And now an update from the most out-of-date blog on the internet…
(Unless noted otherwise…All Photos by Will Stubblefield)

The most rewarding experiences in life are those which originate from spontaneous decisions and are not guaranteed. To say the least, these two aspects of decision making were amongst the players involved in getting our Middle Kings mission under way this past summer. With the “insurance” of knowing someone in California named Mad Dog would run our shuttle, Will Stubblefield and I loaded up and hit the road embarking on one of the best possible river adventures in the world. (Coop Photo)

After quite a few “un-dude” moments in Nevada, a plethora of phone calls to various people of varying importance, some complicated drama resolution, the acquisition of wilderness permits and the exchange of $300 for shuttle from the illustrious Willy Nolen, we finally found ourselves at the South Lake trail-head with six days worth of food and supplies. Similarly different from my previous Middle Kings trip, timing would have us hiking in a few miles that evening, finishing the hike the next day, and then paddling the river in just over three days.

While out of chronological order, this picture gives the opportunity to introduce the crew. Starting from the left, Mr. Stubblefield, a recent App State graduate turned whitewater photographer/Idaho raft guide whom I have spent a majority of my river days with in the past year. Mr. Mike Powell, the legend himself…there are too many stories, tall or short, that could be used to introduce Mikey P. (also an App State Grad). However all you need to know is that when we called to invite him along for the mission he was cooking dinner on his sailboat in the Pacific Ocean just outside of Long Beach. (That makes him sound quite a bit more Ta-ta than he is, fact is he was on a sailboat one evening and in Bishop the next morning ready to charge). And then there’s me, the guy who didn’t get the blue-boat-only-memo.

If it weren’t for the scenery, the humpin’ might be a little dry! It will never cease to amaze me how much a loaded down kayak full of gear hurts as soon as you put it on your shoulders. You’d think within the first mile of a 12 mile hike it wouldn’t hurt too bad…however with mozzies as thick as mashed potatoes and it only being day 1, you start to realize yer still a bit soft.

Softness is also brought on by ice cream, mules, shooting stars, sandy beaches, girls wearing hula dresses giving scented lotion back massages while waving palm tree branches over you, as well as sunsets.

Unfortunately the only one of these softnesses brought on during our first evening of the mission (and the rest for that matter) was the latter. Now that I say that, I guess shooting stars were seen quite a few evenings as well….and there were some sandy beaches…and we did see some mules going in the opposite direction at “the brink”…but I don’t recall any girls or ice cream. Who loves the Sun? (Coop Photo)

If people don’t care that it makes plants grow, will plants then grow from the moon? Will the sun then start to make mountains grow instead? Does the sun care about who cares about it? Who does the Sun love? (Coop Photo)

The view from atop Bishop Pass is unparalleled, and is one of mixed feelings. Amazement, at what you’ve done so far, as well as what’s still left to be done. Exhaustion, of your feet, legs, shoulders, knees and lungs. Sitting at just under 12,000 ft, you wonder if the decision to move forward is one originating from logic or light headedness.

The feeling of being small is a commonly occurring theme of any Middle Kings mission. However, what is fascinating is that feeling small is the opportune circumstance to realize that small successes upon small successes mount to achieve large goals.

Upon realizing that our crew would include Mikey P, not only did Will and I take comfort in the magic number 3, but we also knew that his light-hearted soul would carry us through some tough times. Proving us correct time after time throughout the trip, here we have Mr. Powell keeping smiles on faces and laughter in lungs on a rest break approaching the Brink. “Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on- two years ago on Thanksgiving…”

After enduring the post-brink knee breakers as well as the first few manky river miles through LeConte Canyon, we settled upon our first river camp just below Grouse Meadows. Here we find Mr. Stubbs and Powell mornin’ drying one of the most critical pieces of gear utilized on the trip. (Coop Photo)

Gotta have clean fangs to have clean lines! Good Morning Rapid, full day 1 on the river.

Sir Wilbur, probing out an early one on full day 1. Any newly formed river team experiences an adjustment period early on during any large river undertaking. A rhythm must be found, balancing and alternating the duties of scouting, probing, portaging and generally leading the movement down-river. From the start of our trip, I was amazed at how quickly and evenly responsibility was spread amongst our crew. Rarely before have I ever witnessed such strong teamwork sustained for so long. (Coop Photo)

Mikey P and I scouting out the Seven Rivers Cover Drop. The lip of the drop is in the lower right-hand corner of this photo taken by Stubbs. One of my favorite things about looking at pictures and video of kayaking is imagining the un-known. When you look at that cover shot, you can imagine the drop plummets into a gorge, and you assume there are some undercuts and caves about…but by just looking at that one shot, you’d never expect the river valley surrounding the drop and the gorge to be as stunning as it actually is. And you’d also never understand how dark and unwelcoming the gorge really is, or how exposed the undercuts and caves are, or how heinous the lead-out rapid really is, OR how far in the middle of nowhere, how horrendously far away from help it is. I enjoy that. I enjoy that pictures can tell a part of a story, that stories that go along with pictures can help complete a mental image of the story unfolding, but without being there at the certain place, at a certain time, you never truly know.

Being here, on this slide pictured above, is a good place to be. The first time I paddled this river, I remember Pat routing the rest of our four man crew through a rather large slide with a big hit at the bottom, completely blind. Screaming out from the bottom, laid out on the back deck of my kayak I was white-ed out almost the entire way across the pool below. I was estatic to have a similar experience two years later, with the exception of scouting it this go around.

Mikey P, accelerating out of the entrance ledge like an orca whale breaking the ocean’s surface at one hundred miles an hour, one hundred miles out to sea.

Captain Mike, steerin’ er straight, while I wait below…lunch money still in possession.

The Money Drop of Day 1…not to be confused with the Lunch Money Rapid of Day 1. While the threat of losing my lunch money was not as present as in The Lunch Money Rapid itself, the outcome of my lunch order was quite different than what I ordered from the purple eye-lined, hair-netted lunch lady.

Thankfully the location of lunch itself was exactly where I’d hoped it would be. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikk…Bro, Brew, Bra-Ham!!!

Sometimes…things are larger in real life. Sometimes they are larger on the Middle Kings. In this picture, some things are larger while others seem smaller, yet time is elastic.

“Oh my god that’s the funky shit!”

Pictured above is what was originally described to me as the “Werner Paddles Drop.” While I doubt Werner even knows that there is a drop on the Middle Kings named after them, they might want to make a press release re-naming this rapid to the Werner Paddles Rapid, or the Werner Paddles Drops, due to the plural verticality of this rapid’s nature. Please take a moment to consider that the previous picture taken by Stubbs, was looking down upon the drop seen furthest up-stream in this picture. (Coop Photo)

To be or not to be is not the question. Never stop being. Here we have Sir Stubblefield, most certainly being. (Coop Photo)

Due to our crew’s All-Boonetown origin we don’t eat no Class V for Breakfast. Class V for DUNCH!!! Go ‘head ya’ll, go ‘head get down.

Transfixed in a world of bedrock, Dunch and a blizzard, Mikey P. steers ‘er clear of the fear.

Some of the most common fears among aliens of the recently discovered planet, Kepler 7-b include the fear of disappearing. Senor Powell ain’t no alien.
Please excuse the language, but…”It’s the Middle Fucking KINGS!!!”

A few thoughts come to mind when looking at this picture…The flash flood resulting from the dark clouds in the background of this photo, a quote from Pat Keller on our trip two years ago…”Supposedly you just find yourself in the Waterfall Gorge,” as well as a vision of the bow of my Magnum rocketing skyward in a tail-stand which created a large amount of apprehension felt by all engulfed in the Waterfall Gorge’s aura. “Your aura is purple.”

The human memory is an amazing thing. I find returning to rivers I have previously run a very mysterious experience, especially rivers of the length and magnitude of the Middle Kings. Unsure of what has been retained after years of new rivers and experiences, my mind plays a game of cat and mouse, chasing and avoiding being chased. Chase or be chased. Here I am late in our full day 1…most definitely chasing.

An amazing aspect of paddling rivers for extended lengths (for the purpose of this thought we’ll consider extended lengths any river trip over a day, since that is the typical duration of paddling trips) is experiencing the changes of a river’s ecology, and therefore character. From feeling different night and day-time temperatures to noticing different plant species to paddling different styles of rapids, you really get a sense that you are traveling. Funny that…since you are! This experience can be no truer than on the Middle Kings. Here on full day 2, the river’s rapids undergo a considerable shift in character towards a very California-esque boulder garden style, which perfectly enough, is a rather appropriate warm-up for the action found within the Bottom Nine.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again…lunch on the Middle Kings is like Christmas for a five year old.

“Parading without a permit? You got to be kidding me! Do you know who this is? This is Captain America! I’m Billy! Hey, we’re headliners, baby!”

Sometimes on the Middle Kings you feel like you’re paddling through John Muir’s mind. Sometimes you feel like you’re an ant waiting to be crushed underneath T-Rex’s giant foot as he bounds over ridge after ridge. And other times you feel like you’re a marmot struggling with the realities of staying afloat in a bathtube while trying not to be hit in the head by the hand of a panicking man smoking a J with tweezers while a cricket bat is being smashed into every electronic object in sight.

Camp Hideaway in all its glory. Tehipite Dome, the freshest bear skat I’ve ever seen, more crazy creepy crawlers, and another restless night spurred by a flurry of headlamps and action soon after nightfall all seemed frighteningly familiar.

Sir William Tinsley Stubblefield…the man behind the lens of most of the pictures you have witnessed here today. Chur CHUR brew for luggin that digi-clicker in with us, and having the thought, patience and motivation to snap so many quality shots while remaining a true asset to the team! Mad props, mate!

The Bottom Nine was reaffirmed in my mind as one of the longest, hardest most trying days a paddler can face in the continental United States. The concept dubbed “unit kayaking” by Kev England has no better application than here, where every step, every stroke, and every decision is made in the face of great consequence.
“We take it back to the concrete streets, original beats, real live MC’s…” with what I am sure can now offically be dubbed as SO 2001…The White Fist.

It would be comforting to say that each movement made downstream in the Bottom Nine was as calculated as a chess move. While perhaps some actions could be described as such, others including the above pictured would more appropriately fit into a category illustrated by a bowling ball ricocheting down a lane protected from gutterballs by flip-out bumpers. If only the Bottom Nine DID have a bumpers option! That being said…good thing it doesn’t.

It is not possible to bring enough calories into the Middle Kings to provide you with all the energy you need to remain 100% fired up and fueled throughout the trip. There comes a point in each day where you have to dig a little bit deeper for something inside that might or might not be present in the moment at which you need it. The Bottom Nine presents countless opportunities for mandatory digging. Here, late in the afternoon following two already much needed lunch breaks, Will and Mikey continue to give everything they’ve got to stay focused while scouting the relentless nine mile class V+ rapid known as the Bottom Nine. (Coop Photo)

Three Boonetowners, three kayaks, six days worth of food and gear, five days of action, three Full days of whitewater covering about 30 river miles descending over 6,000 ft, five snakes, two of which rattled, one black bear, over 12 miles of hiking with roughly 5,500 ft of elevation change, close to 700 miles of driving and “the syncrecy of the world” put us at the confluence of the Middle Fork and South Fork of the Kings River as dusk swept through the valley. With another couple very steep miles of hiking left and over 1,000 more miles to drive to get back to Stanley, ID a day late for work…standing at this location, with two of my best friends in the world was a feeling words can’t come close to describing. That’s why we took this picture. If a typical picture is worth 1,000 words, than this one is worth a Ga-zill-gill-billion!
Again many Heaps of THANKS need to go out to quite a few people that made this mission a success. Will and Mikey for rallying, Willy Nolen and Kendo for shuttle, excitement and the stories, Freddy for the inspiration, Mad Dog for the legend, Liese and Sandy for their tolerance, and all the family and friends we spoke to en route to California…ya’lls support and encouragement went a long way!
For the account of my previous Middle Kings trip completed on the 2007 Magical Mystery Tour, check out the Motherland archives.
This has been Cooper Lambla givin’ Respect out to all the brothas and sistas of the world. Go Big Up Yo Self Now, and Kia Kaha.
































































































































