Butt Hurt Nation

"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth."
                                                                                      ~Marcus Aurelius~


   My life is most certainly taking a new direction, and a very different chapter is now being written. In doing so, I find myself looking back over the last three years and contemplating the most important lessons that were learned along the way.  Considering the drastic nature of my life's alteration from the "normal" course of the American existence, I figured I may withhold a few unique perspectives not detected by the American public.  After all, I did flip the script as quickly as possible from a white picket fence, domesticated home life, "pillar of the community" career, blah, blah, blah...........to an off the grid, outcast, divorced, I-don't-give-a-fuck-anymore-and-am-moving-to-an-island lost soul.  And it happened quickly.  Now the dust is settling.  As it does, I realize I have a bit of a mess to clean up in order to regain a stronghold on my attempts to take over the world.............not a problem.
   But I also took a long, deep look over that edge that very few of us venture to, and when I did I realized one very important fact............there's no coming back once you look over and see what there is to see.  I am sure I will eventually fall back into somewhat of a domesticated existence in the not so distant future (and yes, a drop dead gorgeous blonde has A LOT to do with that), but when I do, everything will appear different.  I won't have to fight many of the pointless, menial battles people exhaust themselves with on a daily basis; I won't have to take the entire game very seriously; and I won't have to force that damn square peg into that silly wooden hole anymore.  How did I come to these conclusions and find a way to let go of the massive weight of bull shit dragging us all down?..................I found the TRUTH, and it can be very, very dangerous.


“Sometimes the hardest part isn't letting go but rather learning to start over.”
                                                                ~Nicole Sobon~

1.  People in American Society are seriously fucking Butt Hurt - It truly is that simple.  We have become a Butt Hurt Nation.  What exactly do I mean by this?...........The shit we fret about on a daily basis is completely trivial and pointless.  This is easy for a man to see once he has broken down his existence to food, shelter, and safety.  At some point in our history we simply met all of the basic elements to comfortably survive.  Once we did, our focus turned to things like "what color duvet matches the lamp shade" or "why are there only two pumps and not three in my venti americano dulche french vanilla cappuccino el graten and why is it overpriced by a mere three bucks."  These are the things on the minds of people today.  The scariest element to this entire cesspool of bull shit is that it is completely controlled and manipulated by the worst of the worst...........politicians and the media.  

   Don't worry..........The IC is not about to go on a political rant.  I figure there is already enough of that going around.  Personally, I can't rant about politics because from my perspective the entire system has failed and let us down, so I pretty much gave up on it and try to have the system impact my life as little as possible. Spending time with hillbillies deep within West By God rivah gorges makes this task quite successful.  It is just easier this way.................for now.  (Hear that Mom)  

   My rant comes about when focusing on the media.  Once I looked over the edge, the media was the scariest, and yet most comical social variable to observe.  It is comical because the manipulation and one sided approach to the entire presentation is absurd and could only be believed by people who are completely fucking retarded..............the scary part comes when you realize that most of America is completely fucking retarded.

2.  A majority of the population within this Butt Hurt Nation judge by what they hear, not who they see, and by what you have, not by who you are - Oh, how I must thank the RVA paddling scene for teaching me this oh so important lesson.  The situation within that socially corrupt circle of fairy tales and make believe is one that represents the most dangerous element within a community..............bandwagon mentality.  Over the past two years a series of tragic and unfortunate events unfolded within that community that tested the moral fiber of each individual within the group...................very few stepped up and fought for what they believed in or for what was right.  And now because of that, all must endure the tension and discomfort that I know exists when certain individuals are present among the group (myself included), and all must accept a conclusion that no one really believes.  They are all forced to play pretend.  That is their unfortunate reality, and there is NOTHING any of them can do about it.
   And yet many still and always will judge me for the pieces that were written within this blog, the decisions made both before and after my divorce, and the blunt nature that I used to stand up for what I felt was right..............most of these harsh critics were once my closest friends.  Many of them are people that I never once had a negative moment with, and whom I always respected and treated with the same dignity I would expect one to treat me with.  But when shit hit the fan, these individuals listened to the rumors, and failed to think for themselves.  Watching that plague spread throughout the community was very eye opening for me.............especially considering I was observing it from my own private Island and from a state of isolation.  But it was also heartbreaking.  Not because I lost friends, but because I chose friends that ultimately made decisions based on rumor and gossip rather than the TRUTH that always existed within our bonds that had been formed on the rivah.  It broke my heart to know how poorly I had chosen my friends................Marcelle was always right about that one.
   But more importantly, I found the TRUTH in friendship from those that stood beside me, and that has been one of the most rewarding gifts during this journey.  I discovered my own identity through these individuals, because these were the people who saw the TRUTH within me............plus I discovered that I will never have a problem making friends.  In the end, Lesson #2 is one of the more valuable lessons that I take away from the experience................not to mention calling people out was liberating as hell!!!!!

3.  We all have more than we will ever need, and our failure to identify with this will ultimately lead us to never feeling like we have enough - that is rather ironic if you think about it.  Once I lost everything and had nothing, I realized that I never really needed much of what I had, and yet I had always worried that I didn't have enough................guess what Mom and Dad; I have the two of you to thank for this lesson..........and the two of you know exactly why.  I also see this unfortunate TRUTH in some of my friends, but it is something I am willing to overlook.  Many of my friends do not understand or see that they were put into a position in this world to give freely, without the expectation for a return, and if they would just accept their position, they would find that freely giving without expectation is the most rewarding gift of all..............Tony Gunn taught me that one.  Perception truly is reality, and we all have our own version of the reality of this world.  Money makes up a lot of that illusion.

4.  There are certain pillars to everyone's life that support true happiness.  Because we all function under our own reality, each of us have a different set and number of pillars.  The more pillars we discover and identify, the happier we become and the stronger our foundation stands.  The key to this is to truly identify with your pillars, as opposed to simply knowing what they are.  Many people play pretend with this idea their entire lives, and never truly understand or experience REAL happiness.  In the past 3 years, I have identified with many pillars.....................TRUTH, love, children, nature, family, travel, writing, photography, and The Rivah.  These are the aspects of life that I now understand to be of importance to me, and they are the pillars that I need to base the foundation of my future............this is what makes me so grateful for my experiences over the past three years.  Looking over that edge is a powerful force in life, and I would have never been able to truly identify and understand the aspects of my life that are fundamental to my happiness had I not seen what lay beyond what we know as fact.  I would have simply continued to go through the motions, like so many do everyday.  My good buddy Prado, one of the illustrious HATERS of RVA, and a man who loves going through those motions, recently criticized my life by claiming that I once had everything and I pissed it all away, and that was his reason for judging me and negating our friendship in the end................first off, thanks Prado for proving how important Lesson #2 is.  Second off, stop going through the motions buddy, and look deeper than what is simply on the surface.  Need some help figuring that out?  Here is a hint..............I WASN'T FUCKING HAPPY!!!!!  But more importantly, the fact that I wasn't happy isn't anyone's fault.  Not mine, or Marcelle's, or my family's, or anyone else's.  It just was the way it was, and it is an unfortunate TRUTH which only hurt two people in the end...................Marlow and Quint.  For that, I will never forgive myself.

5.  "Time is a flat circle"  ~Rust Cohle~ - TRUTH............everything comes, and everything goes.  Anyone who doesn't experience change at some point in life never truly lived in the first place.  If you truly want to live then here is my advice................cancel all your insurance policies, put everything that is vital to you and your survival in your car, and then burn your house to the ground!  Trust me............you will learn how to live real fast if you do that, and you will also discover that life begins when we just let go.  In 2011 and the beginning of 2012 I was a truly terrible and evil human being.  TRUST me on that.  The story will explain why in time.........but time is a flat circle, and over time, I found my soul (no Ginger jokes), and realized that I wasn't a bad person..........I had just participated in bad things and lost my way.  In the end, losing my way turned out to be the most important thing that ever happened to me.............and in time the positive impact it will have on me as a father, and on my children and the characters they are molded into, will be revealed.  Trust me on that.
   I use to fear time.  Every day I would wake up and fight time all day long............getting everyone out the door, fighting rush hour traffic, reviewing morning messages, meeting the mid day deadline, finding peace for a moment on my lunch break, making it across town in time for an afternoon meeting, finishing up the day in time to beat traffic to make it home before the boys went to bed so that I could experience a few moments to be a father with them, and so on, and so on, and so on.  It was a battle that never seemed to end.........and one that I never seemed to be victorious in.
   But time is a flat circle, and it is coming back around for me.  I will never have the time back that I have lost, but what I do have is the future, and for that I am grateful.  Marcelle continues to fight me everyday on my ability to speak with the boys, let alone see them again.  Her hostility, ignorance, and selfishness have reached new levels, and at this point I have no idea why............maybe she will never let go, and never move on.  Maybe we will fight this battle for another fifteen + years.........I can't predict the future.  All I can do is let go, and that is exactly what I have done. I only hope that in time she finds a way to let go as well.  Not for my own sanity, but for hers.  She views our boys as trophies, ones that she can hold up high to proclaim her victory.  I just simply want to be their father again, and in time, that will happen.  Marcelle is the one who gets to decide how large of a circle time must travel before that happens.  THAT is the REALITY of my life, regardless of the injustice that brought us to this point.

6.  We must not sell out!!!!  It has become a plague to modern society.  I owe this lesson to DBP............Dirt Bag Paddlers was REAL because it was founded on TRUTH and art and a sense of community.  It was an anomaly because it grew to something that no one ever expected, and it did it quickly.  But the day the TRUTH of DBP was used to make a buck, it lost what it represented, and was ultimately destined to fail.  It may always exist, and it may make a penny or two, but the TRUTH of what DBP was meant to be is gone forever.  For that, I will never forgive Chicago Mike.  You were better than that Mike, and so was DBP.  In the end you sold yourself out, but you sold all of us out with you.
   The Island Chronicles still exists as the TRUTH, and it is still free literature for the whitewater world.  I have NEVER made a penny off of it, and I have continued to turn down any offers from Google AdSense or any other marketing companies that come my way.  I have done all this while remaining extremely poor.......poorer than any of you could possibly imagine.  There are changes coming to The IC, but selling out is NOT, and never will be one of them.  The more we feed a system of lies and make believe, the less TRUTH we will ever experience for ourselves.  FACT

7.   Love, above all else, will always heal - Fact is, I was very unhappy.  I was unhappy in my marriage, in my career, with the friends I had surrounded myself with, and with myself.  Once again, this was no ones fault.........it simply was.  Nothing was real.  It all felt pretend.  I never truly understood how little love existed within my world until recently.  In my heart, the love for my boys existed alone for a long time, and when I lost them, my heart just gave up.  Perhaps Marcelle truly did love me.  That I will never know, and personally, I do not care.  If it was love, then I feel sorry for the man she uses to replace me as the boys father.................and trust me, that is precisely her plan, and always has been.
  I know now that I existed within a place that few have ever even visited.  The last three years have been a tough gift to accept..............Chris Lawson once said to me that I was lucky to have the opportunity to experience a freedom that very few modern men are able to encounter in their lives................TRUTH!  Experiencing that freedom opened me up to a world that I never would have been a part of if I hadn't taken some HUGE risks, and lost some key battles in life along the way.  Had I failed to experience that freedom I would not have found the ability to truly love with all of my heart, the way I love someone now................it was the journey that gave me the ability to do exactly that.  And the more I love, the more I am healing.    FACT

8.  Everyone deserves a second chance in life...................everyone!  (Except The Fat Bastard.  He already wasted his second chance)

9.  Whitewater can save your soul - TRUTH.  It has most certainly saved mine, and I am grateful for discovering the beauty of paddling and the TRUTH of our Rivahs.  I have experienced more natural beauty over the course of the last decade than most people view their entire lives.............every paddler reading this understands what I am talking about, and I know every paddler reading this is just as grateful as I am for the discovery of whitewater, paddling, and the Rivah.

10.

 

   Lesson #10 is harder to master than you would think, but if you follow the advice from Lesson #1 then it will make Lesson #10 much easier to be successful with..........a lot of safety meetings help to master lesson #10 as well.  TRUTH
   Personally, I stopped giving a fuck quite a while ago, which made calling everyone out incredibly easy and comfortable.  I just never realized how many people would understand why I wrote what I wrote, and more importantly, I never realized how important it would become to write and say the things that everyone was thinking but didn't have the balls to say.  I am convinced that if everyone took the approach that I have taken, and just said what was on their minds, bluntly, the world would be a much more forgiving place, and we wouldn't all be living in a Butt Hurt Nation.


“I despise the rituals of fake friendship. I wish we could just claw each other's eyes out and call it a day; instead we put on huge radiant smiles and spout compliments until our teeth hurt from the saccharine sweetness of it all.”
                                                      ~Jody Gehrman~

   Why do I post these thoughts now?  Simple.  My life is changing, my heart is healing, and I am moving on.  2014 is the last year of my Dirt Bag travels. (I can't let Ranger Dave continue to criticize me for being an unemployed bum)  It is the last year of living off the grid, Dirt Baggin' from town to town, and bumming my way through life.  And it is the last year of running from the pain that I have carried for a long time now.  As arduous as these times have proven, and as financially taxing as they have been throughout, I will truly miss these days and this period of my life, for I know it will never happen again..............not like this.

   However, The Island Chronicles will live on.  Fact is, the three years of travels have given me enough stories to write about for the next three years.  Not only are their plenty of incomplete stories, there are also stories that have yet to be told.  At the moment, The Island Chronicles is deeply engaged in the tales of "Fear and Loathing in West By God", and the antics about to be described from Gauleyfest week will make anyone question whether having me back on the grid is a good idea or not..................personally, I question it too.  The final week of that shit show will be enjoyable to write, and I can promise you it will also be enjoyable to read..................and as always, it will contain plenty of controversy and surprise.  

   The story of "The Rounds" is the heart of The Island Chronicles, and it is just getting started.  The next few years of that tale will demonstrate the hidden change that occurred within me, and the danger of ignoring "The Epic Worthlessness that is Man" that exists within every man.  Prepare yourself however, because once 2011 rolls around in the tale, the hero of this story takes quite a damaging blow, and you may never look at him the same way again............like I said, I was a truly evil person in 2011.  

   Finally, the story of what happened to me in the Fall of 2013 in West By God is incomplete as well.  Week 25 was never written, and the story was never told.  There is a reason for that.  That tale contains the most surprise in the entire shit show of The IC, and will probably shock even my closest friends.  Mostly every person who knows that story has advised against me ever writing it...................which is exactly why I plan to.  The Island Chronicles survives on TRUTH, and as ugly of a tale as it is to tell, it is one that will help many understand just how far I fell, and how deeply I actually looked over that edge.  The story of Week 25 will be the one story that defines my life and my character for a long time to come.
   Take these words and these lessons for what they are................my perception, and nothing more.  Falling apart is a scary thing to do, but the fear that exists from falling doesn't cultivate within us because we are losing it; the fear exists because we fight the breakdown.  The breakdown can be beautiful, and emerging on the opposite side of the forest is quite an enlightening experience.  Sometimes I look back and wonder what it would be like if I had never answered that email sent to me by the FSW all those years ago..........would I still be the same person I once was?  Would I still creep through my day pretending to be someone I am not?  Would I still pretend that everything was the way it should be, even if I know it is anything but?  Would I still be looking in Marlow and Quints eyes trying to figure out where I fit in to the equation?  These are questions that will never be answered, because they are situations that no longer exist.  Once I looked over that edge, I was never able to look back again, and like I stated earlier.........once you fall far enough, you never quite come back.    


"So just let go, because there's beauty in the breakdown"
                                           ~Frou Frou~  

See ya on the rivah..........peering as far over that edge as I can.  PEACE

Fear and Loathing in West By God (Part III)

This is Part III of the story.  Please click here to read The Intro, Part I, and Part II.
Please click here for a link to a Table of Contents for The Island Chronicles.


Part III:  The WALLACING of Lil' Rook, The Godfather of DBP, and A Brown Eyed Girl


“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing.”
                                                                               ~Herman Melville~

   Early on a Saturday morning in mid September, deep in the heart of the Western Maryland highlands, a Dirt Bag traveler and his DB junkie sidekick slept soundly under a canopy of hardwoods at Piney Mountain Campground.  They were seven days into a whitewater journey that had taken them from RVA to DC, to the Savage, to the Gauley, back to RVA, and now to the put in for the Upper Yough.  They were less than a week away from the culminating finale of Gauleyfest, and this was the day the heart of DBP arrived, and the REAL adventure began.  It was time to wander as deep into the trenches of the Dirt Bag World as a Mid-Atlantic paddler can go..................and it was time to do some serious whitewater boat riding.
   

“Hard to trust honesty of an inconsistent person.” 
                                           ~Toba Beta~


   Lil Rook and I now possessed $1000 in cash between the two of us.  I was not at all comfortable with how we came to be so flush with the paper, but I was satisfied with the fact that we were no longer stressed about money.  I designated Lil Rook as our navigator and financial adviser for the expedition...................I know, I know.  I trusted a heroin junkie with the finances for the entire journey.  Obviously I was high when I made this decision, but in my defense, Lil Rook was very intelligent and demonstrated a fair amount of responsibility when she wasn't passed out in the car or whacked out of her skull on smack..........which was usually about 3 to 4 hours each day............of sobriety that is.  I bartered a verbal agreement with Lil Rook about the split in the money.  The fact was, I had risked my own neck in order to generate the funding, and supplied the transportation for the mission that successfully granted us the cash we needed for an epic week.  For this contribution, I negotiated a 30% cut.  She is lucky I did not demand 50%, because in all honesty the agreement should have been for an equal split down the middle.  However, I was more than satisfied with $300.00 plus my own cash to sufficiently make my week a success.  She agreed to the terms and we were both comfortable and satisfied with the situation.  The fact was, I put my TRUST in Lil' Rook.  The way I saw it, she was my partner in crime, and more importantly she was my friend................but junkie's don't have friends.  I was about to find out why.
   After receiving a wake up call at Piney Mountain from a friendly Forest Ranger amicably demanding money for our stay, we packed up and descended the high plains of Garrett County, finding ourselves in Friendsville by 8am.  I was excited about our early start because it gave me time to introduce Lil' Rook to the antiquated and friendly confines of the The Waterstreet Cafe.  Waterstreet is every local paddlers favorite place to meet up and hang out in Friendsville.  It's owner, Chris, is one of the most pragmatic and affable people I have had the pleasure of getting to know on my travels, as well as one of the most sarcastically jocose individuals in the paddling community.  In his years as the owner of Waterstreet he has seen many, many Dirt Bags enter through his front door, and has witnessed many tails of whitewater heroism, misfortune, and all out bull shit.  He most likely beholds more whitewater secrets than anyone on the Eastern seaboard.  He is also a master chef.  The mans Pizza Rolls are legendary, but there are many, many culinary delights to be had when entering the Waterstreet Cafe.  My only complaint is that Chris always posts pictures of these succulent entrees on Facecrack when I am Dirt Baggin' in a town far from Friendsville.  The only two emotions that surface when I see these pictures are severe hunger and extreme disappointment about the fact that I cannot get to the food in the photo.  It is a cruel and torturous game and a perfect example of why pictures of good food should be permanently banned from Facecrack.  
   When we arrived at Waterstreet the lights were off, the doors locked, and the aroma of ground coffee was not apparent............must be one of those late morning coffee shops.  Waterstreet has always operated on the understanding of rivah time.  Sometimes they are open, sometimes they are closed, and sometimes they are both open and closed at the same time.  It was one of the sentimental qualities that made Friendsville so unique and so wonderful.  The people here lived without the stress that poisons most places in our country.
   We waited for about 15 minutes by the side of the rivah for Waterstreet to hopefully open, before giving up and settling on Husky Gas Station coffee to help dissolve our morning apathy and rally our spirits for the 40 minute drive North into Pennsylvania.  Our destination was the Lower Yough and the whitewater village of Ohiopyle.  While picking up our coffee, Lil' Rook made her normal disappearing act before passing out for the short journey through Western Maryland back roads.  At this point I had all but given up on her ability to remain sober, hoping that I could simply deliver her to the rivah and hope the whitewater Gods could help rescue her from the grips of her addiction.  I was also excited to be heading towards a destination that included new and non smacked out paddling friends.  We pulled into the Ohiopyle parking lot around 11am and parked the car.


"It is by chance that we met, by choice that we became friends."
                                                      ~ Henri Nouwen~


   I pulled in next to a white Subaru stuffed full of gear and camping equipment.............."looks like Dirt Bags are everywhere these days", I thought to myself.  I exited the car and began to walk to the bathroom when a fellow Dirt Bag in the white Subaru gave me a peculiar look as I drifted toward him.  His visual examination caught my attention and then it dawned on me the fellow paddler looked familiar, however, I could not place his face.  "Are you Justin?", he amiably asked.  "yea man!".............then it dawned on me.  "You're Dale, aren't you?"  The fellow paddler smiled and shook my hand.   Dale and I had never met because Dale was from the Northwoods of Northeastern Wisconsin.  However, we had spoken over social media many times in the last year, because Dale was one of the founding members of The Dirt Bag Paddlers, more infamously known as DBP.
   DBP is.........................well, actually I am still not sure what DBP is.  But to attempt a valid explanation, I hypothesis that it can be described as a social media site that focuses on bringing the world whitewater entertainment.  But more importantly, DBP is an International community of paddlers, whitewater enthusiasts, artists, writer's, photographer's, and characters of all walks of life who come together throughout the whitewater world to share in the common interest of living the rivah lifestyle to its fullest.  DBP has helped me expand my rivah community base and meet a broader range of whitewater addicts and characters than I ever could have met living in the sealed up bubble of RVA and The Jimmy.
   Irony plays a part in my life on a daily basis, and the fact that I pulled right up next to Dale in the Ohiopyle parking lot was a rather ironic and symbolic coincidence.  Dale was Dirt Baggin' throughout the East Coast with his girlfriend, the original DB Queen, Mackenzie.  I admired and respected both Dale and Kenzie almost immediately.  They were good people with a good understanding of the TRUTH.  Bull shit played no part in their travels, and they were two of the original members of a DBP organization that is now 5000 strong and growing.
   Dale was an energetic and cheerful guy, and his constant mischievous smile made anyone around him chuckle, because Dale was usually up to something.  He was organized and motivated to lead the Dirt Bag life the correct way throughout the trip, and he and I shared many common interests, from our knowledge of safety to our opinions about the TRUTH of this world. ..............he also held a very deep love for Mackenzie, and I truly respected that about Dale.  In short, he was a good man and I was proud to be alongside him on this trip.
   Mackenzie was quite the character as well.  She was beautiful, and any man who crossed her path would immediately agree with me on that observation.  If you didn't, then you are probably dead or gay.  But unlike most beautiful women in modern society, Kenzie was very different....................her attitude, the way she carried herself, and her opinions of the world were anything but feminine............the girl had no problem hanging with the boys, and many times she could lead the charge when we truly went Dirt Baggin'.  It was a very rare combination to withhold, and she carried that confidence well.  In short, Kenzie wasn't just a Dirt Bag Queen, she was the TRUTH in Dirt Baggin' and her presence was a benefit to all around her.  The addition of Dale and Kenzie was a welcome advantage to the whitewater pilgrimage taking place.    


   "The friend in my adversity I shall always cherish most. I can better trust those who helped to relieve the gloom of my dark hours than those who are so ready to enjoy with me the sunshine of my prosperity." 
                                                  ~Ulysses S. Grant~


   Our small group of whitewater warriors decided to head down the Lower Yough in kayaks and duckies.  Lil Rook seemed half way determined to produce at least some REAL paddling out of this trip, and was extremely committed to doing so in a kayak.  Being a kayak instructor, I was more than willing to teach her through the "School of Hard Knocks" while making sure she didn't drown in the process.  "The Loop" of the Lower Yough was a great place to cut her teeth in some REAL whitewater...............the low water James lesson from a few days before did not constitute "REAL whitewater" in my opinion.  The only problem with this plan was Lil' Rook was still passed out in the front seat from her morning session with the Mexican Brown.  Dale and Kenzie were well aware of why she was sleeping and it was very apparent that Kenzie was not about to put up with her junkie antics...........I didn't blame her.
   I woke Lil' Rook and informed her of our plan for the afternoon and told her to start gearing up.  I looked at this situation as an opportunity to give her a REAL wake up call.  I had come on this trip to paddle.............everyday, and I was not about to spend those days rallying a junkie to gain motivation for a paddling trip.  Either she got her shit together, or we would leave her behind.  And I knew how determined she was to prove her worth to the whitewater world, so being left behind wasn't an option for her.  But she wasn't ready to kayak the Lower Yough, let alone "The Loop".  So I put her ass in a kayak anyway, well aware of what would happen.................I was going to let the rivah give her the wake up call..................and yes, I am that evil.
   We geared up, walked down the hill, and put on ahead of the thundering 30 foot Ohiopyle Falls.  The put in to the Lower Yough is a true whitewater wonderland.  The town is a quaint hamlet tucked away in the Pennsylvania mountains, sitting directly next to the falls and rivah.  Creeks drop into the Yough from multiple chasms in the mountains surrounding the town, and the whitewater of the loop drops in a stair step fashion as it rounds the mountain and drops out of sight.  Before being swept into the first series of rapids, I reviewed everything that I had taught Lil' Rook over the first week and explained the basic skills that assist every beginner paddler in staying upright through their first set of rapids................Lil' Rook was about to be baptized in some hard plastic!
   Our group calmly drifted into the first series of ledges, and Lil' Rook fared well, keeping her boat straight, her paddle in the water, and her weight forward...............as she slipped through the crux of the series and paddled toward me I noticed that she was still rather dazed from her morning heroin aberration.  This was exactly the wake up call she would need................or so I thought.  The first series of rapids began to tail off to small wave trains and the rivah curved right, into a large pool above the crux of "The Loop", Cucumber Rapid.
   Cucumber is a large Class III rapid that begins as simple and wide Class I-II shoals before the water quickly constricts down to half the width of the rivah and drops furiously through a series of holes that will swamp kayaks, canoes, and rafts.  The key to the rapid is to read the water correctly early on and push hard right to compensate for the leftward push of the rivah which catches sloppy paddlers off guard and stamps them into a left bank rock.  By setting an early right handed angle and continuously pushing hard right, paddlers usually find that the bottom of the rapid opens up without the panic of the tight left side line.  Any paddler who is able to navigate Cucumber smoothly will do just fine on the Lower Yough.
   I explained the line to Lil' Rook, emphasizing the need to push hard right and avoid the entire rivah left side.  Then I dropped in, demonstrating the safest line I could for Lil' Rooks additional benefit.  She dropped in behind me, and was immediately pushed left.............opposite of where she needed to be.  She made a minimal effort to re-adjust her boat angle, but was pushed too far left too early...................WALLACE!  Lil' Rook immediately flipped and experienced the largest set of holes upside down still in her kayak.  She then found some hand relief and squirted out of her boat, ensuring at least one booty beer would be consumed at the end of the day.  Kenzie followed suit in her Duckie, and the DBP Swim Team was created on Day 1 in Rapid #2.  Dale and myself assisted the ladies in cleaning up the yard sale that had ensued before pushing down rivah into the labyrinth of Class III rapids that compose the second half of "The Loop".
   While we diligently went about figuring out the whitewater maze we had found ourselves in, Lil' Rook decided to produce a second swim and booty beer on the far right side of a run out rapid, as a shit show of rafts bounced and pinned down the left side of said drop...............it was quite entertaining to watch from afar.  During the middle of our Lil' Rook rescue attempt and the chaos that was ensuing throughout the rapid, a familiar voice suddenly echoed through the banks of the rivah.......................K.C.!  Our Dirt Bag friend from The Savage popped around the corner in her kayak, sporting her signature grin and vibrant personality.  She immediately saw that Lil' Rook was taking a dip through her second rapid of the day and assisted in the clean up yet again.  We decided to break for a well deserved safety meeting at that point, before deciding to let Dale and Kenzie go ahead while Lil' Rook and I walked the loop trail back to Ohiopyle.....................Lil' Rooks wake up call was complete.  I no longer felt comfortable holding the group up to clean up the shit show that was sure to ensue had we continued down rivah.  Lil' Rook scraped up her remaining dignity from the rocks and we began the loop hike back to Ohiopyle while Kenzie and Dale continued to travel downstream.  I noticed the dazed look in Lil' Rooks eyes had disappeared, and the colorful personality that she demonstrated for 3 to 4 hours a day had returned...........it's amazing what happens to a person when they are not on heroin and let the rivah fill their soul.


“There is no better high than discovery.”
                    ~Edward O. Wilson~


   The remainder of the afternoon was spent discovering "The Loop" trail and the joys of killing time in Ohiopyle, PA.  Lil' Rook and I explored the trails and took our time returning to town.  I remember that I enjoyed this time with her, because I was able to see the TRUTH in her personality.  When Lil' Rook was on, she was on...........that is a statement I will always stand by. Later in the afternoon we met back up with Dale and Kenzie, who had driven throughout the night from Wisconsin in order to reach Pennsylvania and run The Lower Yough.  Kenzie and Lil' Rook decided an afternoon nap was in order, giving Dale and I plenty of time to execute a safety meeting and crick exploration at the Meadow Run Slides..............it was a slow afternoon of Dirt Baggin' in the heart of the whitewater world, and it was a much needed and much appreciated rest for all......................it was the calm before the storm.
   Around 5pm, the second half of the Wisco Dirt Bag caravan rolled into town, Chicago Mike and Flan..................the absolute TRUTH of DBP and the heart of the entire show.   These two characters were quite a pair.  Chicago Mike was the creator and Godfather of DBP, and he was the unquestioned fearless leader of the charge, even though he tried to convince everyone he wasn't.  His demeanor was introverted and demure, and I quickly noticed that although he was the leader, he preferred to observe the scene that he had created throughout the past year from afar.  Mike and I had never met face to face, but we had confabulated (twice now....BOOM!) about many topics throughout the past year thanks to The IC and DBP.  He understood the battle that raged within me between The Flower Pickin' Gentleman and The Epic Worthlessness That Is Man, because that same battle existed within Chicago Mike.  I feel that his choice to observe the scenes throughout the week came from his ability to simply take the environment in and enjoy the moment while he lived it, a skill that can only be developed through experience and wisdom.  He consistently manifested a comforting smile throughout the week and simply wanted to see peace, one love, and everyone happy and content................we all know by now that this is where Chicago and I differed.  Mike chose to ignore the bothersome parts of the groups social dynamics...............I did not.  In the end, this was the overwhelming variable that defined the relationship between Mike and myself.
   Flan was the other half of this terrible twosome, and Flan had made his rivah pilgrimage for three things......whitewater, safety, and as much pussy as possible.  He was quiet at first, but possessed a uniquely extroverted side to his personality when challenged with situations that he didn't agree with.  For the most part though, Flan was as laid back as they came, and I liked him immediately.
   We were then joined by even more Dirt Baggin' gypsies, and each one was a character all their own.  First to arrive on the scene were T-Love and Jamin, the TRUTH in Dirt Bag couples.  T-Love was a lifelong gypsy, and she had the stories to prove it from every corner of the country.  She demonstrated her skills on the rivah through the art of solo shredding, and possessed more knowledge of the social world of whitewater than any Dirt Bag I had ever crossed paths with.  It is easy to do that when you grow up in Garrett County , Maryland, home of the Upper Yough..................she was by far my favorite Dirt Bag of all, but their are many reasons for that sentiment.  Her personality was carefree, jovial, and tranquil, and she had come for two specific reasons.....................to paddle the hell out of as much whitewater as possible and party as hard as she possibly could.  She had just arrived from the rocky top mountains of Colorado, and she could Dirt Bag the lifestyle with true charisma and class......................so much so you never would have known she was a cheerleader in high school.  (HA!  She is going to kill me for dropping that last one.)    
   Jamin was the other half of this Dirt Bag couple, and he was a man of safety and peace.  Jamin was being introduced for one of the first times to the rivah culture and lifestyle on the trip, and he was a sponge to it all, soaking up every moment of the experience that was taking place.  He carried a very casual demeanor about him, and was usually content to go with the flow of the group and the rivah...........and he loved T-Love.  That was apparent.
   We sat around the caravan of Dirt Bag Mobiles catching up and planning our evenings adventure.  T-Love told a story about her days antics that started with her explaining what she had done the night before.  While telling this story, she included the tale about late night drunken hooliganism with Chris, the friendly Waterstreet Cafe owner from Friendsville.  Apparently it was due to these antics and the copious amounts of alcohol consumed by the two that there was a VERY late start to the opening of the Cafe the following morning, the same Cafe that Lil Rook and I had waited 30 minutes at for coffee.  T-Love's impact was that immense.  She had affected my life directly before I had ever even met her.............Thank's T-Love.
   As the sun sank behind the mountains of our whitewater hamlet, Dirt Bags from every corner of the continent converged on a small Dirt Bag bar in Ohiopyle PA to celebrate the whitewater lifestyle that was being exhibited by so many during this week of rivah celebration.  Seven days worth of Upper Yough adventures and Gauleyfest debauchery lay just downstream.


“I like you; your eyes are full of language."
                                   ~Anne Sexton~


   The moon rose into the sky and the Dirt Bag bar we had chosen for our impromptu assembly of boating hoodlums, whitewater delinquents, and rivah rapscallions began to buzz with the life of a true whitewater party.  Men with long beards and sun worn skin, both young and old, reminisced about the time at Iron Ring they saw God, and the proper paddle position needed to really stomp out the boof at Nationals.  Old friends exchanged warm hugs and affectionate smiles while catching up after a summer of absence from the local rivah scene, a ritual that repeats itself year after year when the guides of the Gauley scatter to the winds to find work on summer rivahs.  Gauleyfest is a celebration, but it is also a welcome home.  It is a return for many to the humble beginnings that ended up defining their lives and their passion for what they did.  Here, every Rivah Guide from both near and far would be understood.  In that bar, every Rivah Guide was welcomed home.
   Dirt Bags have similar habits, and these habits always leave bread crumbs behind to give away their presence in certain places.  If you ever walk into a bar and find a wall full of cell phones being charged in the few available outlets, you know you are in the presence of a Dirt Bag assembly.  On this night, the wall was full of devices being re-powered from two days off the grid deep in the confines of forests and rivahs throughout the Appalachians.  When I saw the wall of technological excrement, I decided to follow suit and give my phone a charge as well.  While I was plugging in my charger and checking my messages I happened to look up and see T-Love enter the front door with Jamin.  Then, behind them, a girl quietly walked through the door and I observed her float across the room towards the bar.  She had short blond hair that fell over her eyes and she was petite and delicate in the way she carried herself.  She wore a pink shirt under a white sweater that fell gracefully over her shoulders, revealing a delicate curve to her neck line.  Then she smiled, and the room lit up.  Her smile was soft and shy, and although she exhibited a quiet presence about her, she went unnoticed by no one.  The only thing I could think in my mind as I observed the scene was, "she can't be a Dirt Bag...........she is too exquisitely alluring in her presence to be one of us."......................I was determined to get to the bottom of who she was..................even if I did possess zero game.
   The evening wore on and the party eventually split into the typical characteristics of a Dirt Bag celebration.  While half the gathering quaffed copious amounts of golden ale as they regaled around the bar, the other half  of the DB lineup converged in the parking lot, huddled around various tailgates in small, tribal like fashion.  There could only be one kind of caucus taking place here...................safety meetings.  I slowly meandered through the friendly confines of the parking lot, before noticing the tight nit cluster of Wisco Dirt Bags at the back end of the lot.  These were my safety partners, and they were the people I would seek solace in for the next two weeks.  We spent the evening with our peace pipe and beers, listening to each others stories and enjoying our Dirt Bag existence on a perfect night deep in the hills of the Yough Rivah valley.
   After a few rounds of safety, T-Love and Jamin joined the scene of a dozen or so Dirt Bags, as well as T-Love's intriguingly beautiful new blond friend.  She stood behind the boisterous and charismatic group of rivah rats quietly listening to the stories of whitewater glory that were being spouted by all of us in an attempt to one up the last...................remember, ego's exist within us all.  I wanted to see T-Loves friend included in the conversation so I introduced myself.  "Hi, I'm Justin".........introducing myself to a woman that I find attractive is VERY unlike me.  Believe it or not, I am shy.  I usually avoid beautiful woman these days like the plague, but my instincts told me I really wanted to talk to her.  The thing about this was, I didn't really need to try.  It just happened.  I wanted to see her included in the conversation and I wanted to meet her at the same time.  Sometimes life gives us opportunity..............it's our job to make the most of it.  She smiled softly and brushed the hair away from her eyes.  Then she looked at me, and before saying a word I noticed that she had piercingly beautiful brown eyes.  The kind of eyes that speak the TRUTH.  She smiled softly and with a gentle, halcyon voice said, "Hi............I'm Marcie."


“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.”
                                                                  ~John Joseph Powell~

So much TRUTH in that last quote.  See ya on the rivah..................hopefully falling in love.  PEACE   

Fear and Loathing in West By God (Part II)

This is Part II to the story.  Please click here to access The Intro and Part I.

For a Table of Contents to The Island Chronicles, please click here.



Part II:  WALLACE at Wood's, Goat Testicles, and The Mexican Brown

"Take the best orgasm you've ever had... multiply it by a thousand, and you're still nowhere near it."
                                                                                    ~Renton; Trainspotting~  


   Deep in the heart of the West By God wilderness, far away from the cities and politics and bureaucracy of the world,  a group of everyday Dirt Bag Paddlers convened around a small squirt boating cabin in the heart of the Gauley wilderness, confabulating the viewpoints of the Dirt Bag World, deliberating the available lines of Pillow and Lost Paddle, and embodying the TRUTH of the whitewater lifestyle.  We were rejoicing in the successes of Day 1 of our Whitewater Jihad.  We already traveled from the suburbs of western DC to the hollars of the Savage, knocked out two laps of whitewater, and then continued on to the depths of the Gauley Gorge, all in a span of fifteen hours.  Now we prepared for an introductory day on the Gauley, one in which Lil' Rook would be baptized in the waters of the grand daddy of them all.  She exhibited quite the confidence when demonstrating her excitement for the following day.  My experiences with whitewater allowed me to see through this deceptive facade......the TRUTH was, Lil' Rook was completely clueless about the undertaking she was about to have, and I knew she needed to have someone ease it in for her gently................I don't think that came out correctly.  Anywho, as we regaled throughout the night, I made the decision to have our group descend the Lower Gauley as opposed to the Upper to assist Lil' Rook in her sanctification of the West By God TRUTH.  Now I just needed to figure out a way to tell the group.  Egos run rampant within the whitewater world, as The IC has discussed before, and I knew egos would play a part in my decision to stick with the Lower Gauley, but I didn't care.  Lil' Rook was NOT ready for the Upper.
   As we continued to feast on the plentiful delights of our safety session, I decided to talk with Lil Rook about running the Lower, however, I quickly discovered that she was nowhere to be found...............the disappearance of Lil' Rook would become a re-occurring theme for the week.  Given our conversation from the previous night, it did not take long for me to put two and two together and figure out what was happening.  Once she returned to the assemblage I carefully observed her behaviors.  In a short amount of time I concluded that she was whacked out of her skull on heroin..........I wasn't the only one in the room to make this conclusion.  I decided to keep the escalating situation to myself for the sanctity of the group.  However, I grew more and more concerned about the position she had placed me in, seeing that I had now rolled through three states with heroin in my car.
   Of course Lil Rook had assured me that she was on detoxification medicine and would never be holding any of the Mexican Brown while riding shotgun.  It was at this point that I made a conclusion that would stick with me for the remainder of my tenure with Lil Rook...............she was a fucking junkie liar and had no intentions of kicking her habit.  However, I wasn't going to let this small bump in the road dictate the outcome of our Whitewater Jihad.  I settled in for the evening, continued to examine the subject of rivah safety, and lionized the successes of Day 1.


“Good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgment.”
                                                                               ~Rita Mae Brown~

   The following morning our group of Dirt Bag Miscreants departed The Cabin later than our scheduled plans, which helped seal our fate to the Lower Gauley for the day.  It takes the water time to reach the Lower, so truly hungover paddlers always have a second option for a missed run on the Upper.  We devoured our first of many Hico Exxon breakfasts, and found ourselves on the West By God back roads by noon setting our shuttle.  The Lower Gauley is a long shuttle, and for some reason it often results in unique encounters with West By God locals (like gun totting crazed hillbilly's and the occasional bull)...........this day was no different.
   We exited the take out from Swiss after dropping the car and headed up the road, but we were quickly halted by construction workers stating that the road would be closed for the next 20 to 30 minutes for tree trimming.  Considering there was only one way in and one way out, we found this to be a bit of a problem.  Behind our car sat a truck with two rare paddling characters..............West By God locals.  It is not common for the locals of the area to paddle, but when they do, they are usually some of the more colorful characters you will ever encounter on the rivah.............these two were definitely that.
   We hopped out of our cars to talk with our fellow hard boaters, and one introduced himself as "Bear"............a West By God local paddler named Bear?............EPIC.  Whatever you are picturing Bear to look like, that is how he looked, because he truly exemplified his name properly.  After a few minutes of conversation, we all became impatient.  That was the point that Bear decided to take matters into his own hands.  He hopped back in his truck, whistled for us to follow him, and turned around to find an "alternative route".  This left me with a decision to make..............continue to wait for the road to clear, or follow a West By God local named Bear on his own "alternative route" through no name back roads.........as always, I chose the riskier option.  Within a matter of minutes, I found myself driving down a thin layer of gravel between the actual railroad tracks and a straight drop off into the depths of the Gauley.  This alternative route was working out just fine for a while.  However, the thin layer of gravel that paved our way was quickly becoming more and more narrow, squeezing my non four wheel drive Mercury Sable into a rather tight slot between the rails of the actual tracks and a very lose and collapsing rivah bank dropping straight into the Gauley.................needless to say this was a sketchy situation.  I decided to persevere and stick it out.  Eventually I cut it so close that I almost popped a tire on the side of the rail while simultaneously putting my opposite tire halfway over the edge of the drop off.  I dealt with Lil Rook on one side of the car yelling at me to go further right, and John Denver on the other side of the car yelling at me to go further left.................needless to say the situation was rather stressful.  In the end, I barely squeezed it out, but successfully developed a slow leak in my tire that took a month to fix...................figures.


“I had been afraid of the awful presence of the river, which was the soul of the river, but through her I learned that my spirit shared in the spirit of all things.”
                                                                                     ~Rudolfo Anaya~

   We finally put on the Middle Gauley mid afternoon, however, I mistakenly put us on at Masons Branch, increasing our paddling trip even further.............these things tend to happen after a late night at the cabin.  The upside to this mistake was that we were able to run Woods Ferry, an easy but large rapid with a strange but viscous slot hole at its exit.  In retrospect.........Shredder Aaron and Lil' Rook probably wish we had put in below Woods Ferry, because once again this dynamic duo delivered a WALLACE worthy performance to start the afternoon.  

  The final move in Woods Ferry requires passing to the right side of a large, boat muchin' hole and then darting quickly left to avoid broaching on a broad flat rock that collects a large amount of water.  The character of this feature tends to sit lethargic boats on top of it, before dumping them over the left side into an extremely deep slot known for folding rafts in half and spitting them out into a yard sale of gear and bodies..................that pretty much describes exactly what happened to Lil' Rook and Shredder Aaron.  I pulled into the eddy directly beside the slot, knowing that the rapid produced a descent amount of carnage and I could be rewarded with some early entertainment from a front row seat.  This vantage point gave me the perfect view as I witnessed Lil' Rook actually become folded up inside the Shredder as it taco'd, before being violently flung deep into the pocket of the slot.....................WELCOME TO THE GAULEY LITTLE GIRL!
   We assisted in scraping up the carnage of Woods Ferry, working our way down rivah, and stomping out Backender, before finding ourselves in the pool above Koontz Flume, one of the largest rapids of the Lower.  I looked at Lil' Rook and told her to enjoy the ride, because she was about to experience REAL whitewater.  We dropped into the main flow, styling the wide line between two boat munching holes and slipping into the pool below the rapid.  I glanced at Lil' Rook after the run, asking her how she enjoyed the ride.  She responded that Koontz was A LOT bigger than she thought it would be.  Her eyes were rather wide when she made the statement...........exactly as I had thought.  Like I stated earlier, she was NOT ready for the Upper Gauley, regardless of what she thought.  Rookies are always a lot more bark than they are bite...........ALWAYS!
   We continued down rivah for the remainder of the late day run with no further WALLACE worthy performances.  I did notice that Lil' Rook was rather quiet throughout the ride with Shredder Aaron.  It dawned on me at the end of the day that her rather sluggish performance throughout the day was most likely due to the large amount of heroin she had injected into her body the night before and the following morning....................yes, Lil' Rook was shooting up before putting onto the Gauley.  This ride truly had become a game of Fear and Loathing in West By God.
   My observations also allowed me to conclude that Shredder Aaron, based on the look on his face, was over his shotgun riding junkie.  What I did not pick up on was the fact that Lil' Rook spent the day nodding out in Aaron's Shredder.  This piece of information is what really transitioned my thinking from "how do I help this girl" to "how much of a liability is this girl"..............but I  made a decision and was determined to stick it out and allow the beauty of whitewater to save a lost soul.  We completed our run close to dark and after accomplishing the rather lengthy shuttle ride without any further delays or shenanigans, we were headed back to the cabin very late.  Shredder Aaron decided to take the long way home, becoming terribly lost in Summersville and failing to locate the Hico Exxon for close to 2 hours.  I am still not sure how it is possible to get lost in a town with only one road, but at that point I was exhausted and ready to crash hard for the night.................and that was exactly what I did.


“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.”
                                                                                ~Edgar Allan Poe~

   We awoke on Day 3 prepared for an afternoon of travel and reorganization for the upcoming week.  Our original plan was to drop John Denver with a friend who would head back north, while Lil' Rook and I headed East, straight to RVA for a few days of James Rivah paddling and for an instructional kayaking class to allow me the opportunity to replenish my funds.  However, Lil' Rook insisted on heading North towards her hometown.  One of my pet peeves while on road trips is changing the itinerary mid trip..................apparently Lil' Rook missed that memo because she constantly attempted to change the plan.  It did not take me long to conclude that she was out of smack and beginning to withdraw.  My original thoughts were to take her strung out ass to RVA anyway and make her deal with the withdrawals, however, I folded quickly to her continuous whining and decided to head North, taking John Denver home as well.  Before leaving The Cabin that morning both John Denver and Shredder Aaron took me for a walk and safety session behind the cabin while the remainder of the crew packed up.  On the safety walk both gave me their opinions of the situation and how I should handle the remainder of the trip...................both agreed it was a very bad idea to keep Lil Rook as my sidekick.  John Denver had direct experience dealing with friends hooked on heroin, and stated that a junkie can never be trusted and will eventually fuck everyone over in order to get their fix................Shredder Aaron agreed.  Both friends left me with plenty to contemplate on the ride North.  

   Our Dirt Bag caravan crept out of the depths of the Gauley Gorge toward the rewards of breakfast at the Hico Exxon................again.  When we pulled into the parking lot there was a rather strange situation developing.  A goat was standing in the middle of the parking lot............a REAL goat, just standing there, in the middle of a gas station parking lot.  It was the strangest sight, but then again, this is West By God.  One of my favorite Exxon employees, Chrystal, had strapped a belt around the goats neck and was attempting to persuade the little girl to go home...................the goat was having none of it and refusing to move.   Our crew jumped right out and offered to help solve the developing situation...........after all, I was experienced in dealing with farm animals of all types (long story) and who wouldn't want to walk a goat home.............so that is EXACTLY what we did.  We walked the goat home.  We were told it was pregnant and it did look like it was about to drop a litter in the middle of the parking lot.  However, we came to find out that not only was it not pregnant, but it also possessed a pair of testicles, making it very difficult for baby goats to be created within...........turns out the poor little guy had simply eaten too much and was extremely bloated.........so bloated in fact he was having trouble moving.  We attempted to push him up a steep hill, resulting in a strong amount of LOSING on our part and on the goats part.  Eventually we walked our new friend all the way down and around the hill before managing to get him home.  His owner was very thankful for his return, and we were content seeing that we had completed our good deed for the day and helped save a bloated, apathetic, ornery billy goat...................WINNING!

Me, John Denver and some goat testicles

"This was to be my final hit, but let's be clear about this. There's final hits and final hits. What kind was this to be?"

                                     ~Renton; Trainspotting~


   After our ritualistic morning breakfast at Exxon, our group parted ways, ending the first leg of our journey, the infamous Whitewater Jihad.  John Denver, Lil' Rook, and myself all headed North for rest, recuperation, and unfortunately a hidden re-up.  We returned to Lil Rooks house late in the afternoon and John Denver split faster than green grass through a goose.  Lil' Rook slept the entire car ride back and admitted that she was starting to feel sick from withdrawing.  I didn't feel sorry for her in the least, but I promised myself I would help her out any way I could.
   Over the course of the evening she slowly became sicker and sicker and simply laid on the floor trying to rest while I watched TV.  She admitted that she did not have any detox medicine, but her father had helped set her up for an appointment with a doctor on Friday and she would be able to medicate herself if she could hold out until then.............it became quickly evident what was going to happen.  She was going to be buying more smack.  I also realized that this once again put me in a very unfair position seeing that I was her driver for the journey.
   As the night wore on Lil' Rook sweated, moaned, curled up in a fetal position, and basically mimicked the same behaviors as someone with the Noro Virus.  I sat there observing and pondering why anyone would ever want to put something in their body that not only destroyed their soul the way it was exhibiting, but also devastated their life.  Lil' Rook had left a trail of destruction behind her in every place she had been, including her summer outfitter.  It was a sad and unfortunate display by someone so young and with so much potential.  That night I viewed Lil' Rook as a victim, not of the drug and not of the system, but a victim of herself.  She was destroying everything she ever had the opportunity to be, and she didn't even have the will to want to change.
   Around 4am the phone rang and Lil' Rook picked it up.  Within 30 seconds she was off the phone, demonstrating life for the first time in hours, and asking me for a ride...................now putting me in the exact position that I feared being caught in.  Think about it.  What would you do?  Let's just say I am not cut out for the tough love standpoint in parenting.  I resent Lil' Rook for a lot of the positions she placed me in over the two weeks of our journey, but none more than the position she cornered me in that night.  What's done is done, but I certainly gained valuable experience from the situation and will NEVER be manipulated in that manner again.
   The next two days were full of an immense amount of bull shit, manipulation, 12 hour heroin binges, and a much needed break from Lil' Rook and her smack head antics.  We traveled back to RVA and I attempted to give her a private kayak lesson on a low water James.  The lesson started out rough, but once Lil' Rook ran a rapid or two, the smile returned to her face, her personality blossomed, and the girl I knew existed inside her started to show.  Never underestimate the power of kayaking.  She gave me a big hug when we parted ways at the takeout, and she was given a 24 hour pass to do whatever she wanted without me having to know.  I spent the time visiting friends and resupplying my funds, which were scraping by throughout the journey.


“When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.”
                                                             ~Nelson Mandela~

   Day 6.................ahhh yes, the famous Day 6!  Day 6 is one of those days that for the most part falls under the category "never happened" as far as The Island Chronicles are concerned.  I started the day sitting at the infamous Fourteenth Street Takeout early in the morning, waiting for Lil' Rook to be delivered back to me for Round 2 of our whitewater pilgrimage.  Lil Rook and I had discussed the situation together and agreed that we were both at our limit of bailing on the agreement, but we also concluded that we both had something to gain..................she needed help, as well as the fact that she had been given an immense opportunity as a Rookie paddler that does not come along very often.  I needed her company for the drive, her money for gas, and her friendship for the journey.  We had enjoyed a lot of moments together over the course of the first week, as well as dealing with a lot of disagreements.  So after serious contemplation, and the promise that she was attending her doctors appointment and would take detox medicine, we both agreed to give the situation a second attempt.  We did what we do best, which was develop a plan of action.  

   Our starting point was RVA early in the morning with half a tank of gas, very little money, not much food, and a 1pm doctors appointment for Lil Rook near DC.  Our end of the day goal and ultimate destination was Piney Mountain Campground near the put in to the Upper Yough in far Western Maryland, hopefully with a pocket full of cash, plenty of food, and no warrants out for our arrest.........................our plan was a success.  That is about all I can say.  The day involved a military base that I discussed safety on, myself completely freaking out with paranoia, a shady ass Walmart Parking Lot, a goat eating Lil Rooks hair, Lil' Rook exhibiting some serious street smarts and proving that at times she was a bad ass little bitch, and a grand in cash.  By midnight that night we found ourselves sleeping soundly at Piney Mountain Campground, ready for a week of truly EPIC adventures.  If you have enjoyed the story to this point, then get ready, because this tail is about to hit overdrive................DBP is about to enter the Thunderdome, and shit truly hits the fan!    

“In wisdom gathered over time I have found that every experience is a form of exploration.”
                                                                                ~Ansel Adams~

   See ya on the rivah.................with a bit more wisdom than I had before.   TRUTH

Fear and Loathing in West By God (Part I)

This is the second part of the story.  To access The Intro, please click here.
To access a table of contents to The Island Chronicles, please click here.



Part I:  Lil Rook, John Denver, and The Whitewater Jihad  

“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depths of some devine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.”
                       ~Alfred Tennyson~

 
   On September 6th, 2014, I awoke in RVA on a typical, lackadaisical Saturday morning.  Most people who awoke on this weekend morning were leading the life of an ordinary domesticated American.  I know that life well because I used to live it, and I LOVED Saturday mornings with our boys.  Pancakes, cartoons, pajamas, playing in the backyard with the soccer ball and the sandbox, and just chillin' .............I miss it every Saturday.  But this Saturday morning was very different for me.  I was leaving RVA for an extended road trip and I did not know when or if I would return.  My future was a mystery, and although there was the usual trepidation about the unknown that lay ahead, my soul was giddy with enthusiasm.  It was a feeling that I had not felt in a very long time...........I remember feeling the same way on the drive to the hospital the day both Marlow and Quint were born.  The joy of life was re-entering my soul, and for that I was grateful.
   I headed north out of RVA, on my way to the eastern panhandle of West By God with the intention of picking up my accomplice for the trip.  Traveling alone is something I have become accustom to in the last three years, and I truly appreciated this solitude to began the journey.  After a few hours of travel through the Virginia Piedmont, the sky began to darken and clouds rolled in, just as the Blue Ridge Mountains came into view.  I drove through the foothills of the Virginia Highlands and reminisced about the times Marcelle, Marlow, and I followed the same route to Cheatfest years before.  While on the return trip from that journey, our family stopped at Sky Meadows State Park near Paris, Va to spend the afternoon and go hiking.  The valley at Sky Meadows is as lush as Virginia can be, and the hills roll away towards the horizon like a green ocean wave.  I pulled into the desolate parking lot late in the day, exited the car, and walked the same fields I had played in years before with Marcelle and Marlow.  Marcelle was pregnant with Quint, so he was technically along for the ride as well.  The memory of that afternoon has always remained very clear in my mind, because it was one of the happier anamnesis I have of our family, and because it was one of the last experiences I recall in which Marcelle and I really held a deep connection with one another.  On that warm spring afternoon under a sunny sky I sat on a blanket in an open field with my beautiful wife and observed as our son played in the dandelions and ran across the hillsides.  We hiked the trails of the valley and enjoyed the company of one another.  Late in the day on our hike, the sun disappeared, the sky opened up, and it poured down rain.  Marlow was a tough little guy and we enjoyed the warm, wet hike before heading home from a family weekend at a rainy Cheatfest, soaked to the bone, happy to be a family..........it was a treasured memory that I will always keep close to my heart.
   Now I found myself standing alone in the same place I once shared with my family.  As I evoked these memories from my past the sky became dark, and lightening and thunder crept up the valley,  inching ever closer to me as I stood on the hillside.  The wind swirled all around me, drops began to spit out of the sky, and the blue ridges disappeared in a shroud of rain.  The once sunny, warm valley filled with peaceful family memories now held a cold, disconsolate spirit, and suddenly I felt very alone...................it was a symbolic goodbye to a feeling I was content to leave behind in that valley.


“Happiness only real when shared.”
                 ~Christopher McCandless~


   I arrived at Lil' Rooks house that evening, having no idea what I was in store for.  In all honesty, I thought I was getting laid, however it didn't take long for me to figure out that would not be happening...............oh well.  You win some, you lose some.  And in this case I would quickly find out that my loss was a win in disguise.
   Lil Rook was young, cute, and clueless.  She seemed very distant throughout the evening, as if she was disconnected from the reality of the world and from the TRUTH of her own life.  We took a drive to her outfitter to share in the typical safety ritual between traveling guides, then returned home to watch Va Tech surprise the hell out of Ohio State while sharing dinner and getting to know each other.  There was a familiar feeling to the entire encounter, however I was not able to pinpoint where the recognizable emotion came from..............but for some reason it was not a pleasant feeling.
   Late in the night both she and I retreated to her front porch for a cigarette and safety meeting and we began to really unravel the mystery of what fueled Lil Rook.  She practiced Hula Hoop in the front yard and I sat on the stairs under a bright moon and clear starry night.  She divulged to me that she had struggled with heroin addiction for a long time, and being as young as she was, I found it cautiously fascinating.  I had never encountered heroin before, neither from a personal standpoint or from the perspective of a friend.  I began to ask more and more questions, and she openly answered all of them as she continued to dance around in front of me, spinning her hoops up and down her body.
   Whenever I encounter new experiences, I enter the situation rather naive and clueless, but open-minded.  In this case, that logic was dangerous, but I was intrigued to learn more.  I asked her when the last time she used was and she responded, "don't ask me that."  That's when I realized where the disconnect that existed within her came from..................she was high as a kite at that very moment.  Of course she was!  She was dancing around with Hula Hoops in the front yard of an Upper Middle Class suburban neighborhood at 2am with a guy that she barely knew but whom she was about to get in a car with for three weeks and run Class IV-V rivahs................obviously she was on something.  At that moment I quickly realized that I wasn't sitting on those steps in an attempt to get laid..........I was there to help her.  That's when it dawned on me where that unpleasant but familiar feeling came from...........Lil Rook represented the same void in my life that had been filled in the past by The Fourteenth Street Whore.  Young, dangerous, crazy as hell but with a certain sex appeal, terribly broken, and willing to commit to the life of a Dirt Bag Queen.................needless to say I was entering very dangerous territory yet again.  I guess old habits truly do die hard.
   Once I had fully assessed the situation I could only propose one question to her................"do you want help?"  Without halting her hoop performance or glancing my way she calmly and quietly responded, "In the worst way."  Then she continued to perform in the front yard as if she had said nothing.  There was no fervor or concern in her voice.  She simply responded like an emotionless child answering a parents question.  I was taken back by the cryptic cry for help and realized ditching her and rolling solo was not the honorable choice to make.  Besides, I was a writer, and my sidekick just became a MUCH more colorful character for the journey.
   The only thing I knew about heroin was it was a powerful drug that created a mean addiction.  Well, I was on a whitewater journey, and if there is one element powerful enough to overcome the grips of a heroin addiction, in my opinion that force was whitewater.  How beautiful of a plot had I just stumbled upon?....................Rookie Dirt Bag Queen overcomes the evils of heroin by ripping up the rivahs of West By God and using whitewater to save her soul.  After considering all these variables I came to a decision..........Lil' Rook would be rolling with me for this journey!


  “A ship is always safe at the shore - but that is NOT what it is built for.”
                                                     ~Albert Einstein~


   Lil Rook and I awoke very early on Sunday morning prepared to head west for the first challenge of our whitewater adventure...................The Savage Rivah.  We planned to have a third Dirt Bag join us on the first leg of this journey.  When he showed up to Lil' Rooks house at sunrise he held the typical blurry eyed look of a Sunday morning Rivah Guide.  He possessed multiple tattoos, a conventional Dirt Bag beard, and the distinctive "I don't give a shit" attitude that every Dirt Bag Paddler carries so effortlessly through life.  We packed up the Dirt Bag Mobile, strapped down the kayaks, and away we went, actually on schedule for once.
   Early in the car ride I informed our new Dirt Bag tag-a-long that I was the author of The Island Chronicles, and was surprised to learn that he was a reader of them.  I told him that when you rolled along for this adventure it meant that you had committed to being a part of the story, regardless of whether you wanted to be or not.  He was accepting of the terms and then I informed him of the tradition of The IC...............those who rolled along where allowed to choose their own name.  In a matter of 2 seconds, he turned, looked at me, and very boldly and completely stated, "JOHN DENVER.........I WANT MY NAME TO BE JOHN DENVER."  Within a matter of a few seconds, the greatest character name of The Island Chronicles had been born.................John Fucking Denver!  So the stage was set and we were on our way; myself, Lil' Rook, and John Denver, rolling deep through West By God on the first leg of our whitewater journey.


"That John Denver's full of shit man"
                                        ~Loyd~


   The Savage Rivah, like most whitewater streams, is located in the middle of nowhere, and it requires driving through the middle of nowhere in order to reach.  On this excursion, that path led us through the small town of Luke, West Virginia.........a town we can never return to again.  For some reason we were under the impression that the town of Luke would have some kind of a store that possessed rivah shoes for Lil Rook to buy.  Because she was rolling as a rookie, she was completely unprepared as most Dirt Bag rookies are, and needed A LOT of basic gear............we figured shoes were a good place to start.
   We pulled into town and realized the chances of finding anything even remotely close to a sporting goods store was slim to none, but Lil Rook was determined.  We pulled over by the town fire station at 9am on a Sunday morning.  The firemen were standing outside talking to some town folk, and we could not have looked any shadier rolling into the scene.  John Denver and I sat in the parking lot, contemplating a safety meeting (bad idea), while Lil Rook embarked on a mission to find flip flops. (not appropriate attire for a rivah)  After 10 minutes or so Lil' Rook came bouncing down the street wearing a bright, shiny motorcycle helmet and carrying a camouflage camp chair.  John Denver and I look at each other very puzzled by the scene, but then again, I was quickly learning that when rolling with Lil' Rook there was no telling what was about to happen.  She calmly but enthusiastically hopped in the car.  We both turned around and looked at her as she sat there smiling with an over sized, obnoxiously shiny motorcycle helmet on.  "Where the hell did you go?" I curiously asked.  Lil Rook responded,  "I went to a thrift store at the end of the block."  Then she continued, "I walked in and there was nobody there.  The lights were all off, but the front door was open.  There were all kinds of random things on the walls and shelves.  I yelled for someone to help me, but no one responded.  Then I looked around and saw this helmet and chair.  I liked them and thought I should just take them since no one was working, so that is what I did."...........at that moment John Denver and I looked at each other, and it was very apparent we were both thinking the same thing.............What the fuck!
   We quickly decided the best course of action was to quietly leave the town immediately, seeing that our jolly little junkie had just committed felony burglary directly in front of a group of firefighters.  We pulled out and slowly passed by the so called "thrift store" that Lil' Rook was referring to.  As we did, we noticed a sign in the window of the rather shady looking building that read, "For Information Involving the Burglary of this Premises Please Call the Local Sheriff's Department"..............seriously?!?  Not only had Lil' Rook managed to rob a thrift store on a Sunday morning, but she had robbed a thrift store that had already been robbed!.............figures.  Needless to say, we exited Luke, West Virginia as quickly as possible, with plans to never return.


“Why O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole?" said poor Mr. Baggins, bumping up and down on Bombur's back.”
                                        ~J.R.R. Tolkien~

   We arrived to a rather boisterous and busy whitewater scene on the Savage.  As we drove up the road next to the rivah, multiple kayaks bounced their way down the swift moving water, and a rather frantic rescue attempt was taking place halfway up the run.................beaters.  We disembarked at the parking lot and squeezed into a spot, ready for a day of whitewater boat riding.

   The Savage was a rivah I had always been curious to check off the list, but had never had the opportunity to descend.  It was a dam controlled run that released only a few times a year.  However, every boater that had ever run it, no matter whether they were Class III beaters or Class V bad asses, came back with the same report..............it is the most fun you will ever have paddling Class III whitewater.  The rivah is narrow and very fast flowing, with continuous whitewater the entire way, and a nice little Class IV section mid way through.  The shuttle is simple allowing for multiple laps, and the scene is friendly and relaxed, all adding up to an exceptional day of kayaking.  

   We had planned to meet up with the first of the Wisco Dirt Bag crew, a loner named Aaron who paddled a Shredder and carried it around like a kayak.  He was about 6 foot 4 and probably weighed around 230 pounds, so he was up to the task of solo shredding.  He arrived in a truly exquisite Dirt Bag Mobile..............a beat down mini-van with a giant iron rack attached to the back bumper carrying a plastic box.  The man had rolled through half the country in this vehicle, living out of the back as he paddled rivah after rivah.  Whenever he ran low on funding, he simply returned to Wisconsin to do God knows what to replenish the finances, before re-embarking back on his never ending whitewater pilgrimage.............it was a truly extraordinary Dirt Bag existence.  Shredder Aaron had already agreed to allow Lil' Rook to join him on the Savage, with John Denver and I kayaking the run.  We geared up, dropped in for Lap 1, and got wet.

   Not to far into the first run, I pulled ahead and slipped through the largest section of rapid.  I reached the bottom, eddied out, and turned to watch Lil' Rook drop in on the Shredder.  Half way through the rapid a large hole existed, and sure enough, Aaron and Lil Rook dropped directly into it................WALLACE!  The boat swung sideways and was eaten by the hole, spitting both of its occupants out for a mid morning swim.  Lil Rook had been baptized and Shredder Aaron showed his skills of WALLACING early on.  The entertainment had begun!  

   The Savage is a crowded rivah, with all walks of life from the boating community descending it's rapids.  Mid way through our first run we encountered a lone paddler boogieing her way down the whitewater puzzle with an infectious smile on her face.  We ended up pulling into the same eddy together and started talking.  She was one of the most friendly and boisterous paddlers I had ever encountered, and before long our group had a fifth..............her name was KC.  KC was a loner, but loved to paddle with everyone.  She would become a common character on our journey, and was a great addition to the crew.  She had more energy than Tigger the Tiger and her ADHD was off the charts, but it only added to her allure as a paddler and a person.  Everything about KC was friendly, and she was yet again a true Dirt Bag Paddler.  She lived out of her van and traveled the hills of West By God in search of the TRUTH in whitewater, and she did it all very well.  

   KC also loved to talk........A LOT, and we were intrigued at the non-stop conversation that was created by her addition to our crew.  Our conversation with her was so intriguing in fact, that our entire group paddled directly passed the takeout and just kept on going down the rivah.............I blame the three or four safety meetings we had already partaken in throughout the morning.  Before long we found ourselves paddling a non flowing lake, still clueless as to the fact we had missed the takeout.  It was not until we saw a horizon line better known as a dam drop before we decided it was time to take out.  We thumbed a ride and to our surprise the very first pick up truck that pulled up allowed us to pile in the bed, complete with a Shredder covering our heads, for a fun little jaunt back up the rivah to our takeout car that we had passed long ago....................looks like we were the beaters now. 

“I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.”
                                                                                  ~Robert Louis Stevenson~ 

   KC joined our crew for a second lap down the Savage, one in which was WALLACE free, and before long we were back at the put in, dry, warm, and tailgating with other Dirt Bags, making a plan for the next leg of our journey.  It was still early in the afternoon, so our group decided to head south toward the Gauley, knowing that we would have accommodations in the form of The Cabin for the night, as well as the ability to tackle the Gauley first thing the next day.  

   The Savage is in the far northeastern corner of West By God, and the Gauley is in the central part of the state.  In order to travel from one rivah to the other, a choice needs to be made.  You must either go West towards Morgantown, then South, circling around a giant National Forest and remote mountainous plateau, or you can choose to drive isolated back roads that carry you directly through the depths of West By God..............given the fact that I would circle this National Forest three times over the course of three weeks, it began to resemble the Bogs of Mordor.  On this day, we chose to drive directly through the bogs, and stopped along the way for multiple safety meetings in beautiful, remote, mountainous settings close to the Blackwater Rivah.  It was during one of these safety meetings that John Denver declared our journey to be a Whitewater Jihad.................given the fact that The Island Chronicles has always been successful at offending multiple parties, I could not think of a more fitting and offensive name for our journey.................from that moment on, we found ourselves on a true Whitewater Jihad......................alalalalalalalalalalalalala!!!!!!!!!!   

   We arrived at The Cabin well after dark, and met up with KC, who had also made the journey south to hang with us and crash for the night.  She brought with her three random Dirt Bag kayakers from God knows where, all of whom were the TRUTH in paddling, as well as partying.  Within ten minutes of arriving at The Cabin, the safety was broken out in mass quantities, the PBR was cracked open, the bluegrass fired up on the radio, and a night of Dirt Bag TRUTH commenced deep in the heart of the West By God whitewater wilderness.  Close by the Gauley, Meadow and New all flowed forth as we consumed an absurd amount of safety gear throughout the night to celebrate the beginning of our Whitewater Jihad............and as we did a dark secret began to emerge, a secret that would dictate a majority of our journey.


“It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.” 
                                                                                    ~Noël Coward~


   See ya on the rivah............waging the next whitewater jihad!   ALALALALALALA!


To continue to Part II of the story, please click here.