Round 5: The Story (The Epic Worthlessness that is Man)

"I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But still, the place you live in is that much more grey."
                                               ~Morgan Freeman, Shawshank Redemption~



   Life #2............The Epic Worthlessness that is Man. When I was younger, my philosophy on growing up was "if I wait long enough, immaturity will eventually become the spirit of youth." That's where the Epic Worthlessness that is Man fits best..........in the never growing up category. And as an adult, there are certain lifestyles one can partake in that fit well in allowing a man to never grow up. It allows a man to hold onto the spirit of adventure that only burns bright when we are young...........kayaking is one of those lifestyles.
   Marcelle and I had an occupational situation which allowed for half my time in Western North Carolina to be spent alone, giving me the opportunity to do what I do best when I am companion-less and free....................wander. And as I have stated before, I had one of the best backyards imaginable to wander through for years. My solo adventures that concluded this year with a stint on The Island, followed by some rather foolish endeavors in West By God, began many years ago in the form of endless roaming through the WNC forests, solo paddles on the Class III classics (I sucked at kayaking back then), and a never ending thirst to experience the mountains of the great Balsam Range and Hot Springs and its surrounding peaks. I also spent plenty of time wandering the hidden Unicoi Range lining the Nolichucky Rivah, which is very remote for that area. I hiked the Toxaway Rivah at low water (Class V+ hike), became extremely lost in the Jocassee for two days, and scouted hidden cricks that I longed to one day run (Tanasee in Pisgah fellas. Check it out. It looked sick when I hiked it and it is still almost never run. Daniel undersells it in the following link............Tanasee Creek AW Link)  I snow hiked the highest peaks of the Balsams area, above Graveyard Fields, searching for the deepest forest trails I could find, crunching through waste deep drifts past Shining Rock and Cold Mountain. I explored hidden waterfalls, discovered epic panoramic views of the Pink Beds, Balsams and Green Rivah Gorge from outcroppings I bush pushed my way to and hiked the dark evergreen forests of Dupont, long before The Hunger Games ever came to town. These were the escapades my heart told me to pursue, and the solo aspect of the journeys are what defined my character. These were all unique adventures that I now cherish and consider myself lucky to have had the opportunity to experience ...................so why do I call myself "The Epic Worthlessness that is Man"? It is simple. Nothing I just listed means jack shit in modern day society. In fact, it is all nothing more than a complete waste of time in the eyes of the modern day man (which would be a woman).


“Man is the cruelest animal.”                       
                                  ~Nietzsche~

   The nomadic character traits that I cherished about myself were constantly fueled by the mountains and explorations of WNC. The environment was ideal for those character traits. The town of Hot Springs was my home away from home, and The Shack was the place I frequently found myself while in the hills surrounding the French Broad. The Shack was an exquisite illustration of everything a guide cabin should be. It was a three bedroom, one story house across the street and down the mountain from the USA Raft outpost. There were always six guides there, all living in co-ed bliss. It was hidden well, deep in the forest where custys never knew of its existence............which was a VERY good thing. The shack was a pile of shit, and the activities that we all partook in while there would not have been suitable for the eyes of the general public.........ironically those times usually involved Moonshine, guns, or that magical little weed we have heard so much about recently in the news. There were holes in the floor, leaks in the roof, and constant erosion problems from the fact it was built on the side of a mountain. Despite all these character flaws, it had just that..................character. Leave it to a handfull of guides and kayakers to take that rotting piece of rubble and turn it into a cozy mountainside cabin ideal for extensive safety talks, continuous consumption of Tennessee Moonshine, and a general sense of rivah guide apathy. It contained a wood stove, a warm den with lots of couch space, and a true sense of community...........it was even decorated with pretty pink curtains. There was a screen porch on the back next to a babbling mountain stream. For many summers, a fellow guide named Jed (not Tennessee Jed) lived on that porch, content to fall asleep to the sounds of pattering rain on the tin roof, winds whipping through the forest, and a gurgling stream just outside. I loved The Shack. It was a quiet escape from the outside world, and for rivah guides, it would always be a friendly home.


"This kayaker species certainly has its idiosyncrasies, but what becomes evident very quickly is that they are also some of the most passionate people alive. They have reverent relationships with the natural places on our planet, and that passion for life and nature is only magnified in their relationships with people around them. In a world focused on material success and social standing, these free-spirited beings live life fully in the present moment."

~Ashley Woodring~

   It was in The Shack on a rainy spring evening following a long, wet day of training, that I quietly witnessed the perfection of a "paddling community" and the whitewater lifestyle that bonds us all. On this day, the core guide group returned to The Shack seeking warmth, dryness, and comfort, as well as the afternoon safety session needed to re-cap the days events on a high water French Broad. Our head instructor was a local legend named Glenn.  Glenn fit the profile of a rugged old guide who had spent many summers pushin' rubber through the rivahs of WNC and beyond. He had a short, grey ponytail, leathery tan skin that was weathered from his sixty years of life, and a never ending smile and chipper attitude that made anyone around him elated. Glenn was also a genius rivah instructor and had a remarkable way of looking at swift water problems with a unique perspective that no one else could envision. I learned more from Glenn in one week of training than I have my entire career running whitewater..............most importantly, I have never met anyone in the last decade that loved what they did more than Glenn. He truly represented everything that whitewater should be.
   We stoked the fire as the rain poured down outside The Shack, and the light faded into night, laughing at the never ending rivah stories that spilled from the mouths of veteran guides, and enjoying our hidden little existence deep in the hills of Madison County. After the safety meeting had finished, activities started to flourish in The Shack. Myself and a fellow guide had undertaken a fierce game of chess that we had been planning throughout the day. (and by planning I mean talking shit) The girls of the house had offered to make dinner for everyone and were in the kitchen working diligently. Another guide sat on the couch with his girlfriend, strumming his banjo while softly singing bluegrass. Two more guides were glued to the TV, transfixed on the classic paddle porn "Southern Fried Creekin" as it played silently on the 20 year old television with an original Nintendo resting on top (and you better believe there were some epic battles of Mike Tyson's Punch-Out.)  Another guide lay in the hammock that had been strung across the room, comfortably reading a guidebook about classic WNC whitewater. You could not have asked for a more cozy, friendly, or comforting setting.
   My attention broke away from the intense game of chess that was at hand so that I could refill the beers for myself and the rest of the room. I went to the kitchen fridge, stocked up, and when I returned, Glenn stopped me in the doorway. He gazed out into the room, observing the peaceful sight. Then he looked at me and said, "Do you see this. Remember this moment Justin. This is why we paddle. This is why we love this life..........because of moments like these. In all my years of paddling I have learned to always cherish the simple moments like this one." I stood there for a moment, thinking about what he just said. It was a small, insignificant moment in time, but for some reason I will always remember it. Glenn was right. That moment was as close to perfection as a paddler could get ...............exhausted from a day of big water, warm and cozy deep in the mountains, surrounded by friends and fellow paddlers, quietly listening to the rain and bluegrass, hopeful that the cricks would rise. It was perfect.


"The song of the river ends not at her banks, but in the hearts of those who have loved her."
                                                              ~Buffalo Joe~

   Why do I tell this story now?............................the answer is simple. The scene on that rainy evening was so authentic, and so profound. It didn't require money to create................everyone in the room was a rivah guide so we were all dirt poor or completely broke. It didn't require the luxuries of modern man..............we were deep in the mountains protected by a leaky shack drinking PBR and cooking cheap spaghetti while being warmed by a wood stove. It didn't even require us to be boating..........although Big Laurel and Brush Crick were on the rise just down the road. It only required a love for a lifestyle that for some reason is so hard to hold onto as we grow older and move on to a more complicated life. There is one thing about that scene that always resonates in my mind.....................happiness. Everyone in that room was happy, if even for just that one night.
   There are a lot of young paddlers throughout RVA who are definitely not a fan of myself or The Island Chronicles..........gee, I wonder why? Sometimes I find myself writing this story more for them than for anyone else.........which is rather ironic. Scenes like the one I just described seem to be easily overlooked these days, because the world moves so damn fast now. They are also scenes that are becoming more and more rare to stumble upon, because they just don't happen as much.  There are many lessons for the younger crowd of RVA to take from The Island Chronicles. One day you guys will have ownership over your own decade of whitewater history and experience, maybe more, and the pressures of 'real' life will be bearing down on you. The Island Chronicles are here to teach you what is ahead. If there is one thing about our lifestyle that is an unfortunate truth, it is that it does not mix well with modern society. We chase the rain and weather, camp out on the sides of roads, and literally simplify our existence down to transportation, food and water, skill, gear, and a boat. As the world becomes more complicated, our sport remains simple, producing generation after generation of dirt bag nomads. One day you will fall in love, get married, and have children. These are wonderful things, but they are things that require you to sacrifice something in your heart that you cherish...................the pure and simple life of a paddler. I learned that lesson far too late, and just couldn't let go in time. Because of that I lost it all.

“If a man cannot understand the beauty of life, it is probably because life never understood the beauty in him.”
                                                    ~Criss Jami~


   The stories from WNC are endless, and I could tell them forever. There are many people that keep reading The Island Chronicles waiting for the train wreck story that is inevitably going to reveal itself. They don't seem to care about what is being written at the moment, despite the fact they continue to read it...............I cannot stress how pathetically sad that is. These stories are the reason we do what we do and love what we love. Listen to them, and take something positive from them. No one else seems to be capable of telling them, although I know my stories are nothing more than a representation of stories that every paddler holds close to their hearts. There are lessons embedded in every story I write, and they are lessons that every paddler will one day face. Yes, I can be blunt, brutal, and just plain mean.............but that is not who I truly am, and anyone who knows me well, knows that is a fact........even the haters. That is just the style in which I present this story...............blunt, cold, and to the point. But it also contains compassion, pain, love, understanding, adventure, sympathy, sadness, and the ability to admit when I am wrong. It is exactly what we all are....................human.


 “Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.” 

                            ~Voltaire~

   I truly led a double life year after year while living in the hills outside Brevard.  The contrasting lives were in constant battle with one another, but that battle existed within myself. I consistently balanced the domestication and dandelions with the boofs and bong hits. The Flower Pickin' Gentleman was always there to comfort Marcelle, be a functional member of society, and lead a life of perfection...........but The Epic Worthlessness that is Man was there as well. He was quietly waiting for his chance to style Boxcar Falls, stomp out another lap on the Narrows, and boof into Tennessee the Hard Way (if you are a paddler reading this you better know which rapid I am referring to, otherwise you need to stop calling yourself a paddler). My experiences living in WNC are one of the reasons I struggled to connect with the RVA paddling scene. Things in RVA are different, and they always have been. The competition that surrounds the rivah does not exist within ourselves......it exists against one another, and it always has. I do not know why, and I am passed attempting to figure it out............but whatever it is that is missing, breaks my heart and takes away from our rivah..........it takes away from our home.
   Neither one of the lives I have related to you were a perfect fit for Marcelle and I, and because of that our relationship was a constant give and take............however, every once in a while we would find a small place between the two lives that we were able to hold onto, even if only for an afternoon. It was in that space that Marcelle and I were able to find true perfection, and were able to meet each other in the middle. It was in that space that we were truly in love................we just never found a way to remain there. We never found a way to forget about the outside world. I miss that space..........I always will.



“To say that one waits a lifetime for his soul mate to come around is a paradox. People eventually get sick of waiting, take a chance on someone, and by the art of commitment become soul mates, which takes a lifetime to perfect.”
                                                             ~Criss Jami, Venus in Arms~

See ya on the rivah...............hopefully discovering that space we never stop searching for.   PEACE



To see what it is like when that space between is found, click here........The Space Between  
 

Round 5: The Story (The Good Life)

"You can't change past history.  But, you can change the future's history by cleansing your soul today.  Forget, forgive, and love passionately."

                                                                    ~Majdi Rabah~

   In the Fall of 2005 Western North Carolina became our home.........and yes, it truly was home for me.  From the moment I arrived I knew that the decision was the right decision.  We lived southwest of Asheville, between the towns of Brevard, Hendersonville, and Etowah.  Marcelle and I found a nice little cabin on the side of a mountain tucked away between Dupont State Forest and Pisgah National Forest.  Our landlords lived on the top of the mountain and had a small pottery studio in a rustic barn close to our home.  It truly was heaven.  If you left our home and crossed the road, you could walk into the wilderness and continue straight for nearly 75 miles without coming across anything but National Forest.  We were surrounded by endless rivahs, waterfalls, mountain biking trails, hiking trails, The Art Loeb, The Balsams, Bent Creek, white squirrels (yes, they are white), Looking Glass Rock, The Pink Beds, bears, and every beautiful landscape you could ever imagine seeing in the mountains of WNC.  The Class III section of the Davidson was a five minute drive from the house.  If you took a walk down our country road, you were greeted by a friendly bull grazing in a sprawling mountain valley.  Our surroundings held a lifetime of adventure and beauty..........adventures and beauty that I was excited to share with the only woman I ever loved.


“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”
~Franz Kafka~

I chose this quote after careful consideration.  If you had X'd out the outside world, all the people, the family bull shit, the Fourteenth Street Whore, my job, and every other distraction of life, I truly believe that there were moments when Marcelle and I were as close to perfect as two people could ever be together.  

  We knew no one, did not have jobs or job prospects when we left RVA, and only had a limited amount of money, but Marcelle and I were confident, and we believed that we could be successful in this paradise.  Within a few weeks we both had jobs and were both on our way to settling into our new home.  I took a job as a Case Manager for a small Mental Health Agency and was able to travel throughout the mountains from school to school working with at-risk youth in the classroom, at home, and in the community, as well as communicating with agencies to help develop these children into successful adults. (as well as developing their parents into successful parents)  Marcelle took a government job with an organization that has since been dissolved.  She worked as a Wilderness Field Instructor for Camp Woodson, a program which took adjudicated youth out of the juvenile detention centers and placed them in a thirty day rehabilitation program through outdoor therapy. This meant that Marcelle would be on trail weekly for anywhere between three and ten days, away from home the entire time.  This schedule is one of the original roots to the downfall of our marriage more than seven years later, but I will come back to that.  We were proud of our accomplishments because we were spending our lives helping others, in a place that we were both quickly growing to love.
   Throughout the first Fall, Winter, and Spring our weekends were spent doing exactly what we had come there to do.........explore the mountains.  We went on hiking trips, tromping through the snow and ice almost every weekend.  We explored the small towns of the area, paddled some, but mostly we spent time with each other.  We never even really met our "Asheville friends" until the following Spring, because we really didn't feel the need to seek out others...........we had each other.


"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead."
                                                                                   ~Oscar Wilde~ 

   Marcelle loved to garden, and for those of you who know her family or have been to their home, you know why.  Marcelle grew up in a home that had a garden bigger than their house.  Gardening was important to her, and because of this, it was important to me.  So throughout the winter, I built her a garden next to our cabin.  I know what you are thinking..........how hard can it be to build a garden?  Well, in Western North Carolina it is pretty damn hard, because nothing is flat.  I spent the entire Winter and Spring cutting trees from deep in the woods and dragging them up the mountain to create a stair step garden dug into the side of the hills.  Everything I used was natural, and the only pieces of equipment used were a shovel and hand saw.  I built brick steps and a patio, and had multiple raised beds that produced flowers and veggies that looked as though they had been grown on steroids.  (I wish I had pictures of our garden, home, etc.  I hate to call Marcelle out here, but I have to.  When we were separated, Marcelle took all the photos of our past...........all of them.  I was left with only the photo archives in my computer, but a month after we separated my computer was stolen out of my car and I lost every picture I ever had from my past.  I spent months begging Marcelle for pictures, but never received any.  Every memory I ever had of Ashville now exists in my mind and my heart, and I was heartbroken when I lost all the pics.  I now understand why people grab their photo albums as their house burns down around them.  Nothing is more precious than the memories we hold...........anywho, back to the story)  When the garden was completed, it was bad ass!  It is one of the things I am most proud of about my marriage to Marcelle, because it was built out of love.  See, I am not much of a romantic, at least according to her.  She wanted love letters, unique and creative gestures that swept her off her feet, homemade Christmas and Birthday presents that took weeks to make, etc., etc., etc.  Instead, I did the only things I knew to do to be romantic.  During the first year of our time in WNC, I would buy her flowers every Friday at the little Farmers Market on my way home from work.  I did this every week.  In doing so, I learned something..........you can't do the same thing every week to show a woman how much you love them.  If you do, then what was once special becomes expectation.  I hate to say it, but chivalry in our society is dead.................and I have no doubt that women are the ones who killed it. (Chappelle)  If any woman reading this has a problem with what I just wrote, by all means, let me know, because I would LOVE to debate it with you.  Most likely, the only ones who have the balls (pun intended) to argue this one with me are the exact same women who killed chivalry in the first place.  Try appreciating things that are done for you, as opposed to bitching about the things that are not.  You may stop being so pissed off all the time..........my point is this.  The garden was my way of demonstrating to Marcelle how much I loved her.  I don't think she ever realized that, and that really hurt, but I still loved what I had built, because above all else, I had built it for her.


“His attentive treatment of her had nothing to do with the presumption that she was weak, and everything to do with the conviction that she was valuable.”
                                                                            ~Angela N. Blount~

That one is just for you Celle, and it is TRUTH.

   As Spring approached, our itch for whitewater grew and it was time to push some rubber.  We applied with USA Raft for guiding positions, and were hired by a really great guy named Nick.......plus, our addition to any rafting company was a no brainer.  We came with a good amount of experience, were a two for one deal, were both good people with great personalities, and fit in well with all the dirt bag boaters of the area.  It was the first time we had sought out a social circle in the community, and we found a good one.
   We trained on the French Broad and Nolichucky Rivahs, and because we had already been through plenty of whitewater training's and situations together already, we both stood out at the top of the class.........this made our jobs MUCH easier.  When you become a guide in WNC, your rookie season is spent paying your dues.  Rafting customers are broken down into three groups.    Camps (which are given to the rookies), groups of friends and companies, and families and business team building.  The rookies get all the camps for a certain reason..........they never tip and are usually full of shitty children who never listen.  The French Broad took it one step further however, because they had daily trips for the ADHD camp..........yes, we spent our days taking boats full of ADHD kids down whitewater rivahs.  (this is the hardest job I have ever had)  I was proud of myself because I only threw four children in the rivah on purpose throughout the entire summer..........but I did mistakenly refer to a child as a boy for an entire trip, only to find out afterwards that he was in fact a girl.  (I still feel bad about that)  The counselors even painted her fingernails so people would know she was a girl, but I just thought he was weird.  (As I said, I still feel bad about this)  I bring up this one particular camper because he/she was in fact the most difficult customer I have ever had in a boat (besides the one time I had to guide a midget, but I will get to that later).  When the little girl (who I thought was a boy) got into the boat she was off the chain and needed a serious dose of Adderall.........I take that back.  She probably needed something much stronger.  She seemed excited about the trip, but when we entered the first rapid she fell out immediately..........the first rapid is easy Class II.  By the fourth rapid she had fallen out three times and was now freakin' out in the boat making it impossible for me to continue the trip.  Our trip leader was an older guide named Marshall who was one of the hardest rivah guides I have ever come across.  He approached the boat and asked me what was wrong.  I explained the situation and then waited for my TL to respond with a solution.  He looked around the boat, paused for a moment, and then gave me the best solution I have ever heard from a TL.............He said very calmly and non-nonchalantly, "stick her in the guide hole under your feet, keep your foot on her so she doesn't come out again, and let's go dude!".......................this is why I love River Guides.  No time for bull shit, no time for excuses.  Marshall was my boss, so I did what any good employee would do.........listened to him.  I stuffed her in the corner of the guide hole and rested my foot on her and continued my trip.  I am proud to say that I have now guided a whitewater rivah with a kicking and screaming ADHD child under my foot while directing five other ADHD kids to safety.........if a man can do this then he can do almost anything.  


"I'd have a longer attention span if so many things weren't so shiny."
                                                        ~Me, and it's the truth.  Damn you shiny stuff~


   Once the rookies had enough of the ADHD camps they either quite (like all Team WAV kids would do), or they were promoted to the classier customers.  Marcelle and I were NOT quitters.  By the second half of our first summer we no longer needed to deal with the camps, kids, and bull shit.  Instead we were selected for smaller more personalized trips full of smiling families, great businesses with cool bosses that scheduled raft trips for their employees, and retired vacationers with too much money.  The biggest benefit to this was tips...........I once received a $500.00 tip from a boat full of Texas oil tycoons..............but then I pissed off Marcelle by spending half of it on beer and pot for all my fellow guides.............which made me very, very popular.  :)  The other added benefit to being promoted was that our boats were full of interesting people from all over the country who appreciated history, good ole' fashioned rivah stories, quality conversations, and peaceful quiet moments to soak up the glorious scenery that surrounded us every moment of every day.  
   Marcelle and I were very good guides...........I am proud to say that this was because of our experiences guiding low water trips on the James for the previous three seasons.  Buzz once forced me to guide a six person boat at 3.6 feet on the James.  All six participants were at least 250 pounds.  This is next to impossible.  The experience included them demonstrating their laziness to the point that I purposely drove the boat far left at Hollywood, trying to launch over the pin rocks with a 1500 pound boat.  This resulted in our raft going airborne and a forty five minute rescue mission of fat people floating down the James.  One of them even refused to get back in my boat........fine with me.  Less weight for me to deal with.  (Lou witnessed this entire incident, so you can ask him for an in depth description)  The point is, three seasons of low water guiding on The James will make you a very good rubber pusher.
   Both Marcelle and I became very respected by our fellow guides and began to thoroughly enjoy our time together on the rivah.  Additionally, it gave us more options on WNC paddling trips with friends, as well as advancing our knowledge and comfort level on our own expeditions.  I have taken a lot of rivah trips with a lot of people, but my two favorite paddling partners were and always will be Marcelle and Marlow.  I loved being deep in a gorge with that feisty and beautiful girl, and I will always cherish and miss those experiences.
   I, along with the rest of the world, am ADHD, so we shall continue this journey later on.  (I just got tired of writing.  I bet the little boy (I mean girl) that I stepped on would understand)  I have a million stories to be told from the rivah, and I want to tell them all, so be patient if you enjoy reading.  The ending will arrive at some point, but there will be many more tales of whitewater woes and excitement before we get there.  Fact is, I just love to write, even if I am not the best at it..........and to all the haters who only read in search of the gossip, I can't express this enough..........GO AWAY!  Happy Holidays everyone.  Be careful this weekend with the weather, although I am calling it right now.........no snow or ice for RVA, just shitty cold rain. That is why my ass will be in West By God, hopefully with a boat, some cross country skis, and nothing but time! 


"There's no such thing as bad weather, just soft people."

                                              ~Bill Bowerman~


That last quote is TRUTH.  Toughen up RVA!  See ya on the rivah..............hopefully without your foot on an ADHD little boy.......I mean girl.   PEACE



To keep reading the adventure, click here...........................The Healthy Double Life   

Round 5: The Story (Breakin' out for WNC)

“You can love someone so much...But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.”
                                                               ~John Green~

     After Marcelle and I experienced our James Rivah flood stage rafting run (not sure the James has ever been rafted higher than 15 feet), I developed a new appreciation for our relationship and started picturing a future where I wasn't alone.  I had never considered a future that was spent with someone else by my side, and doing so changed my perspective on everything.  Marcelle went out and took control of the world, and was determined to get everything she could out of life, regardless of what challenges stood in her way.  Her will to succeed was attractive to me, and when combined with her stubbornness, determination, and take no prisoners attitude, she was one tough cookie.  I was happy that I was on her side of the fence, because Marcelle was not someone I wanted to stand in the way of.  She would have taken me out and then moved right on without thinking twice about it..................which seems to have happened anyway.
   Marcelle graduated in the Spring of 2004 and used her graduation money to apply for a post graduate program with Outward Bound.  She would be spending the entire summer in the mountains of Western North Carolina, with a majority of the time coming on trail training for a career in Wilderness Leadership.  I was going to miss her, but had my own summer planned guiding the James and working as the Director of Waterfront Operations for the Geara Woods Group.  Both of us were now pursuing our dreams, and we had the support of each other to strengthen our determination.
   Marcelle spent her summer completely drenched..............the summer of 2004 was a very wet summer in WNC, even more so than this past summer.  For all the boaters reading this, the North Fork of the French Broad ran for three months straight that summer, which is unheard of.  Marcelle and I wrote letters to each other, and every time I heard from her I remember her always saying, "Justin, you would not believe how much it rains here."...............hmmmmmm.  Non stop rain, six thousand foot mountains, and some of the most epic whitewater runs on the East Coast.  Yea, I knew where my future was taking me.


“We have to allow ourselves to be loved by the people who really love us, the people who really matter. Too much of the time, we are blinded by our own pursuits of people to love us, people that don't even matter, while all that time we waste and the people who do love us have to stand on the sidewalk and watch us beg in the streets! It's time to put an end to this. It's time for us to let ourselves be loved.”
                                                ~C. Joybell C.~

This is a powerful quote, with powerful truth.  If only I had found this quote long ago when the Fourteenth Street Whore entered my life.  

   The summer passed by and Marcelle returned home to RVA and Charlottesville, full of adventurous stories and a wealth of outdoor knowledge.................as well as a new found love for open boating.  I had spent my summer on the James, meeting new people, watching the community continue to grow, and advancing my whitewater knowledge and skills, both in a raft and a kayak.  I had become a strong part of the RVA boating community, but was reluctant to call the James and the people in the community home.  I was happy to have had Marcelle by my side, and to not have been sucked into the social train wreck that was beginning to take shape in the boating community, even ten years ago.  People cheated, were sneaky, and were manipulative.  Most of the girls in the boating community slept around, even if they had boyfriends.  Unfortunately a lot of the boaters who led the charge in this social dynamic still attempt to lead things today, and the lack of values, morals, and ethics continue to exist today, only at a much greater rate. (and yes, I am being a hypocrite, because eventually I fell into the trap as well)  Some created an environment that fuels this social dynamic, from opening bars to building the take out and so on.  The goal of the boating community was quickly becoming an escape from growing up and moving on with life.  Now you have 30+ year olds who are still partying with college girls and are still the exact same people they were ten years ago..................and unfortunately that brings with it some serious adult drama.  Drug Abuse, unfaithfulness, alcoholism, accusations of rape, accusations of money laundering through non-profit organizations (yea Jeff, I am referring to your bull shit accusations), bull shit high school like clicks of boaters, unsafe river practices, and people like the Fat Bastard seeing a way to take advantage of it all, etc., etc., etc.............this wasn't what adulthood was supposed to be.  In my mind, it was Marcelle and her independence and confidence to think for herself that represented adulthood to me, and I was excited that my kayaking career would be spent with her by my side, exploring the rivers and whitewater of the East Coast.  We would grow together as boaters, and would explore rivah after rivah, gorge after gorge, and would spend our life pursuing our love for the outdoors.  We would take our children down those rivahs, and escape the bull shit to create a life together on the rivah.  We would be the couple that passes by young boaters 30 years from now, still paddling and living the dream.  We would be the boaters that the youngsters would say, "I hope I have that one day.  I hope that I can find love on the rivah one day and experience it for my entire life."


“The biggest adventure you can ever take is to live the life of your dreams.”
~Oprah Winfrey~

   (I'm quoting Oprah just for you Marcelle)  Throughout the remainder of the year, she and I worked together at the Y while putting together a plan for the next chapter of our lives.  We had made the choice to pursue our dreams of the outdoor life, and we would do it together.  Neither of us had "real life" commitments holding us back, and the fact that we were following the dream together made it that much better, plus we were both ready to move on from Richmond and the developing scene.  Our destination was split between Durango, Colorado and Asheville, NC.  We visited Asheville during the year and began to look around.  Marcelle, having spent the past summer in and around the area, took the lead.  We decided together that Asheville was a great place to live, so we began planning our move the following year.
   The remainder of 2004 and 2005 were happy days for me.  I spent them falling in love with Marcelle.  I loved to spend time with her.  She made me feel safe, allowed me to believe in myself, and most importantly she made me feel loved.  I miss that the most about Marcelle..........the fact that she made me feel loved.  We had great times on the rivah for the entire year, worked as counselors and outdoor instructors for the Y, drove short buses together (long story, but one of my favorite memories of our times in RVA), and spent every moment we could together.


"There are two sorts of romantics:  those who love, and those who love the adventure of loving."

~Lesley Blanch~

   During the wintertime we spent our weekends living the paddling life, going to parties and hanging with the RVA paddling crew.  One of my favorite nights I ever spent in RVA with Marcelle happened on a cold January night.  Ben, Hunter, Matt, and a few other boys all lived together in an apartment on Monument Ave during that time.  On a night of one of their many parties, it snowed in RVA, resulting in a massive snowball fight between all the boaters in the streets of Monument Ave.  Marcelle lived in the fan, and after the party, she and I walked home together, late at night, as the snow fell around us.  I don't know why, but the memories of that walk are so clear in my mind.  I was happy to be with her, happy to share the experience with her, and happy that I found someone that I could truly love, and who truly loved me.
   When the summer of 2005 arrived, Marcelle and I ran private rafting trips for the YMCA through the RWC with insurance coverage from AW. (were there enough abbreviations in there for ya!)  I was proud of this project because it was the first time I had run my own outdoor program, and I created, managed, organized it myself.  Every Friday for the entire summer I led groups of YMCA teenagers down the rivah, and the experience for them and me was unique.  Most importantly, Marcelle worked as a guide, and I loved sharing with her the success that I had found in outdoor recreation.  We grew up together that summer, and as summer neared its end I knew I was ready to embark on the next chapter of my life.  At the end of the summer we found a beautiful little cabin in the mountains of Brevard, North Carolina.  We spent all of August traveling to Asheville, moving our lives, and creating a new home.........together.  I was so proud of Marcelle, our decisions, and our courage to break out and follow our dreams.   At the end of August 2005, Marcelle and I left RVA for the mountains of WNC, with a few thousand dollars, no set jobs, our boats, cars, and each other.  That was all we needed........each other.  Stay tuned, because the happiest days of my life are just ahead.


"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
                                                        ~Lao Tzu~

Enjoy the rivah.........hopefully water is on the way.  PEACE


Continue the story here...........................The Life   


 

Round 5: The Story (Fifteen Foot Rookie Runs)

“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my ship.” 
                            ~Louisa May Alcott~



   ..........to review.  It's February 2004, the rivah is sitting around 15 feet or about 60,000cfs, and an extremely determined and overly confident group of young paddlers are ready to tackle the mighty James at flood.  We put in at the Huguenot Bridge, which is the farthest point up the rivah any boater would put in for a whitewater paddle.  The first drop in the rivah, aside from Boshers Dam, is the Williams, or Z Dam just upstream of Pony Pasture.  The last significant whitewater in this section (and on the entire James for that matter) is at the 14th Street Bridge.  This section encompasses every drop of the RVA section of the James.  The group of kayakers, which included Zizza, Hunter, Ben, Matt, I think the little leprechaun, maybe Rand, and a few others I can't remember, all in kayaks, were looking to surf the rivah left side of Z Dam.  Marcelle and I were R-2ing a raft.  R-2ing is a team oriented way to paddle and there is no guide. It is well known among raft guides that there are many couples whose R-2 experiences have almost ended in break up, divorce, or only one of the two coming back from the trip.  (usually the woman)  R-2ing is not a popular way of paddling among couples.  Funny part about it was, Marcelle and I loved to R-2 together and we were able to always get along doing it.  Usually when couples paddle together and both are guides, there is one to many cooks in the kitchen...........but she and I were always smooth as silk.  
   It was an overcast winter day for paddling, and since we were late into winter, the rivah was bone chilling cold.  The high flows had turned the mighty James into a debris filled mess of chocolate milk, foam, brush, and logs.  We met up with a large group of paddlers and put on just upstream of the Huguenot Bridge.  Putting on at Huguenot is always nerve racking because your brain is trained to know if you are that high up the rivah then it is flooded and it is going to be a big day.  The Upper James at flood is surprisingly easy, even at super high water.  The rapids are for the most part washed out and everything turns into fast moving tongues of brown, and big, splashy waves through wide lines.  However, remember that whitewater is 70% psychological, so it took me six or seven years to learn the Upper James is perfectly safe at flood stage.  On this day, Marcelle and I were clueless rookies who just wanted to prove our toughness on the James.
   The Upper trip was only about twenty minutes long, and was for the most part uneventful, except for Z Dam.  As Marcelle and I approached the wave, we waited to drop in down the horizon line, but the wave kept getting bigger and bigger.  Eventually we heaved up over the massive wall of water, landing side ways and almost flipping in the out flow.  It is funny to think of that day as rookies because these days I would surf that wave in my kayak without even thinking about it, and it is a nice, smooth, friendly wave.  Ten years ago the wave seemed twenty feet high.  It is funny how whitewater gets smaller the further into your career you go.  Yet another part of the psychological component.  


“There are no facts, only interpretations.”
              ~Friedrich Nietzsche~

  As we approached the takeout for the upper, located at 42nd Street and Reedy creek, a smaller group of boaters began talking about running the Lower.  The Lower James at fifteen feet is, as stated from summer posts, massive, Class V whitewater, full of dangerous Dam drops, huge holes, and large piles of debris, some of which are located in bad spots.  The usual suspects in kayaks were ready for the undertaking, and the rafters started discussing a team for the expedition.  Marcelle and I looked at each other and I remember thinking, "whatever she decides.........I'm with her."  She asked my opinion, and I said "let's go for it.".  Our friend Dwayne, as well as Brian, were ready for the challenge as well.  We switched out people and gear to form one raft of Lower pioneers and set off with the kayakers for the mountains of water headed our way. 
   We approached the Lower section from the far rivah left side just above Hollywood cemetery to line up for a safe slot over the first dam named Grummans, knowing we would be pushed straight into Cemetery, a formidable name for a rapid.  It's name derives from the fact that Hollywood Cemetery overlooks the rapid, not because that is where it takes you if you screw up.  It is funny to re-tell this story because my mindset on the James is so different today.  Cemetery at fifteen feet in a kayak is big, but more than doable, and this is something I have learned over the years.  Cemetery in a raft at flood stage is massive for some reason, and some would say it is tougher than Hollywood.  (all the haters just hated) Looking at the story today is a very different mind set than thinking about the story when it happened.  I was a dumb ass rookie who thought I was the shit, and needed to be humbled.  Once I was humbled over the past decade, I became a much wiser paddler, approached the rivah differently, and everything began to slow down.  Then the environment became more controlled, and my mind was able to work situations out better.............now if I can just apply this to life.


"Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known."
                                                                        ~A. A. Milne~

   On this day however, our mind set was to charge as hard as possible and prove our worth in the whitewater world.  We entered the top of Cemetery without problem, which was good, because once we entered the rapid the water was going to take us where it wanted to go, regardless of what we did to stop it..  I remember thinking before we made the run that it was going to be similar to the Gauley..........I was wrong.  Cemetery at fifteen feet was much, much bigger, more powerful, and because the shore line is hundreds of yards away with 100 times the amount of debris filled, icy cold water raging around you, it is much more intimidating. We hit our line, but all of us were thrown from side to side in the raft as we charged wave after wave, hammering down rivah, just trying to get a paddle in the water.  The kayakers around us were battling their own lines, and Ben dumped sideways over a pour over hole in his boat, and began to window shade.  Window shading is exactly what it sounds like.  A boater loses control and dumps over a drop sideways, becoming caught in a hole.  When this happens, the backwash of the hole begins to roll the kayak over and over and over, like a window shade rolling up, until the boater either swims or regains control.  As we passed Ben's small debacle, Dwayne reached his paddle out of the raft and attempted to hook Ben out of the hole.  I don't remember if this worked, but it was a hell of a move to attempt.  Eventually Ben washed out and the group slipped through the jaws of Cemetery still intact........................however the most difficult lied just downstream.
   I have explained in previous posts that the bottom of the James, throughout the middle lines and around The Island contains the largest of our cities whitewater, along with Hollywood.  The dams, slots, islands strainers, and debris throughout these lines are what make up the heart of urban whitewater in this country, as well as plenty of hazards.  The best post to re read for an in depth description of the environment our group was about to enter is "Week 6:  Bring on the Floods".      
   We approached the lower drops of the James within five minutes of entering the torrent of water.  The rivah was moving so fast that had there been a swim at Cemetery, I am not sure we would have made it to shore before the next set of rapids..........but we had made it this far, and I had made it with Marcelle by my side.  She was a bad ass, no doubt.  Our plan was to cut through X's in the middle of the rivah, and continue working right until we reached the Southside takeout next to the Southern States Silos.  This route allowed us to hopefully avoid the most dangerous whitewater, however, a large dam and Second Break rapid stood between us and freedom.  
   We shot through X's with no issues and started working further right, preparing to set up for Second Break, the next rapid and the biggest of the day for us..  However, the James has a funny way of hiding her best secrets for only those high water adventure seekers.  Below the Manchester Bridge rests the stone pillars from the original bridge.  The bridge has been re-built many times, and a history of pillars can be seen throughout the rivah bed.  Some have fallen over, some are broken and decaying, and some still stand upright.  These pillars are normally a simple flat water float, but at high water, they begin to cause obstructions and un-for-seen holes.  Below these pillars there is a dam cutting diagonally upstream across the rivah toward the city.  At high water this dam becomes a deadly pour over spanning the entire rivah, and the only way out is to shoot Second Break through a 30 foot wide slot.  Pouring over the dam in a raft would be almost certainly a fatal mistake at fifteen feet.  If the dam did not swallow you up in the backwash at it's base, then you would be forced to swim 300 yards of large Class IV whitewater in freezing cold water full of debris.  Our goal was to avoid any of this from happening.  


“Do one thing every day that scares you.”
~Eleanor Roosevelt~

   As we approached the pillars we noticed a dip ahead of us in the rivah, but our attention was being paid to the entrance of Second Break downstream.  Marcelle and I were in the front of the boat, Brian sat behind Marcelle, and Dwayne was guiding.  The small dip snuck up on us in seconds, and when I looked down into the hole I knew we were in big trouble.  The hole was deep, very deep.  It was so deep in fact that I remember a dark shadow in the bottom of it.  Marcelle always described it as a mouth, because the crashing wave in front of the hole folded back on us like a giant mouth eating the raft..................the entire boat went airborne, and we didn't stand a chance.  Before I knew it I was under water, and the cold took my breath away.  Before I even surfaced I remember thinking................"Holy shit!  The dam is just downstream."  The kayakers had all worked right to line up Second Break and all they could do was watch, because we were headed straight where we didn't want to be, all swimming, gasping for air, holding onto an upside down raft.........we were screwed.
   The force of the water pushing downstream gave us about twenty to thirty seconds before we dumped over the worst part of the dam, followed by more flood stage whitewater.  In those twenty seconds however, perfection was witnessed within intense circumstances.  Four guides, all well trained, had a drastic situation which we had trained for many times over..........flip drills.  Rafts flip, and when they do they must be flipped back.  Usually this happens in a pool below a rapid, but we are experienced to do it in any environment.  I reached the raft first and immediately climbed up on top.  Dwayne followed right behind me, and Brian saw that he should position himself below the raft to push it up and over.  Rafts are not easy to flip, and we had one chance at it.  Dwayne and I stood up and hooked our paddles into the bail holes on the bottom of the floor.  We leaned back, grabbing our paddles and pulling hard.  Our momentum began to flip the raft over and we fell into the water, forcing the boat over within a matter of seconds.  Brian and Marcelle were below the raft, and their push forced it over on the first shot.  We all found ourselves back underwater momentarily, but now we had an upright raft.  Within seconds I hopped back in and began to grab Dwayne.  Once he was in I turned and saw Brian............................but no Marcelle.  The dam was now within ten seconds of us.  "Where the fuck is Celle!", I yelled.  Brian scurried around to the back of the boat and found her hanging to the outside, hiding behind the tube.  For a few seconds though, she was gone, and it made my stomach drop.  Brian helped whip Marcelle back in the boat and we began to re-organize.  Second Break now lay too far right.  We were not going to make it, and we were headed for the inevitable.........dropping over the dam at fifteen feet.  As it approached I looked to Dwayne and Brian for leadership.  They both looked a bit concerned about the unfolding situation.  
   Many boaters remember the giant log that used to straddle the dam above and to the left of Second Break.  In 2004, the log was there, and we were headed toward it.  As we approached, we realized the base of the log was forming a small eddy that acted as a landing pool for dropping over the dam.  The obvious line was to drop the dam just downstream of the log, using the eddy to avoid the backwash of the dam.  We began to drop, and as we did, we reached forward, grasping the eddy with our paddles, and digging through the aerated water for leverage to push the raft out of the hole, and avoid the deadly backwash we were doomed to be caught in......................it worked, and the eddy allowed us to escape our nightmare.  The log had saved us, and we were somehow below the dam, in an upright boat, with all paddlers accounted for.  


"With every mistake, we must surely be learning.” 
                                ~George Harrison~


   The irony of this story rests in the log which saved our lives.  The log washed off the dam sometime in the later half of the decade.  On my third day on The Island an exploration to the Western Tip brought me to a debris field.  At the top of the debris field rest the same log that had saved our lives that day.  I confirmed this with Dwayne, who agreed that it was the same log.  I find it ironic and bittersweet that our saviors final resting place was on The Island.  Every evening I would hike to the top of the Western Tip, and watch the sunset while sitting on the log...............and every evening I thought about Marcelle and that day on the James.
   After dropping over the dam we found ourselves weaving in and out of holes and pour overs, traversing our way down the south side of The Island............yes, we traveled right next to The Island a decade ago, on what is still one of the more intense days I have ever had on the rivah.  Little did I know that I would return to that same place a decade later, this time without Marcelle by my side.  Within minutes we were at the takeout, shivering, deer eyed, scared, and happy to be alive.  The entire adventure was over before it even dawned on us what had happened.  45 minutes, top to bottom, and we survived.
   I do not tell this story because it is yet another whitewater adventure in my life..................there have been many of those to tell.  I tell it because it is the day I fell in love with Marcelle.  The feeling I felt when I turned around and didn't see her in the boat was a feeling I had never felt before.  She had always been there, right beside me, all year long, and then for a moment she was gone, and it scared me.  I knew after that moment how important Marcelle was to me.  I no longer just watched my own back.................I watched hers as well.  Marcelle and I had explored the whitewater world for an entire year, stuck next to each other through thick and thin, and the loyalty showed at that moment.  I loved her, and I wanted to grow old with her.............and I wanted to spend my entire life on endless adventures with the one true love I ever had.......................this rivah haunts me with memories.     
   
   
“And who understands? Not me, because if I did I would forgive it all.”
                                           ~Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls~

See ya on the rivah...................once the rains come back.


Click here to continue the adventure.................................Breakin' out for WNC