Please click here to read The Intro, Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV
Four Days on The Upper Yough
~Edwin Way Teale~
I opened my eyes and saw nothing but black. Then I realized the darkness was a result of pulling my sleeping bag over my face to keep my nose warm in the cold morning mountain air. I popped straight up from my green camping cot and found myself sitting in the middle of a children's park, with giant hardwoods shading the green carpet of grass upon which I rested. Beams of sunlight broke through the early morning mist, slicing harsh bullets of brightness into my sleep weary eyes. I pulled my stocking cap over my face and attempted to gain some sort of composure. Forgetting where you fell asleep the previous night is a common Dirt Bag side effect, but it does make for an interesting start to the day, especially when you wake up in a public park in the middle of small town USA. I sat on my cot looking rather pathetic. My stocking cap was sideways and hair stuck straight out from a mean bed head effect, my eyes had yet to adjust to the light, and I was in desperate need of coffee. I glanced to my left and realized the park was situated next to the local post office. An admirably dressed older gentleman strolled down the sidewalk to drop off his mail. As he walked by he glanced at me with a rather unfavorable look.............not that I blamed him. I was a grown man sleeping on a cot in the middle of a children's playground wearing pajamas and a stocking cap. I wasn't exactly a pillar of the community at that moment.
After a few minutes of sedentary worthlessness, I finally rallied and joined the world to begin the Monday to my second week of whitewater jihad. My fellow Wisco Dirt Bags all began to rise as well from the depths of outdoor sleep throughout the imaginative park. Sleeping outdoors has always been invigorating for me. There have been very few nights in my years of Dirt Bag travels that I have not slept soundly while slumbering outdoors. My nights of sleep on The Island are still some of the most harmonious periods of abeyance I have ever experienced. The sound of the rivah, the wind, the cool air, the calling birds; all of these variables play a part in the peaceful nature of sleeping in the outdoors. It is just another example of man's inherent instinct to be one with the natural world...............and yet we continue to separate ourselves from that atmosphere every day.
For now, it was time to rally, because the TRUTH of whitewater was upon us. Four straight days of The Upper Yough had finally arrived.
“I thought climbing the Devil's Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing. But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles for dreams.”
~Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild~
Within a matter of five minutes, tents were packed, cots were put away, and cars were warmed up. Dirt Bags have a remarkable ability to become nomadic in a matter of moments when the situation calls for it. On this day we were all on our game and ready to hit the rivah. We headed for the comfortable environment, amicable surroundings, and warm pizza rolls of The Water Street Cafe. Lil' Rook and myself took the lead in one Dirt Bag Mobile, followed by Dale and Mackenzie, and then by Chicago Mike and Flan. The Dirt Bag caravan scampered south down Route 42 and into Friendsville by 11am. On the way, our crew stumbled upon a giant hot dog that I easily manipulated Lil' Rook into riding. Mackenzie was too wise to fall for my Dirt Bag encouragement and exhibited far more class than Lil' Rook. Kenzie made it clear from moment one that she wanted nothing to do with our little junkie, and from what I had observed, Lil' Rook had received that message loud and clear. Upon reaching Friendsville we toured the cluttered confines of the Husky Gas Station and its veritable playground of small town nick knacks and biker memorabilia. Every boater entering Friendsville for a trip down the Upper Yough should stop in for a visit to Husky............just save your coffee fix and appetite for Water Street, just down the road.
Our whitewater entourage slowly rolled past the busy summer outfitter on the corner, and then we turned down Water Street for a visit to my favorite coffee shop. The Water Street Cafe was bustling with boaters from all over the Mid-Atlantic and northeast, and was a welcoming oasis for any whitewater enthusiast. We spent a quality amount of time talking with Chris, while devouring homemade breakfast sandwiches and fresh coffee. Lil' Rook had already concocted a plan to have a fellow junkie pick her up in Friendsville that afternoon and sweep her away for a 24 hour respite and much desired heroin binge. I wanted to paddle, so I was over her and her manipulative ways. She had not come on this trip to explore rivahs and experience the life of a whitewater addict. She was here to look like she paddled and be noticed by people in the community. In the end Lil' Rook was nothing more than a whitewater poser that used Facecrack to concoct a false image of who she was. She only possessed one real intention in life..........heroin. Whitewater was nothing more than a front for a perception of what she wished her life could be............unfortunately the reality was anything but her perception.
So we left her at Water Street, under the watchful supervision of Chris, until she was swept away into her dark world of savory smack. We moved on quickly, happy to drop the weight she had dumped on us and the discomfort that had temporarily poisoned our group. After all that had happened, I still gave her a hug and remember that as we left my last feeling was that of worry. It really sucks to actually care about people who just don’t care. We organized our cars and gear at the takeout before heading up Friendsville Road, over the mountain, around Bishoff Farm, and into the elevated valley of the Upper Yough put-in. The time had come to finally paddle.
Between traveling south from Ohiopyle and enjoying the welcoming confines of Water Street, we ended up dropping our boats into the water near the end of the release bubble. Putting on late in the release kept us on our toes. The Upper Yough only releases for 2 to 4 hours each day on normal release days. This means that if you put on late then it becomes possible that you will lose water by the time you reach the takeout. Losing water on a stretch of whitewater like the Upper Yough not only sucks, but can be dangerous when sieves and undercuts become exposed, creating nasty pin spots. Our group pushed consistently to National's with smooth lines and only one short pinning situation by one of the rafts just above the left side of Charlie's Choice. The location of the pin was a bit worrisome; however the situation worked itself out quietly.
We spent a breviloquent amount of time observing the scene at National's before continuing through the labyrinth of rock and water, styling our way past Heizerling and into the complex maze of Class IV perfection. (For an in depth description of a run on The Upper Yough, please click here on "The Adventures of the Virginia Dirt Bags")
I pulled a hard stroke off the entrance lip of Meat Clever and landed flat with a loud "boof" against the surface of the water. My set up was so precise (a rare occurrence) that I created too much time to align drop number two and pulled to far back to the center of the tongue before dropping in. I pulled further left than usual and realized immediately that I misjudged my line up. (And yes, I just blamed carnage on the fact that I boofed too perfectly……..Swimmers Anonymous will love that one) That was about the time I pitoned straight over the top of Meat Clever rock, tumbling down the jagged and protruding face of the rock...........it hurt like shit, and that is some serious TRUTH. I bounced sideways off the bottom of the rock and land on my shoulder in the run out below the drop. Luckily enough I successfully braced against a flip and realigned myself before the mistakes began to domino through the remainder of the rapid...............beatering is always painful for the body, the mind, and the soul. This experience was no different.
“What if I fall?', Tim cried.
Maerlyn laughed. 'Sooner or later, we all do.”
~Stephen King, The Wind Through the Keyhole~
The remainder of the afternoon was full of bright bluebird skies, endless wave trains of frothy play, and a looming hardwood forest to isolate us within our own little whitewater world. We caught the tail end of the crowd and bubble and realized we could slow our pace for the rest of the day, floating the final two miles of flat water under a fog of safety, lager, and plenty of quality conversation and meditation. Near the final stretch of larger rapids, we crossed paths with T-Love, Jamin, Jami, and Matt, who had been playing leap frog with us down the rivah throughout the afternoon. We all trickled out of the gorge together in one long, trailing brigade.
The take out scene was as close to perfection as I have ever seen. The late day sun dipped low over the western ridges and cast a velvety glow within the sprawling cornfields throughout the valley. The mountain rims glowed with a soft pink hue, and the evening bugs danced in the light of the fading sun, glimmering above the stalks of corn. Small pockets of boaters and Dirt Bag Mobiles remained scattered around the grassy field, and the radiance from the warming sun dried us as we broke down our gear and boats. We tore into the afternoon munchies, and enjoyed the pace of a boater's life...................time was of very little concern.
Our group accepted an invite from the always amicable Matt and Jami to join their friends at the Black Bear in Deep Creek for dinner and conversation. I partook in a rather lengthy safety meeting during the drive up, and ironically remember very little about any confabulating (4 times!) that was concocted around the dinner table, or what in general took place while at the Black Bear. The only thing I can recall is that I was present among the crowd, good people surrounded me, and we enjoyed the evening...................sometimes the safety just takes hold. TRUTH
Following dinner our Dirt Bag battalion split apart for the evening. I took charge of the accommodations for the Wisco Dirt Bags, leading our caravan to a secluded, wooded campsite deep within Piney Mountain Forest. At some point in the evening Shredder Aaron joined us from Fayetteville where he had been attempting to secure work for the remainder of Gauley season…….but as I stated before, I was very safe and don't recall the full details of the evening or when he joined the team.
Our crew of outdoor living virtuoso's created a warm camp environment within 30 minutes. Wood was collected, food was prepared, tents were raised, camp chairs were broken out, and a warming fire was burning brightly to light the surrounding hardwoods. Dale and Mackenzie demonstrated a strong parental instinct during this time, and certainly accepted the leadership roles in prep, set up, and the details of our camping sites. Both were a positive addition to the group for their skills not only on the rivah, but also within camp.
The night settled in and our group relaxed in the cool Western Maryland air. Chicago Mike mentioned that Phelan was in route to join our party for the remainder of the week. Phelan was one of the original Dirt Bags to be recruited outside of Wisconsin and was a solid rivah guide on the Upper Yough during the summer months. This would be the first time any of us were meeting Phelan, although we had been communicating with him throughout the year. The story that I was told prior to Phelan’s arrival was that he was a cop..................I felt it odd that I was the only one who viewed this as a slight issue, regardless of the fact Lil' Rook had disappeared….again. Due to my foggy state of mind for most of the afternoon and evening on Day 9, I was not fully comprehending logical thought processes, and over the course of Chicago Mike telling us Phelan's background, I somehow developed the notion that he was in fact a police officer..........however, for some reason I was afraid to bring the topic up among the group, most likely because I was deep in the fog of safety and beer.
Shortly after this safety fueled perception was developed in my head, Phelan arrived on the scene. He seemed like a nice guy, and was pleasant to meet. Phelan was a very clean cut, All American kid…...COP. He represented that kind of person every mother wants their son to become……COP He was a big guy, built like a Rivah Guide, and demonstrated an infectiously positive attitude…….COP. Everything about the guy said cop to me. Due to the perception I developed in my mind that he was in fact a cop, I remained very quiet and reserved, paranoid that he was going to bust me for being, well, me............obviously I had indulged in one to many safety meetings throughout the day.
The conversation around the campfire continued, and Phelan settled in among the crowd of rivah rats. I continued to keep a watchful eye over him, curious to see when he was either going to flash his badge or break out a "pew pew pew, 'Murica" quote. Eventually I became restless and decided to take matters into my own hands. I finally breached my silent protest and broke out the question. "Hey dude, I hear you’re a cop?" Phelan looked at me very puzzled. I was also under the impression that Mackenzie was a cop before meeting her. This was about the time that I realized the entire perception of Phelan was created in my head, and most likely I had been baited by a fellow Dirt Bag. Phelan wasn't a cop. Neither was Mackenzie. They had simply explored the option of being a cop at one time. Phelan laughed when I asked him the question. I explained to him that I was under the impression he was a police officer since he had arrived, and I was freaking out about the developments due to my safety indulgent mind. Phelan was amused by the entire situation and we both shared a good laugh. Then I told him he didn't look like a cop. He looked like a frat boy.............he didn't laugh about that. But I did, and in all honesty he DID look like a frat boy. However, Phelan proved on the rivah and throughout the week that he was anything but a frat boy. He was simply a TRUE Dirt Bag in disguise. Day 9 and the first day of the Upper Yough were in the books. Success!
“Don’t bother calling the cops, because nobody can find me here. I know, because after all these years, I’m still trying to find myself.”
~Jarod Kintz~
Day 10……..I awoke under a canopy of broad green leaves broken by early morning fog reflecting off the beams of sunlight that danced within the open spaces of the forest. I slept soundly yet again, most likely due to the natural and calming environment that I had surrounded myself in, as well as the fact that I had become severely intoxicated the night before. However, I have no regrets about the amount of partying that I partook in while on this journey……….that is what the journey was for.
Mornings in Piney Mountain forest are always beautiful. The forest is a vast array of broad leaf hardwood trees with a floor of thick, soft lime green moss, ferns, and milkweed. I have spent many mornings in this forest calming my nerves before a jaunt down the Upper Yough gorge. One of the true gifts in the experiences of kayaking is to improve your skill and transition rivahs that at first evoke nervousness and jitters into rivahs that now produce emotions of joy, focus, and peace. My own relationship with the Upper Yough has matured over the last five years, and every summer we now dance with each other in one harmonious waltz.
Waking at Piney Mountain also makes the logistics of the UY very simple. The put-in rests at the bottom of the mountain only a few miles away. The easiest way to run shuttle is to drop all the gear, boats, and people off at the put in field while two cars run the 30 to 40 minute round trip shuttle. This allows all of those left behind to experience the magic and amicable settings of the Upper Yough put-in. My experiences with this concordant and melodious environment are numerous, and I have written about this paradise in a past Island Chronicles post…………….
“The put-in of the Upper Yough is just another variable that makes this rivah so prodigious in our whitewater world. Dirt Bag shuttle vehicles line up in a grassy field by the rivah, each stacked with colorfully clad Kayaks, Open Boats, C-1's, Rafts, Squirt Boats, Wave Hoppers, long boats, play boats, and the occasional inflatable dinosaur...................we will come back to that last one. The sun is always shining bright in the early summer afternoon when at the put-in, and each and every boater there has paid their dues to get to this rivah. For some it is a harmonious jaunt down quality whitewater, while for others it is an epic day of first time Class IV-V creek boating. I have calmed my nerves many times here in the past with a barefoot game of Frisbee in the soft grass, an early siesta under the summer sun, or a quick safety meeting in the wooded grove on the banks of the rivah. The Upper Yough put-in is yet another quality variable on a rivah full of whitewater secrets.”
~passage from “The Adventures of the Dirt BagPaddlers”
The second logistical option when camping at Piney Mountain is to have the entire group travel to Friendsville and the takeout. This is a quality alternative because the Upper Yough does not run until noon or later on most days, giving ample amounts of time to hang out in Friendsville. Water Street Café is the preferred location for morning coffee and breakfast when choosing this scenario, and the food and environment do not disappoint. Regardless of which option you choose, The Upper Yough always results in quality days on the rivah.
After an alfresco style breakfast delivered by Dale and Mackenzie, our group followed the steep mountain road downward towards the Upper Yough Valley and Sang Run. We had chosen to hang out in the grassy field of the put in on this morning while shuttle was run by volunteers within our group. The scene was as festive as ever. Many Dirt Bags from every corner of the country had convened upon Garrett County on this day, all committed to celebrating an entire week of one of the whitewater communities most beloved sections of rivah……….it was time for Day 2 on The Upper Yough.
“The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.”
~Rabindranath Tagore~
Large numbers of boaters where present at the rivah on this day, from rafters, to kayakers, to Open Boaters, to every Dirt Bag in between. We put on among a healthy group of boaters with familiar names and faces, and an entourage of 30 or 40 people began the two mile float to The Great Bend of The Upper Yough where the rivah dropped in to the depths of the gorge. A small flotilla of rafts began to form early on in the flat water trip, and within minutes more and more boaters became latched on, creating a giant amoeba of crafts, constantly expanding like mutating cells. Each raft had come fixed with its own beer cooler, and before long rivah rats were laid out across the rubber in the early afternoon sun, enjoying the quiet float and toasting the day’s rivah adventure. Safety discussions became numerous, with passing gear being lost among the waves of canoes, kayaks, and rafts. Within a matter of minutes the largest floating party I had ever witnessed was spontaneously created. The afternoon sun rose higher in the sky and boisterous conversations, debates, and social networking commenced as we calmly drifted down rivah.
This flotilla allowed me the time to get to know a new character added to the mix of Dirt Bags traveling with us for the week, one who exhibited a plethora of leadership within his personality. He was widely known among the rafting community as Uncle Mark, and he came from Colorado. Uncle Mark demonstrated a very warm and welcoming personality, and I liked him immediately. He remained relaxed at all times on the rivah and at camp, had an uncanny ability to avoid the bull shit, and maintained a comfortable smile throughout the day. Our initial introduction before this rivah trip had proven to be a slight bit awkward. When I had first met Uncle Mark he was informed that I was from RVA. Being that Uncle Mark was a well-known Colorado guide, he had worked with, yep, you guessed it, The Fourteenth Street Whore. Within moments of meeting me, he unknowingly asked me if I knew her…………..sometimes the irony of life is laughable.
After an hour of safety infused partying among a floating makeshift barge, we arrived at the Great Bend of The Upper Yough and the crowds of boaters lining Wait Rock. Wait Rock received its name because it is the place everyone waits before the release of water to fully drain into the gorge. When boaters put on at first release, it is very possible to out paddle the flow and reach the rapids before the rivah has fully risen. Many boaters choose to put on early, knowing they will reach Wait Rock, where ample safety and socializing is always taking place. There is also an actual rock that informs you through submersion that the level has fully risen and the rivah is primed to paddle.
Whitewater offers a social institution that cannot be duplicated. We have our own laws and own set of rules within gorges throughout the world, and when you enter the rivah the pace of life, the focus of priority, and the flow of time all change. Wait Rock is an excellent example of the world that exists within those gorges. It is the world that every paddler has come to love and respect.
One by one, boats and groups began to drop into the gorge. The pace of the water quickened and rapid after rapid met us with the challenge of a whitewater puzzle. I knew this rivah, and I felt confident on this day. I had chosen a long boat, an ole school Dagger Freefall (thanks Coop!), allowing me to cut through slots, drops, and boofs with slicing speed and delicate accuracy. I quickly found my rhythm on the Upper Yough and I again danced to the waltz of the rivah.
Before long, I reached National Falls, the heart of the gorge, and highlight central for classic Yough Rivah carnage. If the Upper Yough were a SportsCenter broadcast, National Falls would be the Top 10 plays of the day. Spend some time on the banks of this rapid and you are guaranteed to see quality carnage within minutes. National Falls is the final drop of a long and continuous section of Class IV+ whitewater, and the exhaustion and shell shock of a first descent usually kicks in about the time National’s hits. The party raged on the banks, and our Dirt Bag entourage immersed ourselves deeply into the world of whitewater.
I continued onward from National’s solo on this day, knowing that I would find that always smooth rhythm of the rivah I seem to naturally settle into between National’s and Heizerling. I enjoy breaking away into a solo paddle on many occasions, especially on continuous pieces of whitewater that I know well. There is a dangerous and steep rapid named Tommy’s Hole exiting out of the pool below National’s. This rapid should always be run with caution and accuracy to assure safety since there is a nasty undercut/sieve combo in the entrance of the drop. However, after the drops of Tommy’s, a mile long stretch of Class III-IV boogie water exists and it is read and run perfection. On this day, the Freefall and I melted into smooth, stylish lines and found a symbiotic connection with the rivah. The Upper Yough was once again delivering the goods.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent doing what we do…………shredding the shit out of miles and miles of whitewater. The day’s antics were mostly uneventful aside from an excess number of boofs and a moment when I unintentionally attempted to surf a hole and was run over by a raft. It hurt, as always. There are certain hazards a kayaker must accept when boating with rafters, most notably being run over by them. To a kayaker, a fully loaded raft dropping into a Class IV line directly behind you is the equivalent of being chased down a hill by a runaway Mac Truck full of giant boulders while furiously peddling a BMX bicycle………the experience can be terrifying.
After avoiding potential death from runaway rafts, we boogied straight out of the gorge and into Friendsville, where we were greeted with yet another perfect evening at the takeout. The Wisco crew, Phelan, and I decided to go all in at the all you can eat buffet in Friendsville………there was a feast like never before. A post meal comatose feeling swept over us after the horrific scene that took place at the buffet. There is nothing more terrifying to a group of old people out for a nice dinner than a rush of hungry, dirty, rowdy rivah bums attacking an all you can eat buffet. The amount of food that was consumed by us within the hour was absurd. We exemplified the very definition of gluttony. It was a sad scene indeed. Our post dinner comatose condition prompted a quick retreat back to Piney Mountain Campground and the warm confines of a campfire and our sleeping bags. Day 2 on the Upper Yough had been conquered.
“Our biological rhythms are the symphony of the cosmos, music embedded deep within us to which we dance, even when we can't name the tune.”
~Deepak Chopra~
Day 3 and 4 on The Upper Yough familiarized me with the rhythm Deepak speaks of in the quote above. Plus, we take a Hot Tub Time Machine ride, a dog eats one of my flip flops, and the party rolls on through Friendsville, Ohiopyle, and onwards toward the Gauley. Stay tuned.
See ya on the rivah................with some Packers fans, a cop, and a giant flotilla of Dirt Bags.
