Round 5: The Story (Breakin' out for WNC)

“You can love someone so much...But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.”
                                                               ~John Green~

     After Marcelle and I experienced our James Rivah flood stage rafting run (not sure the James has ever been rafted higher than 15 feet), I developed a new appreciation for our relationship and started picturing a future where I wasn't alone.  I had never considered a future that was spent with someone else by my side, and doing so changed my perspective on everything.  Marcelle went out and took control of the world, and was determined to get everything she could out of life, regardless of what challenges stood in her way.  Her will to succeed was attractive to me, and when combined with her stubbornness, determination, and take no prisoners attitude, she was one tough cookie.  I was happy that I was on her side of the fence, because Marcelle was not someone I wanted to stand in the way of.  She would have taken me out and then moved right on without thinking twice about it..................which seems to have happened anyway.
   Marcelle graduated in the Spring of 2004 and used her graduation money to apply for a post graduate program with Outward Bound.  She would be spending the entire summer in the mountains of Western North Carolina, with a majority of the time coming on trail training for a career in Wilderness Leadership.  I was going to miss her, but had my own summer planned guiding the James and working as the Director of Waterfront Operations for the Geara Woods Group.  Both of us were now pursuing our dreams, and we had the support of each other to strengthen our determination.
   Marcelle spent her summer completely drenched..............the summer of 2004 was a very wet summer in WNC, even more so than this past summer.  For all the boaters reading this, the North Fork of the French Broad ran for three months straight that summer, which is unheard of.  Marcelle and I wrote letters to each other, and every time I heard from her I remember her always saying, "Justin, you would not believe how much it rains here."...............hmmmmmm.  Non stop rain, six thousand foot mountains, and some of the most epic whitewater runs on the East Coast.  Yea, I knew where my future was taking me.


“We have to allow ourselves to be loved by the people who really love us, the people who really matter. Too much of the time, we are blinded by our own pursuits of people to love us, people that don't even matter, while all that time we waste and the people who do love us have to stand on the sidewalk and watch us beg in the streets! It's time to put an end to this. It's time for us to let ourselves be loved.”
                                                ~C. Joybell C.~

This is a powerful quote, with powerful truth.  If only I had found this quote long ago when the Fourteenth Street Whore entered my life.  

   The summer passed by and Marcelle returned home to RVA and Charlottesville, full of adventurous stories and a wealth of outdoor knowledge.................as well as a new found love for open boating.  I had spent my summer on the James, meeting new people, watching the community continue to grow, and advancing my whitewater knowledge and skills, both in a raft and a kayak.  I had become a strong part of the RVA boating community, but was reluctant to call the James and the people in the community home.  I was happy to have had Marcelle by my side, and to not have been sucked into the social train wreck that was beginning to take shape in the boating community, even ten years ago.  People cheated, were sneaky, and were manipulative.  Most of the girls in the boating community slept around, even if they had boyfriends.  Unfortunately a lot of the boaters who led the charge in this social dynamic still attempt to lead things today, and the lack of values, morals, and ethics continue to exist today, only at a much greater rate. (and yes, I am being a hypocrite, because eventually I fell into the trap as well)  Some created an environment that fuels this social dynamic, from opening bars to building the take out and so on.  The goal of the boating community was quickly becoming an escape from growing up and moving on with life.  Now you have 30+ year olds who are still partying with college girls and are still the exact same people they were ten years ago..................and unfortunately that brings with it some serious adult drama.  Drug Abuse, unfaithfulness, alcoholism, accusations of rape, accusations of money laundering through non-profit organizations (yea Jeff, I am referring to your bull shit accusations), bull shit high school like clicks of boaters, unsafe river practices, and people like the Fat Bastard seeing a way to take advantage of it all, etc., etc., etc.............this wasn't what adulthood was supposed to be.  In my mind, it was Marcelle and her independence and confidence to think for herself that represented adulthood to me, and I was excited that my kayaking career would be spent with her by my side, exploring the rivers and whitewater of the East Coast.  We would grow together as boaters, and would explore rivah after rivah, gorge after gorge, and would spend our life pursuing our love for the outdoors.  We would take our children down those rivahs, and escape the bull shit to create a life together on the rivah.  We would be the couple that passes by young boaters 30 years from now, still paddling and living the dream.  We would be the boaters that the youngsters would say, "I hope I have that one day.  I hope that I can find love on the rivah one day and experience it for my entire life."


“The biggest adventure you can ever take is to live the life of your dreams.”
~Oprah Winfrey~

   (I'm quoting Oprah just for you Marcelle)  Throughout the remainder of the year, she and I worked together at the Y while putting together a plan for the next chapter of our lives.  We had made the choice to pursue our dreams of the outdoor life, and we would do it together.  Neither of us had "real life" commitments holding us back, and the fact that we were following the dream together made it that much better, plus we were both ready to move on from Richmond and the developing scene.  Our destination was split between Durango, Colorado and Asheville, NC.  We visited Asheville during the year and began to look around.  Marcelle, having spent the past summer in and around the area, took the lead.  We decided together that Asheville was a great place to live, so we began planning our move the following year.
   The remainder of 2004 and 2005 were happy days for me.  I spent them falling in love with Marcelle.  I loved to spend time with her.  She made me feel safe, allowed me to believe in myself, and most importantly she made me feel loved.  I miss that the most about Marcelle..........the fact that she made me feel loved.  We had great times on the rivah for the entire year, worked as counselors and outdoor instructors for the Y, drove short buses together (long story, but one of my favorite memories of our times in RVA), and spent every moment we could together.


"There are two sorts of romantics:  those who love, and those who love the adventure of loving."

~Lesley Blanch~

   During the wintertime we spent our weekends living the paddling life, going to parties and hanging with the RVA paddling crew.  One of my favorite nights I ever spent in RVA with Marcelle happened on a cold January night.  Ben, Hunter, Matt, and a few other boys all lived together in an apartment on Monument Ave during that time.  On a night of one of their many parties, it snowed in RVA, resulting in a massive snowball fight between all the boaters in the streets of Monument Ave.  Marcelle lived in the fan, and after the party, she and I walked home together, late at night, as the snow fell around us.  I don't know why, but the memories of that walk are so clear in my mind.  I was happy to be with her, happy to share the experience with her, and happy that I found someone that I could truly love, and who truly loved me.
   When the summer of 2005 arrived, Marcelle and I ran private rafting trips for the YMCA through the RWC with insurance coverage from AW. (were there enough abbreviations in there for ya!)  I was proud of this project because it was the first time I had run my own outdoor program, and I created, managed, organized it myself.  Every Friday for the entire summer I led groups of YMCA teenagers down the rivah, and the experience for them and me was unique.  Most importantly, Marcelle worked as a guide, and I loved sharing with her the success that I had found in outdoor recreation.  We grew up together that summer, and as summer neared its end I knew I was ready to embark on the next chapter of my life.  At the end of the summer we found a beautiful little cabin in the mountains of Brevard, North Carolina.  We spent all of August traveling to Asheville, moving our lives, and creating a new home.........together.  I was so proud of Marcelle, our decisions, and our courage to break out and follow our dreams.   At the end of August 2005, Marcelle and I left RVA for the mountains of WNC, with a few thousand dollars, no set jobs, our boats, cars, and each other.  That was all we needed........each other.  Stay tuned, because the happiest days of my life are just ahead.


"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
                                                        ~Lao Tzu~

Enjoy the rivah.........hopefully water is on the way.  PEACE


Continue the story here...........................The Life   


 

Round 5: The Story (Fifteen Foot Rookie Runs)

“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my ship.” 
                            ~Louisa May Alcott~



   ..........to review.  It's February 2004, the rivah is sitting around 15 feet or about 60,000cfs, and an extremely determined and overly confident group of young paddlers are ready to tackle the mighty James at flood.  We put in at the Huguenot Bridge, which is the farthest point up the rivah any boater would put in for a whitewater paddle.  The first drop in the rivah, aside from Boshers Dam, is the Williams, or Z Dam just upstream of Pony Pasture.  The last significant whitewater in this section (and on the entire James for that matter) is at the 14th Street Bridge.  This section encompasses every drop of the RVA section of the James.  The group of kayakers, which included Zizza, Hunter, Ben, Matt, I think the little leprechaun, maybe Rand, and a few others I can't remember, all in kayaks, were looking to surf the rivah left side of Z Dam.  Marcelle and I were R-2ing a raft.  R-2ing is a team oriented way to paddle and there is no guide. It is well known among raft guides that there are many couples whose R-2 experiences have almost ended in break up, divorce, or only one of the two coming back from the trip.  (usually the woman)  R-2ing is not a popular way of paddling among couples.  Funny part about it was, Marcelle and I loved to R-2 together and we were able to always get along doing it.  Usually when couples paddle together and both are guides, there is one to many cooks in the kitchen...........but she and I were always smooth as silk.  
   It was an overcast winter day for paddling, and since we were late into winter, the rivah was bone chilling cold.  The high flows had turned the mighty James into a debris filled mess of chocolate milk, foam, brush, and logs.  We met up with a large group of paddlers and put on just upstream of the Huguenot Bridge.  Putting on at Huguenot is always nerve racking because your brain is trained to know if you are that high up the rivah then it is flooded and it is going to be a big day.  The Upper James at flood is surprisingly easy, even at super high water.  The rapids are for the most part washed out and everything turns into fast moving tongues of brown, and big, splashy waves through wide lines.  However, remember that whitewater is 70% psychological, so it took me six or seven years to learn the Upper James is perfectly safe at flood stage.  On this day, Marcelle and I were clueless rookies who just wanted to prove our toughness on the James.
   The Upper trip was only about twenty minutes long, and was for the most part uneventful, except for Z Dam.  As Marcelle and I approached the wave, we waited to drop in down the horizon line, but the wave kept getting bigger and bigger.  Eventually we heaved up over the massive wall of water, landing side ways and almost flipping in the out flow.  It is funny to think of that day as rookies because these days I would surf that wave in my kayak without even thinking about it, and it is a nice, smooth, friendly wave.  Ten years ago the wave seemed twenty feet high.  It is funny how whitewater gets smaller the further into your career you go.  Yet another part of the psychological component.  


“There are no facts, only interpretations.”
              ~Friedrich Nietzsche~

  As we approached the takeout for the upper, located at 42nd Street and Reedy creek, a smaller group of boaters began talking about running the Lower.  The Lower James at fifteen feet is, as stated from summer posts, massive, Class V whitewater, full of dangerous Dam drops, huge holes, and large piles of debris, some of which are located in bad spots.  The usual suspects in kayaks were ready for the undertaking, and the rafters started discussing a team for the expedition.  Marcelle and I looked at each other and I remember thinking, "whatever she decides.........I'm with her."  She asked my opinion, and I said "let's go for it.".  Our friend Dwayne, as well as Brian, were ready for the challenge as well.  We switched out people and gear to form one raft of Lower pioneers and set off with the kayakers for the mountains of water headed our way. 
   We approached the Lower section from the far rivah left side just above Hollywood cemetery to line up for a safe slot over the first dam named Grummans, knowing we would be pushed straight into Cemetery, a formidable name for a rapid.  It's name derives from the fact that Hollywood Cemetery overlooks the rapid, not because that is where it takes you if you screw up.  It is funny to re-tell this story because my mindset on the James is so different today.  Cemetery at fifteen feet in a kayak is big, but more than doable, and this is something I have learned over the years.  Cemetery in a raft at flood stage is massive for some reason, and some would say it is tougher than Hollywood.  (all the haters just hated) Looking at the story today is a very different mind set than thinking about the story when it happened.  I was a dumb ass rookie who thought I was the shit, and needed to be humbled.  Once I was humbled over the past decade, I became a much wiser paddler, approached the rivah differently, and everything began to slow down.  Then the environment became more controlled, and my mind was able to work situations out better.............now if I can just apply this to life.


"Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known."
                                                                        ~A. A. Milne~

   On this day however, our mind set was to charge as hard as possible and prove our worth in the whitewater world.  We entered the top of Cemetery without problem, which was good, because once we entered the rapid the water was going to take us where it wanted to go, regardless of what we did to stop it..  I remember thinking before we made the run that it was going to be similar to the Gauley..........I was wrong.  Cemetery at fifteen feet was much, much bigger, more powerful, and because the shore line is hundreds of yards away with 100 times the amount of debris filled, icy cold water raging around you, it is much more intimidating. We hit our line, but all of us were thrown from side to side in the raft as we charged wave after wave, hammering down rivah, just trying to get a paddle in the water.  The kayakers around us were battling their own lines, and Ben dumped sideways over a pour over hole in his boat, and began to window shade.  Window shading is exactly what it sounds like.  A boater loses control and dumps over a drop sideways, becoming caught in a hole.  When this happens, the backwash of the hole begins to roll the kayak over and over and over, like a window shade rolling up, until the boater either swims or regains control.  As we passed Ben's small debacle, Dwayne reached his paddle out of the raft and attempted to hook Ben out of the hole.  I don't remember if this worked, but it was a hell of a move to attempt.  Eventually Ben washed out and the group slipped through the jaws of Cemetery still intact........................however the most difficult lied just downstream.
   I have explained in previous posts that the bottom of the James, throughout the middle lines and around The Island contains the largest of our cities whitewater, along with Hollywood.  The dams, slots, islands strainers, and debris throughout these lines are what make up the heart of urban whitewater in this country, as well as plenty of hazards.  The best post to re read for an in depth description of the environment our group was about to enter is "Week 6:  Bring on the Floods".      
   We approached the lower drops of the James within five minutes of entering the torrent of water.  The rivah was moving so fast that had there been a swim at Cemetery, I am not sure we would have made it to shore before the next set of rapids..........but we had made it this far, and I had made it with Marcelle by my side.  She was a bad ass, no doubt.  Our plan was to cut through X's in the middle of the rivah, and continue working right until we reached the Southside takeout next to the Southern States Silos.  This route allowed us to hopefully avoid the most dangerous whitewater, however, a large dam and Second Break rapid stood between us and freedom.  
   We shot through X's with no issues and started working further right, preparing to set up for Second Break, the next rapid and the biggest of the day for us..  However, the James has a funny way of hiding her best secrets for only those high water adventure seekers.  Below the Manchester Bridge rests the stone pillars from the original bridge.  The bridge has been re-built many times, and a history of pillars can be seen throughout the rivah bed.  Some have fallen over, some are broken and decaying, and some still stand upright.  These pillars are normally a simple flat water float, but at high water, they begin to cause obstructions and un-for-seen holes.  Below these pillars there is a dam cutting diagonally upstream across the rivah toward the city.  At high water this dam becomes a deadly pour over spanning the entire rivah, and the only way out is to shoot Second Break through a 30 foot wide slot.  Pouring over the dam in a raft would be almost certainly a fatal mistake at fifteen feet.  If the dam did not swallow you up in the backwash at it's base, then you would be forced to swim 300 yards of large Class IV whitewater in freezing cold water full of debris.  Our goal was to avoid any of this from happening.  


“Do one thing every day that scares you.”
~Eleanor Roosevelt~

   As we approached the pillars we noticed a dip ahead of us in the rivah, but our attention was being paid to the entrance of Second Break downstream.  Marcelle and I were in the front of the boat, Brian sat behind Marcelle, and Dwayne was guiding.  The small dip snuck up on us in seconds, and when I looked down into the hole I knew we were in big trouble.  The hole was deep, very deep.  It was so deep in fact that I remember a dark shadow in the bottom of it.  Marcelle always described it as a mouth, because the crashing wave in front of the hole folded back on us like a giant mouth eating the raft..................the entire boat went airborne, and we didn't stand a chance.  Before I knew it I was under water, and the cold took my breath away.  Before I even surfaced I remember thinking................"Holy shit!  The dam is just downstream."  The kayakers had all worked right to line up Second Break and all they could do was watch, because we were headed straight where we didn't want to be, all swimming, gasping for air, holding onto an upside down raft.........we were screwed.
   The force of the water pushing downstream gave us about twenty to thirty seconds before we dumped over the worst part of the dam, followed by more flood stage whitewater.  In those twenty seconds however, perfection was witnessed within intense circumstances.  Four guides, all well trained, had a drastic situation which we had trained for many times over..........flip drills.  Rafts flip, and when they do they must be flipped back.  Usually this happens in a pool below a rapid, but we are experienced to do it in any environment.  I reached the raft first and immediately climbed up on top.  Dwayne followed right behind me, and Brian saw that he should position himself below the raft to push it up and over.  Rafts are not easy to flip, and we had one chance at it.  Dwayne and I stood up and hooked our paddles into the bail holes on the bottom of the floor.  We leaned back, grabbing our paddles and pulling hard.  Our momentum began to flip the raft over and we fell into the water, forcing the boat over within a matter of seconds.  Brian and Marcelle were below the raft, and their push forced it over on the first shot.  We all found ourselves back underwater momentarily, but now we had an upright raft.  Within seconds I hopped back in and began to grab Dwayne.  Once he was in I turned and saw Brian............................but no Marcelle.  The dam was now within ten seconds of us.  "Where the fuck is Celle!", I yelled.  Brian scurried around to the back of the boat and found her hanging to the outside, hiding behind the tube.  For a few seconds though, she was gone, and it made my stomach drop.  Brian helped whip Marcelle back in the boat and we began to re-organize.  Second Break now lay too far right.  We were not going to make it, and we were headed for the inevitable.........dropping over the dam at fifteen feet.  As it approached I looked to Dwayne and Brian for leadership.  They both looked a bit concerned about the unfolding situation.  
   Many boaters remember the giant log that used to straddle the dam above and to the left of Second Break.  In 2004, the log was there, and we were headed toward it.  As we approached, we realized the base of the log was forming a small eddy that acted as a landing pool for dropping over the dam.  The obvious line was to drop the dam just downstream of the log, using the eddy to avoid the backwash of the dam.  We began to drop, and as we did, we reached forward, grasping the eddy with our paddles, and digging through the aerated water for leverage to push the raft out of the hole, and avoid the deadly backwash we were doomed to be caught in......................it worked, and the eddy allowed us to escape our nightmare.  The log had saved us, and we were somehow below the dam, in an upright boat, with all paddlers accounted for.  


"With every mistake, we must surely be learning.” 
                                ~George Harrison~


   The irony of this story rests in the log which saved our lives.  The log washed off the dam sometime in the later half of the decade.  On my third day on The Island an exploration to the Western Tip brought me to a debris field.  At the top of the debris field rest the same log that had saved our lives that day.  I confirmed this with Dwayne, who agreed that it was the same log.  I find it ironic and bittersweet that our saviors final resting place was on The Island.  Every evening I would hike to the top of the Western Tip, and watch the sunset while sitting on the log...............and every evening I thought about Marcelle and that day on the James.
   After dropping over the dam we found ourselves weaving in and out of holes and pour overs, traversing our way down the south side of The Island............yes, we traveled right next to The Island a decade ago, on what is still one of the more intense days I have ever had on the rivah.  Little did I know that I would return to that same place a decade later, this time without Marcelle by my side.  Within minutes we were at the takeout, shivering, deer eyed, scared, and happy to be alive.  The entire adventure was over before it even dawned on us what had happened.  45 minutes, top to bottom, and we survived.
   I do not tell this story because it is yet another whitewater adventure in my life..................there have been many of those to tell.  I tell it because it is the day I fell in love with Marcelle.  The feeling I felt when I turned around and didn't see her in the boat was a feeling I had never felt before.  She had always been there, right beside me, all year long, and then for a moment she was gone, and it scared me.  I knew after that moment how important Marcelle was to me.  I no longer just watched my own back.................I watched hers as well.  Marcelle and I had explored the whitewater world for an entire year, stuck next to each other through thick and thin, and the loyalty showed at that moment.  I loved her, and I wanted to grow old with her.............and I wanted to spend my entire life on endless adventures with the one true love I ever had.......................this rivah haunts me with memories.     
   
   
“And who understands? Not me, because if I did I would forgive it all.”
                                           ~Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls~

See ya on the rivah...................once the rains come back.


Click here to continue the adventure.................................Breakin' out for WNC 

Round 5: The Story (The Ole' School Days of RVA)

"We must always have old memories and young hopes."
               ~Arsene Houssaye~



When I refer to the "'ole school days", keep in mind that 2003 is the tail end of those days.  The real "ole' school days" were the 90's, and those were the days of the Double R Bar, the original Richmond BIG water paddlers, and 20+ foot runs on the Lower.  Those days were before my part of the RVA whitewater history, so D.J. can fill you in on the "real" original days of the raft shop.......................then Buzz took over, the fun ended, and the real business began.  The good ole days of absurd drunkenness in the shop, mid night runs, and not giving a fuck were over, and Richmond Raft Company became a "legit" operation.  Buzz did well with the marketing, and the whitewater of the James was alive with smiles and rainbows.  The guide crew started to form, and before long a true paddling community had been born and was now growing.
   River Guides are a rare breed.............it takes a unique person to want to guide whitewater, and with that unique character comes a strong personality.  When you add the fact that you are all young, in shape, and half naked in the sun and water all day doing bad ass shit, well, let's just say it sets things up well for off the water (and sometimes on) extra curricular activities.........and obviously it still does.  The last decade of raft shops across America have been the sites of more debauchery, drunken hooliganism, tall tales of whitewater legends, small tales of greatness on the rivah, true love, true heartbreak, true paddling, and all out fun, joyful memories of how it used to be.................and only half of those memories will ever be remembered.


“I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
                                 ~F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise~
 In the Spring of 2003 I was working for an alternative school in Brooklyn Park, teaching middle school kids.  This place was intense.  The kids were wild as hell, and just keeping everything in check from day to day was a non stop chore.  I loved the job and was enjoying what I did, and I was doing it in a diverse community and with a well rounded team.  On the weekends I was not using my time in the most constructive of manners (aside from playing soccer every Sunday), so I decided to look into a new activity with one of my friends.  We were going to a group interview for RRC to become guides.  On the night of the interview, we walked into the shop down by the rivah, and found a small warehouse full of random people sitting around talking.  My buddy and I went to the end of a wooden picnic table in the middle of the room.  There were a couple of guys sitting on the counter top, some standing outside smoking cigarettes, a girl at the end of the table reading a book, and a few people sitting on top of another picnic table talking.  An older man was behind the counter and he was talking to individual people.  After a few minutes of observing, I could see what was going on.
   The man behind the counter was Buzz, and he was interviewing people, and while doing that, the current guides were sizing up everyone in the room.  Basically, it was like a backyard football game when it comes time to choose teams.  While sitting and waiting I noticed the girl reading the book looked familiar for some reason.  After a few minutes of talking to my buddy and being bothered by who she was, I finally just leaned over and asked her........."Do we know each other?".  Remember that I have no game, so even though it sounded like a pick up line, I actually meant "Do I know you?"  She of course responded "I don't think so", but then she did talk to me for a bit, so I guess it worked.  After my interview my buddy and I headed home, and in all honesty I didn't think about the interview all that much, but I did remember the name of the girl reading the book.....................Marcelle.
   I received a call a few days later saying that I was invited to Spring Raft Guide training, every Saturday for two months in the early spring, I believe starting the first week of March.  My buddy had not been chosen, which really sucked.  I reported on the first Saturday, bright and early ready to go...............and the girl reading the book reported too.  Sweet!


“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.” 
                        ~Haruki Murakami~


   Raft guide training naturally creates a team environment among the strong, while simultaneously weeding out the soft.  It's early spring, cold as hell, the water is higher, and if you train to be a guide, you will swim.........a lot............in cold water!  If you aren't swimming, then your instructors suck.  By doing all this, a lot of people just don't come back the next weekend.  Marcelle and I kept coming back, along with a handful of others.  By late April, we had been beaten down but were ten times tougher on the rivah then we ever would have been otherwise.  Some of our original instructors, Ben, Dwayne, Sam, etc., truly did an exceptional job at training raft guides back in the day.  The class that graduated that year with Marcelle and I, as well as the graduating classes from the years before and the year after made up a group of boaters who all remain in the boating community today.................which is what makes everything that has happened so heartbreaking.  There was no Team WAV or Passages crew, or 14th Street whoring, or Fat Bastards, or anything else.  There was simply a small, good group of people, and the James was our playground.  We were all friends.  There was no back stabbing, sleeping with friends girlfriends, competition on the rivah, and there was no Fourteenth Street to fuel it all.  We were friends, and we just loved to hang out with each other.  I loved to hang out with Marcelle.
   Over the course of the summer the rivah community grew closer together.  Marcelle, Liz, myself, Danny, Allison, Rand, Ben, Hunter, Dwayne, D.J., Elyse, Mike, the little leprechaun, Matt, and a slew of other dirt bag raft guides and kayakers spent the summer pushin' rubber on the James, jumping off the Belle Isle Bridge, swimming at Pipeline at low water (which happened a lot back then), fishing custy's out of Pipeline, running evening play trips, and being young and wild.  Marcelle and I were friends for the first half of the summer, and I think that friendship is what helped our relationship grow.  The hardest part about losing her in the end is that I lost my best friend.  She always was, and without her I feel lost.
   I still remember the first time we were on the rivah together, the first time I kissed her, the first time I knew I loved her.  It didn't happen quickly, although I always knew it would.  By the end of the summer the secret was out, and no matter how much I tried to deny it, I had a girlfriend, and a damn interesting, unique, creative, and beautiful one at that.  Marcelle was quickly becoming a part of my life, and in doing so, I was quickly beginning to find myself and what I wanted in my own life.  Without her I am not sure that ever would have been possible.


“You only need one man to love you. But him to love you free like a wildfire, crazy like the moon, always like tomorrow, sudden like an inhale and overcoming like the tides. Only one man and all of this.” 
                   ~C. JoyBell C.~


  At the end of the summer the entire crew headed to the Lower Yough for a company trip.  That weekend is when I knew that Marcelle and I were going to be together for a long time.  I loved paddling the rivah with her, and I loved to watch her style rapids.  She was a hell of a good guide...........that I never doubted.  But she was also a good person.  She wanted to experience life.  Her artistic nature allowed her to see the world in a unique and beautiful way.  Her feisty spirit gave her an energy that was magnetic.  Her warmth and caring for the people she loved was unparalleled.  She drew me in, and having the opportunity to be a part of her life gave me hope, and it gave me purpose.
   Over the course of the next year Marcelle finished her senior year at VCU and she and I started spending a lot of time together.  We worked together, both on the rivah and at the Y, played together, both on the rivah and on the soccer field, and basically started living together.  I helped her with her senior art projects, she was always there for me, no matter what.  We started to fall in love.  I was still a mess in my own life, but with her by my side I felt motivated and energized to make something of myself.  I had just never thought about what I wanted to make of myself until she came along, and I think she sensed that, so she took it upon herself a lot of the time to help me find my way.  I am so grateful to her for that.  It is why I fell in love with her.  She was the only one that truly cared.
   Over the winter Marcelle and I began to kayak together with some other friends, but it was a light hearted commitment the first year.  I bought a boat and began to swim the James at low water, and Marcelle encouraged me the entire way.  In February the James rose to fifteen feet, and being young and dumb, we decided to test our stupidity by going on a high water, winter time play trip.  We put in at Huguenot flat water, just under the Huguenot bridge.  We took out at the southside of Fourteenth Street.  It took us 45 minutes to make the trip (normally a four hour trip), but a lot happened in that forty five minutes......................so stay tuned.


“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” 
                                                              ~Eleanor Roosevelt~


To find out what happened in those forty five minutes, click here...........Fifteen Foot Rookie Runs