Let’s Have Some Fun!

California’s Governor is getting under the skin of our President.

It isn’t a pretty image, is it?

Because of Governor Newsom’s recent posts on X, done in the style of President Trump, last night, the President posted that Governor Newsom has ruined the Golden State. Then Donald Trump promised that he “will save California!”

I don’t think so.

The President’s post reminded me of a summer adventure many decades ago in Northern California on Cache Creek.

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Clear Lake is the largest natural freshwater lake in California and empties its outflow into Cache Creek. The stream flows down the hilly eastern slopes of the Coast Range and out into the flat lands of the Sacramento Valley. There it joins up with the Sacramento River and eventually makes its way to the Pacific Ocean.

With such a large reservoir like Clear Lake nourishing it, you might be tempted to think the creek got short-changed when it was not given the regal status of river. But you’d be wrong. One hundred years ago in the summertime, the creek sometimes dried up. In drought years, the water level at Clear Lake dropped, and the lake reserved unto itself its water until winter rolled around again.

So, you might think that by summertime, there would be no water for fun in Cache Creek. You’d be wrong again. First, not every year in California is a drought year.

Second, these days, California is a waterworks wonderland, thanks to the multitude of dams and diversions invented and built by ambitious, industrious, and prosperous impresarios and their employees. California is the richest state in the United States of America because its citizens are definitely not a bunch of lazy, no-good-for-nothing yahoos. Why if California were its own country, it would be the fourth-largest economy in the world, surpassed only by the US, China, and Germany. On a per capita productivity basis, it beats all three.

But I digress.

These days, most years, thanks to California’s water management, Cache Creek has plenty of H2O in the summer so that above the village of Rumsey, along Highway 16, a ten-mile stretch of gentle rapids and pools provides a delightful riparian venue for a leisurely afternoon drift. Decades ago, when I was a youth, my friends and I liked to cool off in the summer by floating down Cache Creek on inner tubes. It was better fun than a carnival.

On one of these float trips, an acquaintance from Allendale joined our crew. I can’t remember his name, so I’ll call him Ziggy. I do remember that he had a Ziggy-like name.

Ziggy brought his dog with him. He also brought along not your everyday kind of inner tube. Nope. Ziggy had an inner tube the size of a small tractor. He said it came from the wheel of a 737. I was impressed.

Ziggy’s tube was so big that he did not need to fully inflate it. In fact, he said it worked better if the tube remained semi-flaccid.

He was right…until we got to the waterfall.

Ziggy’s semi-flaccid innertube provided ample room for both Ziggy and his dog, a cocker spaniel. They floated wistfully over the shoals and ripples of the meandering stream. I enjoyed watching the spaniel rest confidently on his allotment of tube. I admired the dog for the loyalty and trust he placed in his master and for his ability to maintain his balance.

You see, Ziggy splayed himself out across the ample floatation device. His rear end rested in the cool water at the center while his shoulders sheltered on one side of the rubber cushion and his legs dangled off the opposite side of the circumference. Ziggy’s dog, on the other hand, had to find a spot on what was left of the tube. Nevertheless, the dog graciously managed his assignment without a whimper.

Still, every time we came across some rapids, I expected to see Ziggy’s dog fall off. The dog’s agility was inspiring.

But there was a part of the creek that presented a real challenge, especially if you didn’t know it was coming. Ziggy didn’t know.

Halfway along our journey, the creek divided. On the left, one could pass safely down a few small rapids. But on the right was a waterfall. Not a high fall. Still, it was enough to tip you over.

There was not really a risk of drowning…unless you did not know how to swim. We thought we were all decent swimmers. You really shouldn’t be out floating down Cache Creek in an inner tube if you don’t know how to swim. Stay on shore and have a picnic instead.

Anyway, as you have figured out by now, when we got to the waterfall, Ziggy, his inner tube, and his spaniel went to the right. I think Ziggy was not paying much attention. He had smoked more than one joint by that time. He kept his stash in a clever waterproof pouch. The individualized nature of inner tube floating made sharing it awkward and, therefore, unnecessary.

I watched the whole thing from my subcompact innertube as I transited the same part of the river on the left side. The fall flipped Ziggy’s tube like a pancake flipped on the griddle.

Kersplatt!!

Off down Cache Creek floated the giant tube. Ziggy’s dog surfaced first. The spaniel’s paws worked feverishly toward the shore. Then up came Ziggy, gasping for breath and scanning the horizon for his beloved canine. Ziggy soon spotted his dog and called out, “Don’t worry. I’ll save you!”

I am not kidding. Those were Ziggy’s very words. I will never forget them because it occurred to me immediately that Ziggy was in a lot more difficulty than his dog. Apparently, Ziggy was not a world-class swimmer. He was flailing and splashing. Notwithstanding, he caught up with his dog before they reached the shore. I could plainly see what was about to happen next.

I called out, “Ziggy, no! Your dog’s fine.”

I was too late. Ziggy reached for the spaniel’s hind leg and yanked. Clearly, Ziggy was trying to capture his dog so he could rescue him. But the maneuver only served to pull the spaniel back under the creek.

Fortunately, Ziggy was not a total idiot. I don’t know if he had heard me, but he promptly recognized that if he did not let go of his dog, the dog would soon drown. He let go, the dog came back up to the surface, and in half a minute was shaking himself out on the shore.

One of our friends already downstream got hold of Ziggy’s tube. Before you know it, we were all back enjoying the rest of our float down Cache Creek. When we got to the takeout point, I said nothing to Ziggy about his rescue attempt. He grinned at me sheepishly, and we never spoke of the matter.

You see, Ziggy may have had a momentary lapse in judgment brought on by a genuine emergency, but he was smart enough to recognize that his dog was entirely capable of taking care of itself. All he needed to do was let go, and he did.

So, when I heard President Trump claim that he was going to save California, I had the same reaction as I did on Cache Creek when Ziggy and his spaniel went over the waterfall.

“No, Mr. President! California is fine.”

Somehow, however, I don’t believe Mr. Trump has enough common sense to let go.

Do you?