Sierra Outdoor Center

Kenny Gould, Extreme Kayaker, Beloved Friend

  Kenny Gould, extreme kayaker, Pacific Crest Trail round-trip hiker, snowboarder, skateboarder, sometimes road tour biker and a sultan of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, died this week in an apparent suicide after leaping from the steep cliffs at Big Valley Bluff overlooking the North Fork of the American River. He was 27.

For those who knew Kenny, the loss to the boating community and the larger outdoor community is beyond words. A steep creeker at heart who helped pioneer such runs as Big Kimshew Creek, Sailors Creek and Screwauger Canyon on the North Fork Middle American, Kenny had a special knack for knowing what was running when, and then setting a mission to do it. He liked to disappear into the wilderness for days at a time to cache food for later use on remote multi-day runs, or canyoneer tiny drainages during the dry season in consideration for next spring’s fodder. More than a few marquee names of our sport gladly followed him into such nooks as Upper Cherry Creek, Big Kimshew or Royal Gorge, and listened to his beta on the massiveness of Yosemite’s Tenaya Slide.

Kenny was always quick with a smile and had an irrepressible sense of humor, but he also had his demons. Mental illness tormented him for years, and to know Kenny on a bad day was to feel a crushing pain in your own soul. I won’t address him by his river nickname here, because I never liked it and neither did he, but people didn’t call him that because of his whitewater antics alone.

The place Kenny picked to die couldn’t be more suitable to the man, though. Big Valley Bluff, which stands sentinel some 2,500 feet above where Tadpole Creek enters the North Fork at the top of Generation Gap, is as remote, rugged and beautiful as Kenny himself. He took me there a week before he died, and we sat on the rock from which we believe he jumped, taking in the view of Royal Gorge upstream, Sailors Creek on the other side of the canyon and the East Fork Gorge creeping in behind us. He was proud of that place, and I’m proud that he considered me enough of a friend to share it with me as he did.

Myself, Chad Daugherty and Rod Matthews returned there this evening, to bid a final farewell to our lost bro. As we sat on the bluff, watching the valley fill with mist in the fading light, a solitary bald eagle flew up before us, gliding in wide arches above Kenny’s final resting place before disappearing downstream into the gorge.

To us, that eagle was not only a reminder that Kenny finally ran the biggest drop of all, but that we all must die in the same way we lived. For Kenny, that meant nothing less then living, and leaving, a picture of sheer, untamed beauty. We can’t help thinking that he’ll still be boating with us, flying downstream, on many runs to come.

--Joe Bousquin
Newcastle, Calif.
Oct. 5, 2002

Dewin' Some Shewin' on Kimshew
A class V+ wilderness adventure in the heart of California
By Joe Bousquin
February 16, 2004

Running Big Kimshew Photo by Kenny Gould

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The only word I can use to describe how I felt on the way to Big Kimshew Creek is "gripped." I'd heard too many stories of the multiple 60-foot waterfalls, the hard portages and the dicey helivac that happened in this gorge a few years back.

Now, in the afterlife - that is, my life AFTER Kimshew Creek - all I can say is this run will give you a different fix on reality, an altered perception of what "BIG" is, and the pleasant, intoxicating knowledge of what it's like to go where rainbows are born.

In other words, Kimshew is the SH*T! This run is better than South Silver and Bridge Creek COMBINED (A-List Members KNOW how I feel about those runs). Kimshew's added challenge is its 7-plus miles in length, making it a true Class V+ wilderness adventure. Looking on our maps and guesstimating, my friend Kenny Gould and I ventured that the thing drops on average 300 feet per mile. The section in the gorge, though, must be significantly steeper than that.

I got the call Thursday afternoon from "Kimshew" Kenny, telling me that Friday would be THE day for Dewin' some Shewin'. After listening to him describe the run for the past several weeks, I didn't know whether I should feel relief or despair. Surely, running it would put an end to all the horrible visions I'd created in my mind - not to mention Kenny's incessant chattering about this creek. (He's got a right to talk: he's now run it four times). On the other hand, the price of exorcising those demons would be seeing the real thing for myself.

After the usual logistics loco, Steve Schamber and I arrived around 1 a.m. at the take-out near Stirling City where Big Kimshew dumps into the West Branch of the Feather. (You'll need a map to find it -- start out from Paradise on Rt. 191.) I couldn't see it, but the roar of the water and Kenny's assurances were all the affirmation I needed; there was enough water to make a run. With Erik Bell already camped at the put-in as well, our group was complete.

"...you can see the river start dropping out of sight, straight down into what seems like an endless basement of granite..."

When Kenny woke me shortly after 7 o'clock the next morning, the first thing I saw was the final falls on the Kimshew, the beautiful, curtain of green that is the last 20' balcony drop on the run before it joins the West Branch. After seeing this view, no kayaker who suffers from BDL, or Big Drop Lust, would be able to resist.

On my map, the road that goes up to the put-in is called Reston Road, but I didn't see any street signs. Once you rejoin the pavement from the dirt road out of the take-out, make an immediate U-Turn onto the other dirt road to your right. We followed this a long way, veering to the right after the bridge over the West Branch, and started to hike down when we saw snow. Use a good map to make sure you know where you are.

It took us less than a half hour to hike to the river, and when we got there, it had that eerie flatness of a river that's about to drop off the side of the world. From my guess, I'd say there was 200 cfs in the creek, if that, and we could have used 100 more. (At this level, the rock visible in the take-out drop on river left was showing about three feet high.) We put on between 10:30 and 11 o'clock.

The river starts off through classic Sierra granite, and you boogie through some boulders and one mini slide before coming to a thumb-rock boof drop that marks the true beginning of the run. Boof right to avoid the wall on the left.

After this, we came to our first portage, which was marked by a huge boulder in mid-stream that split the currents into a sieve on the left and a mini gorgette on the right. Kenny says the right channel has been run with some excitement, and it looked a shame that it was too low for the entrance drop to be negotiated cleanly that day.

Below this, we saw our first true falls: a 30-foot boof slide that's the reward for negotiating the somewhat tricky entrance. Entering left, we made our way right to launch off the flake that sails you over the drop. Smiles all around after this. Below here, there was a funky rapid that dropped into the narrowest of granite slots above a second, six foot drop that had to be boofed left to avoid pitoning. Both Erik and I went into the slot and got flipped by the "wall current," rolling up in time to make the move at the bottom. Kenny bobbled through the slot upright and hit the bottom clean.

An easier, but similar slot rapid follows and is run on river right. Hang on and DON'T flip. It looked shallow.

This section was followed by more nice boogie water and several slides that would have had some serious holes had there been more water. I won't blame Kenny for the serious hole that I did find in an otherwise unremarkable spot; I saw him roll after going through it and charged anyway.