To access a table of contents to The Island Chronicles, please click here.
Part I: Lil Rook, John Denver, and The Whitewater Jihad
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.
~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.
“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.
