California’s Kern River Offers Some of the Best Rafting in the Country

As soon as we arrived at Kern River, our collective nerves soared. Erin’s partner was in a steely silence as she looked at the river waters that flowed furiously through the southern foothills Sierra Nevada. Etta, her daughter who was only a week away from turning 13 had the same reaction. I knew this to be their shared method of armoring up for the unknown—and a wholly appropriate response to the occasion. We were going to spend two days in a rubber raft bobbing on the edge of the river, navigating through 20 miles turbulent whitewater.

Their silence only heightened my own anxiety. We were on our first trip since Momentum River ExpeditionsThe outfitter, based in Oregon, specializes in luxury-infused rafting trips throughout the American West. I’d also been wanting to try it for most of my life. As a young boy, my father would often run rivers, telling me about his adventures in an infectious, off-color poem and assuring that I could join him when I grew up. But when I turned 13—generally the age when you can trust a kid to handle a paddle in serious rapids—my dad moved away and started a new family. As our relationship began to deteriorate, we were no longer able to go on rafting excursions. 

Suffice to say that, three decades later, it was a touch loaded to be on my first multiday rafting trip with my chosen family of Erin and Etta—and especially for it to be on the Kern, which Erin introduced me to. The 165 mile river is fed by Mount Whitney snowmelt. Mount Whitney is the tallest mountain in the United States. Sequoia National ForestIt is a magnificent landscape that has long captivated seasoned fly fisherman and hardened river rats. Though only three hours by car from Los Angeles, where we live, it’s a region of California that’s remarkable not just for its rugged splendor but also for the absence of crowds and Instagram-friendly curation that have come to define more popular parks like Joshua Tree. Erin’s love for the area was one of the things that I fell in love with Erin over the course of our early relationship. She took me on a weekend trip and it became a part of my life. Over the years, she, Etta, and I have driven up often—including, at my prodding, for a half-day rafting trip back when Etta was eight. 

This would be an entirely different adventure: the rapids are more difficult, and the immersion is something that only comes from living on the river for a few nights. Momentum’s “Wilderness Gourmet” trip would show us the unique style of the company. Our first day would end at the newly built base camp where Matthew Domingo – a chef that helped Momentum pioneer such journeys 15 years earlier – would prepare a multicourse meal. 

Our guide, Shana, gave us a lesson on basic safety and paddling techniques before leading us to our raft. As we were swept into the Kern current in the flotilla, my family, which was the first raft, experienced something remarkable: Our anxieties vanished. Sims was a major factor in the success of this trip. A sinewy spark plug of a woman and veteran of a number of Momentum’s runs—the Salmon in Idaho, the Rogue in Oregon, the Tatshenshini in Alaska—she had a manner, at once chill and focused, that instilled confidence. But equally critical was something that often gets eclipsed by the air of adrenalized machismo that defines rafting culture—namely, how relaxing it is. 

The whitewater is there, and we learned it could be fierce at times, determined to pull our bodies out of the raft. Most of the trip consisted of a drift which was slow, meditative and sharpened pixels of present tense. This is something that has become increasingly rare today in our pixelated era. The landscape moved us, literally. Everything around us had a Technicolor-like quality. The whirlpools which appeared as quickly as disappeared. The granite boulders that were scattered across the hills. The silhouettes from hawks flying overhead. The smiles, giggles, or gasps that came from those I cared most about in the world. 

Sims announced: “If anyone would like to go swimming, this is the moment.”

Erin ran in. I followed her. The water was an icy whoosh—and a veritable elixir on that nearly 100-degree day. Erin was the first teenager to join us, even though her daughter had turned 13 the previous weekend. “Oh my god!” She shouted. This is absolutely amazing! 

In the past, we would have rushed from L.A. straight to one of Kernville’s tumbledown motels, the town’s main attraction. We spent our days in Kernville exploring the many mountain trails of the Sequoia National Forest, with the Cannell Meadow Trail as a particular favorite. We also enjoyed relaxing in the hotsprings and watching the sunset. Kern River Brewing Co., a restaurant with sweeping views of the valley. 

But in keeping with the ad-hoc theme of our weekend, we opted this time to drive up via the Cuyama Valley, which unfurls at the border of Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo counties and is two hours from both L.A. and Kernville. 

This is where we are going Cuyama BuckhornIn recent years, the Buckhorn has been transformed from a roadside hotel into a stylish resort complete with vintage features such as firepits for roasting marshmallows and bocce court. We chose the Buckhorn for the goat hike, which is a brand new experience that the hotel can offer guests. This is more or less what you’re thinking: a hike accompanied by goats—specifically the trio of sturdy pack goats that live in the care of the hotel’s trail guide and head bartender, a rangy, affable guy named Sam Seidenberg. Erin Seidenberg and I were both pursuing an ulterior motive. We wanted to make Etta feel special, but also test the hypothesis that goats would bridge the gap in interest between Etta and us. 

Yes, the answer was. We met Seidenberg with his goats after a relaxing day at Buckhorn’s swimming pool. Then we set out into the Sierra Madre foothills. As California quail darted through scrub oaks, Seidenberg foraged for various ingredients—purple sage, yerba santa, manzanita berries—to create celebratory mocktails. One of the goats, with the regal name of White Ledge, carried the ice and bartending gear—serving, in essence, as an elegantly horned bar cart that was more than happy to be fawned over by a blissed-out Etta. 

After the hike, we ended the evening at the Buckhorn’s bar-restaurant, a woodsy den of taxidermy where the kitchen dazzled us with a meal featuring produce from local farms and a tomahawk steak of epic proportions. The fact that we would be on the river in 10 hours gave it a Californian vibe, like a weekend road trip that turns into an adventure.

“This is…crazy,” whispered Etta when, after drifting 10 miles down the Kern, we arrived at Momentum’s base camp. An enclave of safari-style tents set atop wooden platforms—inside two of which, as if by magic, our luggage awaited—the experience was like being shipwrecked in a place you never want to be rescued from. Adirondack chairs lined a small stretch of riverbank, there was cornhole and a pile of board games and cards sat on a communal dining table. In a bar that was shaded by a Sycamore, one of our guides was making cocktails with ginger and pisco. Crazy indeed. 

Meanwhile, Domingo, the chef, was busy cooking dinner in an impressive camp kitchen. The table, laden with local wines, faced the kitchen. Paso Robles. The meal was loosely inspired by Peruvian and Asian cuisine. It included heirloom tomato flecked with tomato powder, tossed with crispy shallots and a tangy Ceviche of whitefish and shrimp; and marinated hangersteak with an aji amarillo Paste; and roasting chicken in verde sauce. Eating like this would have been a special treat anywhere; eating like this after a long day of sailing felt illicit. Etta was surprised to find a candle in her dessert, a tres leches cake smothered in frozen cherries. 

We were lulled into sleep by the river and woke up to a delicious breakfast. Domingo explained that the meal was a tribute to the Basque community in the area, which originated with the shepherds, who began working on the ranches of the area from the late 1800s. Along with eggs piperade, a dish made with a ragoût of tomatoes and peppers, there was a gratin of caramelized leeks and shredded potatoes. It was all so delicious and relaxing that I almost forgot we still had a full day of rafting to go. 

After a few minutes on the water, we all felt more at ease, as we had developed a Pavlovian-like response to Sims’s many commands: “LEFT SIDES BACK!” “LEAN IN!” “LEAN IN!” On calm sections of the river, Sims gave both Erin and Etta a chance at the helm; she also let Etta “ride the bull” through some midsize rapids—which is to say Etta took them on while straddling the nose of the raft, feet dangling over the edge and holding tight to a rope in the manner of, well, someone riding a bull. 

The day was rounded off with a pounding rush of three Class IV rapids. Despite their intimidating monikers—one was called Eat Rocks and Bleed—the experience was far more exhilarating than harrowing. Pinball was the last of our three, and it proved to be most accurate. I don’t know what happened, but the raft buckled as we entered it. Erin was seated at the front of the raft and was somehow airborne, while still sitting in the nose. The raft was now folded up like a tortilla. Etta was still technically inside the raft and also shoulder-deep in Kern. Sims held onto her oars as well as Etta’s life jacket. 

Then—boom—the raft was spat out of the rapids, all of us still in it, laughing maniacally as we high-fived with our paddles. 

Sims asked for our favourite part of the journey as we pulled into shore. I knew immediately what my answer was: sharing this experience with Erin and Etta. Most of my life I had thought of trips like this as something that my father would do and I would miss out on. Now I realized that he had been the one to miss out. I also knew, from the slight quaver in my cheeks, that were I to attempt to say any of this out loud, it would not be only river water dampening my face. 

“Pinball,” I muttered. “That was nuts!” 

This story was first published in July 2025 issue. Travel + Leisure Make a splash!”