Under the American River

Every summer, I count down the days until I can return to the rivers. There’s something sacred about slipping into the cool, clear water of the Northern California Rivers. Swimming with my underwater camera has become a ritual—part adventure, part meditation. The moment I submerge, the noise of the world fades. All I hear is the muted hum of the current and the occasional clicking of pebbles shifting below. Being underwater feels like entering a whole new world—quiet, glowing, alive.

This summer, I was on a mission: capture a photograph that did justice to the hidden beauty of the American River. Going to spot after spot, I spent many days hiking to new swimming holes, chasing light and fish, only to come up empty-handed. The photos were always too murky, too dark, or the fish scattered before I could press the shutter.

But on a golden August afternoon, something shifted. I came to a spot along the Middle Fork outside of Foresthill and found a calm bend, where the water slowed and cleared. The surface above shimmered like glass, and I could see every stone on the riverbed. I slipped in slowly, the cold biting at my skin before it settled into something exhilarating. As I dove beneath, the world above faded into silence, replaced by the soft crackle of sand and rock shifting and the occasional flick of a fin.

That’s when I saw it, I swam around a large boulder and there it was—the way the light rippled across the boulders painting them with gold. Tiny fish darted in and out of the shadows, suspended in turquoise. It felt like being inside a dream. I held my breath as long as I could, steadied my camera, and clicked.

This was the shot. The only good one I captured all summer. But it was worth every failed attempt, every shiver and sunburn, every hour spent drifting through currents and rockhopping along the river to find new swimming holes. Because this photo—this moment—reminds me why I keep coming back: to witness the quiet magic of a world few ever see, and to carry a piece of it home.