Round 5: The Story (The Space Between)

“A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her.”
                                                        ~Oscar Wilde~



  Life #3 - The Space Between. Marcelle and I led two very different lifestyles while living outside of Brevard, but our interests, our way of life, and our passion for the outdoors were always comparable. However, we demonstrated that passion in our own, unique way. Remember, during the times that The Epic Worthlessness that is Man was engaging in the multiple shenanigans that accompanied the lifestyle, Marcelle was living her own dream even deeper in the vast wilderness of WNC. Her days were spent on trail dealing with the hoods of the woods, dodging falling branches while stuck deep in the forest during the epic WNC ice storms that seemed to only hit while she was on trail, and testing her wealth of classroom knowledge with students she grew to love and admire. I was always proud of Marcelle's accomplishments in WNC, and was always supportive of the career she had chosen, regardless of the fact that it took a majority of time away from our relationship..................remember what I just said.
   The space that existed between our two lives is where Marcelle and I would always find a way into one another's heart, and the adventures that were produced in that space were always epic. We tested each other to a far greater degree than we ever tested ourselves. We moved to Brevard in 2005 and both of us had spent the years prior to the move, building ourselves into top physical form through multiple nights of premier league soccer, weekends pushing rubber on the low water James (which will make you very strong, much-more-so than any high water summer will), and the constant challenge of pushing each other to be that much more complete. Marcelle and I had spent a lifetime playing a very high level of soccer, and we both had a fierce competitive streak within us. When we moved to Brevard, our fitness level combined with our fiery competitive streaks forced us to not only push each other in the adventures we chose, but also prevented either of us from backing down to the challenges of the other.................this mentality also produced a very intense relationship to be built between the two of us, but at times I question if it also tore us apart.
   

“Real learning comes about when the competitive spirit has ceased.”
~Jiddu Krishnamurti~


  There are once again hundreds of stories that could be told to exemplify this consistent competition that existed, but it was when we saw things eye to eye that we were always at our best. I stated in a previous post that Marcelle and I were a good hire for USA Raft because we came as a two for one deal. This was very important to our manager, because on weekends when Marcelle was off trail we were able to travel to Hot Springs together to make some extra cash guiding. Any rafting manager will tell you, it is a tremendous benefit to be able to make one phone call and secure two highly qualified raft guides at once for a trip. Due to this set up, it was not long before Marcelle and I were being selected for the top trips of the day, and we were selected for those trips by the top trip leaders of the company. One of those leaders was a man named T.J., and in all my years of guiding, paddling, and traveling, T.J. was probably the most colorful character to ever cross my path.
   When I first met T.J. he seemed to be a quiet, down to earth, veteran rivah guide in his mid 40's. He was a big man, standing around 6 foot 3, with a grey goatee and a Sean Connery style profile. He spent a solid 20 years guiding the Upper G during Gauley season, and possessed the stories to back that experience. He was knowledgeable on and off the rivah, an outstanding leader, and he loved to guide with Marcelle and I. We always secured private, three boat trips full of the kind of custy's that loved to tip. Seniority allowed T.J. to always have first dibs on trips, so he always chose the best. He also had first dibs on guides, in which he also chose the best, Marcelle and I. (yes, my ego is speaking. If I am sitting in the guide hole of a raft, it always will. I know what I do well) Our trips ran smooth as butter, every time. The key to a rivah trip is to push quickly and smoothly down rivah, all the while keeping custy's entertained so they don't notice the pace they are moving. Rookies have a habit of being slow, sticking their boats in the rocks, pinning, and sometimes flipping, producing a yard sale through every rapid......................in short, rookies suck, and slow trips down. I would always run the lead boat to set a pace, Marcelle would follow right behind me, and T.J. would bring up the rear in order to sweep up any carnage that we left behind. (which only happened when we wanted it to happen) This set up produced a record setting pace to our trips, allowing us to flip doubles on a daily basis and rake in some serious weekend cash. Marcelle, T.J. and I became experts at how to get it done quickly, smoothly, and we always left our custy's with smiles on their faces!
   You are probably asking yourself why T.J. was the most colorful character to ever cross my path during my whitewater adventures. Well, like me, T.J. possessed the complexity of his own double life. On one side, T.J. was as hardcore as they came, flipping boats on the rapids of the Gauley, partaking in late night moonshine fiasco's, and leading the next generation of dirt bag kayakers through endless whitewater adventures. On the other side, however, T.J. possessed a unique quality to his life that very few people ever have the courage to explore.
   T.J. owned the largest nightclub in Asheville, a three story boarded up mansion named Scandals. From the outside, you would have never known the spot contained some of the wildest debauchery this side of the French Broad. But once you entered, you were perplexed by the contents of this hidden fortress of seduction and depravity. Scandals drew every kind of party seeking miscreant hidden in WNC. Be it gay or straight, black or white, drag or authentic, everyone who entered Scandals was walking into a kaleidoscope of culture and alternative lifestyle. T.J. was a smart business man and knew that hiring employees from the drag and gay communities was not a wise idea considering the activities that commenced at the club. As T.J. put it, "Queens are full of too much drama." Due to this, the driving security force of Scandals consisted of out of work rivah guides and dirt bag kayaking bums. This was a genius business move on T.J.'s part, and led to very little trouble in the club.
   It was how T.J. came to own this kingdom of corruption that makes him so colorful. In the late eighties and throughout the nineties, T.J. traveled the world as one of the most famous Drag Queens of his era...........his name was Aurora Borealis.
   

Aurora Borealis during the height of his career in 1995

    

   Yes everyone, the picture above is a man, and not only that, it is a hard ass rivah guide who didn't fuck around when it came to pushin' rubber or keeping custy's in line. The first time I attended a night out at Scandals, I passed by a trophy case full of history of Aurora Borealis and his "days on the road". While looking over the contents of the case, I remember coming across the picture above, and not knowing who or what it was, turned to Marcelle and stated in a drunken stupor, "Look at her. She's hot."..................Marcelle went years without letting me live that one down, but in all honesty, how could I have known. The transformation is remarkable.


“It's a sort of piss-take on culture, because a drag queen is a clown - a parody of our society. It's a sarcastic spoof on culture, which allows us to laugh at ourselves - but in a way that is inclusive of everyone.”
                                                               ~RuPaul~

   Marcelle and I were not frequent visitors of Scandals. Not only did we live in the stix, but we also remained very diverse in our activities and travels during our days in WNC, so a night at Scandals was usually a planned date that included dinner in "the city" followed by the midnight show at the club. Marcelle loved Scandals and was always excited to see a show. It says a lot about a relationship when your date nights include drag shows. Because of our connection with the club, we were always invited to the VIP Lounge and Scandals always made sure we were shown a good time. (In re-reading that last sentence I realize it could mean a variety of things..........don't let your imaginations get the best of you. The VIP Lounge and Champagne Room are NOT the same thing, especially in the Drag Club.)
   I loved taking Marcelle to the shows because she loved the environment, and seeing her happy made me happy. I will never forget the one night my drag club experience got the best of me though. Marcelle and I and a few other friends were partaking in a rather wild night of shots before a midnight show that featured a Drag King. This was a concept that was new to me. A Drag King is exactly what you think it is...........a woman dressed up as a man. When she appeared on stage it was obvious that she had nailed the look.............black leather jacket, sideburns, and an over the top rugged manner that she flaunted to the colorfully divergent crowd. However, after a few minutes on stage I noticed that the featured king was returning to perform for Marcelle again and again, and the look that she/he was giving my girlfriend and future wife was not one that was making me feel inordinately pleased . You have to understand how confusing this was for me................I didn't know if I was supposed to kick his ass or encourage the charade in the hope that I could witness something undoubtedly unique. I mean, what is a man supposed to do when a drag king starts scoping out his own girlfriend. The situation was distressingly uncomfortable for me, so I retreated to the VIP room for a safety talk with one of the security guards and fellow boaters. For the remainder of the evening, I kept a very close eye on that cunning little miscreant, and made sure whenever she was close to Marcelle, so was I. I learned an important lesson that night that I carry with me to this day.....................if something seems a bit askew, it most likely is, so whatever you do trust in your own instincts and don't ever trust a Drag King. They just cross too many lines of peculiar irregularity for me..................but I was walking a fine line on this night. How would I ever explain to anyone that I was justified in engaging in a brawl with a woman dressed up as a man because he/she was propositioning my girlfriend? I couldn't. I just had to deal with it. I think that night scarred me for life.  

“Morals are nothing but a civilized society’s attempt to tame the beast called man.”
                                                 ~Mokokoma Mokhonoana~

   The late night experiences produced by Marcelle and I were small potatoes compared to the experiences we engaged in throughout the backwoods of WNC.  We utilized the time between 2005 and 2008 well, and immersed ourselves into the growing outdoor culture of the area.  In the Fall of 2005, after we first arrived in the Asheville area, we attended The Green Race.  For those of you who do not boat, The Green Race is the most revered competition in whitewater kayaking and the greatest show in sports.  Many accounts have been written describing The Green Race, so I will steal from others to explain this day in a nutshell................

  "No doubt the single most famous, most respected, and most competitive creek race on the planet, the annual Green Race remains a fabulous and homespun little affair held each Fall on the steepest section of Western North Carolina's Green River Narrows. Local boaters train here for much of the year due to the reliable flows, and people come from literally around the world to compete. More than five hundred friends and family members either hike or paddle in to watch and cheer on every racer, scattering themselves along the river's boulders and bedrock near the photogenic signature rapid called Gorilla -- a.k.a. "The Monkey" -- heart and soul of the entire run.
   Looming larger than life in any paddler's mind, the Green Race is -- save for a few individuals -- largely not about winning. It's more about having clean lines and a safe run, making a personal best time, beating (or losing to) a friend by a few seconds, and simply participating in such a unique event and the fine community that surrounds it all. And yet to date, in eighteen years, with perhaps several thousand people having navigated and portaged themselves down the Green in total, only 539 people have ever entered the race."
                                                          ~John Pilson~

**** Follow this link for a more detailed explanation of The Green Race.****

   The Green Race is special for any true kayaker, regardless of whether or not you have ever raced.   If you have attended or competed in the race then you know why.  It is a magical day, set in a magical place. However, in recent years, The Green Race has been infected by the same plague that infects the RVA boating community, or most any boating community for that matter..............the ignorance of the masses.  The sport of kayaking is growing, and unfortunately the increase in numbers brings an increase in stupidity.  These days the gorge is overcrowded on race day with spectators tearing down the mountainside, destroying the vegetation and trails as they descend into the gorge.  Worse yet, the race is quickly developing a reputation of being the greatest 'shit show' on earth, with many boaters entering the affair who are not skilled enough to race.  This small example on race day demonstrates a larger problem as a whole for the sport of kayaking............boaters running things they are not ready to run.  The competition aspect of the RVA paddling scene perpetuates this problem, creating scenes like the infamous Dumb Ass on the Log.................my conclusion.  Kayaking was never meant to become popular.  Its cloistered existence among extreme sports is what gives it so much charm.  As the numbers increase, the magic that makes our sport what it is will begin to fade............I can only hope that my theory here is wrong.

   Due to this problem, our attendance at The Green Race in 2005 now holds a special place in my heart.  Marcelle and I hiked into the gorge early on the morning of the race, and spent the day exploring the rapids of the Monster Mile, watching boater after boater descend the rivah that I idolized at the time.  I never thought I would become good enough to descend that rivah, but in 2007 I would prove myself wrong. 

   2005 was still early enough to allow the charm, homegrown feel, and originality of The Green Race to shine, and I soaked up every minute of the day.  My favorite paddler, Tommy Hilleke, a six time Green Race champion, won his last race of his career on that day, and I sat with Marcelle next to Gorilla, watching him boof into history.  Everything about the day was captivating...............the people, the forest, the rapids, the boaters, the community, and the archaic existence it still held.  I was proud that I was able to experience it with Marcelle, and was able to see the tail end of "the good ole days."  She and I truly loved the experience, and there is no one else in the world that I would have wanted to experience it with.  We returned to the race in 2006 but witnessed a scene that had changed entirely.  The crowds were thicker, the boaters were less skilled, and the feel of the day was just not there.  I swore after that day that I would never attend a Green Race again, content to hold the memory of the 2005 race forever in my heart. 

“Time ripens all things; no man is born wise.”
                      ~Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra~   

   The space between our two lives contained endless adventures that were only shared by Marcelle and I, and would have never meant so much if they hadn't been experienced together. We once hiked 27 miles of the Black Mountain Crest Trail and the nightmarish side trail in 24 hours, which included camping in consistent 60 mile per hour winds throughout the night, a 3.5 mile climb that changed in elevation by a little under 4000 feet, massive blow downs that we had to climb over and crawl through, and every conceivable weather pattern possible within a 24 hour period. I still remember to this day I have never felt weakness in my legs like I did on the final mile of that hike. T, the dog, literally attempted to give up on us at times. He simply sat under a tree in the pouring rain refusing to move..........and he was one tough dog. We traversed from the bottom of The Big East Fork to the top of Shining Rock in record time, climbing about 3500 feet in 3 miles. However, we did end up lost in the woods at one point, so we had to hike further than anticipated. That climb was one of the toughest hikes I have ever made, but the experience of reaching the top with Marcelle was triumphant. I paddled the Upper Green with Marcelle, watching her style Bayless Boof in a 10.5 foot Occee Canoe, and then carried the damn thing half a mile up the mountain after the run. I was determined to see her drop that rapid, and the pride I had at the time was unmatched. My girlfriend was a bad ass, but was also the sweetest, most caring woman I had or have ever met. Again, whether looking at it back then or today, there is no one I would have rather experienced any of these successes with, and I hold no regrets. It was on top of those ridge lines, deep in the gorges, and under those stars that I found my soul mate, and it was there that I discovered the love of my life.
   What happened to Marcelle and I in the end is in no way short of a tragedy, a tragedy that I induced. We created moments of perfection during our time together, and it is those moments I will always hold close to my heart. The perfection of those moments did not exist anymore so then when we found each other in the space between our two lives. As I write this story I continue to learn more and more about myself, and continue to understand why it is that this had to happen. The next few posts are going to be turning a corner, and there is some true heartbreak just around that corner. It saddens me to come to the end of this post, because the stories I have written lately contain some of the happiest times of my life...............not because we were young, wild, and free, and not because we were tearing through the backwoods of the WNC outdoor scene, but because we did it all with one another by our side, and we did it all together.

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”
                                        ~Dr. Seuss~

   Damn, that one is hard to swallow. See ya on the rivah..............hopefully finding the reality of your dreams.         PEACE


To continue the adventure, click here..................The Defining Year  

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 (Living the Healthy Double Life)

“To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter...... to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird's nest or a wildflower in spring - these are some of the rewards of the simple life. ”
                                                                               ~John Burroughs~

   I love small towns.  I love everything about them.  I love the fact that in a small town you can still walk to the corner market and buy a cup of coffee, homemade blueberry yogurt, and a newspaper, and know that you will see someone you know and like.  I also love the mountains.  I love everything about them.  I love the fact that whitewater needs the mountains to exist (RVA is an anomaly).  I love the fact that the wilderness occupies the heart of every mountain range in the world.  And I love that mountains create the perfect setting for small towns..................Hot Springs, North Carolina is one of those perfect little towns.  

   Marcelle and I lived one hour south of Hot Springs, and traveling from Brevard to the small town allows you to experience a slow progression of separation from the world that we all know.  By the time you reach the small bridge crossing the French Broad and enter "downtown", it is hard to even remember what worries you had just an hour before.  Hot Springs is hidden deep in the mountains.  So deep in fact, The Appalachian Trail travels right down main street through the center of town.  The whitewater section (Section IX) of The French Broad ends as the rivah enters town, and when you're there it feels like someone hid the time as well.  Everyone slows down a bit, and everyone seems to be just a bit more relaxed.  The town only has one bar, and in that bar years of drunken raft customers have bought their rivah guides a beer to show their appreciation for a job well done, and years of intoxicated raft guides have spent their customers tips in search of a reason to stay "just one more season."  It is the give and take of the rivah life.  Spring Creek flows directly past the bar.  If one were so inclined on a rainy day, they could drive to the top of the mountain, slide their boat into the headwaters of Spring Creek, and kayak down miles of beautiful, deeply hidden Class III-IV crick lines, before arriving at the bar for an evening cocktail to celebrate the days discoveries.  Just paddle up to shore, hop out of your boat, walk ten feet, and enter the bar.  It is a trip I highly recommend.  No worries on how to get back to your car.  It will be figured out......at some point.  Until then, just hang in town with friends, or crash at the local raft shop.  You MUST traverse 30 minutes of mountains from any direction to enter the town, and slowly curving down the mountainside reveals a picturesque small town scene that can only be found when one goes looking for the escape.  I love Hot Springs, and I miss it every day.     

   In the Spring of 2006 Marcelle and I became weekend warriors to the town of Hot Springs.  It became one of our escapes and ways to seek adventure.  Hot Springs is located in the middle of Pisgah National Forest, so there are endless camping opportunities throughout the area.  Exiting town and climbing the mountain heading west brings you to a crest known as Mill Ridge.  The forest service road to Mill Ridge takes you to a nice open camping spot deep in the forest that Celle and I frequented.  We would drive up to the raft shop on Saturday morning, run trips on the French Broad, then hang out in Hot Springs and camp on Mill Ridge, then run more trips Sunday, then drive home to Brevard Sunday evening to re-enter domestication.  The evenings I spent with Marcelle on Mill Ridge are a small piece of time that made this part of my life beautiful.  Marcelle made a campsite a home, and she made every experience a better experience. 


“The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. And that’s what you’ve given me. That’s what I’d hoped to give you forever.” 
                                                           ~Nicholas Sparks~

Forever never happened.

    If you keep climbing up the mountains beyond Spring Creek you top out at a place called Max Patch.  In the winter this area is fully exposed to the western flat lands of Tennessee, and the snow piles up on the mountain top.  It is a great place to find an epic snow adventure, complete with off-roading through 2 foot drifts, mysteriously quiet hikes through snow encrusted evergreens, and sprawling 360 degree views of the Smokies, Northern Balsams, French Broad Valley, and the Black Mountains.  Marcelle and I headed to Max Patch for some great snow hiking when the weather allowed for it.  Max Patch was always one of our favorite spots to go, and if you are ever near Hot Springs I highly recommended a drive up the mountain.  I spent days with her simply strolling through some of the most beautiful snow landscapes I have ever seen, rolling down the hillside with our dog T, and simply enjoying the fact that we were able to share something together that was unique and magical.  I forget sometimes how lucky we were to be living the life that we lived.


"You will leave this world with exactly what you came with.  Nothing.  Enjoy memories.  Not materials."
                                                                                       ~Austin Carlile~

    In a previous post a mentioned that the schedule that Marcelle's job demanded was the first ripple to a spiral of events.  Here is why, and this is important, so pay attention.  Men are not meant to be domesticated past a certain level, a level that we as men passed sometime in the late 1950's.  Our instincts tell us to seek out adventure, danger, and amongst all else, travel. (Any man that tells you different is lying.........or a little bitch)  We are nomads by design, so settling down for extended periods of time is tough.  Marcelle was a great partner in crime to have by my side throughout the days of WNC, but she somehow mixed that sense of adventure with an amazingly balanced side of domestication.  We would play house like a normal 20's something couple during the time she was off trail and home. (I mean, we gardened for God sakes)  I would go to work, come home and have dinner, spend time with friends, take walks,  etc., etc., etc.  Being a case manager allowed me to create my own schedule.  I had a client that needed attention early in the morning, so my day would start at 6am or so. (in WNC a 6am day in February requires exposure to single digits first thing in the morning.........which sucks.  I mention this because it is what I remember most about those early mornings)  By doing this I worked 10 or 12 hour days a lot and still made it home at a reasonable hour, giving me a good life of domestication throughout Marcelles "off trail" time, while still putting in a full work week in four days..............then Marcelle would go back on trail, not only drastically changing the other half of her life, but changing mine as well.  I would head to Hot Springs, not as a bachelor (because believe it or not at a time in my life I was faithful), but as the nomad that I described above.  Three days with nothing but a tent or friends, a kayak and mountain bike, some scheduled raft trips for tips in my pockets, and endless WNC adventures...............oh, there is one more extremely important thing.  Safety Meetings.  Marcelle was not down with the safety meetings and I respected that, so my safety time was also managed within my "double life"................I truly lived two separate lives, both of which when viewed individually were great lives to have, but mixed together became toxic over time.  This was a lesson that would not surface until we returned to RVA..............remember what I just said.

    In the Spring of 2006 I was at USA Raft shop on the French Broad and the owner was there checking in on things.  USA Rafting on the French Broad was a smaller outpost for the USA Raftng post on the Nolichucky, located one hour north in Tennessee.  The Nolichucky was a step up from the French Broad (which is a pretty easy rivah to guide or kayak.......but still a ton of fun), and when it had water it cranked out big rides for seven straight miles.  (There is a good story about the Nolichucky in the August section of The Island Chronicles)  The owner told me I should come up to Erwin and take on the Noli, so I agreed.  The following weekend I completed a blind check out and then ran a trip the next day.


"Avoid the precepts of those thinkers whose reasoning is not confirmed by experience."
                                                                                 ~Leonardo Da Vinci~

   The Nolichucky Outpost had a great private camp spot on the far side of the rivah just for guides to stay in and live.  There was a classic Noli guide named Tennessee Jed who lived in a van down by the rivah on the property.............he had been there so long the van had acquired satellite television.  Jed had a long beard, played harmonica on the rivah, and loved the Tennessee Volunteers.  He was a classic whitewater rivah legend, and he and Marcelle loved each other.  We called the outpost Ewok Village because it was hidden in a forest of giant trees, with tent platforms located throughout the mountain side.  It would be a great alternative to our Mill Ridge camp spot on the French Broad, and waking up under the trees with the rivah running in the distance was the perfect way to start a summer day of guiding.          

    Marcelle joined me on the Noli a few weeks after I had begun guiding there.  Guides can always bring people along on their trips when there is room (and we always make room), so Marcelle joined me for a commercial trip one weekend.  Early on in the trip a guide hurt himself traversing through "On The Rocks", the first larger rapid, and couldn't continue guiding.  Marcelle was already working for USA Raft at the time guiding the French Broad, so she utilized her skills and ran a truly "blind" check out trip through the gorge, saving the day for all.  Yet another reason I can overly glorify her a bit more and say she is a bad ass.


“I'm not going out of my way looking for devils; but I wouldn't step out of my path to let one go by.”
                                                                               ~Robert E. Howard~

   The first year on the rivah and living in WNC was great...................as an individual I was able to live both worlds.  Responsible Domestication and Reckless Bachelorhood...........and I found a way to do it in a systematic manner.  I was a good boyfriend.  Remember that our home in Brevard was located on the edge of Pisgah, next to a mountain range topping out at 6000 feet.  Marcelle worked nights when she spent time deep in those mountains.  If she had cell phone service she would call me, and sometimes I would go out and visit her.  I remember once visiting her between Graveyard Fields and Black Balsam (this is deep no where WNC at about 5000 feet).  It was the middle of the night and I had come to retrieve our dog T (who will receive a post all to himself later........and who was also the greatest boxer that ever walked the earth and whom worked on trail with Marcelle to protect and comfort her).  We used our cell phones and blinking lights to locate each other, and then spent fifteen minutes enjoying a quick and unique moment together.........I bring this story up because these are the kinds of experiences I remember that represented our life together..........unique times.........times between two people at one certain moment in life...........times that can never be duplicated or re-lived, no matter how hard you try.
   The days in WNC were colorful times lived in an environment of colorful people, endless whitewater, and a life focused on a richness of experience that overshadowed a thirst for monetary success..........so stay tuned if you enjoy the read.........because the stories only get better as the whitewater gets bigger!


“Why, darling, I don't live at all when I'm not with you.”
                              ~Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms~

See ya on the rivah..............waters coming up, so hopefully not on a log.   PEACE


To continue this adventure, click here..........................Complexity of the Double Life