Week 24 - The Perfect Rivah - Part II

****This is the continuation of Week 24 Part I.  It was written almost two months ago.  Sorry for the delay.  I blame the ADHD and lack of Adderall.  I advise that you read Part 1 first before continuing below, otherwise you will have missed out.  Week 24 - The Perfect Rivah - Part I****

“There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
                                    ~Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear~

You would all be wise to fear that last one.

   ..........So to review, I have just dropped into Koontz Flume, one of the largest rapids on the Lower Gauley, and upon reaching the bottom I turned and witnessed my friend drop over a pour over upside down before disappearing next to an undercut rock............Yes, this day was not going well.  The worst part about the situation was that there was nothing I could do except sit and watch.  I heard whistles being blown from the photographers on shore and then watched as an empty boat was spit out of the maw and into the passing wave train at the bottom of the rapid, but the paddler didn't follow.  When it comes to the rivah, I tend to be a worrier, so needless to say I was a little worried.  Seconds passed by and nothing..................I kept watching the photographers on shore because their angle of view to the ensuing carnage was better than mine.  It is not a pleasant experience to have to read the faces of others in order to gain clarity as to how drastic the scene was that was being played out behind the undercut.  All I could read on their faces was that they looked worried, and whatever was happening looked like it hurt.  Fortunately, not a moment too late, I caught a glimpse of a blue helmet, then a hand, then a PFD, and then a paddle.  Two of my friends had derailed off course and been funneled over the drop, and now I counted two boats and two bodies, both of whom were conscious.  The paddler who had rolled as he fell over the drop had somehow rolled up out of the maw and eddied out behind the undercut.  The second paddler, who had pulled his skirt and swam, was recirculating in an eddy behind the undercut, hence the reason I was unable to see him.  They both flushed out from behind the rock, and were quickly swept downstream and into the pool I was watching from.


"Every strike brings me closer to the next home run.” 

                                                ~Babe Ruth~


   We recovered all the gear and the boat, and after a few minutes of struggle found ourselves re-grouping on shore.  The swimmer had taken a beating.  I had not turned in time to see it, but he had flipped well above the drop in the entry rapids, missed two rolls, and was swept over the drop upside down.  The pour over that he tumbled over has a sharp pointed rock in the middle of it just under the surface of the water, and unfortunately his head met that rock with considerable force. For all the non paddlers out there, imagine being upside down in an oxygen absent environment, trapped in a boat, while taking a major blow to the head, completely disoriented with no ability to know where you are............it really sucks! Once he gathered his senses, he reported that he took a hard knock to his head and asked me to inspect him for a concussion, as well as checking his skull for holes.  I went through the proper protocol, and found a large quarter sized welt behind his ear.  When I saw it, it became obvious that he had hit his head very hard.  I looked over the rest of his head, checked his pupils, and asked him a series of questions.  Despite the rather large goose egg he now possessed, he showed no signs of being concussed, but I knew we needed to closely monitor him for the remainder of the day.  However, as I have stated before, kayaking is a very psychologically tortuous sport.  My buddy was rattled, and we had A LOT of whitewater left to paddle.  I have learned that in these instances it is best to let the paddler be, and allow him or her to work out the issues inside their own head.  Having someone harass you about your psychological state of mind never helps make anything better, and usually results in further anxiety.  After about ten minutes of cigarettes, a safety meeting, a replay of the scene, and a bit of silence, he regathered himself and away we went.


“As long as there is life, there is a potential; and as long as there is a potential, there will be a success! You will sprout again when cut down! You will rise again even when you fall!”
                                                                         ~Israelmore Ayivor~

   The great thing about the situation was that we were on the Lower G, a rivah that can turn the tide for any rattled boater.  There are so many majestic pools, smaller Class II-III rapids, and endless pieces of shoreline scenery to help restore ones psyche.  I have had multiple non paddling readers make a request to me that I write a story about what it is like to be a kayaker, experiencing Class IV-V whitewater.  I was told that they enjoy the creative writing aspect of The Island Chronicles (as opposed to me bashing the shit out of someone), and wanted to see a piece written strictly about the journey down a whitewater rivah.  I have been reluctant to write the piece because it is a piece that means a lot to me, and I don't want to screw it up.  I figured if I ever did write that piece, it should be written about one of my favorite stretches of whitewater in the world..........the Lower G.  So let's begin with our journey down The Perfect Rivah, from Koontz on..............(now that you know I broke my camera, it should explain why I post lots of older pictures.  All of the pictures in the following piece were taken by myself during the 2012 Gauley season, mostly on the same day we were chased by the gun tottin' hillbillies..............ENJOY)   

****Let's make this little trip interactive.  The following is a link to an excellent scouting site about the entire Gauley Rivah.  Feel free to follow along on the journey as you read the story.  It is pretty easy to figure out.  Just pay attention to the rapid names.  Naming rapids is a great way to figure out logistics, and produces some very creative results......................... Link: A Trip Down the Gauley****   

   "The calm nature of the Lower G revealed itself after pulling out of the rescue eddy below Koontz.  We floated through the pool and stretched back out to prepare for the long paddle ahead.  As we rounded the next bend, the majestic nature of the rivah exposed itself in the form of Canyon Doors and Junkyard.  Canyon Doors is a long Class III rapid that looks intimidating from above, but possesses a clean line all the way through to the bottom.  I have never been sure which rapid is Canyon Doors and which is Junkyard, so they always exist in my mind as one.  What makes Canyon Doors so memorable is the towering rock wall on rivah right that rests directly over the rapid.  It climbs nearly 200 feet up the shoreline............

The cliffs of Canyon Doors and Junkyard watching over us.

  Rumor has it that you don't want to flip or roll in Canyon Doors (Junkyard) because the rivah bottom contains old dishwashers, dryers, and a few cars that have been pushed off the top of the cliff by the hillbilly locals of West By God. (might be the same boys who held a gun to our heads in "One Great West By God 'Yakin Story")  Snagging your face on an old, rusty dishwasher on the rivah bottom would not be a good way to end a day on the Gauley.  As we dropped into the entrance, the warm sun glowed off the rock face of the canyon, and the rhythm of the Lower G seeped back into our souls.  We slipped through, and spit out into the pool below the rapid.  
   The next few miles contain easy Class II-III rapids as the canyon breaks apart.  The scenery is magnificent, and the calm nature of the rivah allows you time to soak it all in.  We floated along, passing under the train bridge and the last sign of human impact until reaching the meadows more than six miles below the lower gorge.  For miles the rivah continues its slow push through the hills of West By God.  With every rapid, we slipped deeper and deeper into the lower gorge, giving up small Class II and III mazes of whitewater along the way.  Each rapid contains it's own unique character.  These rapids are great fun for intermediate and advanced boaters alike.  They give the chance to practice new moves, explore alternate lines, and enjoy the payoff to years of training that we all cherish as kayakers.  One of my favorite things about the sport of kayaking is it gets better as we become better boaters.  When you put in the time to really learn the skill, and develop a passion for what you love to do, as opposed to doing it simply for the glory, it pays off so much more in the end.  Loving kayaking and developing that passion is the greatest reward in sport.        


“The score never interested me, only the game.”
~Mae West~

   After a few miles of open valleys, easy rapids, and breathtaking scenery, the rivah makes a quick ninety degree turn to the left.  Boaters instinctively know what this means...........things are about to pick up, no matter what rivah you are on.  Thousands of years ago the Gauley formed, and when this happened it did what any trickle, rivulet, brook, crick, tributary, or rivah would do......................it found a way to the sea.  The entire state of West By God rests on a high plateau, so the rivahs all need to fall off the plateau to carve their course to the ocean.  The gorges we paddle are where these rivahs fall out of the highlands.  When rivahs make sharp turns in those gorges, it is because the mountains have blocked their flow and forced them through tight places that drop between the hills.  This ninety degree turn in the rivah marks one of those drops, and signals the approach of one of the toughest rapids on the lower...........The Mashes.
   The Mashes are split into two rapids, Upper Mash and Lower Mash.  They are stacked right on top of each other, but each one has its own unique character.  We rounded the corner and watched the mountain walls close in tightly around us.  The sun disappeared behind the ridge line and ahead of us a horizon line formed between house sized boulders strewn across the rivah landscape.  The horizon line and large boulders obstructed our ability to see the Class IV-V maze that lay ahead, however, the whitewater revealed itself to our senses through sound.  A low rumble began as we rounded the bend, and quickly grew into a faint roar.  The roar grew louder, and then the calm pool of water increased in speed.  We quickly passed between the first set of house sized rocks, and the whitewater began as a series of easy wave trains.  
   The approach to rapids and their entrance are usually the hardest part.  On 99% of all whitewater rapids, a clean line always exists.  The behavior of water dictates these clean lines, and choosing the correct path is the difference between style and defeat.  It is usually the entrance that decides that fate.  We entered Upper Mash, which is a complicated rapid to navigate if you do not know the route. A large rock the size of a three bedroom house exists on the far right, and the line can be traversed just left of the rock.  I dropped into the small wave trains at the top, and eventually the speed and force increased. As it did I was quickly swept into a series of Class III holes that required precise paddle strokes and braces.  At the bottom of the series of holes, a strong pour over exists that will sneak up on you quickly.  I have flipped here before, and trust me when I say, it is shallow.  Throwing a strong boof stroke over this hole will produce successful results, as well as set you up for the next series of sweeping tongues and off set holes.  I passed by the house sized rock and continued to weave and slip right to left through whitewater features.  Rounding the house sized rock is an awe inspiring experience in my opinion, similar to the experience of breaking out of Reedy Creek on to the James Rivah, or sitting on the 420 rock of  the Green.  As you pass the rock, the rivah opens up to a few hundred yards wide, with unique rock formations all around, including a complicated rivah scene, full of varying whitewater features passing by in all directions.  

Upper Mash and the top of Lower Mash...........and my one true love, Pink.

   There is little time to take in the sight however, because the rapid itself requires full attention.  Once you pass by the crux of Upper Mash, and continue through the run out, you must begin to search for the entrance to Lower Mash, which lurks just downstream.  The key for kayakers is to find the eddies on the far left side of the rivah just above the crux of the rapid.  Whitewater is similar to being trapped in a giant puzzle.  Once you commit, you have to link each piece of the puzzle together in order to find your way out.  The more experience you have, the more puzzle pieces you have to work with.  Working through Upper Mash is a great example of connecting the pieces.  

My buddy Mike entering Lower Mash while boaters in the background traverse the whitewater maze that is Upper Mash.

   Where Upper Mash is the technical piece of whitewater, Lower Mash is the brute substance of the flow.  It is simply a big, fat, funneling tongue raging down towering waves that end in a large, crashing hole..................this rapid is every raft guides wet dream.  Kayakers are given the option of staying right and plowing head first into the foamy hit, or skirting to the left and watching your buddies eat shit with a front row seat.  Be careful though, because undercuts exist at the very bottom of the rapid on the left side.  
    Running Lower Mash is pure bliss.  Peel out of the top eddy and tear into the funneling tongue, and then hold on and follow the wave train.  Dropping into a wave train rapid can take some getting used to, because although wave trains always produce big roller coaster style rides, you can't see a damn thing.  Wave trains block all view of what's ahead when you duck down to the bottom of the trough.  The trough slingshots you up and over the crest of each wave, and as you peak, aside from being really damn fun, it is also a great way to get a glimpse of what's ahead.  Dropping down the backside of each wave gives a brief moment to reset, before the ride starts again.  
   The roar of each rapid doesn't exist to me as a boater when I am engaged in navigating the whitewater.  As I picture the experience in my mind, I can only hear silence while I am running rapids.  Maybe it is the focus of other senses, or maybe it is something more, but the only time I ever hear anything in rapids, is when I am getting beat down in them.............otherwise, silence.
   

“It's as if when I open myself up to every perception, things create their own focus.”
                                                                ~Kristin Cashore~

   After passing through The Mashes you drop deep into the Lower Gauley and the most inaccessible area of the entire Upper or Lower Gorge.  After a brief period of flat water, the depths of the gorge form yet another hidden whitewater arena, this time in the form of Diagonal Ledges.  Diagonal Ledges is a series of small drops that form endless variations of runnable lines, as well as the best surf wave on the rivah.  This area of the Gauley is a play boaters dream, and the designated break spot for just about every boater headed downstream..  The Gauley is never too crowded, so having a crowd around at The Ledges represents to me what everything in the social realm of boating should be.  It is always diversified, always unique, and above all else everyone always has a smile on their face.  Diagonal Ledges always draws a good crowd.  (****Research the link and click on Diagonal Ledges to check out the details.****)
   I always exit Diagonal Ledges hydrated and with a full stomach, and it always allows me to find my second wind.  That second wind always comes at the right time, and The Gauley always delivers below The ledges.  A brief period of flat water brings you to yet another horizon line, and another big, long wave train full of monster holes.  This is Heaven Help You.  Great rapid, with a burly hole called "Juicer" half way down, and an ugly little undercut on the bottom left.  
   The rivah calms down at this point, allowing for a breath of fresh air and a reminder to how spectacular the scenery can be.  Soak it up, because you are now floating deep through the stix of nowhere West Virginia.  There is nothing but forest and whitewater for miles in every direction.  The only thing that matters is what you have on you, and surviving is broken down into its simplest form.  You have food, water, and safety gear to keep you alive and happy, a boat to get you where you need to go, and the skill to overcome the obstacles that lie in your path.  Existence does not get any simpler than that.  It also doesn't become anymore clear.  
   At the end of the flat water some serious fun begins.  What feels like half a mile of endless wave trains slowly commence, and one after another, the big, friendly waves of Upper and Lower Staircase hit you with pure euphoria.  Deep within the gorge, floating down rapid after rapid, it hits you.................whitewater kicks ass!  


“Life is a blank canvas, and you need to throw all the paint on it you can.”
                                                       ~Danny Kaye~

   The next few miles of the rivah reveal the inevitable.........the gorge walls are beginning to loosen their grip.  The rapids begin to mellow, but still feed your remaining hunger for whitewater.  After a slow mile or so, one final kink in the rivah exposes itself as the water bends sharply to the right.  The Gauley isn't about to let you off that easy, and one of the largest, most dangerous rapids on the lower section prowls below.................Pure Screaming Hell.  PSC is a long series of waves and holes down the far right bank of the rivah.  The entire series bends slowly back to the left, pushing the water hard into the right side.  Over time, this design has pushed a large jumble of car and house sized boulders into a pile at the bottom right of the rapid, and an ugly sieve exists in the middle of the chaos.  Dropping into Pure Screaming Hell is a great feeling, because the entire rapid is laid out in front of you.  It is easy to see where you are going, but it still holds BIG water fun.  The rule of thumb on this one is simple......stay in the middle of the flow and know that a huge hole lurks at the very bottom.  Enjoy the ride as you follow giant, sweeping tongues, soaring over wave after wave.  Large holes exist throughout the puzzle of whitewater, so keep on your toes and know what is coming, not what is already there.       
   The bottom of Pure Screaming Hell is the Gauley's own little farewell present, and it is wrapped in the form of Hell Hole.  Hell Hole is a carnage producing dream.  Let me give you one of many examples I have witnessed...........I once watched a sixteen foot raft instantly flip its occupants out (they didn't stand a chance), recirculate back into the hole, and then window shade over and over again for over three minutes, catching air with every flip.  Window shading a commercial raft is not something that is easily accomplished.  It takes a special hole.  The raft reminded me of a cheap KMart version as I watched it buckle and bend throughout the ride.  Hell Hole is a mean little bitch to unknowing rafts, but one hell of a ride if you can hold on.  Square up to it in your kayak, and be prepared for a hard hit.

Typical results when meeting Hell Hole.

   As you exit PSC, put yourself back together, lay back, and enjoy mother nature.  The next 2 miles of rivah transition into a calm, peaceful float trip through rolling mountainsides.  The Gauley is a long day, so many times this float will be accompanied by the warmth of the late afternoon sun. Break out the jars, sit back, and toast to one of the world's great rivah trips, because the scenery truly is special."
   

   
“From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at length, through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than those whence it had issued. We called it the "River of Silence"; for there seemed to be a hushing influence in its flow. No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.”
                                                                         ~Edgar Allan Poe~

See ya on the Gauley................hopefully with clean lines, good weather, and a smile upon your face.  PEACE
           
    

  
   

   

The bigger the whitewater, the more shallow we become..........

“If we don't believe in freedom of expression for people we despise, we don't believe in it at all.” 

                                                                                  ~Chomsky~

   I haven't written a truly blunt editorial in quite a while, because the fact is, I haven't been pissed off enough to give my perspective about anything.  I have strayed from the kayaking scene over this past year (or should I say excommunicated), which has given me the ability to surround myself with people who have........well, more depth to their character. The RVA kayaking scene is all the same.........it never changes, so it became pretty boring to bash it after a while.....................and WAY to easy.  I guess what I am saying is "C'mon guys, find some creativity and originality.  How many 8 minute paddling porn videos can you make or watch in a day?" And on that note, is anyone ever going to pick up a camera and a kayak in RVA at the same time ever again and take some unique perspectives of the rivah that the rest of the world never gets to see?  (and this is not a slam on Rich or Keith at all.  Both are fantastic photographers and fantastic people.  But they are photographers, not boaters)  The RVA boating community as a whole hates The Island Chronicles, which really doesn't make much sense to me.  You guys should love it!  Yes, I completely trashed some people in the community, and yes, I am perfectly comfortable with that.  Yes I call you out for shit you would rather not be called out for, and yes it amuses the hell out of me.....................but I brought originality to your otherwise monotonous, self obsessed world.  I did something creative that no one else was doing.........and I did it twice.
   In 2012 I picked up a camera one day, packed it in my dry bag, and hit the rivah with The Dumb Ass on the Log............which is rather ironic.  It was my first ever photo shoot on the rivah.  When I sent him the pics I took, he sent back some really heartfelt compliments..............The Dumb Ass on the Log is NOT heartfelt or complimentary......especially towards me.  In fact, he was always a huge dick to me, plus he tried to get me fired, which was an epic fail on his part.  (and the real reason I wrote The Dumb Ass on the Log)  Because of his encouragement however, the day after our photo shoot I hit the rivah alone and focused on capturing the artistic side of The James.  Here is what I discovered that day.........................

   So in a way, it was The Dumb Ass on the Log who inspired what eventually became The Island Chronicles...........now that is ironic!  At the time (and all the time for that matter), there were videos being made at every turn on every rivah, but they were all about the same thing.........................running the shit! The saddest part about this was it obvious what was happening.  Everyone was idolizing pro kayakers and those kayakers own self glorifying paddle porn and wanted to make their own videos so they could pretend they were just like the big boys...........sorry guys, but you weren't, and you never will be.


“For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.”
                                                        ~Carl Sagan~


     At the end of 2012 my life really began to fall apart and I broke my camera at Gauleyfest (and no, I have no clue what happened to The Fourteenth Street Whores camera).......when your life falls apart it isn't possible to pay for a new camera or fix the old one, so I just let it go and went on with life...................that was a HUGE mistake.  You see, art gives us life.  This is something Marcelle taught me.  She was the best artist I have ever known, and from what I am told those genes have been passed on to Marlow and Quint.  When I stopped taking pictures, I lost a part of myself, and I lost inspiration.  From September of 2012 to April of 2013 I felt completely dead inside.  I had lost many pieces of myself along the way, but photography was something that I had discovered for myself, and it belonged to me, in my heart, and in my soul.  When I stopped shooting, a part of me vanished too.
   Eventually I lost it all, and in April of 2013 I moved to The Island.  One month living out there sparked my soul, and it opened up my spirit of creativity................and that was when The Island Chronicles were created. (Another ironic piece is that if all the haters hadn't opened their mouths about my activities on The Island, I probably never would have thought to create The Island Chronicles in the first place..........damn there is lots of irony happening today)  I will admit, there was a price to be paid for this creativity, by both myself and the community, but I accepted that eventually.  Controversy attracts people.  No one wants to read or see the same boring shit again and again and again.  They want something new, something original, and something to spark their own emotions.  Sometimes those emotions are rage, agitation, and guilt, but that is better than feeling nothing at all.  Remember this quote?.....................


"It's better to feel pain than nothing at all.  The opposite of loves indifference."
                                                                    ~The Lumineers~


   Think about that quote the next time The Island Chronicles pisses you off, and be happy you have them in your lives.  (God the haters must be hatin' right now)  Good writing fuels emotions, and the more emotion I saw it produce, the more it encouraged me to write.  I am surprised the kayakers even read it in the first place..........shit, I am surprised most kayakers in RVA have ever read anything at all.  When I started writing The Island Chronicles I kept waiting for someone to counter it with their own blog............but instead people like The Fat Bastard just cried like a little bitch, and surrounded himself with a bunch of apple-polishers to stroke that massive ego he holds so dear.  Apparently no one had the ability to counter it..............or the balls.  Challenging someone in a parking lot surrounded by those you know will back you is easy, especially when your only counter is physical violence (in front of your son for that matter).  Using your mind to create a piece of art that doubles as a defense mechanism takes a bit more work.  I expected some kind of intelligent retort considering the main transgressor in all of this was after all a doctor.  I figured he was smart enough to come back at me with something.  Instead he made a series of incredibly stupid moves and then pretended no one saw what happened.  Trust me fat boy, they did. The best part; you care about what the boating community thinks of you............................I don't.


“The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.”
                                                    ~Anonymous~


   Now that I am departing the kayaking community and moving on with life (don't get too excited boys.  I will still boat.  I will just choose wisely among the masses from now on), this is my last attempt to produce something more out of a very shallow, crowd following group of drones.  I want to challenge all of you.................I want to see someone out there create something new, something original.  2013 is coming to an end, and everyone's yearly "I want to feel like a pro and swing my dick" videos have been posted and glorified among the masses.................again.  But 2014 is just around the corner.  It is a new start, a new beginning.  It is a chance to create something more, something better.  Problem is, I am not sure if any of you have it in you.  So consider this a challenge..........a challenge to create something new in the blandness that is kayaking art.  I have spent the last decade watching and critiquing kayaking videos, and I have learned this...............they have all become exactly the same.  The market is saturated folks, especially here in RVA.  I know all the kiddies think it is the coolest shit they have ever been involved in, but the fact is the kiddies are about seven years too late........everything you think is new and original just isn't.  It's old, and the only ones who care anymore are the small circles you surround yourself with.  You owe yourself more than that..........shit, you owe your kayaking generation more than that.  But most of all, you owe more than that to the sport we all love.  What we do is beautiful in more ways than just one.  Go out there and find your own way to harness and capture that beauty.  Go find a way to inspire the world outside of your own close minded circle of following bootlickers.
   I know a lot of you will read this and immediately become pissed off and agitated about what is being written.............GOOD!  Hopefully it will light a fire under your ass.  Hopefully you will be pissed enough to NOT back down to the challenge and change this never changing trail of baloney.  I for one am tired of watching the indistinguishable pile of crap that has become "paddle porn".  There is more to our sport.  If The Island Chronicles doesn't teach you anything else, hopefully it can at least inspire you in this way.  Shit, I don't even care if it is self glorifying. (after all, what the hell do you think The Island Chronicles are?)  I just want to see it be original, unique, and most of all inspiring.................or you could just ignore everything I just wrote and spawn the same pile of shit again next year?..............after all, it's your choice.


“True rebels hate their own rebellion. They know by experience that it is not a cool and glamorous lifestyle; it takes a courageous fool to say things that have not been said and to do things that have not been done.”
                                          ~Criss Jami, Venus in Arms~

See ya on the rivah............hopefully doi....(awe fuck it!....you create a clever ending!)  PEACE

Round 5: The Story (The Complexity of the Double Life)

“A lot of people get so hung up on what they can't have that they don't think for a second about whether they really want it.”
                                                              ~Lionel Shriver~

   

   

   This is the first time I ever posted a quote in The Island Chronicles that I disagree with...........and trust me, I completely disagree with the quote above.  I posted it because for the longest time I did agree with it.  I thought we were all cursed to only crave what we couldn't have, regardless of whether it is what we really wanted.  This theory may have applied to The Fourteenth Street Whore, but that was about the only thing in my life it applied to.  Funny thing is, she is also the only truly negative thing that I have ever had enter my life, and I never even wanted her............Now I only disagree with the quote above because there are some of us that crave both sides of the fence, and I do mean two very healthy sides to life.  Some of us believe we can truly have our cake and eat it too, and make all of it work together in an orderly fashion.  I believed in the ability to make it all work, and the double life I started to lead in WNC was encouraging my confidence in that theory.  For half the week I was a calm pillar of the community; well put together, sleeping normal hours, reading books instead of watching cable, helping children in the school system (shit, I am still amazed they even let me in the school system), cleaning the kitchen at night as opposed to the next morning, gardening, buying flowers, sitting on a grassy hillside in the afternoon sun, talking about our future and dreams, and I did all of it with rainbows and butterflies floating all around the both of us..........now, if you are a man reading this you are probably saying, "Damn it Justin!  Shut the fuck up about the God damn love fest and talk about kick ass rivahs and epic WNC adventures."  Meanwhile, a lot of the women reading this are saying, "Ahhhhhh.  That sounds beautiful and is exactly how I always pictured happiness.  Just like the movies."....well, perception is reality folks!


“I would rather trust a woman's instinct than a man's reason.”
                                                         ~Stanley Baldwin~

Personally I wouldn't trust either one.

  My reality was I couldn't only see both sides of the fence, but I could live both very well, and not only did I do it well, but they were both acceptable, promising lives.  Knowing that I was going to have three days every week to be the pathetically irresponsible, immature, whitewater obsessed slob of a man that I knew I could be when no one was there to keep me in check made me work that much harder to be the perfectly loving, responsible, well groomed, saint of a man I knew I could be when someone was watching over me...........closely.

  So here we are again at a crux in this post when men and women are going to read what was just written and interpret it completely different.  I will try and explain......................every man out there knows that what I just wrote describes most of us perfectly. (unless you are a gay man.  In that case you are very clean and well groomed and every woman out there loves you and wishes their boyfriend or husband were just like you......well, almost)  So to explain I will ask a simple question to all the men out there.........What happens every time your wife leaves town for the weekend?................C'mon, you all know the answer.........you do whatever the fuck you want!!!!!!!......and don't even try to deny it.  You may sit on the couch with your hand down your pants playing Modern Warfare for 7 straight hours.  You may hit up a sunrise bong hit, pass back out until noon, then eat an entire package of bacon for breakfast while having a beer to start the day (and the beer is totally justified because after all, it is the afternoon).  You may do this for an entire Saturday, knowing that if she were there you would be doing anything but sitting on the couch for seven hours playing video games with your hand down your pants, taking sunrise bong hits and eating packages of bacon for breakfast with your first afternoon beer.  But this is only one example of just how pathetically worthless we, as men, can be when left unattended.  Whitewater obsession is another perfect example.  I once turned six laps on The James around 10 feet in one Saturday when Marcelle was out of town for the weekend, went home that evening, ate (on the couch with my hand down my pants I might add....well, I take that back.  My hand went down my pants AFTER I finished eating...........I'm pretty sure I ate bacon), and then I fell asleep.  When I awoke at midnight, I headed back out for my seventh lap..........solo.  Who does that?........then again, who lives on an Island as a fully grown adult just so they can kayak everyday.  We are men, and like it or not ladies, we are very good at being worthless and justifying every second of it.  And ladies, you are very good at trying to call us out for it.  Dave Chappelle stated it best........................................(****the first two and a half minutes of this video apply to what is being discussed, but the entire ten minutes is probably some of the most bluntly stated TRUTH I have ever heard spoken about the differences between women and men.  Be warned, the content is R-Rated and may be offensive, but then again, this is still The Island Chronicles, so fuck it!  ENJOY****)

    Told you Dave stated it best............"If it wasn't for a woman a man wouldn't buy a house.  He would be happy living in a cardboard box."  Well, I was happy living on an island, so that is probably true.  Plus, as I have stated before, I make one hell of a good homeless man.


“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”
                                                                          ~Ernest Hemingway~ 


   Given everything you have just learned about my perceptions of modern day man and my ability to push the limits, imagine me being given anywhere from three to ten days at a time to "get out all the bro" from my soul, and imagine having WNC as my playground to do it.  That is exactly what I did............and I did it for three years!  When Marcelle left town, I did what I had to do to keep my life in check, but did what I wanted to do every other moment.  This worked out well......so well in fact I would work the other side of the fence with the same reckless passion for Marcelle when she got off trail.  I prepared baths with flower petals and candles waiting for her when she returned home from a rough three days on trail in the middle of winter.............I would have the house spotless as she walked through the door..........I would plan dinners and weekend trips that I hoped she enjoyed..............I even tried to write her Legend of the Falls style love letters (which I pathetically failed at I might add) ................and I would always be rested up from my weekend of worthlessness and/or twelve hour sleep from an endless two days of boating, allowing me to be ready to do whatever she was ready to do.  We would go apple pickin', attend art exhibits, watch drag shows (I will come back to that one fellas), go on picnics, and take endless walks on country roads.  We picked flowers, I helped her with art projects, helped her pack her bags for returning to trail (this was always a complicated process), and we would always go to the town coffee shop to just sit and talk before strolling through the local Farmers Markets.  I loved all of this, don't get me wrong...........but now think about how to cram both the kayaking adventures and epic worthlessness that is man into a time frame that fit with the responsible, perfect, flower pickin' gentleman I had been groomed to be.  It works fine, as long as the two worlds are separated.  Now combine them, with no breaks, no separation, and just for kicks go ahead and throw in two kids......................See where I am going with all this?  Stay tuned, because this story contains lessons for us all.


“Men marry women with the hope they will never change. Women marry men with the hope they will change. Invariably they are both disappointed.”
                                                                                 ~Albert Einstein~

 

See ya on the rivah.......................hopefully your wife gave you permission.   PEACE


To find out just how different those two lives are, click here.............The Flower Pickin' Gentleman   

Round 5: The Story (Living the Healthy Double Life)

“To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter...... to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring - these are some of the rewards of the simple life. ”
                                                                               ~John Burroughs~

   I love small towns.  I love everything about them.  I love the fact that in a small town you can still walk to the corner market and buy a cup of coffee, homemade blueberry yogurt, and a newspaper, and know that you will see someone you know and like.  I also love the mountains.  I love everything about them.  I love the fact that whitewater needs the mountains to exist (RVA is an anomaly).  I love the fact that the wilderness occupies the heart of every mountain range in the world.  And I love that mountains create the perfect setting for small towns..................Hot Springs, North Carolina is one of those perfect little towns.  

   Marcelle and I lived one hour south of Hot Springs, and traveling from Brevard to the small town allows you to experience a slow progression of separation from the world that we all know.  By the time you reach the small bridge crossing the French Broad and enter "downtown", it is hard to even remember what worries you had just an hour before.  Hot Springs is hidden deep in the mountains.  So deep in fact, The Appalachian Trail travels right down main street through the center of town.  The whitewater section (Section IX) of The French Broad ends as the rivah enters town, and when you're there it feels like someone hid the time as well.  Everyone slows down a bit, and everyone seems to be just a bit more relaxed.  The town only has one bar, and in that bar years of drunken raft customers have bought their rivah guides a beer to show their appreciation for a job well done, and years of intoxicated raft guides have spent their customers tips in search of a reason to stay "just one more season."  It is the give and take of the rivah life.  Spring Creek flows directly past the bar.  If one were so inclined on a rainy day, they could drive to the top of the mountain, slide their boat into the headwaters of Spring Creek, and kayak down miles of beautiful, deeply hidden Class III-IV crick lines, before arriving at the bar for an evening cocktail to celebrate the days discoveries.  Just paddle up to shore, hop out of your boat, walk ten feet, and enter the bar.  It is a trip I highly recommend.  No worries on how to get back to your car.  It will be figured out......at some point.  Until then, just hang in town with friends, or crash at the local raft shop.  You MUST traverse 30 minutes of mountains from any direction to enter the town, and slowly curving down the mountainside reveals a picturesque small town scene that can only be found when one goes looking for the escape.  I love Hot Springs, and I miss it every day.     

   In the Spring of 2006 Marcelle and I became weekend warriors to the town of Hot Springs.  It became one of our escapes and ways to seek adventure.  Hot Springs is located in the middle of Pisgah National Forest, so there are endless camping opportunities throughout the area.  Exiting town and climbing the mountain heading west brings you to a crest known as Mill Ridge.  The forest service road to Mill Ridge takes you to a nice open camping spot deep in the forest that Celle and I frequented.  We would drive up to the raft shop on Saturday morning, run trips on the French Broad, then hang out in Hot Springs and camp on Mill Ridge, then run more trips Sunday, then drive home to Brevard Sunday evening to re-enter domestication.  The evenings I spent with Marcelle on Mill Ridge are a small piece of time that made this part of my life beautiful.  Marcelle made a campsite a home, and she made every experience a better experience. 


“The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. And that’s what you’ve given me. That’s what I’d hoped to give you forever.” 
                                                           ~Nicholas Sparks~

Forever never happened.

    If you keep climbing up the mountains beyond Spring Creek you top out at a place called Max Patch.  In the winter this area is fully exposed to the western flat lands of Tennessee, and the snow piles up on the mountain top.  It is a great place to find an epic snow adventure, complete with off-roading through 2 foot drifts, mysteriously quiet hikes through snow encrusted evergreens, and sprawling 360 degree views of the Smokies, Northern Balsams, French Broad Valley, and the Black Mountains.  Marcelle and I headed to Max Patch for some great snow hiking when the weather allowed for it.  Max Patch was always one of our favorite spots to go, and if you are ever near Hot Springs I highly recommended a drive up the mountain.  I spent days with her simply strolling through some of the most beautiful snow landscapes I have ever seen, rolling down the hillside with our dog T, and simply enjoying the fact that we were able to share something together that was unique and magical.  I forget sometimes how lucky we were to be living the life that we lived.


"You will leave this world with exactly what you came with.  Nothing.  Enjoy memories.  Not materials."
                                                                                       ~Austin Carlile~

    In a previous post a mentioned that the schedule that Marcelle's job demanded was the first ripple to a spiral of events.  Here is why, and this is important, so pay attention.  Men are not meant to be domesticated past a certain level, a level that we as men passed sometime in the late 1950's.  Our instincts tell us to seek out adventure, danger, and amongst all else, travel. (Any man that tells you different is lying.........or a little bitch)  We are nomads by design, so settling down for extended periods of time is tough.  Marcelle was a great partner in crime to have by my side throughout the days of WNC, but she somehow mixed that sense of adventure with an amazingly balanced side of domestication.  We would play house like a normal 20's something couple during the time she was off trail and home. (I mean, we gardened for God sakes)  I would go to work, come home and have dinner, spend time with friends, take walks,  etc., etc., etc.  Being a case manager allowed me to create my own schedule.  I had a client that needed attention early in the morning, so my day would start at 6am or so. (in WNC a 6am day in February requires exposure to single digits first thing in the morning.........which sucks.  I mention this because it is what I remember most about those early mornings)  By doing this I worked 10 or 12 hour days a lot and still made it home at a reasonable hour, giving me a good life of domestication throughout Marcelles "off trail" time, while still putting in a full work week in four days..............then Marcelle would go back on trail, not only drastically changing the other half of her life, but changing mine as well.  I would head to Hot Springs, not as a bachelor (because believe it or not at a time in my life I was faithful), but as the nomad that I described above.  Three days with nothing but a tent or friends, a kayak and mountain bike, some scheduled raft trips for tips in my pockets, and endless WNC adventures...............oh, there is one more extremely important thing.  Safety Meetings.  Marcelle was not down with the safety meetings and I respected that, so my safety time was also managed within my "double life"................I truly lived two separate lives, both of which when viewed individually were great lives to have, but mixed together became toxic over time.  This was a lesson that would not surface until we returned to RVA..............remember what I just said.

    In the Spring of 2006 I was at USA Raft shop on the French Broad and the owner was there checking in on things.  USA Rafting on the French Broad was a smaller outpost for the USA Raftng post on the Nolichucky, located one hour north in Tennessee.  The Nolichucky was a step up from the French Broad (which is a pretty easy rivah to guide or kayak.......but still a ton of fun), and when it had water it cranked out big rides for seven straight miles.  (There is a good story about the Nolichucky in the August section of The Island Chronicles)  The owner told me I should come up to Erwin and take on the Noli, so I agreed.  The following weekend I completed a blind check out and then ran a trip the next day.


"Avoid the precepts of those thinkers whose reasoning is not confirmed by experience."
                                                                                 ~Leonardo Da Vinci~

   The Nolichucky Outpost had a great private camp spot on the far side of the rivah just for guides to stay in and live.  There was a classic Noli guide named Tennessee Jed who lived in a van down by the rivah on the property.............he had been there so long the van had acquired satellite television.  Jed had a long beard, played harmonica on the rivah, and loved the Tennessee Volunteers.  He was a classic whitewater rivah legend, and he and Marcelle loved each other.  We called the outpost Ewok Village because it was hidden in a forest of giant trees, with tent platforms located throughout the mountain side.  It would be a great alternative to our Mill Ridge camp spot on the French Broad, and waking up under the trees with the rivah running in the distance was the perfect way to start a summer day of guiding.          

    Marcelle joined me on the Noli a few weeks after I had begun guiding there.  Guides can always bring people along on their trips when there is room (and we always make room), so Marcelle joined me for a commercial trip one weekend.  Early on in the trip a guide hurt himself traversing through "On The Rocks", the first larger rapid, and couldn't continue guiding.  Marcelle was already working for USA Raft at the time guiding the French Broad, so she utilized her skills and ran a truly "blind" check out trip through the gorge, saving the day for all.  Yet another reason I can overly glorify her a bit more and say she is a bad ass.


“I'm not going out of my way looking for devils; but I wouldn't step out of my path to let one go by.”
                                                                               ~Robert E. Howard~

   The first year on the rivah and living in WNC was great...................as an individual I was able to live both worlds.  Responsible Domestication and Reckless Bachelorhood...........and I found a way to do it in a systematic manner.  I was a good boyfriend.  Remember that our home in Brevard was located on the edge of Pisgah, next to a mountain range topping out at 6000 feet.  Marcelle worked nights when she spent time deep in those mountains.  If she had cell phone service she would call me, and sometimes I would go out and visit her.  I remember once visiting her between Graveyard Fields and Black Balsam (this is deep no where WNC at about 5000 feet).  It was the middle of the night and I had come to retrieve our dog T (who will receive a post all to himself later........and who was also the greatest boxer that ever walked the earth and whom worked on trail with Marcelle to protect and comfort her).  We used our cell phones and blinking lights to locate each other, and then spent fifteen minutes enjoying a quick and unique moment together.........I bring this story up because these are the kinds of experiences I remember that represented our life together..........unique times.........times between two people at one certain moment in life...........times that can never be duplicated or re-lived, no matter how hard you try.
   The days in WNC were colorful times lived in an environment of colorful people, endless whitewater, and a life focused on a richness of experience that overshadowed a thirst for monetary success..........so stay tuned if you enjoy the read.........because the stories only get better as the whitewater gets bigger!


“Why, darling, I don't live at all when I'm not with you.”
                              ~Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms~

See ya on the rivah..............waters coming up, so hopefully not on a log.   PEACE


To continue this adventure, click here..........................Complexity of the Double Life   

              

Round 5: The Story (The Good Life)

"You can't change past history.  But, you can change the future's history by cleansing your soul today.  Forget, forgive, and love passionately."

                                                                    ~Majdi Rabah~

   In the Fall of 2005 Western North Carolina became our home.........and yes, it truly was home for me.  From the moment I arrived I knew that the decision was the right decision.  We lived southwest of Asheville, between the towns of Brevard, Hendersonville, and Etowah.  Marcelle and I found a nice little cabin on the side of a mountain tucked away between Dupont State Forest and Pisgah National Forest.  Our landlords lived on the top of the mountain and had a small pottery studio in a rustic barn close to our home.  It truly was heaven.  If you left our home and crossed the road, you could walk into the wilderness and continue straight for nearly 75 miles without coming across anything but National Forest.  We were surrounded by endless rivahs, waterfalls, mountain biking trails, hiking trails, The Art Loeb, The Balsams, Bent Creek, white squirrels (yes, they are white), Looking Glass Rock, The Pink Beds, bears, and every beautiful landscape you could ever imagine seeing in the mountains of WNC.  The Class III section of the Davidson was a five minute drive from the house.  If you took a walk down our country road, you were greeted by a friendly bull grazing in a sprawling mountain valley.  Our surroundings held a lifetime of adventure and beauty..........adventures and beauty that I was excited to share with the only woman I ever loved.


“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”
~Franz Kafka~

I chose this quote after careful consideration.  If you had X'd out the outside world, all the people, the family bull shit, the Fourteenth Street Whore, my job, and every other distraction of life, I truly believe that there were moments when Marcelle and I were as close to perfect as two people could ever be together.  

  We knew no one, did not have jobs or job prospects when we left RVA, and only had a limited amount of money, but Marcelle and I were confident, and we believed that we could be successful in this paradise.  Within a few weeks we both had jobs and were both on our way to settling into our new home.  I took a job as a Case Manager for a small Mental Health Agency and was able to travel throughout the mountains from school to school working with at-risk youth in the classroom, at home, and in the community, as well as communicating with agencies to help develop these children into successful adults. (as well as developing their parents into successful parents)  Marcelle took a government job with an organization that has since been dissolved.  She worked as a Wilderness Field Instructor for Camp Woodson, a program which took adjudicated youth out of the juvenile detention centers and placed them in a thirty day rehabilitation program through outdoor therapy. This meant that Marcelle would be on trail weekly for anywhere between three and ten days, away from home the entire time.  This schedule is one of the original roots to the downfall of our marriage more than seven years later, but I will come back to that.  We were proud of our accomplishments because we were spending our lives helping others, in a place that we were both quickly growing to love.
   Throughout the first Fall, Winter, and Spring our weekends were spent doing exactly what we had come there to do.........explore the mountains.  We went on hiking trips, tromping through the snow and ice almost every weekend.  We explored the small towns of the area, paddled some, but mostly we spent time with each other.  We never even really met our "Asheville friends" until the following Spring, because we really didn't feel the need to seek out others...........we had each other.


"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead."
                                                                                   ~Oscar Wilde~ 

   Marcelle loved to garden, and for those of you who know her family or have been to their home, you know why.  Marcelle grew up in a home that had a garden bigger than their house.  Gardening was important to her, and because of this, it was important to me.  So throughout the winter, I built her a garden next to our cabin.  I know what you are thinking..........how hard can it be to build a garden?  Well, in Western North Carolina it is pretty damn hard, because nothing is flat.  I spent the entire Winter and Spring cutting trees from deep in the woods and dragging them up the mountain to create a stair step garden dug into the side of the hills.  Everything I used was natural, and the only pieces of equipment used were a shovel and hand saw.  I built brick steps and a patio, and had multiple raised beds that produced flowers and veggies that looked as though they had been grown on steroids.  (I wish I had pictures of our garden, home, etc.  I hate to call Marcelle out here, but I have to.  When we were separated, Marcelle took all the photos of our past...........all of them.  I was left with only the photo archives in my computer, but a month after we separated my computer was stolen out of my car and I lost every picture I ever had from my past.  I spent months begging Marcelle for pictures, but never received any.  Every memory I ever had of Ashville now exists in my mind and my heart, and I was heartbroken when I lost all the pics.  I now understand why people grab their photo albums as their house burns down around them.  Nothing is more precious than the memories we hold...........anywho, back to the story)  When the garden was completed, it was bad ass!  It is one of the things I am most proud of about my marriage to Marcelle, because it was built out of love.  See, I am not much of a romantic, at least according to her.  She wanted love letters, unique and creative gestures that swept her off her feet, homemade Christmas and Birthday presents that took weeks to make, etc., etc., etc.  Instead, I did the only things I knew to do to be romantic.  During the first year of our time in WNC, I would buy her flowers every Friday at the little Farmers Market on my way home from work.  I did this every week.  In doing so, I learned something..........you can't do the same thing every week to show a woman how much you love them.  If you do, then what was once special becomes expectation.  I hate to say it, but chivalry in our society is dead.................and I have no doubt that women are the ones who killed it. (Chappelle)  If any woman reading this has a problem with what I just wrote, by all means, let me know, because I would LOVE to debate it with you.  Most likely, the only ones who have the balls (pun intended) to argue this one with me are the exact same women who killed chivalry in the first place.  Try appreciating things that are done for you, as opposed to bitching about the things that are not.  You may stop being so pissed off all the time..........my point is this.  The garden was my way of demonstrating to Marcelle how much I loved her.  I don't think she ever realized that, and that really hurt, but I still loved what I had built, because above all else, I had built it for her.


“His attentive treatment of her had nothing to do with the presumption that she was weak, and everything to do with the conviction that she was valuable.”
                                                                            ~Angela N. Blount~

That one is just for you Celle, and it is TRUTH.

   As Spring approached, our itch for whitewater grew and it was time to push some rubber.  We applied with USA Raft for guiding positions, and were hired by a really great guy named Nick.......plus, our addition to any rafting company was a no brainer.  We came with a good amount of experience, were a two for one deal, were both good people with great personalities, and fit in well with all the dirt bag boaters of the area.  It was the first time we had sought out a social circle in the community, and we found a good one.
   We trained on the French Broad and Nolichucky Rivahs, and because we had already been through plenty of whitewater training's and situations together already, we both stood out at the top of the class.........this made our jobs MUCH easier.  When you become a guide in WNC, your rookie season is spent paying your dues.  Rafting customers are broken down into three groups.    Camps (which are given to the rookies), groups of friends and companies, and families and business team building.  The rookies get all the camps for a certain reason..........they never tip and are usually full of shitty children who never listen.  The French Broad took it one step further however, because they had daily trips for the ADHD camp..........yes, we spent our days taking boats full of ADHD kids down whitewater rivahs.  (this is the hardest job I have ever had)  I was proud of myself because I only threw four children in the rivah on purpose throughout the entire summer..........but I did mistakenly refer to a child as a boy for an entire trip, only to find out afterwards that he was in fact a girl.  (I still feel bad about that)  The counselors even painted her fingernails so people would know she was a girl, but I just thought he was weird.  (As I said, I still feel bad about this)  I bring up this one particular camper because he/she was in fact the most difficult customer I have ever had in a boat (besides the one time I had to guide a midget, but I will get to that later).  When the little girl (who I thought was a boy) got into the boat she was off the chain and needed a serious dose of Adderall.........I take that back.  She probably needed something much stronger.  She seemed excited about the trip, but when we entered the first rapid she fell out immediately..........the first rapid is easy Class II.  By the fourth rapid she had fallen out three times and was now freakin' out in the boat making it impossible for me to continue the trip.  Our trip leader was an older guide named Marshall who was one of the hardest rivah guides I have ever come across.  He approached the boat and asked me what was wrong.  I explained the situation and then waited for my TL to respond with a solution.  He looked around the boat, paused for a moment, and then gave me the best solution I have ever heard from a TL.............He said very calmly and non-nonchalantly, "stick her in the guide hole under your feet, keep your foot on her so she doesn't come out again, and let's go dude!".......................this is why I love River Guides.  No time for bull shit, no time for excuses.  Marshall was my boss, so I did what any good employee would do.........listened to him.  I stuffed her in the corner of the guide hole and rested my foot on her and continued my trip.  I am proud to say that I have now guided a whitewater rivah with a kicking and screaming ADHD child under my foot while directing five other ADHD kids to safety.........if a man can do this then he can do almost anything.  


"I'd have a longer attention span if so many things weren't so shiny."
                                                        ~Me, and it's the truth.  Damn you shiny stuff~


   Once the rookies had enough of the ADHD camps they either quite (like all Team WAV kids would do), or they were promoted to the classier customers.  Marcelle and I were NOT quitters.  By the second half of our first summer we no longer needed to deal with the camps, kids, and bull shit.  Instead we were selected for smaller more personalized trips full of smiling families, great businesses with cool bosses that scheduled raft trips for their employees, and retired vacationers with too much money.  The biggest benefit to this was tips...........I once received a $500.00 tip from a boat full of Texas oil tycoons..............but then I pissed off Marcelle by spending half of it on beer and pot for all my fellow guides.............which made me very, very popular.  :)  The other added benefit to being promoted was that our boats were full of interesting people from all over the country who appreciated history, good ole' fashioned rivah stories, quality conversations, and peaceful quiet moments to soak up the glorious scenery that surrounded us every moment of every day.  
   Marcelle and I were very good guides...........I am proud to say that this was because of our experiences guiding low water trips on the James for the previous three seasons.  Buzz once forced me to guide a six person boat at 3.6 feet on the James.  All six participants were at least 250 pounds.  This is next to impossible.  The experience included them demonstrating their laziness to the point that I purposely drove the boat far left at Hollywood, trying to launch over the pin rocks with a 1500 pound boat.  This resulted in our raft going airborne and a forty five minute rescue mission of fat people floating down the James.  One of them even refused to get back in my boat........fine with me.  Less weight for me to deal with.  (Lou witnessed this entire incident, so you can ask him for an in depth description)  The point is, three seasons of low water guiding on The James will make you a very good rubber pusher.
   Both Marcelle and I became very respected by our fellow guides and began to thoroughly enjoy our time together on the rivah.  Additionally, it gave us more options on WNC paddling trips with friends, as well as advancing our knowledge and comfort level on our own expeditions.  I have taken a lot of rivah trips with a lot of people, but my two favorite paddling partners were and always will be Marcelle and Marlow.  I loved being deep in a gorge with that feisty and beautiful girl, and I will always cherish and miss those experiences.
   I, along with the rest of the world, am ADHD, so we shall continue this journey later on.  (I just got tired of writing.  I bet the little boy (I mean girl) that I stepped on would understand)  I have a million stories to be told from the rivah, and I want to tell them all, so be patient if you enjoy reading.  The ending will arrive at some point, but there will be many more tales of whitewater woes and excitement before we get there.  Fact is, I just love to write, even if I am not the best at it..........and to all the haters who only read in search of the gossip, I can't express this enough..........GO AWAY!  Happy Holidays everyone.  Be careful this weekend with the weather, although I am calling it right now.........no snow or ice for RVA, just shitty cold rain. That is why my ass will be in West By God, hopefully with a boat, some cross country skis, and nothing but time! 


"There's no such thing as bad weather, just soft people."

                                              ~Bill Bowerman~


That last quote is TRUTH.  Toughen up RVA!  See ya on the rivah..............hopefully without your foot on an ADHD little boy.......I mean girl.   PEACE



To keep reading the adventure, click here...........................The Healthy Double Life