Yellow Bluff, December 2004
Hi Gang,
Here's a trip report on the recent Yellow Bluff trip that I sent to my non-paddling friends and family (hence the extra explanations). I thought I would share it with all of you as well. Also I want to give a big public thank you to our trip leader Lucy O'Brien for a well organized, safety conscious and enjoyable trip.

Raphael Renta

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“What the Hell did I get myself into!?” was the only thought in my terrified mind as I reluctantly paddled toward the roughest water I had ever seen. If it were possible to tip toe in a kayak that's what I would have been doing. I was facing the famous tide rip at Yellow Bluff. (A tide rip is an extremely fast and turbulent current created by the tide.)

To get a clear picture of Yellow Bluff make a “C” with your left hand. Turn you hand so the opening of the “C” faces up. Now put you your open right hand about six inches to the right of your left thumb, the “C” is the cove at Yellow Bluff, your right hand is the Golden Gate Bridge. Yellow Bluff is an area with some of the wildest tide rips in all of San Francisco Bay.

Why? Think of a soda bottle, shake it up and put a thumb across the opening. We all know what happens, the soda comes blasting out. In this case the bottle is San Francisco Bay (or the Pacific Ocean) and the finger is the opening that is spanned by the Golden Gate Bridge. That is why the area around the Golden Gate is subjected to some of the worst tidal currents on the West Coast. In the book “Deep Trouble” several kayaking disasters are described and a good portion of them occurred at the Gate.

OK back to your “C” hand. On its way out, or in, from the Gate the current tears directly across your fingertips with just a small space away from your thumb. If the current is racing left to right, for example, it creates a counter, but milder “eddy” current that goes right to left from your thumb to your finger along the inner curve of your hand. The wild current is where the big boys play; the far calmer eddy is what saves your life.

Before paddling out from Horseshoe Cove, just below the north section of the Golden gate, we had a “safety talk” that had a number of us rushing to the bathroom once it was finished. The guy that beat me to the John said candidly, “damn that discussion scared me!” Great, I said to myself, he is a far more experienced kayaker than I am.

Yet the reaction was understandable. The discussion, over an impromptu map of Yellow Bluff drawn in the sand, involved phrases like “well sure, Clem, you could drown that way, but if you don’t point your bow exactly in the current right here you’ll be sucked out of the Golden Gate and never be heard of again.” One of my kayaking buddies said to me, “you’ve never been to Yellow Bluff before? Ah, ha ha are YOU in for it!” Well with friends like that...!

Complicating the situation is the fact that there was a race going on. In the distance we saw the racers paddling furiously out the Gate. There were outriggers, kayaks and racing kayaks called “surf skis”, very narrow and very fast. I could not believe how fast they were going and I admired their skill.

Well their speed was not just skill. Our trip leader, Lucy (an outstanding and very safety conscious kayaker), informed us that the current was 5.8 knots (quite fast) but there was a “correction factor” for Yellow bluff that added 1.2 knots and, because of the recent rains, the rivers pouring into the Bay added their contribution bringing the current to 8 knots! EIGHT KNOTS!? No wonder they seemed to go so quickly, they were riding the current. The fastest paddling I can sustain is four knots. That meant if I got caught in that current I would not be able to paddle my way out! Lovely, and a very Merry Christmas to you too!

Well, we all paddled out anyway hugging the cliffs to keep away from the tide rip (sneaking around the "thumb" of your left hand so to speak). In the eddy around the cove we practiced some rescues and generally got acquainted with our "pod". For safety reasons the entire group of 17 was divided into pods of three with one group of two. That way everyone could keep track of someone and could be there in case of a problem.

As a "newbie" I was with two Yellow Bluff veterans, thank goodness. At the safety discussion it was mentioned again and again that we could only spend a couple minutes in the tide rip and then had to fight our way out. That's why the pods would take turns being the "safety pod" to rescue anyone or an entire pod if necessary.

The rescue practice in the cove helped to get ourselves accustomed to the very cold water. I was not happy at all how I did a simple, but cumbersome rescue. I was paddling with a new paddle that had a completely different design and feel and I had not had a chance to practice that kind of rescue with that paddle on my boat. Suffice it to say that though I was successful, I looked like a bumbling idiot.

No matter, we lined up to take our turn at the end of the bluff (that’s your fingertip if your still holding your hand up). The idea was to have one pod go at a time, since it was too dangerous to have all the pods go at once. The pod would ride the rip tide, practice rescues, Eskimo rolls, whatever, and then fight its way across the current back into the cove, if they were lucky. If they were not lucky then it would be the safety pod's job to haul them out before they got sucked out of the Bay. The safety pod would be in place at the end of the cove (near your left thumb) and observe the pods as the practiced in the rip.

Before I moved out I looked out at the water. Big mistake. While playing in the cove I had unconsciously avoided taking a good look at what I would be facing. The few glances I had dared were enough. Now I HAD to look at what I was going to be going into.

This was no "tide rip"! This was a bar room brawl on a high speed freight train. There was a clear line of water where the rip began. People that are not well acquainted with the Bay can believe that water is continuous, possibly changing gradually if at all. Not so, Nature can draw an incredibly straight line across water. You can be perfectly safe on one side and in peril on the other, like a stream of lava running a few feet away from you.

As I mentioned at the beginning I approached this line with a "what the Hell am I doing here?" attitude. Bar room brawl was right. These waves were very angry at each other. They attacked each other, ganged up on each other up and were beaten up in turn all the while racing past the cliffs at Yellow Bluff. I tried to remember what was discussed at the safety talk, but there simply wasn't any time. In these situations you must rely on the hopefully good habits you've developed. There is no time for thought. By the time you think, you sink.

I knew my pod partners were behind me and worried, having seen my poor performance on a simple rescue. I told them that all I wanted to do at this pass was to survive the rip and then we'd figured out what to do after that. As I crossed the wild line I faced my bow against the stream, but my angle was off and I was immediately turned around and sucked down the current.

I was thrust into this brawl and the waves didn't like me barging in on their private war. I became the target of their fury. While racing along faster than I ever had in my life I was lifted, dropped and slammed from all sides. Waves crashed over my bow and kicked me in the chest. I would be too high on the waves to paddle then suddenly too low in the trough. As I raced along it was brace or capsize.

As the waves attempted to knock me over I would slap them as I rolled under their blows and this would keep me upright. Make no mistake about it this was a fight and I was in it up to my neck. I had no time to think about the fact that my paddle was brand new and had an unfamiliar crank shaft design, which meant that if I gripped it even slightly wrong I could slice into the water rather than brace and I would be knocked over into this turbulent mess.

Even though I was slapping wildly at everything in sight I knew I was taking too long. The two minute mark was fast approaching and the cliffs were speeding by, but I felt I had no way to turn in this cauldron. My pod partners were yelling to me "Turn, Raphael, you must turn now." I could hear the worry in their voices but what the hell could I do? Yet, somehow, some training kicked in. I was getting used to the brawl, saw a chance, edged my kayak on its right side and with a vicious sweep stroke I turned.

Now the waves slammed me on the right side, but that helped me to dig in my paddle. You can't paddle against a current like this, but you can paddle across it which was what I was doing with a vengeance. Before I knew it I had broken through the line into the calm eddy again. In spite of the cold I could feel the sweat on my brow.

Then I had a decision to make. I had gotten into something that was so close to the very extreme edge of my ability that I felt I had become a liability to my pod. I was straight with my pod buddies about this. I told them that not only would I not be able to rescue them in that mêlée but there would be a good chance they would be spending their time rescuing me. They thanked me for my frankness. They knew that a host of kayaking problems can be avoided if only people recognized their limitations.

I told my pod buddies that I would hang around the eddy and practice various things. They took off into the tide rip to practice. Suddenly I hear someone say, "the racers are coming back!" The racers we had seen some time before were now racing back along the edge of the cliffs in the eddy since it was impossible to paddle against the rip.

We backed off to as close to the cliffs as possible to let the racers pass. There were colorful double and single outriggers, kayaks, race kayaks, etc. All the people looked fit as hell, but tired. Unfortunately they were facing the most dangerous part of the entire race.

Remember the "C" with your left hand? Imagine the racers were paddling from thumb to the tip of your finger. Around the "thumb" there was room to avoid the rip, but not so the finger. The rip hurled water around that point with a power greater than any fire hose. Yet these racers had to battle against it to get around that point and into the eddy on the other side of the cliff. I sat and watched what was no doubt going to be an interesting situation.

Everything depended on the angle and timing. I watched the racers approach the point. Outriggers would nose into the current and paddle ferociously attempting to turn and get around the point. Their concentration was fierce. It looked like outriggers were harder to turn than kayaks. Soon, they started to pile up and learn from others' mistakes. Some would make it, others, just off a little bit would be caught by the rip and hurled backwards into the whirling waves.

Outriggers and kayakers were flipped over and their paddlers dumped out into the cold water. Other outriggers would survive the backwards thrust, stay upright but then keep getting farther and farther backwards into the current and away from shore. It was almost a "theater of the absurd" seeing these athletes paddling with all their might and still be going backwards so swiftly.

One outrigger paddler, seeing what was happening, got out of the water and looked like he was trying to climb the cliff! Yes, carrying the outrigger. He finally gave up and attempted to go around the rocks. He disappeared, but I don't know what happened to him. I don’t know if that portage was allowed by the rules, but I suspected that all he was interested in at that point was getting back home. Meanwhile the race's rescue boats were very busy, picking up dumped kayakers and outrigger paddlers and even picking entire outriggers and putting them on their decks.

While all this was going on, during the break between groups of racers, I would venture to the edge of the wild current and try to paddle as best I could. When it looked like the tide rip was starting to take an interest in me and wanting to get better acquainted I would decline the invitation and paddle back. I felt definitely like a yellow belly at Yellow Bluff.

All in all, however, I was learning and becoming much more comfortable in the rip. The hours flew by and all too soon it was time for us to return. The rip wanted to get one last shot at us and seemed to expand to nearly touch "the thumb", but we angled sharply around and headed back to our starting point at Horseshoe Cove. As my bow hit the beach I thought, Jesus, what a great day!

Rafa