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.