The Adventures of the Virginia Dirt Bags! (Part IV - This is Who we Are)

- This is the conclusion to a four part story.  Click here to access Part I, Part II, or Part III.
- For a Table of Contents to The Island Chronicles, please click here.
- Today's quotes will all be taken from the classic  movie 'Dazed and Confused'.  Why?  Because this is my world and I can do whatever the hell I want in it, and because some kids at the take out yesterday made me feel super old when they told me they had no idea what 'Dazed and Confused' was....................fucking beaters.  

"Behind every good man there is a woman.............and that woman was Martha Washington.  And everyday George would come home and she would have a big fat bowl waiting for him when he came in the door.  She was a hip, a hip, hip lady, man."
                                                                                             ~Slater    

   The Virginia Dirt Bags awoke after sunrise on Sunday morning to foggy skies and cool summer temperatures.  Our plans were as foggy as the weather, as they usually are on Sunday morning road trips.  The previous nights rain had sent a bubble of water through the Yough Valley and the word around camp was that the bubble was a good one....................unfortunately it was a little too good.  Lower Big Sandy was 7 feet and rising, the Top Yough was 1200 cfs and rising, the Upper Yough was 2.6 feet and rising, and our crew were all still in bed and doing anything but rising.  Eventually we did pull our shit together, but unfortunately Big Sandy levels would have to wait until Monday when it dropped down to under 7 feet, and Krazy described the Top Yough at 1200cfs and rising as somewhat of a suicide mission.  After running it at an optimal level of 600cfs the previous season, I trusted his advice and could see how an increase in water level could really crank things up in that tight and technical gorge.
   Due to the finicky water levels, we chose to make the pilgrimage to Ohiopyle for the day.  Rumors were that the Meadow Run slides which every boater passes when entering Ohiopyle were on the rise.  The Full Gnarlz Nation and Boof Sisters were all headed north to see what kind of trouble could be found in Pennsylvania's greatest rivah town.  We followed suit after changing plans 8 times and were in our Dirt Bag Dream Machine by 1030 am, with breakfast, coffee, and safety all packed for the road.
   After an hour of meandering through the hills of Southwestern Pennsylvania, we descended the final decline into Ohiopyle, crossed the main road, and pulled directly into the parking lot of the Meadow Run slides.  When I exited the car the sound of the slides were apparent immediately, which told us it was most likely at a runnable flow.  We walked down the short trail and discovered a beautiful low angle, 300 foot slide of water cascading through the trees and dropping into a large swimming hole.  There were multiple boaters present, but most were just standing around watching the scene unfold.  After spending a few minutes analyzing the drop we determined that the level was at an elf stage, and the crux move had a high tendency to want to face plant boaters into the rock shelf.  We reluctantly walked away to leave the move for the young bucks looking for some gnar, and decided a safety enriched lap on the Lower Yough would be just fine for a slow and lazy Sunday.    


"Man, it's the same bullshit they tried to pull in my day. If it ain't that piece of paper, there's some other choice they're gonna try and make for you. You gotta do what Randall Pink Floyd wants to do man. Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N."

                                                                          ~Wooderson~

   The Ohiopyle scene on a Sunday morning in the heart of the summer will make any true paddler smile.  Everyone loves Ohiopyle.  How could you not?  The parking lot stair steps its way down the side of the ridge line across the street from the rivah, and every gradation is full of cars and trucks stacked with boats of all disciplines, tailgate gatherings full of happy paddlers of all skill levels, and an active put in scene of every kind of whitewater ritual imaginable, all taking place under a warm summer sun.  Outfitter Guides stage humorous classes full of bewildered customers sitting in commercial rafts in the middle of a grassy park practicing the proper way to paddle a Class III rivah.................gotta love those custy's.  Tourists line the decks overlooking the 30 foot Ohiopyle Falls, curiously watching the boating rituals that resemble a battalion of battle ready soldiers before an EPIC Gladiator style assault.  The outfitter shops hum with business, and the restaurants and coffee shops of the quaint little town bustle with conversation and laughter.  Yet another perfect rivah scene on another perfect Dirt Bag weekend.  

   Our crew of Dirt Bag Royals quietly engaged the Forest Ranger for our permission to hit the water, and then found our way down the trail to the rivah.  We slid our boats into the Lower Yough with the back drop of Ohiopyle Falls to start the day.  Before long we were playfully dancing our way down enjoyable Class II and III rapids, traversing the famous loop section of the LY to start the day.  Our crew had added a fourth character to the mix, and he went by the name of Purebeater...........and quite the character he was.

   Purebeater is new to the whitewater scene, but has quickly become an accepted beater in the world of the Virginia Dirt Bag Paddlers.  He has a certain whit about him that always adds to the never ending ridiculing amongst our shit talking crew.  He is fond of booty beers, but even more found of The Island Chronicles and DBP, so we decided to let him stick around................even with his endless barrage of trash talk, he is a quality addition to any squad of Dirt Bags.            
   We rounded the bend of the loop and dropped into Cucumber and another enjoyable day of quality whitewater.  The Lower Yough is a great reprieve from the typical Upper Yough gnar.  It is easy whitewater for Class IV-V boaters, but still carries a large amount of quality features, friendly surf waves, and remote and esoteric hardwood forests nestled deep in the hills of Southwestern Pennsylvania.  The sun continued to shine and our crew disappeared into the depths of another whitewater rivah on another perfect day.


"Okay guys, one more thing, this summer when you're being inundated with all this American bicentennial Fourth Of July brouhaha, don't forget what you're celebrating, and that's the fact that a bunch of slave-owning, aristocratic, white males didn't want to pay their taxes."

                                                          ~Ms. Ginny Stroud~

Gotta give it to Ms. Stroud.  She drops some TRUTH right there.

    On this day, my heart was heavy but my spirits were high.  The Lower Yough held sentimental value for me.  I hadn't paddled it in a decade, and the last time I did it was with Marcelle at the end of our rookie season of rivah guiding. It was on that trip that my relationship with Marcelle went from friends to much more than friends all those many years ago.  I knew the day would hold a plethora of memories from my former life, however, I intended to honor those memories with another joyous day on the rivah.

   Our crew completed the loop and then eddied out on rivah right in a small cove next to a 6 or 7 foot high ledge hidden behind a shrub of Mountain Laurel, creating a perfect outpost for an early afternoon safety meeting.  Ranger Dave, Krazy, and myself climbed up to the ledge and hung our feet over the side, allowing the sun to beam down on us directly above a small eddy in the rapid.  Once I was settled I realized I had forgotten my dry bag containing my food and water.  Purebeater was still attempting to exit his Open Boat and I asked him to toss me my Dry Bag from out of my boat to save me the hassle of climbing back down the ledge .  When we attempted to make the fifteen foot toss, he slipped and the bag arched high up in the air, failing to make the fifteen foot distance and landing in the eddy directly below me.  It bobbed up and down, creeping closer to the eddy line where it would be swept down stream............this was a problem for me.  Purebeater couldn't reach it from his position, and the bag was not within my reach.  It contained everything important that I had remaining in the world..........my wallet with all my money, my cell phone and keys, my food and water, and most importantly the pictures of Marlow and Quint that I always keep with me.  I had only a few seconds to devise a plan before it was carried downstream, but all I could manage to accomplish was screaming at the bag to stay in the eddy.  I had to make a decision quickly, but the height of the ledge was a bit high for me, especially since the landing zone fell on to slick wet rocks just under the water.  Finally I bit the bullet and made the decision to make the fall and hope for the best.  

   As I fell of the ledge, I misjudged my take off and fell sideways,  pathetically flailing my arms through the air as I attempted to right myself before hitting the water....................it didn't work.  I half belly flopped into the water hard, before sliding down the rock and bouncing off the slick rocks into the eddy, smacking my ass in the process.  I now found myself laying in the water, holding my dry bag and wondering if I had just broken my hip.  After a split second of self assessment I realized I was intact.  When I looked up Krazy and Ranger Dave were literally rolling on the ground laughing at the WALLACE they had just witnessed...................what a couple of dick beaters!  I will admit that even though it happened to me, I can imagine how amusing it must have looked to watch me flail through the air.  It was an epic FAIL on my part, and their amusement about the situation was more than justified................but like always, I took my beating, dragged my ass out of the rivah, and enjoyed my snack that I had so gracefully saved from the depths of the Lower Yough.  Once again I had proven that the WALLACE is strong within me.   

"I only came here to do two things, kick some ass and drink some beer. Looks like we're almost outta beer."
                                                   ~Clint~

   The remainder of the day was spent styling easy Class III lines, and enjoying a peaceful float through picturesque pools surrounded by deeply forested landscapes.  We fell into the normal rhythm that the rivah always provides, eventually pulling far ahead of the open boating crew we started the day with, and found ourselves isolated on the second half of the run following an extended surf session at Swimmer's Rapid.  I have learned from previous experience that paddling easier rivahs with more advanced boaters usually leads to the group pulling far ahead and finishing the day much earlier.  It was no different on this day.  The conditioning and experience of our crew allowed us to style the LY in a very short time, and we were packed and on the road long before sunset approached from the west.  The drive home was basically non-existent for me.  I was passed out for most of the trip, and woke up confused as to how we were already back at the Wally World where our trip had begun two days earlier.  I rose from my cave in the back seat, packed up my car, thanked the boys for an epic weekend of Dirt Baggin', and was headed east around 11pm.

   After shaking the fog out of my eyes and regaining my composure I realized I had no clue where I was headed...........Cville, Beaverdam, or RVA.  I also realized that I had no home at that moment and didn't really know where to go.  (It was a temporary problem..........long story)  Due to these factors I determined that the best course of action was to turn the situation into a positive and Dirt Bag it like a true DB King.  I ascended Afton Mountain around midnight, exited onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, drove about 20 minutes down the road, and found a secluded overlook with a short trail down to a beautiful rock outcropping overlooking the Shenandoah Valley.  Then I popped my cot out onto a flat surface, threw my sleeping bag down, curled up, and dozed off to sleep under brilliant stars and over the twinkling lights of the valley below..............I slept like a baby.  

  "You act like you're so oppressed. You guys are kings of the school. What are you bitching about?"

                                                                                           ~Simone~

   I arose just before the sun peaked out over the mountains to the east.  I was packed up and on the road within 15 minutes.  As I drove back towards the Interstate, snaking along the spine of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a thick fog began to rise off the ridges and the golden rays of sunshine began to break through the clouds in the east.  When they did, the fog lit on fire, turning a brilliant orange and pink, revealing the lush green Rockfish Valley nestled deep within the Virginia landscape far below.  The scene was truly breathtaking.  I stopped at the first available overlook and just sat in the early morning silence, with a clear mind and a sense of true peace.  The beauty that I witnessed in front of me truly captured my soul, and as I gazed out into the distance, a single tear rolled down my cheek.  Part of that tear contained the pain of missing M and Q, who were somewhere out there beyond that valley, quietly sleeping warm and safe in their beds. 

   But my tear also contained happiness..............I was content with joy in my heart because of the beauty I was witnessing, and I was content because of the experiences of the weekend and the memories that were shared.  That tear contained happiness because I knew that this life had allowed me to experience beauty that is unique in this modern world.  I knew I was able to experience true freedom.  That tear represented a perfect analogy for my current existence.............a unique contrast between the best of times and the worst of times.  I do live with a heavy amount of pain deep within my heart, and it is present every moment of every day.  But little by little, day by day, my heart fills back up with love..........love for my friends, love for the rivah, and love for life.  Although the boys exist solely within my memories during these times, they also exist deep within my heart, and at that moment the love I was experiencing was love that can only come from the heart of a father.  We truly live in a beautiful world with beautiful people, and slowly but surely, I am discovering that beauty again...................and one day I will share it with the two little people who will help me find my way home..........my sons.    

"Well, all I'm saying is that I want to look back and say that I did the best I could while I was stuck in this place. Had as much fun as I could while I was stuck in this place. Played as hard as I could while I was stuck in this place."

                                                          ~Don~

See ya on the rivah.............hopefully doing it the best I can while stuck in this place.   PEACE

You will NOT Ignore This RVA!!!!

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

“When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always.”
                                                     ~Mahatma Gandhi~

   I have been spending a lot of evenings at the Fourteenth Street Take Out these days.  Since returning to RVA I had begun teaching a few beginners the proper way to enter the sport of whitewater kayaking.  Once I did, more students began to contact me wishing for instruction.  Now I have a full client list and teach almost every evening of the week and some weekends on The James.  I am grateful for this, and am grateful to be doing it along side other teachers and programs in the sport.  Since doing so, I have enjoyed catching up with the community and discovering that the tainted and skewed picture painted of me over this past year by our most trusted asshole, The Fat Bastard, has all but been erased, and the few people still holding on to that false image are doing so out of sheer and pathetic desperation.

   But I have also had the unfortunate experience of crossing paths with The Fat Bastard on more than one occasion.  On Saturday I arrived at the takeout surprised to find a virtually empty parking lot.  There was only one person in the entire lot at the time, and ironically it was The Fat Bastards son standing next to the Fat Bastards giant dick mobile.............I found this strange considering The Fat Bastard was no where to be seen.  After a few minutes of observing the scene, The Fat Fuck emerged from the port-a-potty he so conveniently uses to hide his actions from his own son.  Within a few seconds of exiting, I began to smell the sweet aroma of our famous safety meetings..........YUP!  As shocking as it may seem, nothing has changed.  The Fat Bastard had gone into the toilet to smoke pot and hide it from his son.  It was obvious that he was doing this because the parking lot was empty.  Even I know he is not stupid enough to continue that irresponsible behavior in front of others considering he is currently on probation for the next year.  When he saw me he put a very stupid looking grin on his face as if he had just gotten away with something...............I guess he assumed that I wouldn't simply tell the story for all of you to hear and form your own opinions.  But before I move on with this post, let me point out three important things............

1.  You are all tired of reading about The Fat Bastard..........well guess what?  I'm tired of writing about him, but I will continue to do exactly that until this community makes a stand as opposed to playing pretend.  It is obvious he has no intent to change his behaviors or show any remorse for what he did.  

2.  YOU WILL NOT PLAY PRETEND WITH THIS ISSUE!!!!   If I have to write about it on a weekly basis simply to throw it back in all of your faces and remind you every week of what he did, I will do EXACTLY that!  You will NOT ignore this.........I am more than confident that no matter what, you will continue to read what I have written.  Just like you will look at the car accident when you drive by, even though you know you probably don't want to see what it is you are looking for.  Human behavior is predictable, no matter how hard you try and prove it wrong.

3.  This is not about The Fat Bastard and it is not about me.........this is about Cooper.  A kid that has done nothing but help the RVA boating community grow in a positive way, teaching countless children, assisting in community volunteer activities, and stomping out some of the biggest drops around.......and doing it all with style and grace.

   Last week I posted a long piece of work about writing styles.  It was read by far less people than most posts I write.  I understand why.  It was outside of the box for what I write.  I was a bit disappointed by this, because I felt it was rather educational as compared to most of my work, but then again, The IC has developed an identity over the past year and I am the one that gave it that identity........so when a post goes unnoticed, I have no one to blame but myself.  At the end of that post the following paragraph was written..................................................

 "I am not trying to change this community, and I don't want to see it suffer.  I simply want it to be real, and if there is one pet peeve that will light a fire under my ass, it is watching people play pretend about the aspects of life that I care about.  Well, I care about The James, and I truly feel that what our paddling community has become is an embarrassment to the whitewater world.  A horrible act was committed within this community, one that is not forgivable or forgettable, and as much as I hate to point it out, it was an act that I warned all of you about long before it happened.  I think that people listened when I did make that premonition.  But I also believe that the mistake that was made was that most simply wanted to ignore it because it was not a comfortable subject for them...................and now I am seeing those same behaviors again.  You are all starting to play pretend again.  I heard it at the takeout a few nights back...............a group of well known paddlers admitted to me that they felt The Fat Bastard had paid his debt to society and should be left alone.  They admitted that if they were The Fat Bastard they would fight to NOT pay for Coops medical bills as well.  And they admitted that six days in jail was a valid sentence for ending another paddlers C-1 career.  Those people are dead wrong about what they said, and the only reason I am not calling them out by name here is because I feel it would hurt the community as opposed to helping it.  I didn't feel that they were saying these things because they failed to care about Coop or the well being of the community. They were saying them because it was easier for them to play pretend, and hope that the problem would simply go away..............well guess what guys?  It won't.  Not until you, as well as everyone else takes a stand, makes a choice, and grows a sack.  You can't ignore the things that happen in this world, and you can't live in a bubble of false hope and blind ignorance.  Eventually it will catch up with you...............trust me on that."


   I stand behind what was said in this paragraph 100%.  When you see my face at the takeout I want you to think about your actions, whether they be to ignore the situation or to argue on The Fat Bastards behalf.  Either way, I will disagree with you and I WILL call you out for it.  Myself, as well as others in RVA will NEVER let any of you forget or forgive what The Fat Bastard did.
   I am moving on from this subject, because I do not want to waste space in The IC on The Fat Bastard or his negative image.  I want to write whitewater stories, and I want to finish my story.  But I WILL defend Coop and stand by what I believe in, just like I have done for the past two years.  The Fat Bastard is finished here in RVA and throughout the whitewater world, whether he realizes it or not.  Keep living vicariously through your son you Fat Fuck, because it is the only thing you have to hold onto.  From now on I will not stand by and watch it happen.  I will take The Professors approach to this atrocity and I will call The Fat Bastard out in person, in front of all of you.  If you are someone who doesn't like controversy, and feels the need to pretend and cower away from difficult subjects, then my advice is to leave when you see him there..........because every time he is present, there will be controversy and it will get ugly.  That I can promise you.  Many of you know me well, and hopefully by now you have learned that I mean what I say, and I will take this further than you think it should go.........need I remind you of the fact that I moved to an island simply to prove a point.  You doubted me in the past, and I simply stood by my statements and my actions, and fought for what I knew in my heart was the right thing to do.  I don't care about my image, or my reputation................None of that is real.  I care about TRUTH, and I am tired of the lies, the manipulation, and the pretend nature of what The Fat Bastard brings to Fourteenth Street............do NOT test me on this.  I promise you that you will regret it.      
  In conclusion, I want to speak directly to The Fat Bastard, because I know you are reading this..................keep smiling you stupid fuck.  Keep coming down to the takeout pretending that you are wanted and that your presence is not a problem to the community you once claimed to lead.  When my time to be the hated one came in RVA, I thought about the impact it would have on the people who love this rivah, and I removed myself for the betterment of the community.  I did that because I cared.  Your actions in assaulting Cooper were terrible, and your behaviors since then have only demonstrated that you don't care at all, about the people who boat here, the community around you, and most importantly, about Cooper himself.  You have made no attempt to apologize, no attempt to demonstrate remorse, and no attempt to help Cooper pay for what YOU did to him  Worse yet, you lie to people and tell them it was a simple wrestling match and an accident.  It wasn't.  It was a felony assault.  PERIOD!  So every time you smile it simply proves how evil of a human being you are.  And your smile is transparent.  It is a desperate attempt to cover up your discomfort in who you are...............I don't care what you witnessed as a child concerning your own brother, and I don't care what kind of struggles you have had in your life.  We have all had struggles, but it doesn't give you the right to be a complete asshole.  Trust me.  I learned that the hard way.  You need to simply do one thing...............disappear.  But we all know that you won't, because as sad as it is, you have no where else to go.  You are a 53 year old joke.  You aren't even a has been.  You're a never was.  Remember that the next time you look at me and grin, because I can assure you, all I am doing is shaking my head at how pathetic the fat man in front of me truly is.  You are a sad human being, and one day your son will hate you for what you did and who you are...........because the only alternative for him is to become exactly like you, and I have faith that he will see the TRUTH in you when he is old enough.  You will burn in hell one day for what you have done.  Until that day comes, get ready...................because I am just getting started with you.    


“The difference between my darkness and your darkness is that I can look at my own badness in the face and accept its existence while you are busy covering your mirror with a white linen sheet. The difference between my sins and your sins is that when I sin I know I'm sinning while you have actually fallen prey to your own fabricated illusions. I am a siren; I know that I am beautiful while basking on the ocean's waves and I know that I can eat flesh and bones at the bottom of the sea. You are a white witch, a wizard; your spells are manipulations and your cauldron from hell yet you wrap yourself in white and wear a silver wig.”

                                                                     ~C. JoyBell C.~

See ya on the rivah.........................because I am ready for war!   TRUTH

       

Sometimes I Style It..............Sometimes I Don't

"What did I know best that I had not written about and lost? What did I know about truly and care for the most? There was no choice at all."

                                                                       ~Ernest Hemingway~

   The Island Chronicles are going out on a limb to discuss the one aspect of this shit show of TRUTH that it probably shouldn't be discussing.................writing styles.  I have decided to tackle this always controversial subject due to the plethora of opinions and emotional discharge created by my last post, "Yet Another Wave for RVA".  I came to one conclusion after listening to many, many kind critiques, pieces of critical feedback, encouraging words, and all out childlike temper tantrums spawned by my last piece of literary excrement................. The IC makes people really fucking Butt Hurt!  I know this is not a profound or scholarly observation on my part.  However, in my defense, childlike temper tantrums created over a piece of writing on a computer are not the most mature means of expressing ones thoughts to my straight forward opinion........after all, most of the time I simply write what most people are thinking.  In the case of my last post, I know I did exactly that.  So my advice to the Butt Hurt Nation of boaters and readers is simple..............get over it!  If you don't like it then don't read it.  Otherwise, shut the hell up and do something to NOT give me the fuel to call you out.  In the meantime, I need to clear a few things up before moving forward, so let's get started..................Welcome back to the Thunderdome bitches.  Time for another dose of TRUTH!

"All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

                                                                            ~Ernest Hemingway~

   I receive a lot of support for what I write and for the life I am living.  I am very appreciative of that support.  It inspires and drives me, and after reading the messages and emails sent to me by those supporters, I have an immense amount of pride that I was able to touch someones life and inspire them in their own way.  But just as importantly, I receive a lot of HATE for what I do, and that is the inspiration that truly fuels my soul.  I cannot even begin to count the number of people who have attempted to convince me, bribe me, beg me, corner me, and threaten me to stop writing, shut down The IC, and give up on a pipe dream.............most of these people have been my most valued friends.  Recently The Island Chronicles came closer than it ever has to being nothing more than a memory of the past, however, I stood my ground and fought for what I believe in, and at the end of the day it is still here, bluntly slapping all of you in the face while lifting you up at the same time..............and while keeping an eye on the moral fiber of an entire paddling community.  Some of the greatest successes in life were at some point met with the most difficult of obstacles.  I always remember that fact whenever the burning flame of The IC is threatened by the winds of resentment and negativity.


“Your time is way too valuable to be wasting on people that can't accept who you are.”
                                                     ~Turcois Ominek~

   Not long ago, I created a Table of Contents to The IC in the hopes that I could not only organize my own thoughts, but help readers understand how I viewed what had been written over the course of the past year.  The task assisted me immensely in understanding what I had created.  Basically, posts were categorized into one of three topics............."The Rounds:  10 Years of Whitewater Dirt Baggin'", "The Weeks:  Summer on The Island and Fall in West By God", and last but certainly not least, "The Hater's Club:  A Cornucopia of Opinions by Yours Truly".  Each category has a very specific purpose for being written, and each one also has a very specific style of writing, a style that varies drastically from the other two.
   I purposely created these styles to practice different forms of writing, and each style I have chosen to use is inspired by great writers, authors, poets, and adventurers who are idolized by myself for their natural talent as writers and for their gift of story telling and blunt TRUTH.  Most of these literary giants have also had the added fortune of leading truly unique and distinctive lives.  Hemingway, Thoreau, Hunter S. Thompson, Tucker Max, Emerson, Krakauer, Whitman, Tolkien, and Kerouac are just a few of the belletristic behemoths who's footsteps I one day long to follow.  These men led great lives, and toiled with great obstacles at some point on their path.  But most importantly, they never gave up, never threw in the towel, and believed in what they were doing and what they represented down to the very marrow of their bones...........and for the first time in my life, so do I.  


“These are the times that try men's souls.”
                              ~Thomas Paine~  


   Each of the styles I created are uniquely my own, however each is also inspired directly from one specific author and one specific writer who's life experiences gave him the ability to do what he does..........create damn good stories.  "The Rounds:  10 Years of Whitewater Dirt Baggin" is the tale of the last decade of my life focused around the rivahs and outdoors, but more importantly, it is the story of my family, of love, and of how I unfortunately ripped us apart in the end.  It is a very romanticized writing style, and my inspiration comes from the creative and prismatic writings of J.R.R. Tolkien.  I do not read love stories, so the story of Marcelle and I truly is inspired from something strictly within, and it is the most unique aspect of any style of writing I created.  Describing WNC is a simple task, because the beauty of nature will inspire any man to link locutions together in symbiotic sentences.  Basically, I feel that the WNC wilderness writes itself.  Tolkien is at his best when he is describing the imaginary worlds he has created for his readers to envision.  Before Tolkiens works were destroyed by the likes of Peter Jackson, each individual reader was given the ability to create a picture in their own minds of what The Shire, Mordor, and Middle Earth looked like.  These pictures may have been different in every readers mind, even though they were all reading the exact same passages.  The reason for this is simple..............everyone's perception is their own reality.  Tolkien was a master at creating that individualized perception and it is one of the many aspects that made him a truly great writer.  I make the choice not to include videos or an abhorrent amount of photographs with my posts because it is important for me to give readers the same gift....................the gift to create a picture in their own minds of the beauty I have been so fortunate to witness over the years.  I can only hope I succeeded in this endeavor.


“The only freedom you truly have is in your mind, so use it.”
                                                ~M.T. Dismuke~ 


   The Island presented me with my first form of inspiration I had ever truly understood during my life.  The beauty I witnessed while living out there is something that I don't think I will ever successfully transform into words, but the heart of The Island Chronicles was born while subsisting within that urban jungle of whitewater ecstasy.   "The Weeks:  Summer on The Island and Fall in West By God" gave me the ability to break away completely and cleanly from a society that I was purposely distancing myself from every day for many years.  This distancing was an introverted habit that I carried for a lot longer than anyone ever knew, because I knew it was a dangerous topic to flirt with while living in modern society.  Once I did finally break away, it allowed me to re-discover a piece of this world that can exist for anyone if only we allow ourselves to view life in a different way.  The true driving force of that experience was The Rivah, considering the fact that I was living smack in the middle of it.  Never in my life have a felt more free, more clear headed, and lived more simple..........my only worry is that I will never experience that feeling again.  Thoreau and his connection with nature while living at Walden was obviously a driving inspiration for this piece of The IC.  Thoreau has a deep connection with the comfort of isolation within the woods, and I profoundly related to this feeling while existing within the depths of The James.  
   Thoreau also captured the emotions of nature through works like Walden, but the obvious strengths that he is known for are not where my true inspiration is derived from when thinking of him.  My favorite piece of work by Thoreau is "Resistance To Civil Government", which I studied in depth while living on The Island last summer.  I took away from Thoreau the importance of living free through his chromatic nature writings, but I discovered a much more delineated mindset through his pieces of writing on our system and government.  Some people mislabel Thoreau as an anarchist because of his successful criticism of the modern day system, however these maligners are wrong.  Thoreau didn't want to see the deconstruction of government.........he wanted to see the improvement of it.


"'That government is best which governs not at all."                                                     
                                                               ~Henry David Thoreau~


   I believe in the same interpretation.  Our government and our system is NOT, in many ways, a healthy example of how to lead life, and every day more and more conservative mindsets (from both ends of the political spectrum) create more and more rules to force everyday people into living one way, and only one way.  Living on The Island proved these social legislators incorrect.  While enduring a summer of monsoon like weather patterns I subsisted on a healthier diet, was more physically active and built ten pounds of additional muscle, had a complete connection with nature, and was able to understand Thoreau's approach to a simpler form of living..................but the more TRUTH I discovered out there, the more distanced I became in here.  That distance is now what scares me the most about attempting to re-enter society.  However, Thoreau truly created a wealth of inspiration within me while I was writing "The Weeks" and living on The Island.  My hope is that although the short term has created more struggles, the lessons I learned will truly benefit me in the long term.  


“For an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it.”
                                                                           ~Jean-Paul Sartre~

   The third and final piece of The Island Chronicles humble pie is "The Hater's Club".  This is the section that inspired this post, because it is the section that evokes the broadest range of emotions from readers, and creates the most turmoil in my own life.  Lately I have begun to create a break off style of writing to this section, one that I look forward to ferociously pursuing in the distant future................"The Adventures of the Virginia Dirt Bags."..............these pieces of literary humor are inspired by the life and work of Hunter S. Thompson.  I do not feel that Thompson's actual writing style was very exclusive to literature, nor did it define his fame and originality.  It was Hunter's life that allowed him to be a great writer, and it was his experiences and travels that inspire me.  By no means do I intend to travel around the whitewater world with my lawyer and a suitcase full of mescalin and acid, although it would probably create some seriously interesting stories.............but I do intend to lead a life of adventure, travel, and freedom.  If I must remain Dirt Bag poor in order to complete this goal............so be it.  Money is only one variable in the complicated equation of life.  I enjoy writing these stories, and from the feedback I have received, you enjoy reading them, so I will promise that there is much more to come in the future concerning this subject...........after all, Gauleyfest and the DBP world wide takeover is just around the corner.  Know what I mean?
   But "The Hater's Club" was originated from much more humble beginnings, and the pieces that I write in this style have a very specific purpose...............to make a point.  My literary inspiration for them comes from one distinct author.............Tucker Max.  I do not intend to write these pieces so that readers will complete them and state, "wow, that was really good!"  If you are taking that away from this obvious form of rant writing, then please seek help immediately.  I write in this style because The IC has taught me a great deal about human behaviors throughout this past year, and when the masses react to anything, blunt TRUTH about their behaviors becomes impossible to hide.  And the blunt TRUTH here is simple....................if you want to get your point across, be outspoken, be brutal, and take no prisoners in doing so.  I am well aware that I come across as enraged, acrimonious, and rancorous..............that's the point.  But more importantly, I am aware that as a whole, you have a hard time turning away from it.  I am well aware that it produces very negative emotions from you as a reader pretty much all of the time, and that you probably have a very tainted viewpoint of me as a person.............I could care less.  These pieces of literary filth are not meant to make me friends.  They are meant to make a point.................and they do.
   The first post I ever wrote in this style was "The Dumb Ass on the Log".  Personally when I finished it and re-read it I found it to be extremely amusing.  Perhaps I am more deranged in the head than I thought, and finding humor in it is not a normal reaction, or perhaps I am just not an incredibly Butt Hurt individual..........I don't know.  But there were many others who did not find it amusing in the least.  People yelled at me, ignored me, threatened me, and literally cried over my words............but they all read it, and they all developed an emotional connection to it.  Remember that emotions come in both positive AND negative forms.  More importantly, as pissed as many were with what I wrote, very few disagreed.  Since then I have expressed many opinions about a multitude of people and subjects in our whitewater world and beyond, and the same reactions have been expressed from every single one of those posts...........anger, animosity, malice, and isolation.  I can handle it, and with each and every piece of critical feedback, my skin grows thicker and thicker.  My last piece of writing,  "Yet Another Wave for RVA", worried many of my closest confidants because they felt that I only wrote in that style when I was depressed or on the verge of emotionally collapsing..............funny thing about that observation is that I wasn't, in any way what-so-ever.  I simply knew that a point needed to be made about our community, and I knew what style of literature that point needed to be presented in.  The ironic part to that is I observed the amount of traffic immediately after posting the piece, and everyone from Facebook friends to Twitter followers, to the Google Nation, to those weird ass people who love blogs all ate it up like the Gauley eats up beaters.  Fact is, the masses of society have a hard time ignoring controversy, and everyone eats up negativity so that they can chew it up and spit it right back out on their own terms.  But those pieces of writing evoked emotions in every single one of you, and that my friends is the point of writing...........to evoke emotion.
 

"The principles of true art is not to portray, but to evoke."
                                                         ~Jerzy Kosinski~


   I am not trying to change this community, and I don't want to see it suffer.  I simply want it to be real, and if there is one pet peeve that will light a fire under my ass, it is watching people play pretend about the aspects of life that I care about.  Well, I care about The James, and I truly feel that what our paddling community has become is an embarrassment to the whitewater world.  A horrible act was committed within this community, one that is not forgivable or forgettable, and as much as I hate to point it out, it was an act that I warned all of you about long before it happened.  I think that people listened when I did make that premonition.  But I also believe that the mistake that was made was that most simply wanted to ignore it because it was not a comfortable subject for them...................and now I am seeing those same behaviors again.  You are all starting to play pretend again.  I heard it at the takeout a few nights back...............a group of well known paddlers admitted to me that they felt The Fat Bastard had paid his debt to society and should be left alone.  They admitted that if they were The Fat Bastard they would fight to NOT pay for Coops medical bills as well.  And they admitted that six days in jail was a valid sentence for ending another paddlers C-1 career.  Those people are dead wrong about what they said, and the only reason I am not calling them out by name here is because I feel it would hurt the community as opposed to helping it.  I didn't feel that they were saying these things because they failed to care about Coop or the well being of the community. They were saying them because it was easier for them to play pretend, and hope that the problem would simply go away..............well guess what guys?  It won't.  Not until you, as well as everyone else takes a stand, makes a choice, and grows a sack.  You can't ignore the things that happen in this world, and you can't live in a bubble of false hope and blind ignorance.  Eventually it will catch up with you...............trust me on that.


“Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.”
                                     ~Aldous Huxley~ 

   This is the first post I have ever written that was not written for myself................it was written for all of you.  Hopefully it helps you understand more clearly why it is I write what I write and do what I do.  Quality writing is purposely designed to evoke emotions in people when they read it............if it didn't then what the hell would be the point in writing it.  Hemingway, Thoreau, Thompson, Max, etc. all understood this, and because of that their names will forever be chiseled in the scrolls of great literature.  If you ever read a piece of The Island Chronicles and are offended by what I portray and express, then go read Tucker Max..........he will make you feel better about my literary antagonism.  In the future I hope to transition The IC to a plethora of whitewater tales told from the aspect of a happy, content, whitewater Dirt Bag.  I don't like calling people out, and I don't like the backlash that it causes.  But even more so, I don't like seeing the worst in human behaviors, nor do I enjoy watching those behaviors hurt someone who is having a hard time understanding why people suck.................it was a tough lesson for me to learn.  And I will NEVER stand by and watch people play pretend about the world around them.  I grew up watching that, and it is an unhealthy, ignorant way to eek through life.  We all have the ability to take a stand for the things that matter, and although some will disagree, not taking a stand is sometimes not an option.  In the case of The Fat Bastard, failing to take a stand is not only irresponsible, it is just plain wrong.  

   In the future I hope you enjoy the Dirt Baggin' adventures that will be told, as well as the second half of "The Rounds", because as far as that story is concerned, shit is about to get REAL.  Believe it or not, it is the RVA community that controls how often my style of HATE writing, RANT writing, bull shit, or whatever you want to call it is produced and published throughout the community.  If you don't like it then simply do the right thing, stand up for what you believe in, and help protect the people who deserve the respect they have earned.  If we as a community can simply focus on doing those things, RVA will never again see yet another wave from The Island Chronicles..................it really is that simple.

   “We kill all the caterpillars, then complain there are no butterflies.” 

                                                  ~John Marsden~

See ya on the rivah....................searching for those butterflies.   PEACE

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

Yet Another Wave for RVA

“The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.”
                                              ~Gloria Steinem~


   I have been making every attempt I can to bite my tongue like a pertinent member of society in recent months, but at some point it is important to stand up for what you believe in and tell it like it is.................once again, that time has come, and it has come because my observations since returning to RVA are that humanity so easily forgets the unacceptable behaviors and evils from the past.  I understand why that is................it is easier that way.  Turning your head, ignoring unfortunate situations, and pretending the world is nothing but sunshine and roses allows people to live within a false bubble.  I grew up in one of those bubbles, and unfortunately my parents live every day of their lives trapped in it, and will most likely subsist in that bubble for the remainder of their lives.  It is an unfortunate TRUTH that I have had to accept and I am heartbroken that it is what it is.  I have no control over the people that they have become, and at this point I have all but given up.  My friends are my family now, and my life is healthier that way.
   But The Island Chronicles is not about to let the RVA paddling community off so easily.  I do have control over the TRUTHS that are presented within that bubble of whitewater beatering, and the observations that I have made recently while at Fourteenth Street are disappointing to say the least.  First off, kindergarten seems to be in session on a regular basis, and the bandwagon bitches of RVA are multiplying like little gremlins that fell in the rivah.  Hopefully the rains will return soon, the level will rise, and the sell out beaters of the community will crawl back to whatever pool session they came from.  One of those sell outs actually tried to speak to me yesterday as if nothing had ever taken place within the past two years..........you know who you are and I know that you are reading this right now...........don't ever pull that shit again you little bitch!  You are a dead Rose to me, and I have no need to ever associate myself with you, no matter what the situation may be.  You sold me out long ago, and I could care less if you realize now how much of a mistake you made.  Live with your choice.  I made poor choices at one point in life and I am now forced to live with them.  You are no different.  You ever try to play pretend with me again and I will give you a dose of TRUTH you wish you had never received.  You think I'm joking, then please.............try me.  Every one of you need to continue to do what it is that you have done for the past two years...............gawk at me from far away, whisper to one another, and then hide in your little eddies until I finish paddling MY home rivah.  If you have a problem with that, then I am more than ready to go a few rounds with any of you.  Do I make myself clear?


"The only real failure in life is not to be true to the best one knows."
                                                          ~Buddha~

   Second, it is actually pathetic at this point that I have to bring up yet again our cherished evil villain, The Fat Bastard of Fourteenth Street, but unfortunately it seems to be the case.  Now, I will relinquish the fact that as a community we have no control over his presence at the take-out.  That is an unfortunate TRUTH, and he knows it.  But what myself, as well as all of you do have control over is his level of comfort while there.  I know he has reached out to some of you, but I also know that many of you have the ability to think for yourself, stand up for what is right, and tell him what he needs to hear.............."FUCK OFF FATTY!!!!"  Unfortunately it seems that many of you have either failed, or worse, chosen to not make that decision.  I would expect this from Team WAV and the VCU followers due to the fact that they are all desperate to be accepted, and from what I have seen and been told The Fat Bastard has been more than accepting of all of them...........running shuttle for them, handing out beers at the takeout, etc., etc., etc.  To all of Team WAV, you should be aware that I know much more than any of you think I know, and in the past the Fat Bastard has attempted some evil things involving cooperation with The Fourteenth Street Whore that I have still never written about.................speaking of which, let's discuss that silly little slut for a moment.  Where is she?..........gone.  I know that her lack of presence here is due to the fact that she stumbled on yet another kayaking cock to taint on a nightly basis.  No surprise there.  But what she did by fleeing our little whitewater world is prove that she was nothing more than a tourist...........just like all of you.  This rivah is NOT your home!  You all do the exact same thing.  You come in, take everything you can for yourself, and then run away when you graduate, or when things become too tough..........just like The Fourteenth Street Whore.  Believe it or not, I wish her the best wherever her chubby little ass takes her, as long as it isn't here.  But if she ever decides to return, I will make her life just as uncomfortable as I have made The Fat Bastards.  THAT is a promise!.......and on that note, if any of you try to fuck with me, or even look at me the wrong way, I will do the exact same thing to you...........long story short, don't ever even THINK about fucking with me again!


“We despise and abhor the bully, the brawler, the oppressor, whether in private or public life, but we despise no less the coward and the voluptuary. No man is worth calling a man who will not fight rather than submit to infamy or see those that are dear to him suffer wrong.”
                                                            ~Theodore Roosevelt~


   Now, where were we?.........ahhh yes, The Fat Bastard.  Anyone who associates with him in any way what-so-ever is no better than he is.  You all know exactly what he did, and you all know that he had his heinous crime reduced to a misdemeanor, only served six days in jail, and is now back at the take-out doing the exact same thing he was doing before.............successfully existing as a giant asshole!  The next time you accept a beer from him, hop in his car for a shuttle ride, or decide to converse at the back of his obnoxiously large dick mobile, think about Coop.  Think about the fact that he is selling his C-1 because he can never sit in it again.  Think about the fact that he laid at the put-in for almost forty five minutes with a severely broken leg because the Fat Bastard refused to call for help.  Think about the painful nights and lack of sleep he had to endure over the course of the past year..............but most of all, think about what respect and friendship means to you.  Think about how you would feel if you were Coop, knowing that people you thought were your friends continue to associate with the person that violently assaulted you and then failed to pay for the crime in any way.  Cooper is one of the most genuine people I have ever had the privilege of knowing, and I am honored to call him my friend.  For those of you who claim to be a friend to him, and yet have any association what-so-ever with The Fat Bastard, I have this to say.................you are nothing more than a two faced, deceitful, disloyal human being, and if I ever witness it, I will be sure to call you out in this little world of blunt TRUTH, the same way I have called out The Dumb Ass on the Log, The Fourteenth Street Whore, The Fat Bastard, Peggy and Mike, and Be Moore.  Everyone in this world must eventually answer for the wrongs they have committed.  I know I answered for mine, and I am a better man because of it.  And all of you will answer for yours as well..................one way or another.  The TRUTH is back in town, and I have no plans to sit back and bite my tongue.


"I'm not saying I am going to change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that does change the world."
                                      ~Tupac~  


See ya on the rivah........................and watching you all very, very closely.   PEACE    


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

The Adventures of the Virginia Dirt Bags! (Part III - This is Why we Love It)

This is the third part to a four part story.  Click here to access Part I and Part II.
For a Table of Contents to The Island Chronicles, click here.

“A place is only as good as the people in it.”

                       ~Pittacus Lore~

   National Falls is the kind of rapid that exists in nature as a gift to boaters who have trained for years to reach its legendary drops through practice, patience, and a multitude of WALLACES.   But it also exists within the fairy tales of whitewater lore told by boaters for generation after generation.  Most every beginner and intermediate from the Northeast, the Mid-Atlantic, and beyond spend years listening to the fables of perfectly executed Nationals Boof lines, WALLACE producing beat downs in its final hole, and all day whitewater parties on the rocks peppered along its banks. These are stories told by the hordes of experienced Dirt Bags who flock to the riverside every summer to experience the TRUTH of our rivah lifestyle deep in the heart of a Class IV-V whitewater gorge cut off from the outside world.

   Just venturing to National's is a full on mission.  There is no easy way to walk in, or hike out for that matter, and it's deeply entrenched in the middle of the UY gorge, protected by arduous rapids that flow for miles both above it and below it, as well as a dense and desolate forest stretching for miles on all sides.  When you finally arrive for the first time, a feeling of triumph fills your heart the same way it does when reaching Pillow on The Gauley or Gorilla on the Green.  But what makes these places so special are the memories created while present. Memories made by the familiar faces surrounding you, all of whom are observing the entertainment you are guaranteed to witness as boaters pass through the storied drops.  It is those familiar faces that make this whitewater life exactly what it is.............extraordinary, unique, and meaningful to every boater’s soul.  So let’s continue the story of "The Adventures of the Virginia Dirt Bags", as we carouse like playful children in the magic and mystery that is National Falls.

"When I grow up I want to be a little boy."

                        ~Joseph Heller~

   Krazy, Ranger Dave, and myself hauled our boats out of the water and dragged them up into the boulders to allow room for the hordes of paddlers that stretched somewhere along the two miles of non-stop whitewater we had just boogied down with precision and a slight lack of grace and style.  Our small battalion was one of the first to arrive at this mythical whitewater venue.  I was delighted by our early arrival because it meant that I was able to observe and analyze, with a front row seat, no less than a hundred boaters drop the boof line at Nationals............an observation that was sure to result in many, many accounts of classic WALLACES, as well as some perfectly executed lines.  We climbed up on the rocks directly in front of the hole, pulled our food, water, and safety gear out of our dry bags, leaned back under the summer sun, and simply absorbed the environment that surrounded us, content to let the rivah flow, the boaters flail, and the scene develop.

     After a few minutes, the parade of colorful plastic, fiberglass, and rubber began to promenade through the drops, some with perfectly executed lines, others.................not so much.  The flailing was frequent on this day, and I was on the sidelines to give play by play commentary for all of it.  As the hour wore on, more and more paddlers traversed the drop, and eventually the Open Boating train of destruction and debauchery known as Full Gnarlz Nation showed up on the scene, along with the always popular Boof Sisters.  Combining these two syndicates of salaciousness is a marvelous concept on the rivah, but probably an equation for disorder and disarray once back in the so called "real world."  One by one, canoe after canoe stuck the boof, displaying the pure TRUTH that paddling has to offer those who are patient and properly practice the discipline of whitewater over an extended period of time.

   It didn't take long before the Nationals party was in full swing, and the banks surrounding the final drop were littered with happy boaters of all ages, shapes, and sizes.  The Nationals crowd always resembles the behaviors of a boisterous and rowdy truckload of redneck NASCAR fans, not because we love women with muffin tops, mullets, and Bud Ice, but because everyone on the banks of the rivah is eagerly anticipating the next WALLACE to reveal itself in the chundering of Nationals hole.  Smooth lines and stomped out boofs always get a quiet head nod of respect, but a high quality beat down and/or swim warrants cheers, war cry’s, and standing ovations from the peanut gallery.  After all, almost everyone on those banks have had their own day of reckoning in that nasty little bitch of a hole, and when that day came, we appreciated the encouragement from our friends.  Consider it a rite of passage into the realm of the UY community.

"The wisdom acquired with the passage of time is a useless gift unless you share it."

                                                           ~Esther Williams~

   It didn't take long before Full Gnarlz and the Boof Sisters broke out the inflatable dinosaur.  It is important that before I explain this short story you all understand that attempting to ride an inflatable dinosaur through Class IV+ rapids is not a wise choice and should only be attempted by professionals...........or partially intoxicated boaters with more balls than brains.  In all seriousness, the safety for the day was exceptional, and in this case I do mean ACTUAL safety, which we all practice on a regular basis.  The dinosaur ride was attempted by numerous victims, each one pathetically flailing worse than the last.  Most of these brave souls never even made it out of the staging eddy, which made sense considering they had chosen the least stable inflatable craft that Wally World possessed.  But regardless of how amusing the attempts became, one after another after another tried the undertaking to no avail.  Eventually, the Boof Sisters stepped up to the plate and just said "fuck it!", dropping into the hole straight off the rock, but not before giving a war cry and claiming that the attempt was "FOR GLORY!".  It was just that....................glorious. 

   The WALLACING continued throughout the afternoon, with participation from custys, beaters, boaters, and everyone in between occurring with enthusiastic effort.  Before long, the crowds began to disperse, continuing the whitewater pilgrimage that waited downstream.  Our crew finished our lunch, discussed safety one last time, and geared back up for the three miles of continuous, non-stop whitewater that stood between us and the safe passage into Friendsville.  Nationals once again had delivered a quality performance, only further establishing its place in the annuals of whitewater lore. 

"The river delights to lift us free, if only we dare to let go. Our true work is this voyage, this adventure."                                                                           

                                           ~Richard Bach~

   Every part of the Upper Yough is a veritable playground of whitewater, but the section below Nationals is always the piece of the puzzle that allows me to disappear into my rivah place.  Mile upon mile of Class III and IV lines present themselves with unique character containing multiple boofs, spins, ferries, attainments, slots, drops, holes, and waves, all set within the seduction of an esoteric hardwood forest.  The mile below Nationals is a splendid place to paddle ahead and lose yourself to the rhythm of the rapids, and on this day that is exactly what I did.  The groove I fell into allowed Pink to slither along, gently gliding through the mysteries of the Upper Yough, fulfilling my soul with the enrichment that makes kayaking so captivating. 

   Before long I approached a straight section of rivah that leads to Heizerling, and eddied out to wait for Krazy and Ranger Dave.  A giant house sized rock rests in the center of the rivah just above the main drop of Heizerling, and on this day it contained a crowd of enthusiastic rivah warriors.  Before long, Krazy and Ranger Dave peeled into the eddy, and we made the decision to make a short stop on the rock to observe the potential carnage from a vantage point none of us had ever experienced.  We spent about half an hour analyzing the Time Warp lines of the rapid, as well as meeting yet more friendly rivah dwellers.  Upon re-entering our boats, Pink and I tested our skill by dropping The Gun Barrel, one of my favorite lines on the rivah.  The Gun Barrel is suitably named because it contains a steep, rooster tailing tongue that shoots boaters straight between two rocks with accelerating speed, before peeling you into an eddy with a sudden stop.  This eddy sets you up for the main drop of Heizerling.................a move that happens to be my one true nemesis on a rivah with so much whitewater joy. 

   To explain it simply, I rarely make this move correctly, with the results often being that I end up on my head, being grinded over a few rocks....................but I always roll up.  On this day, Heizerling proved yet again to be the victor, dispensing another battle scar to my already war ravaged helmet.  The move is actually quite easy to overcome, but psychological deterrents usually are the roadblock to smooth lines..........Heizerling has always been that roadblock for me on the UY.  Moral of the story is that you win some, you lose some, and for me, Heizerling usually takes the victory. 

“Success is like sausage, you'd be surprised what goes into it.”

                                                     ~Tim Fargo~

   The rivah environment below Heizerling becomes a Tolkenesque labyrinth of stone and water, with multiple lines to choose from, most of which hide between house sized rocks and tight, runnable boulder gardens.  I weaved Pink in and out of these lines, being certain to appreciate the unique landscape that surrounded us.  After a short distance, all lines dump into a small pool on the rivah right, just above a blind horizon line falling back to rivah left.  Below the horizon line two housed size boulders loom with a giant crack between them, as if Mother Nature decided to slice through the stone with a meat cleaver.  These rocks are aptly named "the cleaver brothers" and they give the rapid its name.........Meat Cleaver. 

   Meat Cleaver is an enjoyable, yet formidable line.  It is not possible to boat scout the drop due to the blind horizon line at the entrance.  This horizon line requires a strong boof stroke over a four foot pour over hole.  As you boof, you look downstream midair to scout the remainder of the line..........it requires a bit of multi-tasking.  Errant boof lines lead to blundering into either the right or left eddy.  I have had the misfortune of ending up in both, but I prefer the right eddy as opposed to the left.  The left eddy contains a cave and small sieve, but the most challenging hindrance to the eddy is the escape route.  There is only one way out, and it requires delicately typewritering between an undercut rock and the boil line of the pour over you just boofed over...............basically, don't go in there.  I don't ever plan to again, but then again, when kayaking, always be prepared to handle anything.

   Handling unfortunate situations is the part of kayaking that I have dramatically improved upon since moving to The Island last summer.  I have been a quality enough boater to run Class V rapids for a few years now, but my skills to keep my head about me and to work out problems once I find myself in trouble have been the piece of the pie that I have added to my playbook.  I tend to WALLACE from time to time, as many boaters do, but now when I do beater and flail, I maintain my whit’s and find a solution to the dilemma.  This is a BIG part of increasing ones skill level when you want to step up into the Class IV-V realm of whitewater.  I teach kayaking from time to time, and when I do I explain to my clients that the sport is 30% physical, and 70% psychological.  Keeping your head about you will take you a long way in solving complications within a deadly whitewater environment, and will improve both the confidence and skill of every boater on the rivah.  It is this philosophy that makes me feel comfortable with the presence of "safety" on the rivah, because any good boater knows that "safety" slows everything down and allows us to calm our nerves................know what I mean?

"I think people need to be educated to the fact that marijuana is not a drug. Marijuana is an herb and a flower. God put it here. If He put it here and He wants it to grow, what gives the government the right to say that God is wrong?”

                                                                       ~Willie Nelson~

   Exiting Meat Clever leads to still more and more whitewater bliss, as the gradient of the mighty Upper Yough just keeps falling away beneath our hulls.  Krazy, Ranger Dave, and myself continued to boogie through rapid after rapid, blue angeling the lines, with perfectly executed draw strokes and the ease that advanced boating rewards to skilled paddlers deeply entrenched in their true environment.  We sliced and diced our way through Fuck Up Falls, stomped out the chundery boof on the far right of Cheeseburger Falls (one of my favorites), and then glided effortlessly through Double Pencil Sharpener after miles of Class III-IV boogie.  No matter how many times I run the Upper Yough, I always find new lines, hidden secrets, and a true sense of disconnect from the outside world.

   After exiting DPS, the gradient begins to relax, the safety meetings become plentiful, and the friendly smiles of boaters from all walks of life flood the rivah with a heartwarming sense of community.  The final three miles of the UY are a slow, leisurely float that allows time to meet new boaters, catch up with old friends, or enjoy the solitude of a rivah.  It is always a perfect end to a perfect day of rapids.  The Upper Yough is a whitewater rivah that every advanced boater needs to experience at least once in their life...................and that is TRUTH!!!    

"Finding your inner peace, one has to achieve the ability to live in harmony with oneself and the world."

                                              ~Julandie Sholtz~

   The takeout for the Upper Yough is an antiquated outfitter just under the bridge of Main Street passing through the center of Friendsville.  Floating the final quarter mile of flat water chaperones boaters out of the mountains and forests, and into town, passing humble homes dotting the rivah bank that appear to have been untouched by modern time.  Modest gardens, wild rivah flowers, and quaint front porches border the banks as tired rafting custys sip hot coffee and cold beer and relax in the late day sun, always giving a cordial wave as you gently float passed.  The takeout borders a vast corn field surrounded by gently rolling blue ridges that keeps Friendsville secluded within the Yough Valley.  It is an inspiring scene that creates a splendid end to a sublime day. 

   I pulled up to shore, stretched the pins and needles out of my legs, threw my boat over my shoulder and trudged up the hill, passing hoards of kayakers, custys, guides, and friends.  Boats lined the small parking lot with gear spread out over them, slowly drying in the late afternoon sun.  I was in whitewater harmony, and couldn't have asked for a more perfect day.  I tossed my boat down next to my friends, stripped off my wet gear, and relaxed in the afternoon warmth.

   The harmony of the day was temporarily broken by the sudden and unexpected presence of The Fat Bastard amongst the delightful scene.  I had hoped that six days in jail from his impetuous and violent assault on one of my friends had humbled his inordinate ego, but I was wrong.  Cars lined the parking lot in the designated spaces, but the Fat Bastard did not feel the need to follow suit, and pulled directly up to where my boat was sitting, illegally parking in the center of the road as if he was the only boater present.  As he exited his overcompensating truck, is corpulent size was difficult to miss, and my friends warned me of an altercation that seemed to be building in the apprehensive environment.  His presence was obviously unwelcomed to all, but I felt no need to supplement the tension.  The fact is, I have stated my opinion about who he truly is and what he has come to represent in our paddling community.  If he wants to continue to attempt to force feed my fellow boaters with his abhorrent presence, then I will simply remove myself from the scene...................so that is exactly what I did.  In short, The Fat Bastard is a piece of shit and no longer deserves the negative attention that he seems so desperate to feed upon.  If he was any sort of a man, he would disappear and stop utilizing his son as an object to dragoon the paddling community with his presence..............but apparently ignorance is bliss. 

“There are four kinds of people to avoid in the world: the assholes, the asswipes, the ass-kissers, and those that just will shit all over you.”

                                                     ~Anthony Liccione~

   The ubieties of The Fat Bastard brought about darkening skies and ominous clouds....................I mean this both figuratively and literally.  I storm was quickly approaching.  I carried my boat away from the inimical scene created by our chubby little villain to seek out a good friend, new Chronicles character, and true Dirt Bag Royal...................The Professor.  The Professor will be part of many future adventures in The Island Chronicles, so let us take a moment to get to know him.............

   I speak a lot of blunt TRUTH in this shit show of whitewater literature, and there are few people in our little world of rapids and rambunctiousness that I would consider to be more blunt than myself...............The Professor is one of the few who outweighs me in verbal fidelity, and it is the character trait I respect the most about him.  He says what he means and means what he says.  He also possesses an artistic ability within our paddling community that is unmatched, and his artistry is respected the world over by the Open Boating community and beyond.  Many beloved broken boats have been given a second chance at life thanks to the ingenuity of The Professor.  He is an exceptionally talented Open Boater, a genuine human being, and he is the only person who may despise the Fat Bastard more so than me.  However, my methods of dealing with this negative character of our paddling community are somewhat subtle compared to The Professor.  He is not apprehensive in the least to walk directly up to The Fat Bastard and explain to him in detail just how much he sucks at life, and on this day that is exactly what he did........................I find this to always be highly amusing and extremely entertaining.  In short, The Professor is a true Dirt Bag, and was a befitting addition to the team of Virginia Dirt Bag Royals, completing our whitewater trifecta of Kayaking, C-1, and Open Boating.   

   Krazy and Ranger Dave chose to have dinner in the solitude of Friendsville.  Due to the approaching storm, I decided to bum a ride to our campsite with The Professor to rescue my sleeping bag and cot that I had failed to secure from the elements that morning......................I blame the ADHD.  We hopped in The Professors Dirt Bag dream machine and cruised up the mountain, traveling towards our inception from that morning.  As we traveled, the sky continued to darken, and brilliant streaks of lightening ripped across the horizon beyond the mountains.  We indulged in a safety meeting and discussed the day’s debauchery, arriving back at camp just as the afternoon storm unleashed a deluge on us.  The barrage of wind driven rain was an unpleasant experience for me, seeing that all of my warm clothes were still at the takeout with Krazy and Ranger Dave.  I pathetically shivered under The Professors gear tent with another unfortunate soul and friendly new character...........Purebeater, a rather colorful character who we will get to know more in the near future.  Purebeater was my hero on this afternoon, because he used common sense to conclude that saving my cot and sleeping bag from the storm was a wise decision and a very friendly gesture...........unfortunately for me it meant missing dinner for no reason at all and being caught in the elements without the proper gear to remain warm and dry.  Considering my body fat could almost measure in the negative numbers on the BMI, this situation really sucked for me.  Luckily I had Purebeater there to keep me company, all while The Professor remained warm and dry in his hammock not too far away from my pitiful, drenched dumb ass.  The rains lasted quite a while...................and unfortunately so did Krazy and Ranger Dave’s dinner.  Eventually the deluge ceased after dark, but at that point the party atmosphere for the evening had been overshadowed by the poor weather conditions.  We were all content to retire for the evening to our campsites with a few more quality safety sessions, some enriching conversation, and for me, a good book in my warm and welcoming sleeping bag/cot combination.           

"For the man sound of body and serene of mind there is no such thing as bad weather; every day has its beauty, and storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously."

                                                                                               ~George Gissing~

   As I drifted off to sleep under the re-emerging stars my mind was filled with the adventures from throughout the day and the new memories that I now carried with me until my next Dirt Baggin' adventure. The people that I encountered, the environments that I immersed myself in, and the decisions that I have elected to make are all part of a much bigger journey for me...............the journey that will take me home to my boys.  Many may question how it is that whitewater Dirt Baggin' in the deepest hollars of West By God and beyond will ever assist me in returning to my children?........and that is a valid question.  The answer is simple............it is my way of discovering who I am and what path I am meant to take moving forward.  My critics are numerous, and the topics in which they criticize are plentiful...........I am aware of that.  Some cristicize me for my financial situation, some for my parental decisions, and some for the TRUTH I write and characters I write about.  But these disparagers fail to see me for who I truly am..............a simple man who lost his way once, and is now determined to follow his heart in order to discover a new path back to his children, and back to his home.  Whitewater flows within my veins, and it constitutes everything that defines for me what is a complete life...........without it, I wouldn't be who I am.  I made choices in the past that lead me to a certain place in life, and sometimes those choices took me away from the person I really was.  Perhaps in losing myself, I lost my way as well, and in the end lost my children.  Now I only see one way back............to follow my heart and be who I am.  By doing that I truly believe that I will find my path, find my way, and in the end find all the answers I am searching for.  Goodnight Marlow.  Goodnight Quint.  Daddy loves you, and he will find his way back to you, as the man he was always meant to be.


“Sometimes when you lose your way, you find yourself.”
                                               ~Mandy Hale~

   Stay tuned for the conclusion to "The Adventures of the Virginia Dirt Bags", because there are more whitewater antics on the way, as well as my best WALLACE of the weekend.................and I wasn't even in my kayak for it.  See ya on the rivah...........hopefully discovering your own path.   PEACE