This is Part III of the story. Please click here to read The Intro, Part I, and Part II.
Please click here for a link to a Table of Contents for The Island Chronicles.
Part III: The WALLACING of Lil' Rook, The Godfather of DBP, and A Brown Eyed Girl
“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing.”
~Herman Melville~
Early on a Saturday morning in mid September, deep in the heart of the Western Maryland highlands, a Dirt Bag traveler and his DB junkie sidekick slept soundly under a canopy of hardwoods at Piney Mountain Campground. They were seven days into a whitewater journey that had taken them from RVA to DC, to the Savage, to the Gauley, back to RVA, and now to the put in for the Upper Yough. They were less than a week away from the culminating finale of Gauleyfest, and this was the day the heart of DBP arrived, and the REAL adventure began. It was time to wander as deep into the trenches of the Dirt Bag World as a Mid-Atlantic paddler can go..................and it was time to do some serious whitewater boat riding.
“Hard to trust honesty of an inconsistent person.”
~Toba Beta~
Lil Rook and I now possessed $1000 in cash between the two of us. I was not at all comfortable with how we came to be so flush with the paper, but I was satisfied with the fact that we were no longer stressed about money. I designated Lil Rook as our navigator and financial adviser for the expedition...................I know, I know. I trusted a heroin junkie with the finances for the entire journey. Obviously I was high when I made this decision, but in my defense, Lil Rook was very intelligent and demonstrated a fair amount of responsibility when she wasn't passed out in the car or whacked out of her skull on smack..........which was usually about 3 to 4 hours each day............of sobriety that is. I bartered a verbal agreement with Lil Rook about the split in the money. The fact was, I had risked my own neck in order to generate the funding, and supplied the transportation for the mission that successfully granted us the cash we needed for an epic week. For this contribution, I negotiated a 30% cut. She is lucky I did not demand 50%, because in all honesty the agreement should have been for an equal split down the middle. However, I was more than satisfied with $300.00 plus my own cash to sufficiently make my week a success. She agreed to the terms and we were both comfortable and satisfied with the situation. The fact was, I put my TRUST in Lil' Rook. The way I saw it, she was my partner in crime, and more importantly she was my friend................but junkie's don't have friends. I was about to find out why.
After receiving a wake up call at Piney Mountain from a friendly Forest Ranger amicably demanding money for our stay, we packed up and descended the high plains of Garrett County, finding ourselves in Friendsville by 8am. I was excited about our early start because it gave me time to introduce Lil' Rook to the antiquated and friendly confines of the The Waterstreet Cafe. Waterstreet is every local paddlers favorite place to meet up and hang out in Friendsville. It's owner, Chris, is one of the most pragmatic and affable people I have had the pleasure of getting to know on my travels, as well as one of the most sarcastically jocose individuals in the paddling community. In his years as the owner of Waterstreet he has seen many, many Dirt Bags enter through his front door, and has witnessed many tails of whitewater heroism, misfortune, and all out bull shit. He most likely beholds more whitewater secrets than anyone on the Eastern seaboard. He is also a master chef. The mans Pizza Rolls are legendary, but there are many, many culinary delights to be had when entering the Waterstreet Cafe. My only complaint is that Chris always posts pictures of these succulent entrees on Facecrack when I am Dirt Baggin' in a town far from Friendsville. The only two emotions that surface when I see these pictures are severe hunger and extreme disappointment about the fact that I cannot get to the food in the photo. It is a cruel and torturous game and a perfect example of why pictures of good food should be permanently banned from Facecrack.
When we arrived at Waterstreet the lights were off, the doors locked, and the aroma of ground coffee was not apparent............must be one of those late morning coffee shops. Waterstreet has always operated on the understanding of rivah time. Sometimes they are open, sometimes they are closed, and sometimes they are both open and closed at the same time. It was one of the sentimental qualities that made Friendsville so unique and so wonderful. The people here lived without the stress that poisons most places in our country.
We waited for about 15 minutes by the side of the rivah for Waterstreet to hopefully open, before giving up and settling on Husky Gas Station coffee to help dissolve our morning apathy and rally our spirits for the 40 minute drive North into Pennsylvania. Our destination was the Lower Yough and the whitewater village of Ohiopyle. While picking up our coffee, Lil' Rook made her normal disappearing act before passing out for the short journey through Western Maryland back roads. At this point I had all but given up on her ability to remain sober, hoping that I could simply deliver her to the rivah and hope the whitewater Gods could help rescue her from the grips of her addiction. I was also excited to be heading towards a destination that included new and non smacked out paddling friends. We pulled into the Ohiopyle parking lot around 11am and parked the car.
"It is by chance that we met, by choice that we became friends."
~ Henri Nouwen~
I pulled in next to a white Subaru stuffed full of gear and camping equipment.............."looks like Dirt Bags are everywhere these days", I thought to myself. I exited the car and began to walk to the bathroom when a fellow Dirt Bag in the white Subaru gave me a peculiar look as I drifted toward him. His visual examination caught my attention and then it dawned on me the fellow paddler looked familiar, however, I could not place his face. "Are you Justin?", he amiably asked. "yea man!".............then it dawned on me. "You're Dale, aren't you?" The fellow paddler smiled and shook my hand. Dale and I had never met because Dale was from the Northwoods of Northeastern Wisconsin. However, we had spoken over social media many times in the last year, because Dale was one of the founding members of The Dirt Bag Paddlers, more infamously known as DBP.
DBP is.........................well, actually I am still not sure what DBP is. But to attempt a valid explanation, I hypothesis that it can be described as a social media site that focuses on bringing the world whitewater entertainment. But more importantly, DBP is an International community of paddlers, whitewater enthusiasts, artists, writer's, photographer's, and characters of all walks of life who come together throughout the whitewater world to share in the common interest of living the rivah lifestyle to its fullest. DBP has helped me expand my rivah community base and meet a broader range of whitewater addicts and characters than I ever could have met living in the sealed up bubble of RVA and The Jimmy.
Irony plays a part in my life on a daily basis, and the fact that I pulled right up next to Dale in the Ohiopyle parking lot was a rather ironic and symbolic coincidence. Dale was Dirt Baggin' throughout the East Coast with his girlfriend, the original DB Queen, Mackenzie. I admired and respected both Dale and Kenzie almost immediately. They were good people with a good understanding of the TRUTH. Bull shit played no part in their travels, and they were two of the original members of a DBP organization that is now 5000 strong and growing.
Dale was an energetic and cheerful guy, and his constant mischievous smile made anyone around him chuckle, because Dale was usually up to something. He was organized and motivated to lead the Dirt Bag life the correct way throughout the trip, and he and I shared many common interests, from our knowledge of safety to our opinions about the TRUTH of this world. ..............he also held a very deep love for Mackenzie, and I truly respected that about Dale. In short, he was a good man and I was proud to be alongside him on this trip.
Mackenzie was quite the character as well. She was beautiful, and any man who crossed her path would immediately agree with me on that observation. If you didn't, then you are probably dead or gay. But unlike most beautiful women in modern society, Kenzie was very different....................her attitude, the way she carried herself, and her opinions of the world were anything but feminine............the girl had no problem hanging with the boys, and many times she could lead the charge when we truly went Dirt Baggin'. It was a very rare combination to withhold, and she carried that confidence well. In short, Kenzie wasn't just a Dirt Bag Queen, she was the TRUTH in Dirt Baggin' and her presence was a benefit to all around her. The addition of Dale and Kenzie was a welcome advantage to the whitewater pilgrimage taking place.
"The friend in my adversity I shall always cherish most. I can better trust those who helped to relieve the gloom of my dark hours than those who are so ready to enjoy with me the sunshine of my prosperity."
~Ulysses S. Grant~
Our small group of whitewater warriors decided to head down the Lower Yough in kayaks and duckies. Lil Rook seemed half way determined to produce at least some REAL paddling out of this trip, and was extremely committed to doing so in a kayak. Being a kayak instructor, I was more than willing to teach her through the "School of Hard Knocks" while making sure she didn't drown in the process. "The Loop" of the Lower Yough was a great place to cut her teeth in some REAL whitewater...............the low water James lesson from a few days before did not constitute "REAL whitewater" in my opinion. The only problem with this plan was Lil' Rook was still passed out in the front seat from her morning session with the Mexican Brown. Dale and Kenzie were well aware of why she was sleeping and it was very apparent that Kenzie was not about to put up with her junkie antics...........I didn't blame her.
I woke Lil' Rook and informed her of our plan for the afternoon and told her to start gearing up. I looked at this situation as an opportunity to give her a REAL wake up call. I had come on this trip to paddle.............everyday, and I was not about to spend those days rallying a junkie to gain motivation for a paddling trip. Either she got her shit together, or we would leave her behind. And I knew how determined she was to prove her worth to the whitewater world, so being left behind wasn't an option for her. But she wasn't ready to kayak the Lower Yough, let alone "The Loop". So I put her ass in a kayak anyway, well aware of what would happen.................I was going to let the rivah give her the wake up call..................and yes, I am that evil.
We geared up, walked down the hill, and put on ahead of the thundering 30 foot Ohiopyle Falls. The put in to the Lower Yough is a true whitewater wonderland. The town is a quaint hamlet tucked away in the Pennsylvania mountains, sitting directly next to the falls and rivah. Creeks drop into the Yough from multiple chasms in the mountains surrounding the town, and the whitewater of the loop drops in a stair step fashion as it rounds the mountain and drops out of sight. Before being swept into the first series of rapids, I reviewed everything that I had taught Lil' Rook over the first week and explained the basic skills that assist every beginner paddler in staying upright through their first set of rapids................Lil' Rook was about to be baptized in some hard plastic!
Our group calmly drifted into the first series of ledges, and Lil' Rook fared well, keeping her boat straight, her paddle in the water, and her weight forward...............as she slipped through the crux of the series and paddled toward me I noticed that she was still rather dazed from her morning heroin aberration. This was exactly the wake up call she would need................or so I thought. The first series of rapids began to tail off to small wave trains and the rivah curved right, into a large pool above the crux of "The Loop", Cucumber Rapid.
Cucumber is a large Class III rapid that begins as simple and wide Class I-II shoals before the water quickly constricts down to half the width of the rivah and drops furiously through a series of holes that will swamp kayaks, canoes, and rafts. The key to the rapid is to read the water correctly early on and push hard right to compensate for the leftward push of the rivah which catches sloppy paddlers off guard and stamps them into a left bank rock. By setting an early right handed angle and continuously pushing hard right, paddlers usually find that the bottom of the rapid opens up without the panic of the tight left side line. Any paddler who is able to navigate Cucumber smoothly will do just fine on the Lower Yough.
I explained the line to Lil' Rook, emphasizing the need to push hard right and avoid the entire rivah left side. Then I dropped in, demonstrating the safest line I could for Lil' Rooks additional benefit. She dropped in behind me, and was immediately pushed left.............opposite of where she needed to be. She made a minimal effort to re-adjust her boat angle, but was pushed too far left too early...................WALLACE! Lil' Rook immediately flipped and experienced the largest set of holes upside down still in her kayak. She then found some hand relief and squirted out of her boat, ensuring at least one booty beer would be consumed at the end of the day. Kenzie followed suit in her Duckie, and the DBP Swim Team was created on Day 1 in Rapid #2. Dale and myself assisted the ladies in cleaning up the yard sale that had ensued before pushing down rivah into the labyrinth of Class III rapids that compose the second half of "The Loop".
While we diligently went about figuring out the whitewater maze we had found ourselves in, Lil' Rook decided to produce a second swim and booty beer on the far right side of a run out rapid, as a shit show of rafts bounced and pinned down the left side of said drop...............it was quite entertaining to watch from afar. During the middle of our Lil' Rook rescue attempt and the chaos that was ensuing throughout the rapid, a familiar voice suddenly echoed through the banks of the rivah.......................K.C.! Our Dirt Bag friend from The Savage popped around the corner in her kayak, sporting her signature grin and vibrant personality. She immediately saw that Lil' Rook was taking a dip through her second rapid of the day and assisted in the clean up yet again. We decided to break for a well deserved safety meeting at that point, before deciding to let Dale and Kenzie go ahead while Lil' Rook and I walked the loop trail back to Ohiopyle.....................Lil' Rooks wake up call was complete. I no longer felt comfortable holding the group up to clean up the shit show that was sure to ensue had we continued down rivah. Lil' Rook scraped up her remaining dignity from the rocks and we began the loop hike back to Ohiopyle while Kenzie and Dale continued to travel downstream. I noticed the dazed look in Lil' Rooks eyes had disappeared, and the colorful personality that she demonstrated for 3 to 4 hours a day had returned...........it's amazing what happens to a person when they are not on heroin and let the rivah fill their soul.
“There is no better high than discovery.”
~Edward O. Wilson~
The remainder of the afternoon was spent discovering "The Loop" trail and the joys of killing time in Ohiopyle, PA. Lil' Rook and I explored the trails and took our time returning to town. I remember that I enjoyed this time with her, because I was able to see the TRUTH in her personality. When Lil' Rook was on, she was on...........that is a statement I will always stand by. Later in the afternoon we met back up with Dale and Kenzie, who had driven throughout the night from Wisconsin in order to reach Pennsylvania and run The Lower Yough. Kenzie and Lil' Rook decided an afternoon nap was in order, giving Dale and I plenty of time to execute a safety meeting and crick exploration at the Meadow Run Slides..............it was a slow afternoon of Dirt Baggin' in the heart of the whitewater world, and it was a much needed and much appreciated rest for all......................it was the calm before the storm.
Around 5pm, the second half of the Wisco Dirt Bag caravan rolled into town, Chicago Mike and Flan..................the absolute TRUTH of DBP and the heart of the entire show. These two characters were quite a pair. Chicago Mike was the creator and Godfather of DBP, and he was the unquestioned fearless leader of the charge, even though he tried to convince everyone he wasn't. His demeanor was introverted and demure, and I quickly noticed that although he was the leader, he preferred to observe the scene that he had created throughout the past year from afar. Mike and I had never met face to face, but we had confabulated (twice now....BOOM!) about many topics throughout the past year thanks to The IC and DBP. He understood the battle that raged within me between The Flower Pickin' Gentleman and The Epic Worthlessness That Is Man, because that same battle existed within Chicago Mike. I feel that his choice to observe the scenes throughout the week came from his ability to simply take the environment in and enjoy the moment while he lived it, a skill that can only be developed through experience and wisdom. He consistently manifested a comforting smile throughout the week and simply wanted to see peace, one love, and everyone happy and content................we all know by now that this is where Chicago and I differed. Mike chose to ignore the bothersome parts of the groups social dynamics...............I did not. In the end, this was the overwhelming variable that defined the relationship between Mike and myself.
Flan was the other half of this terrible twosome, and Flan had made his rivah pilgrimage for three things......whitewater, safety, and as much pussy as possible. He was quiet at first, but possessed a uniquely extroverted side to his personality when challenged with situations that he didn't agree with. For the most part though, Flan was as laid back as they came, and I liked him immediately.
We were then joined by even more Dirt Baggin' gypsies, and each one was a character all their own. First to arrive on the scene were T-Love and Jamin, the TRUTH in Dirt Bag couples. T-Love was a lifelong gypsy, and she had the stories to prove it from every corner of the country. She demonstrated her skills on the rivah through the art of solo shredding, and possessed more knowledge of the social world of whitewater than any Dirt Bag I had ever crossed paths with. It is easy to do that when you grow up in Garrett County , Maryland, home of the Upper Yough..................she was by far my favorite Dirt Bag of all, but their are many reasons for that sentiment. Her personality was carefree, jovial, and tranquil, and she had come for two specific reasons.....................to paddle the hell out of as much whitewater as possible and party as hard as she possibly could. She had just arrived from the rocky top mountains of Colorado, and she could Dirt Bag the lifestyle with true charisma and class......................so much so you never would have known she was a cheerleader in high school. (HA! She is going to kill me for dropping that last one.)
Jamin was the other half of this Dirt Bag couple, and he was a man of safety and peace. Jamin was being introduced for one of the first times to the rivah culture and lifestyle on the trip, and he was a sponge to it all, soaking up every moment of the experience that was taking place. He carried a very casual demeanor about him, and was usually content to go with the flow of the group and the rivah...........and he loved T-Love. That was apparent.
We sat around the caravan of Dirt Bag Mobiles catching up and planning our evenings adventure. T-Love told a story about her days antics that started with her explaining what she had done the night before. While telling this story, she included the tale about late night drunken hooliganism with Chris, the friendly Waterstreet Cafe owner from Friendsville. Apparently it was due to these antics and the copious amounts of alcohol consumed by the two that there was a VERY late start to the opening of the Cafe the following morning, the same Cafe that Lil Rook and I had waited 30 minutes at for coffee. T-Love's impact was that immense. She had affected my life directly before I had ever even met her.............Thank's T-Love.
As the sun sank behind the mountains of our whitewater hamlet, Dirt Bags from every corner of the continent converged on a small Dirt Bag bar in Ohiopyle PA to celebrate the whitewater lifestyle that was being exhibited by so many during this week of rivah celebration. Seven days worth of Upper Yough adventures and Gauleyfest debauchery lay just downstream.
“I like you; your eyes are full of language."
~Anne Sexton~
The moon rose into the sky and the Dirt Bag bar we had chosen for our impromptu assembly of boating hoodlums, whitewater delinquents, and rivah rapscallions began to buzz with the life of a true whitewater party. Men with long beards and sun worn skin, both young and old, reminisced about the time at Iron Ring they saw God, and the proper paddle position needed to really stomp out the boof at Nationals. Old friends exchanged warm hugs and affectionate smiles while catching up after a summer of absence from the local rivah scene, a ritual that repeats itself year after year when the guides of the Gauley scatter to the winds to find work on summer rivahs. Gauleyfest is a celebration, but it is also a welcome home. It is a return for many to the humble beginnings that ended up defining their lives and their passion for what they did. Here, every Rivah Guide from both near and far would be understood. In that bar, every Rivah Guide was welcomed home.
Dirt Bags have similar habits, and these habits always leave bread crumbs behind to give away their presence in certain places. If you ever walk into a bar and find a wall full of cell phones being charged in the few available outlets, you know you are in the presence of a Dirt Bag assembly. On this night, the wall was full of devices being re-powered from two days off the grid deep in the confines of forests and rivahs throughout the Appalachians. When I saw the wall of technological excrement, I decided to follow suit and give my phone a charge as well. While I was plugging in my charger and checking my messages I happened to look up and see T-Love enter the front door with Jamin. Then, behind them, a girl quietly walked through the door and I observed her float across the room towards the bar. She had short blond hair that fell over her eyes and she was petite and delicate in the way she carried herself. She wore a pink shirt under a white sweater that fell gracefully over her shoulders, revealing a delicate curve to her neck line. Then she smiled, and the room lit up. Her smile was soft and shy, and although she exhibited a quiet presence about her, she went unnoticed by no one. The only thing I could think in my mind as I observed the scene was, "she can't be a Dirt Bag...........she is too exquisitely alluring in her presence to be one of us."......................I was determined to get to the bottom of who she was..................even if I did possess zero game.
The evening wore on and the party eventually split into the typical characteristics of a Dirt Bag celebration. While half the gathering quaffed copious amounts of golden ale as they regaled around the bar, the other half of the DB lineup converged in the parking lot, huddled around various tailgates in small, tribal like fashion. There could only be one kind of caucus taking place here...................safety meetings. I slowly meandered through the friendly confines of the parking lot, before noticing the tight nit cluster of Wisco Dirt Bags at the back end of the lot. These were my safety partners, and they were the people I would seek solace in for the next two weeks. We spent the evening with our peace pipe and beers, listening to each others stories and enjoying our Dirt Bag existence on a perfect night deep in the hills of the Yough Rivah valley.
After a few rounds of safety, T-Love and Jamin joined the scene of a dozen or so Dirt Bags, as well as T-Love's intriguingly beautiful new blond friend. She stood behind the boisterous and charismatic group of rivah rats quietly listening to the stories of whitewater glory that were being spouted by all of us in an attempt to one up the last...................remember, ego's exist within us all. I wanted to see T-Loves friend included in the conversation so I introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Justin".........introducing myself to a woman that I find attractive is VERY unlike me. Believe it or not, I am shy. I usually avoid beautiful woman these days like the plague, but my instincts told me I really wanted to talk to her. The thing about this was, I didn't really need to try. It just happened. I wanted to see her included in the conversation and I wanted to meet her at the same time. Sometimes life gives us opportunity..............it's our job to make the most of it. She smiled softly and brushed the hair away from her eyes. Then she looked at me, and before saying a word I noticed that she had piercingly beautiful brown eyes. The kind of eyes that speak the TRUTH. She smiled softly and with a gentle, halcyon voice said, "Hi............I'm Marcie."
“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.”
~John Joseph Powell~
So much TRUTH in that last quote. See ya on the rivah..................hopefully falling in love. PEACE
