“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
