Why I Love The South Fork
August 15th, 2006 by Robyn SuddethWe were having lunch at Marshall Gold Discovery State Park last week, in the middle of an Upper South Fork American rafting trip, when the father of the family on my boat that day asked me, “So is this place kind of boring for you because you also guide on more challenging rivers?” I had been zoning out, staring at the serene, slow-moving currents with golden hillsides mirrored on their surface. His question snapped me out of it, and without even having to think I immediately replied, “No… I love the South Fork.”
As if on cue, his three kids ran by right as I said that, soaking wet from their latest jump in to the water. He had two boys, thirteen and eleven, and a little girl of ten named Katie. She paused to look up and smile at us before passing by, so much more confident and exhuberant than in the morning. I told her father that getting to share the river with kids like her is a big part of what makes the South Fork so fun for me.
Just a few hours before, Katie - so energetic and excited at lunch - had been in tears, (more…)
(Pun actually was intended there.) Although it is true that we love all the families that come rafting with us throughout the year, the title actually refers instead to one particular family: the 
I didn’t have what one might call your “average” group of kids assigned to my boat this last Wednesday morning. But then, no one guiding that day did. The large group of about 50 kids and 15 adults were all joining us from the Stanbridge Academy: a special education school in the Bay Area that has incorporated an All Outdoors rafting trip into their experiential education program for the past 20 years.
The slightly skewed deductive reasoning skills of a raft guide:
My apologies for the delay in sharing this week’s photos… I got so wrapped up in all those great snowpack numbers coming out on Thursday that I completely forgot to post this!
When I was a kid, my German mother asked me once, “Do you think you’ll be an American citizen your whole life or do you think you’ll want to move to Germany or somewhere else?” I looked at her incredulously, and with that exhasperated sigh that only a ten year old can perfect, I replied, “Mom, I’m not an American, I’m a Californian!” Considering that at that time, California in my mind still only consisted of warm weather, sunny beaches, milk shakes and swim team, it’s amusing how strongly I felt about my citizenship.
I seem to find excuses to drive away from the city and up to the foothills with increasing frequency as the year rolls on toward spring. The last few times up there I’ve noticed a lot more cars parked at put-in locations, as well as a lot of water rushing beneath me as I drove over the Highway 49 bridge. Aside from jealousy toward the owners of those cars who were probably out on the river, these observations sparked my curiosity. What’s the 
