Stories from LA 24--

Danielle Ayal	Hank Bradford
Lameese Eldesouky	Joshua Escobar
Emily Frank	Helen Ganski
Steve Haas	Nick Hanoian
Graham Haught	Hee Jin Huh
Eve Kirkendall	Yun Lee
Shiyuan Liu	Marissa Sakoda
Jia Tian	Madison Zeller
Ran Zhang

Danielle Ayal
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

Personal River Experience

The last thought I had before I felt the hook detach from the line into my scalp was, "I f***ing hate fly fishing."  It was my first attempt at the sport on an actual river.  Throughout the previous weeks, I had practiced casting at a grassy park in suburban Greensboro, North Carolina.  One cloudy and uncomfortably humid morning in June, my boyfriend (and fly fishing instructor) Alex decided I was ready for the real thing.  Upon moving to the south for boarding school, I decided that I would abandon some of the "California girl" aspects of my life and try new "southern" things like fishing and learning how to shoot large guns (almost entirely so that Alex's conservative family would not think of me as Malibu Barbie).  I had practiced enough casting, stripping, and mending to feel confident in my fly fishing proficiency on our drive to the Smith River in Virginia.

We drove into the small town of Bassett, Virginia and parked on an almost deserted road next to a small slope leading down to the river.  We grabbed our gear and proceeded to slide our way down the steep and thorn ridden hill.  By the time we reached the bottom, my legs were scratched and bleeding and I was sure that I had walked through plenty of spider webs and poison ivy.  I was unhappy already, and our close proximity to the Philpott Dam made the water temperature almost too cold to put my feet in, let alone wade up to my waist.  My desire to be good at fly fishing began to dwindle (and not so slowly), but I tried exude positivity and tied my fly to my leader, ready to take my first cast.

Because of the lack of vegetation in the park where I had practiced, avoiding bushes and trees had not been a problem.  On the Smith, however, trees with formidable branches lined the banks and  got in the way of  all my casts.  I lost more flies to trees than I could count that day, and both Alex and I were incredibly frustrated.  I let him take over for a while, and I sat on a rock in the middle of the river to watch him.  Unfortunately, either I was sitting too close to him, or he did not realize where in relation to him I was resting.  On a particularly hefty back cast, I watched his line and fly come terrifyingly close to face.  When he brought his rod forward for the cast, the fly whipped at the back of my head.  The line broke, and I was left with a mayfly hook embedded in my scalp.  I do not remember which of us was more frantic, but I was certainly less than pleased with my boyfriend.

After Alex tried to remove it with his hands, we sadly realized it would take a stronger tug.  The only "surgical" tool we had was a pair of large pliers, so we slowly trudged back to the car to get them from the glove compartment.  Back at the car, Alex stood behind me and gripped the hook with the pliers.  I clenched my fists and tried to breathe deeply.  I will not go into the messy details of the hook's removal, but as soon as it was out of my skin, my vision went gray and I began to collapse.  Alex caught me, sat me down on the pavement, and I came back to reality after a few seconds.  It was fair of me to never have wanted to fly fish again.

After my nausea went away and the color came back to my face, Alex timidly asked if he could show me a beautiful spot on the river that he had found a few weeks before.  I knew that he felt terribly guilty for what had happened, and after a greasy Hardee's burger, my strength returned enough to walk a short ways down river.  We came to a railroad track cutting through the woods and followed it for a few minutes.  When we reached a trestle, we climbed down a small rocky hill and sat on a deteriorating cement slab on the edge of the river.  The sun had come out, and the sparkling ripples contrasted with tree-shaded water was a refreshing and wonderful sight.  For the first time that day, the water was the perfect temperature, cooling my skin in the southern sun.  It was somewhat shallow underneath the trestle, but there were dark pockets of deep fast moving water, the perfect hiding spot for trout.  Somehow, this perfect view of the Smith made me want to fish again.

I cautiously picked up my rod, cast lightly into the run, and almost immediately felt a barely discernible tug on the line.  I slightly jerked the rod back and felt a fish tugging at the other end.  I studied my first fish after I reeled it in; it was a beautiful rainbow trout with dazzling spots and color contrasts.  Strangely enough, it was one of the most accomplished feelings I had ever felt in my life.  Even now, after having fished many times since then, I do not fully understand how my love of fishing and rivers was created that day.  But the fishing trips I take every few months on any river are my spiritual days to become centered.  Some of the most peaceful moments I have even felt have been spent wading through cold water, casting into deep pockets, and listening to the sounds of the river.
 
 
 

Lameese Eldesouky
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

River Experience Essay

Living in the city of Los Angeles, I never really had much of an experience growing up near a river. My family has never been too fond of camping either so only once in a while would we head up to somewhere like Lake Arrowhead. That was the closest we got to a river. We did go to the beach often but that as well didn't really count either. Despite not having a frequent experience with rivers though, I did have a memorable experience with rivers when I was ten and eleven; actually, with creeks to be more exact.

When I was in the fifth and sixth grade, my school used to take the classes on a three day field trip known as the "Outdoor Experience" at a location called Big Rock Creek Camp. The field trip didn't have an educational purpose; rather, it was an opportunity for the class to bond and grow closer together through a variety of activities. Sometimes the activities were general ones such as icebreakers or sitting near the campfire. Others strictly revolved around the creek.

When I was in the fifth grade there was an activity known as "Indiana Jones". For this activity, students were required to wear a helmet and undergo a series of rope courses involving the creek. For instance, one of the rope course activities was to grab onto a rope and try to swing to the other side. Another one of the rope course activities was trying to balance and walk across a rope over the creek.

When I was in the sixth grade the class used to play a game called "Predator and Prey" where students would be assigned to play either the "predator", who would seek the "prey" or the "prey", who would hide from the "predator."  This game took place near another nearby creek during the night. Often there were several ducks which would be crossing by at the time. They were generally about the only wildlife that tended to come out when people were around. The ducks often tended to distract some of the "predators" because they would end up chasing them instead. I always found this aspect partially amusing and humorous, particularly in that it was quite an advantage to the "prey"; I myself, was a prey most of the time.

Throughout my "outdoor experience" in both the fifth and sixth grade my classmates and I often spent a lot of time at the creek. Sometimes we skipped rocks, other times we fished, and sometimes we just watched it endlessly flow. I honestly believe that it was an integral part of our class trip. After a few years passed, it was unfortunate to hear that the creek had actually dried up. When I as well as my former classmates found out, we were disappointed for the future classes that would go on this class trip. Aside from the fact that the lack of water added danger for anyone who fell directly against a rock or a boulder, doing "Indiana Jones" or playing "Predator and Prey" just wouldn't be the same without the creek.
 
 
 

Emily Frank
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

Serenity on the Stanislaus

Accompanied by brisk mountain air and towering sequoias and firs, the Stanislaus River brings to mind fond memories of family camping trips in the Sierra Nevadas.  Varying from crushing rapids to swift-moving, smooth waters, the Stanislaus opened my eyes to the power of nature.  Ever since I was eight, I have been told to be careful near the water's edge--not to wade too deep or climb too far out on the rocks forming precarious paths across.  As I grow older, I gain respect for the pristine, natural beauty of the river and become more aware of its power.  I am no longer entertained by skipping smooth rocks into the middle depths; instead, I am now captivated by the beauty and life the river brings to the peaceful scenery.  Growing up, my real-life experiences on the Stanislaus are what have shaped my views and feelings towards rivers.

A trip to the River has almost always entailed fishing.  Fishing has not only educated me on the River's many scaly inhabitants, but the time spent waiting for the fish to bite is also when the details of the surroundings come alive.  With little to do except patiently await the tug of the line, my senses become highly perceptive.  The soft but prominent sound of the clear cool rushing water, combined with the twitter of the occasional bird and the whooshing of tree branches in the wind, create a stimulating sonic environment.  At times when the fish are especially elusive, I begin to concentrate on subtle details, such as the markings on the granite boulders along the River's edge, or the tiny minnows gathered in the shade of the river bank.  All the emerging features immediately fade into the background, however, with the vibration of the first nibble--then, all my attention focuses below the water.  Unfortunately, the excitement of the catch is often short-lived, for at any moment the fish may be successful in escaping with the bait.

Though there would be no river without water, my river experience would not be fully explained without discussing the Stanislaus' shore.  The shoreline consists of varying materials, depending where along the River one is; I have often found myself standing on clay-like mud, gravel, sand, or rounded stones.  When turning my back from the River to observe the shore, the tranquilizing effect of the water dissipates as I notice the large numbers of gnats and yellow jackets flying about.  The shore atmosphere is sometimes made more unpleasant by the presence of old cans, bottles, and wrappers.  Such careless detritus ruins the natural beauty of the area and serve as a poignant reminder of how wilderness, which once covered all land, has been gradually dismantled by people.  Still, not all aspects of the shore are negative; fragrant greenery and cool breezes off the water make the shore a superb place to rest.

The Stanislaus may not be the only river or stream that I have seen or experienced, but it is what first comes to mind when I hear the word "river."  Many books and movies I read and see include rivers, such as The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Pocahontas, but when I think of my experience with rivers, the word is connected to an actual, physical encounter.  My real-life experiences with rivers in their natural environment are what most arouse my interest, and I enjoy trying to re-create the image and environment of the Stanislaus in my mind's eye because of its peaceful atmosphere.  I realize, however, that had I had an unfortunate experience on any river (which could well have happened), my emotions towards rivers would be quite different.

There are other sides to rivers besides the tranquil ones; I have seen how rivers are capable of enormous power and violence.  These violent, rapid areas of rivers bring about entirely different feelings within me, such as fear, insignificance, and conflict.  Part of the beauty of rivers, though, is that I can look at the still, steadily moving water and know that hidden within is a harnessed strength.
 
 
 

Steven Haas
The River in Film
 

The East Rosebud River

Whenever I think of rivers, my mind always wanders to the same place: East Rosebud Lake, Montana. The Lake is fed by the East Rosebud River, a waterway that runs through the Beartooth Mountains and empties into the Yellowstone River. My family has visited East Rosebud Lake nearly every summer since I was seven years old. A long time ago, my great grandmother and some of her cousins bought property lining the shore and had cabins built. For the most part, the cabins have stayed in the family. Now, there is a small community surrounding the Lake that is made up almost entirely of my distant relatives. Vacationing there allows us all to take a break from life, escape from stress, and to put our troubles into perspective. The area is home to some of my fondest memories. It has played an instrumental role in shaping the person that I am today.

The East Rosebud River has played a part in some of my most vivid memories. It's where my dad taught me to fly fish and where I caught my first fish. Even though the water is ice cold and comes directly from snowmelt off the mountains, the kids (myself included) would always go swimming on hot days in the River, jumping off rocks that line the shore into some of the deeper pools. Sometimes, in the evening, we would go for canoe rides in the Lake and explore some of the calmer parts of the River. Beaver dams block some of the smaller tributaries. Mother ducks lead rows of tiny ducklings around the shallows of the Lake. Deer, and even moose, can frequently be seen grazing along the shoreline.

As I've gotten older, my appreciation for these extraordinary sights has increased. More recently, with the guidance of the more experienced mountaineers, I have taken to going on extended day hikes, sometimes traveling up to thirty miles on a single expedition. If these hikes involve going off trail, the system of rivers is almost always used to navigate by. I've grown to trust and admire rivers and the integral role that they play in an environment.

East Rosebud Lake is one of the few places that I've visited that is nearly untouched by civilization. Getting there from the nearest city involves a four hour car ride, the last section of which is on a poorly maintained, dirt road. For this reason, when I'm there, I always feel disconnected from the modern world. It's a liberating sensation that's difficult to describe to someone who has never felt it. Thinking of rivers always reminds me of this feeling. I have trouble envisioning a river that has been tainted or tamed by civilization. For me, a polluted river is not a river at all. Rivers represent freedom and purity. When they are robbed of either of these qualities, they lose the very thing that makes them rivers. Often, people feel the urge to conquer rivers and nature for some unidentifiable reason. Sometimes, it's necessary to do so. But someday, I hope mankind will realize the virtue of maintaining nature and leaving it untouched for future generations to enjoy.

Rivers can guide a lost hiker, they can bring joy to a playful child, they can hew through rock, or bring life to a desolate wasteland. They are the blood vessels of the land, carrying life and nourishment to where it is needed. They are playful, fierce, tranquil, and enduring. To me, rivers represent nature in its purest form: untamed and wild. Standing on the bank, of a raging rapid, or at the base of a towering waterfall can fill a person with awe. Relaxing on the beach of a lazy, meandering stream will leave one feeling peaceful and content. A river is something that everyone should be able to enjoy at some point in their life. I may be an idealist, and rivers are only a small part of nature's beauty, but I believe that a lack of respect for nature is intolerable.
 
 
 

Graham Haught
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

River Experience

I have turned to rivers not only for the aesthetics of hearing, feeling, and seeing a natural body of water flow, but also for maternal comfort. The San Joaquin was about a ten-minute drive away from my house in Fresno and my best friend lived next to it on an array of almond orchards.  My summers were spent with water socks and goggles, skiffs and soggy Mark Twain novels, wooden sticks and empty jam jars- and room for primitive imagination to occur. The San Joaquin became an external facet of my being. I clung to her, swam through her, returned to her in moments of fear, joy, mediocrity, anxiety, doubt- all the while, being alive and dialoging with what became an old friend.

When I was geographically away from the river, either at home or on trip, I held close to my David James Duncan, my Gary Snyder, my Annie Dillard, my Loren Eiseley, my Thoreau, my Whitman, and my Twain. I drifted into stretches of daydreaming about the cool mystics of the river, the never-ceasing flow, and would throw my head up in laughter at my high school and its students that didn't yearn for nature. I would ditch school, instead furthering my education down on the small pebbled shores of the San Joaquin.

This previous year I took a "gap year" in my education and experienced natural life outside of society's rigid social framework. I met a Canadian in Santa Cruz who needed help on his papa's farm, so I moved north to harvest wheat, barley, and canola. When I eventually returned to Fresno, I became employed at the San Joaquin River Parkway and Conservation Trust and spent five months tending to the river and her needs each day (while getting paid!).  Whether slicing down arundo or plotting plant bowls on a rugged GPS or wafting through the morning mist on the river I fell deeper in love with the San Joaquin. I needed to join with others and rejuvenate her, inject the rapid life that she once possessed back into her, and roll my head over the projections of restoring the long-lost salmon run.  Ah, and the thought that new dams might very soon be erected on the South Fork (note: this claim is from word of mouth of a semi-reliable co-worker)! What a struggle between preserving nature and feeding its inhabitants!

During this "gap year" I delved into the Eastern classics and swam around new modes of thought and theory that I accepted and practiced for lengths of time.  By happenstance I ended up earning enough money by working at the River Parkway to purchase a plane ticket to India where I lived/worked at an orphanage for three months and then wandered for a month.  During my time of roaming I came to Varanasi and felt the power of the Ganges River. The mystics came out, the common Hindu pilgrims came out, and similar people to myself came out in the early dawn to see the wooden boats slither through the sacred water. Pyres were erected and the ash breathed into the water. Ritual cleansing was performed each day, cows were washed, women washed their clothes, everyone drank the water, and men sat on the base of cement stairways creating audible warmth with their lutes.  I felt the power of the river.

When I came back to America and Fresno, I tended to my beloved aquatic mother, fly fished in other lesser creeks, marked up many books, and was revived by her awe and splendor.
 
 
 

Eve Kirkendall
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

My River Experiences

As atypical as it seems, my parent's idea of a "family vacation" is packing up our car with tents and hiking boots and camping wherever we can pitch a tent.  As a result, I have come into contact with rivers many times.  Whether I am whitewater rafting, pumping fresh drinking water from a stream, or hiking up the Virgin River Narrows in Zion I have always enjoyed these bodies of water.

I would have to say that white water rafting was probably my one of the best times I have had in my life.  The first time I went was on the American River.  The history of that river alone was enough to attract me to it; I was excited to see the river that ignited the flame that was the California Gold Rush.  It was also pretty cool to have the adrenaline rush of going down a class 4 rapid or jumping off a twenty foot high rock into sixty-five degree water, then floating leisurely by Sutter's Mill.  Luckily, my mom had booked a two-day river trip, so that night I was able to relax and fall asleep to the sound of a flowing river then wake up and go rafting again.  My second experience river rafting was on the Kern River; but because I was older it wasn't quite as exciting as the first.  I had a great time nonetheless.

When I was ten, my dad introduced me to something just as exciting as whitewater rafting: backpacking.  The reason I loved backpacking so much was because every trail we went on was right by a creek.  As soon as we would hike to the site and set up camp I would be down by the creek.  My favorite thing to do was "rock-jumping."  I loved seeing how far I could jump on the various rocks in the stream.  My feet would get so scratched up, but I would just stick them in the icy water to slightly numb them.  The pain would come back eventually, but I still spent all of my time rock-jumping.  I was also really intrigued by the idea of pumping water directly from the source.  I loved being able to drink the cool, freshly pumped water because it made me feel really in touch with the creek (and it was ten times more refreshing than any bottled water).  Needless to say, I was glad to fill up anyone's canteen, and I was sure to fill the Nalgenes up before we started hiking out.

Another interesting river experience I had was hiking up the Virgin River Narrows in Zion National Park.  It started off as a nice hike along the banks of a calm river.  However, as the hike progressed the creek narrowed, and I actually started to hike in the river.  It was more like wading upstream than hiking.  But it was amazing; I looked up and saw faces of cliffs that seemed to go hundreds of feet high.  The canyon was probably only 50 feet wide, it was strange to look up and only see a sliver of sky, and I felt so small.  It was so beautiful though; I got to see places where the river had shaped the rock to form immense overhangs and curvy formations.  I also saw all of the small tributaries with even narrower narrows and waterfalls that feed the Virgin River.  I was really thankful to be hiking in shallow water on such a hot summer day; it was so nice to be able to kneel down and let it cool me off.  As beautiful as the river was, I also recognized its power, at any moment a flash flood could occur, or large rocks could fall off the face to the cliff.  Yet, the Virgin River made it one of the best hiking experiences I have ever had.

Rivers have always intrigued me, and I am sure they always will.  Anytime I go camping or hiking I am always sure to make sure there is a river to enjoy near by.
 
 
 

Shiyuan Liu
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

A Second Chance At Life

Rivers have always been a big attraction to me. Sometimes they are as quiet as a beautiful post card, yet sometimes they can be as boisterous as a roaring dragon. Not cheated by their appearance, I thought, I never doubted about their tenderness. It was not until July 29th, 2008, that I came to know how ruthless a river can be.

On a radiant morning of late July, my family and I went drifting together. We had visited many places for drifting, buts each time we were bored by the extremely peaceful river and tired of rowing the small iron boat. "Another boring trip..." I thought. When approaching to the headstream, we were asked to put our belongings in the lockers and wear life vests. My father refused to take out his purse and cell phone. "We are actually putting our belongings into a more dangerous situation." "The life vest makes me feel hot! Why should we wear this since it is always useless?" my mother complained. Ignoring them, I was praying that the boat would capsize, "It must be interesting" I thought, "I am good at swimming and I can finally experience the same thrill as in the movie Titanic."

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't realize that the boat had started moving forward. I was sitting in the front, conducting direction and searching for other boats so that we could have a fight using water guns. It wasn't long before the river began moving fast. The boat vibrated strongly on the river, as if it would soon be swallowed. "Hurrah!" All the people in the boat cheered.

Within the first 10 minutes, two paddles moved quickly and this seemed to be the most interesting drifting I ever encountered. Suddenly, the river moved faster than ever, and a cliff appeared in our way. "The boat will rush into the cliff!" I shouted. But everyone was too frightened to do anything. Two seconds passed, and I was now only one meter away from the cliff. Sitting in the front, I thought I would definitely hit the rock, so I stood up, wondering whether I should jump into the river myself before I fell into it. But there was no time for further thinking before the impact. The boat became vertically upside down, and all the people including me fell into the river.

The water was chilly and dark; I felt overwhelmingly dizzy and breathless. Using my last consciousness and strength, I tried to go back to the surface but the life vest was not at all helpful. When I realized that I was only taken forward by the rapid river instead of moving upward, I began to give up. As I was sinking, I could see the slight sunshine cast on the river above me. "How I wish I could go back to the surface! I shouldn't end up here! I still have lots of things to do..." These ideas ruthlessly rushed to my mind, and feelings of regret roared. When there was only one last breath within my lung, I was suddenly lifted up by a powerful hand. My head was above the water at once, and the whole world lit up again. Fresh and clean air saturated my lungs when I breathlessly tried to calm down breathlessly. It was my mother who saved me.

In the next few minutes, other members managed to get together around the boat and we turned the boat the right way up. We were wet allover; we lost the only two paddles and our slippers.

However, the rest of the trip was big fun. Without the paddles, the boat went into nearly every dangerous area, but all the members were very happy as if we had gained a second chance at  life. After two hours' journey, the river became peaceful again as if nothing had ever happened. But for myself, I certainly became more grateful for life. Moreover, I was encouraged a lot. If such soft and tender river can become so strong, I may also have the capability to make a big difference.
 
 
 

Jia Tian
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

River

River, the beginning of humanity and the ending of countless lives, is mostly calm but powerfully silent and humble. It always connects with the ancient Chinese philosophies that I appreciate, such as Daoism. In expressing his philosophical ideals, Lao Zi uses the river as his analogy for the "softest thing" that can defeat the hard things, such as stones. Rather than crushing them, the river gradually soothes hardened souls. He thinks it is wisdom to let it go, to silently benefit others while not asking favors in return, just as rivers serve humanity both physically and symbolically.

My favorite line of poetry also involves a river, "How much sorrow can one bear? Just like a river of vernal water flowing east" by Li Yu. This is a powerful image- the defrosted river flows lively and continuously into the ocean. The poet has so much sorrow and regret that he never stops thinking of it. I felt similar nostalgia just after I moved to LA from China in 9th grade. Fortunately, I gave the line a little twist in my interpretation and it became an inspiration for me to get over the language barrier. I saw the river's determination at reaching its destination, despite obstacles in the way or the sorrow of the past's increased burden, creating its own path, keeps going.  It seemed to me that instead of mourning for the loss of the past, I should look forward to the future and embrace the new world of opportunities.

Rivers have also created some of my happiest memories. When I was in middle school in Beijing, China, I loved to converse with water every day. On our way home after school, I would wander with my friends across the old home of an imperial official who lived over 200 years ago. There was a big lake, and water flowed through the hills and buildings. The lake was beautiful, with reflections of the sky, the ancient tower, and the long hair of willow trees along the bank. Pink peach blossoms floated on the surface of water in the spring. Leaves fell gently to kiss the water in the fall. In winter, we skated on the frozen surface, drawing series of smiley faces on ice. Since the name of the lake is "to be named," we had fun naming the different trees and flowers around it. Each of us also picked a tiny branch on the peach trees and committed to take care of it and the peaches. I still remember the position of my branch. It was the outermost branch on the little peach tree next to the biggest willow tree along the south side of the bank. We were excessively happy when we met squirrels on the hills, the precious creatures hiding deeply in the developing city. I was constantly awed by the dreamy scene along the water and striking white color of lily flowers dropped on the grass after the rain. It is the same feeling I experience when I am observing the sunset over the bay outside my dorm on the 8th floor everyday now. Back then, I was utterly amazed with everything natural.

Rivers created a quiet escape from the noisy quarrels, the endless struggles, and the confusion between abundance and vacancy of the metropolitan. Every drop of water, every piece of dust, and every fresh and delicious breeze of air recorded my closest interaction with nature and with my heart.
 
 
 

Madison Zeller
The River in Film
14 September 2009
 

A Sliver of a River

Today, the word "river" brings to my mind images of nature's blue snake slithering between embankments of a city, through plants in a forest, or along the sides of tall, towering rocks.  I think of metaphorical fountains of life, vibrant or dull blue ripples, and the trickling or swishing sound of the water as it slides and sloshes down its path.  This is today.  When I was younger, my impression of rivers was quite the opposite: I thought of them as gray and cold, lifeless and static.  I blame this skewed perception on my surrounding environment, for the first river to which I was introduced as a kid was the very misleading Los Angeles River.

As a young child, perhaps one of the most exciting diversions is looking out through the window of a car and observing the world that flashes by as the vehicle speeds along.  I remember my mom driving me around and, wanting me to be worldly and to take in the spirit of Los Angeles, telling me several times to look outside at the L.A. River.  I would obey.  I'd stare blankly at the extremely wide concrete channel, at the "river" that had walls.  In my head, I formulated and stored a picture that coincided with the word, and soon I associated "river" with a shallow stone canyon filled with no fish or vegetation, but with trash.  If we were lucky, L.A. would experience a light rain shower and the river would consequentially be graced with some water for a while.
Otherwise, it was something empty and dry.  To me, playing in the river made me think of handball and rollerblading, rather than your traditional splashing around.  Thus, growing up, I believe I had false illusions as to what exactly constituted a river.  Rather than a body of flowing water, I imagined a concrete channel encompassing a body of air.

This past year, a couple of friends and I decided to go hiking at Monrovia Canyon Park.  The supposed reward for walking the 1.5 miles slightly uphill was a waterfall at the top that flowed into a river below.  However, due to one of many dry spells in Southern California, the sight fell short of our expectations.  The waterfall was more akin to a trickle of mist, and the river was basically a thin trail of damp soil.  Once again, the bountiful rivers I had seen in movies did not live up to my own real-life experiences.

Then there were The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Heart of Darkness, in which the thematic rivers seemed important and majestic.  The metaphor of the river as the trajectory of life appeared to be powerful and promising, and a big part of my 8th and 11th grade English classes was devoted to discussing its significance.  However, my knowledge of these Mississippi and Congo Rivers was based on works of fiction, and therefore the rivers' eminence was just part of a fantasy.

As I stepped onto Berkeley's campus for the first time and listened to our tour guide speak, the mention of a small creek caught my attention.  I learned that in certain parts of campus, a small river-like thing runs under some of the bridges, and yet when I looked I didn't see much water.  The tour guide informed us that the water level only rises later on in the fall or winter, and that it often becomes very full and fills to the top.  So as I go to classes and pass by that site, I wonder if by the end of the year I will have finally had a real river experience-one that doesn't merely involve a sliver of a river, but rather a bountiful rush of blue.  I guess the only thing left to do is wade through the days, and hopefully-eventually-run into some water.