The Delta
After dropping us at the Stockton marina, Ryan left to drive back home. The fact that he could return in a few hours to where we’d started 11 days before was part of the relativity we were exploring on this trek.

We watched a parade of boaters come and go: mom, pop, dog; then several lone fishermen; and five head-shaved, tattooed young men crammed into a boat built for speed rather than fishing. John Knotts’s 33-foot Catalina sailboat emerged from among a group of college rowing-crew kids launching their sculls. It was to be our mother ship for the next five days. John had been the Sierra District State Park superintendent, which included responsibility for the Mono Lake unit. With David Martin (another State Parks employee) along as crew, he had sailed from San Francisco Bay to meet us. John’s brother, Marty, came along in his smaller catamaran.

Toward sunset that first night on the Delta, we turned out of the deepwater channel and anchored near Lost Isle. David Martin had a portable GPS unit; he paddled his kayak a few yards away, then called back that he was exactly on the 38th.

Swimming in the warm water felt fantastic, though I could not help speculating about the agricultural runoff chemicals that were in the mix. I told the others that the lower San Joaquin River has been derided as the “lower colon” of the valley’s river system because it carries so much pollution. Still, it was a beautiful evening in a natural setting.

One side of the channel was green and lush and noisy with birds. The other side was a bare rock levee, devoid of life. As night fell, from behind that levee we heard the insistent beeping of vehicles backing up. The next morning we saw the source of the noise: trucks driving atop the levee, each pulling two trailers brimming with tomatoes harvested during the night.

Our westerly route took us through Frank’s Tract. Several miles south were the massive pumps that send water into the aqueducts serving the San Joaquin Valley and southern California. We anchored at the Brannan Island State Recreation Area marina (38º07'N, 121º41'W).

Janet: Life on the river is a whole different world, with pace dictated by tide, wind, and marina. It was hard to believe that the little channel in front of us could take us to the Golden Gate and the open sea. But as we chugged along that gradually widening channel, the scale of the Delta revealed itself.

You could feel the power of the water, full of life, giving life, moving life. The water has a wonderful sweet smell, like “sweet rain,” I decided. A very different feel and odor than a Sierra stream. More rich, warmer, and dense with life.

The most exciting part of our first full day on the river was a sea lion. I saw a dark head, then thrashing body, then a flash of a huge silver fish. So much is going on under there! I felt privileged to catch the glimpse--a sight becoming rare as the salmon disappear. What must it have been like 100 years ago, with the rivers teeming with multiple salmon runs?

We had been given an update on the issues affecting the Delta while we were at Hetch Hetchy because Spreck Rosekrans had just come from a Bay Delta Conservation Plan (BDCP) meeting. The BDCP group, appointed by the governor, sought agreement among water diverters, environmental interests, and Delta farmers and residents, a process Spreck characterized as “gnarly.” Spring and fall runs of chinook salmon and the tiny delta smelt, populations of fish that once were incredibly abundant, are now close to extinction. There is a huge seismic risk to levees. Water agencies want a peripheral canal around the Delta so they can continue moving fresh water if levees fail and salt water reaches the pumps. Delta landowners worry that, with a canal in place, other interests would no longer share the “common pool” that gives everyone an incentive to maintain levees. Major concerns remain that enough flow be guaranteed to the estuary ecosystem and that a peripheral canal not facilitate ever more diversions.