

  

“DAMN!” I yelled and took my own short running leap.  Sadly, I was short of my goal.

The water was freezing.  I went up to my neck and felt the current tugging me toward the first drop.  Suddenly Bob’s hand grabbed my own flailing wrist and held firm.  His other hand held tightly to a bush as he bent over the rushing water, somehow holding me in place.  Slowly I gained my footing as he pulled me up.  I was drenched.  I began to shiver uncontrollably.  I thought for sure I was to be a part of the San Francisco water supply.   But, Bob was a man of his word.  He did grab me.

Wandering around in the pitch dark, we finally located our gear. I stripped off everything and proceeded to put on every piece of dry clothing I owned, be it clean or dirty.  I could not stop shivering!  My threadbare bag did little to retain what body heat I was emitting. It was a miserable night.  

The next morning Romeo easily jumped the once-again narrow ribbon of a side stream as the river had adjusted itself overnight. 

The trip back out of the wilderness was less eventful.  I do recall that the climb down was obviously easier.  I also remember us meeting up with a guy and his mule loaded down with food supplies, tripods and cameras.  His hair and beard were wild and tangled.   He said he’d been in the backcountry shooting photos for the past month.  I still wonder, to this day, what sights he and that mule must have seen.  He told us that we were the first people he had met up with in over four weeks.  Our little adventure seemed to dim in comparison.  We bade one another ‘good luck.'

Upon arriving home very early in the morning later in the week and finding the front door locked, I climbed through my bedroom window and nearly stepped on my sister’s head. She had taken refuge in my bed while we were gone as Anaheim was in the grip of a heat wave and mine was the coolest room in the house.  We weren’t expected till much later that day.  Susi and I scared the bejesus out of one another as I stepped upon the pillow, an inch from her nose. She screamed as I tumbled from the window. I let loose with a curse of my own.

Years later, as luck would have it, Bob gave me his old Marine Corps-issued camouflage green mummy sleeping bag.

  

It smelled of musty bamboo, rice paddies, and deer - or so I like to remember.

11-3-2000
Happy Birthday, Bob