Time to make some waves in RVA...............

“Man is not, by nature, deserving of all that he wants. When we think that we are automatically entitled to something, that is when we start walking all over others to get it.”
                                                                                          ~Criss Jami~

   Most boating communities exist within a certain region, and are surrounded by multiple whitewater rivahs in a mountainous or elevated terrain.  This makes perfect sense considering there are four essential elements that must consolidate in order to produce rapids in a rivah........rocks, water, gradient, and constriction.  If you are missing even one of those four elements then you are also missing whitewater.  Due to this mandatory combination, whitewater is rare.  It exists on less than five percent of all rivahs on earth.  It is even more unlikely to find whitewater in non-mountainous territories.  It does exist, but it takes a unique geological occurrence in order to produce rapids in a flat environment.  There is no better example of a non mountainous whitewater rivah than the James Rivah in Virginia.  Finally, it is extremely rare to find large volume quality whitewater within the middle of a major metropolitan area.  Given the explanation of the first two variables of this equation I trust that you can see why.  Given all of these factors, Richmond Virginia is the best example of high quality urban whitewater anywhere within the United States, and we truly do possess an extremely rare and unique natural gem.

   When you combine one whitewater rivah with a large population of people, it produces a rather sizable  and quickly expanding paddling community...........and as I have stated before, it produces a lot of cooks in one not so big kitchen.  Over the past five years or so one of the head chef's in that kitchen has consistently made a name for himself through exploiting his position of power in the community, failing in his role of social leadership at the takeout, and abusing his job as a responsible father in life..................yep.  I'm talking about The Fat Bastard of Fourteenth Street ..............................and it's about time for me to go there.  

"There are two circumstances that lead to arrogance: one is when you're wrong and you can't face it; the other is when you're right and nobody else can face it.”
                                                                                           ~Criss Jami~

Let's be clear about this quote.  I have been on BOTH sides of that fence.

   I am going to explain this as simply and as bluntly as possible.  Two weeks ago there was an incident at the put in of the rivah.  It involved The Fat Bastard and a very well known, very well liked young, local boater.  The incident resulted in the young boaters leg being severely broken in multiple places.  He is out of boating for the better part of a year, and it is an unfortunate tragedy that should have never happened.
   Many stories have been floating around the boating community about what happened that day, but I believe that every single person who knows of the incident is well aware of exactly what took place.  I have heard the stories that have been reported and passed through the community, and I have put my own logical conclusion together about what happened....................IN MY OPINION, The Fat Bastard of Fourteenth Street viciously and violently assaulted one of our most beloved fellow boaters, and he should be in jail for aggravated assault...........I doubt there are many who would disagree.
   The story of what happened that day is not mine to tell, and you will not be hearing about it in this post or any other piece of writing I may produce.  It's a story that will reveal itself over time and in the proper manner.  There are many haters out there reading this right now who are probably thinking, "Here comes the part where he tells us 'I told ya so.'"  That will not be coming either.  I may be an asshole, but I still have a heart.  Instead, the main thing you will be hearing from me today is an apology.
   My apology is to the entire RVA paddling community, and I am apologizing for failing to stop something from happening that I had the power to prevent.  Had I stuck to my own instincts and followed through with the assault charges filed against The Fat Bastard last summer, he would have thought twice about violently assaulting a fellow boater, and more importantly, hurting a friend.  I backed away from something that I knew was right, and as a result a good person was injured.  I didn't do it because I was intimidated by The Fat Bastard.  I did it because I felt guilty about making waves in the paddling community, and I did it because I truly felt sorry for that piece of shit at the time.........................oh how I regret that decision.  For my friends sake, I always will.
 

  “We go through the present blindfolded... Only later, when the blindfold is removed and we examine the past, do we realize what we've been through and understand what it means. ” 

                                                                                                 ~Milan Kundera~

   Perhaps that quote is really telling us to learn from our mistakes, because it is only after you try and fail that you learn to strive for what is in front of you rather than dwell on what lies behind you................trust me.  I learned that lesson the hard way.  I cannot fix my friends leg and I cannot stop The Fat Bastard from assaulting him, just like I can't put my family back together.  What's done is done............but I can learn from this.............I think we all can.  

   This is the part that is going to sting for some..............................I won't take full responsibility for what happened.  There are many, many boaters in this town who have spent years watching The Fat Bastard set a poor and reckless example for the younger generation of Whitewater Dirt Bags in and around RVA.  We have watched him at the put-in, openly getting  high and drunk after paddling, and then hopping in his car, with his son, and driving away, only to head to Legends, our local bar. Don't get me wrong.  I am all about the rivah life, but not at the expense of a child, and not while risking the safety of others.  We have all sat in Legends many times questioning why an eleven year old kid and his dad are "bonding" over a beer and a glass of cherries, before dad "innocently" drives them both home.  And we have all observed The Fat Bastard pimp his son's paddling abilities out to whomever will pay attention, desperately attempting to live vicariously through his son's natural abilities.  We are all guilty.  Many sat by and said, "I don't want to get involved.  It isn't my concern.  I just won't say anything and pretend it doesn't exist."......................I guess everyone's perception really is their own reality.

   Now one of our own is suffering, and the transgressor of the attack is walking free.......................why?  It is simple.  He did what The Fat Bastard has always done.......................he attempted to lie his way out of it.  Am I a hypocrite?................yep.  I had an affair and lied about it WELL past the point that I should have, to pretty much everyone in my life I cared about.  The only thing I can do to remedy that mistake now is accept it, take accountability, and move the fuck on.  But I never lied about my own encounter with The Fat Bastard.  I simply wrote what happened, taking responsibility for my own part in the encounter.  Did I provoke him by calling him out in front of his son?..............maybe.  But I never lied.  I told that story EXACTLY how it happened, and simply posted it and then let everyone come to their own conclusions.  

  But I know The Fat Bastard did what he works hard at to do so well.........he attempted to manipulate the paddling community into seeing him as the hero, and anyone in his way as the villain.  He questioned my veracity, all while politicking for everyone else to do the same.  And he made every attempt to disgrace my name as much as possible, using The Fourteenth Street Whore as his accomplice along the way.  (By the way, we will get back to that dirty little yakin' slut a little later on down the road.)  He worked hard to do all of this, all while I just kept writing and kept letting everyone come to their own conclusions and think what they wanted to think.  Believe what you want.  I didn't care last summer, and I don't care now..................but what I do care about is my friend, and the fact that he is and will be suffering for a long time because of the actions of this one man.


“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
                                                                      ~Edmund Burke~

I have used this quote before...........no one listened the first time.  Anyone listening now?

   The question is, where do we go from here?  There is light at the end of the tunnel and I am optimistic that the paddling community has begun to see the ways of their previous wrongs.  In my original post about The Fat Bastard, there were two points that I drove home in the hopes that change would come.  The first was the handicap parking sign being replaced at the takeout, and the second was The Fat Bastard being removed from the JROC Board.  Both of these problems have been remedied.  I am sure that The Island Chronicles had absolutely nothing to do with that....................coincidences happen all the time. (Can you see me rolling my eyes?  I refrained from posting my selfie with the handicap sign........it was tough.)  But regardless, I am very pleased to see change occurring.  The board members chosen for the next generation of JROC, although all loving that ride on the bandwagon, are wise choices. (I am sure that statement just surprised some................ and on a side note, Maxi-pad, I am going to disregard your bitch move at the put-in the other day.  Next time, man up and tell your friend hello.  If it happens again I'll call you out in person.  I know you.  You would hate that.)  These guys really care about The James..........maybe a little too much, but their passion is a great thing.  I believe the chosen team has the ability to do the right thing and make the correct choices.  The newly appointed fearless leader, my favorite little leprechaun, already stepped up to the plate when he stated that he would not, in any way, be associated with JROC if The Fat Bastard was involved............way to go little buddy!  Keep up the good work.  My only words of wisdom for the youngsters would be this...................

“There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.”
                                                                              ~Martin Luther King Jr.~

   It's a rivah........politics need not apply.  We have enough of that everywhere else around us.  Learn from past mistakes and make sure the ways of The Fat Bastard disappear with his reputation.  

   Finally, the most important point.............everyones favorite RVA boater.  He is the only one suffering in all this, and for what it is worth, I am truly sorry for not responding when I had the chance to prevent this.  You are one of the most gifted boaters I have ever had the privilege of paddling with and I am eager to witness your comeback, because I know it is going to be something special to watch.  Your best is yet to come, and this is nothing more than a small portage in that wild ass rivah of life.  You will be boofing stouts and styling lines again in no time.  Keep your head up, and know that an army of boaters and friends are behind you.........THAT, I am sure of.  

   “The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. I love the man that can smile in trouble, that can gather strength from distress and grow.”
                                                                                ~Thomas Paine~

See ya on the rivah........................and looking forward to a brighter future.  PEACE

There's a Dirt Bag in All of Us.....................

“There is nothing more beautiful than living a simple life in this complex universe!”
~Mehmet Murat ildan~

   I was recently hanging out with a friend and discussing the term "Dirt Bag Paddler".  I informed her that I was a big fan of the Dirt Bags and was looking forward to seeing the Dirt Bag world grow in 2014 and felt lucky to be involved with the project.  She laughed and then said she didn't think I fit the Dirt Bag profile because I wasn't an asshole...................Timeout!!!!    First of all, I am an asshole.  PERIOD.  I am just extremely sweet to her because she is one of the nicest people I have ever met........and because she has very pretty brown eyes........and I know she is reading this right now.  Second of all, it never dawned on me until that moment that the term "Dirt Bag" could be classified with the term "asshole" in some situations........well, in most situations.  And third, I had made a terrible mistake somewhere along the way and had failed to properly explain to my friend exactly what a true Dirt Bag Paddling Nomad was, and why the lifestyle and persona that it represented was in fact the exact opposite of an asshole............well, at least it's the opposite of an asshole most of the time..........maybe more like some of the time.  But the point is, we represent something more.  The Dirt Bag represents the pure TRUTH behind the paddling lifestyle.  So I will now attempt to clarify and define the lifestyle of a Dirt Bag Paddler through stories and guest commentary, because if one thing is for sure, it's that there's a Dirt Bag in all of us....................................


“A lady once offered me a mat, but as I had no room to spare within the house, nor time to spare within or without to shake it, I declined it, preferring to wipe my feet on the sod before my door. It is best to avoid the beginnings of evil.”
                                                              ~Henry David Thoreau~


   I will begin with a simple example of how a Dirt Bag paddler perceives and accomplishes daily tasks.  Today I went to my car and realized I needed to clean the snow and ice off of it before I could drive.  After searching for a scrapper for about 7 seconds in my homeless, dirt baggin', nomadic, cluttered shuttle vehicle, I realized that if I thought like a Dirt Bag Paddler the job could be accomplished much faster...........................guide stick and a poogie.  BOOM!  Two minutes later my car was cleaned off and I was good to go.  Think like a Dirt Bag and the world simplifies itself.  Later on that day I received feedback on a previous blog post.  In that post I explained that a veteran rivah guide almost never has a knife with them on the rivah and that is how you can identify them as a skilled and seasoned paddler.........along with duct tape and weather faded PFD's, and worn down paddle blades. (William Nealy explains it best)  I received some feedback that it was not appropriate to use the example of a seasoned guide with no knife, because at some point in a guides career they would need to cut a rope..........this is true because I have been in that situation before on the rivah......twice.  However, the river knife is always the piece of gear every poor Dirt Bag guide never wants to buy.  So after once again thinking like a Dirt Bag, I gave a valid reason through an absolutely true story from my past............................


   "Expert rivah guides use their knives to spread peanut butter on their lunch, open beer bottles, and fight rednecks. Eventually you realize you are never going to use the knife for it's intended purpose...............I found this out the day I needed to protect my friend from an irate, moonshine fueled hillbilly. When I went for my knife it became stuck in the holster due to the amount of peanut butter clogging it up. As a result my friend was forced to squeal like a pig.......it was tragic."

   It is important to remember that the tragedy came from my rivah knife being stuck in it's holster from peanut butter.  The damn thing was ruined...........my friend on the other hand needed a little toughening up.  He would recover..........well, maybe not emotionally, but shit happens.  More importantly, what about my emotional recovery process for having to witness such a horror.  That is where the focus should be here.  It is also important to remember that 90% of everything that comes out of a rivah guides mouth is usually complete and total bull shit.............but custy's all love us anyway.  Go figure!  After all, we make them think we saved their lives........especially the hot ones.
   I cannot lay claim to the creation of the Dirt Bag's.  I became a part of the debauchery through my writing.  The Godfather of the Dirt Bag's is a man deep in the hills of the Midwest.........yes, the Midwest, who goes by the name of Chicago..............in an unprecedented move, The Island Chronicles for the first time ever has asked someone else to write their own personal "history" about the creation of DBP............Dirt Bag Paddlers.  When I say "history", keep in mind that the DBP's are in their infancy stage.  The fun is just gettin' started!  Please welcome our first guest writer and Godfather of DBP as he explains "The History of the Dirt Bag Paddler"......................
 

    "The Dirt Bag Paddlers started with a bunch of us Kosir's Rapid Raft river guides in Northern Wisconsin in the summer of 2013. We had just had a crazy drunken batch of Chicago customers teach us how to 'Wallace'. Being crazy and drunken ourselves, we immediately took it to the river and applied it to our carnage terminology. Wallace: roughly based on the legendary shot-blocking skills of former NBA player Ben Wallace. There are many forms of Wallace to the Dirtbag. On the river, Wallaces are separated into Upwards Wallace, where the boat is flipped and dumps the entire crew; the Downward Wallace, where the swimmer(s) take an especially nasty deep swim; and the Baby Wallace, where you might find that the Dirtbag lost his or her seat, paddle, or maybe a custy or two... Off the river, Dirtbags are well known by their frequent slapping of beers and other precious articles (such as paperwork) from each other's hands. They take the same form as on the river, with the added caveat that one must properly declare the Wallace by yelling "Wallace" during the act. The Baby Wallace is a slight bump of the arm that results in slight spillage, kind of like a warning shot... "Hey Dirtbag, pay the fuck attention!"  And never cry or get pissed, watching your Wallaced drink soak into the earth! Grab that muthafukka and pound that shit out!!! Around the same time, three of us went on a private trip out to Pennsylvania to paddle the Yough and party up Ohiopyle, one of the great river towns in America. We took to calling ourselves Dirtbags on this trip, Wallacing beers all over the town, not showering for days, and basically just living out of our tents and paddling, really celebrating the river lifestyle. Thus the Dirt Bag Paddlers were born. 
   In the very beginning you could only be a Dirtbag by going on a mission with one of us... but that didn't last long. We started a Facebook page designed to make jokes and rep our style of living, figuring our audience would be our friends in Wisconsin that we paddled and worked with.  Next thing you know, we have a hundred likes! The original DBs started asking, "do you know these people?..........No."  We realized we were on to something. We went out to run the Upper Gauley in September for Gauley Fest, and our little network of friends made over years of paddling expanded overnight. We taught them the Wallace.  Suddenly river rats from all over America were liking our posts.  So we started thinking, let's get Admins from all over America to share stuff about THEIR rivers and experiences.  See, most river people don't get to travel too far from their home stretches, because most of us are poor Dirtbags! We thought, what a great way to learn about other places, make some new friends and plan some new missions... BOOM! It started to take off! The more we shared, the more we realized that our jokes and fun were the same as people we had never met before, from rivers we had never heard of... from all over the WORLD! And we came to see very quickly that our experiences paddling were also universal to us all. We knew The River had no borders, no language barrier, just ONE LOVE!  And of course, Wallace!  The Dirt Bag World was born!  DBP looks all over the globe for Admins to share their stories.  We've made friends from every region of The States and on every continent: Chile, Costa Rica, Peru, Indonesia, New Zealand, Bulgaria, Greece, the Philippines, Nepal, Iran, Kenya, Norway, Sweden, Ireland, Iceland, Canada...... and we continue to grow. Dirt Bag Paddlers are all about sharing with the world our celebration of The River, and the paddling lifestyle, as well as bringing together all types of people and cultures to the whitewater world. We are free out there.........free from the imaginary boundaries that try to separate us from each other. DBP represents raft guides, kayakers, outfitters, racers, photographers, writers... just like our people who like and share with us. We'll paddle all day with you, and smack your beer outta your hand afterwards cuz we love you. We're here to Wallace, and enjoy life to the fullest. Cheers!"

                                                                                                            ~Chicago~



   To repeat........."We took to calling ourselves Dirtbags on this trip, Wallacing beers all over the town, not showering for days, and basically just living out of our tents and paddling, really celebrating the river lifestyle. Thus the Dirt Bag Paddlers were born."............that pretty much sums it up.  I couldn't have written it better myself, and I am proud to call myself a Dirt Bag.  Thanks for the contribution Chicago and I look forward to working with you throughout the year.

“Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” 

                                                                                                      ~Anonymous~

   I know what you are thinking................How does that quote apply to Dirt Bags?  All they seem to want to do is paddle and WALLACE beers and refuse to grow up.  Well, in a way you would be right.  But DBP is about so much more.  It is about a certain unique lifestyle.  A lifestyle that values and recognizes the simplicity and true freedom of escaping the social confines of life.  Dropping off the grid for a few days, a few weeks, or even six months represents forward thinking in our modern and complex society.  We are a world that moves so fast we often forget to look around and appreciate our ability to live in the moment.  To be able to drop all of it and escape to a world that doesn't run on smart phones, tight schedules, coffee, and politics.  Dirt Baggin' breaks down life to its most simplistic form........Survive, Paddle, Live, Love.  Paddling adventures are true escapes from the world, whether it be for one afternoon, one week, or even a journey with no known destination or timeline................living the life of a true Dirt Bag Paddling Nomad is what our souls long for, and the adventures that are had during those times are what fill our hearts with life and love. These are the lessons I look forward to one day teaching my own sons, and these are the reasons there is a little bit of Dirt Bag in all of us.

"Every man dies, but not every man truly lives."      
                             ~William Wallace~


See ya on the rivah.................Dirt Baggin' my way through life.   WALLACE

  

Round 5: The Story (The Defining Year - Part I)

“The path to enlightenment, to find out who you truly are, has to be taken alone.”
                                                      ~Ghalib Shiraz Dhalla~

   2007 was a year that entered into my life very quietly.  I spent that New Years Eve alone in the small cabin I loved so dearly, deep in the forest outside Brevard.  Marcelle had traveled back to Charlottesville to spend time with her family, and I remember quietly watching the ball drop and listening to a driving rain storm commence outside.  The ironic part about the rain was that within minutes of the stroke of midnight, the deluge ceased, and the stars came out to welcome in the New Year.  It was a very symbolic entrance into the year that would inevitably define a large portion of my life.  

   Throughout the winter and early Spring, the separation of our two lives continued to broaden like a rivah, and I continued to allow The Epic Worthlessness that is Man to draw me away from Marcelle, and instead push me deeper into the wilds of WNC.  While she developed her career on trail with the beloved hoodlums of Camp Woodson, I embarked on increasingly difficult kayaking adventures.  The North Fork, Wilsons Crick, Watagua, The West Fork, play days at Hell Hole on The Ocoee, Section IV, the massive drops of The Little in Dupont (Well, the first two that is.  Screw that third one), cool down laps on the Davidson...............one by one I diligently checked off rivah after rivah as any aspiring boater does throughout their career.  With every new crick and rivah came the expansion of my skill level, feeding a never ending hunger for more sizable and more demanding whitewater puzzles.  I was a very prudent paddler, and my progress was slow and meticulous.  Early on in my career, during my first year in WNC, I attempted to charge forward, determined to reach the Class V level as hastily and recklessly as possible.  However, that mindset changed with a simple miscalculation on an easy Class III crick line one summer afternoon in 2005.  After accidentally flipping above a six foot ledge and being sent tumbling over the drop upside down, I landed head first directly on a rock slightly submerged under the water.  Without a helmet, the incident would have surely split my skull like a canoe.  However, my helmet safeguarded me properly, refocusing the impact to my rib cage as the full weight of my body and boat crunched my mid section like an accordion.  I was very lucky that the impact and the way I landed did not break my neck or damage my spine.  The incident did produce contusions in my ribs, resulting in a particularly painful paddle and hike out of the gorge, as well as a month long recovery.  This episode spooked me early in my paddling career, and the reckless abandonment that I had possessed throughout my days of soccer and first years of boating ceased.  I became an extremely cautious paddler, content to progress forward at my own pace.  The positive side to this set back was the ability to develop a love for the overall aspect of paddling.  I no longer focused on the adrenaline infused and glorified notion of whitewater, but instead directed my attention to the overall aspect of the beauty of the sport, eventually leading me to a love for whitewater photography.  Kayaking allows us the ability to enter other worlds, places that only our skill and determined mindset can take us to.  Sitting below drops deep within inaccessible gorges allows us the ability to appreciate an aspect of nature that cannot be found anywhere else.  The beauty and natural gifts that our sport delivers became the reason I loved to paddle.  To this day, I still never forget to sit in an eddy, take a deep breath, push the outside world far away from my consciousnesses, and appreciate the natural, untouched beauty of the rivah.  That is why I paddle, and that is why I will always cherish the sport of kayaking.

   

"It's not a far away exotic locale. It's just a moment we inhabit in an exotic way - a choice we make to live more playfully, to live more alive......"
                                                             ~Sandy Gingras~

  As the year progressed, the void between the two of us broadened even further, and I observed Marcelle continue to pull away, failing to properly communicate her feelings or thoughts about the future of our relationship.  My communication skills were less than perfect as well, however, I attempted to reach out to her in subtle ways, but that seemed to only push her away further.  Over the winter months, I helped her locate and purchase a $600.00 pop up camper in the hopes that we could pursue new and creative adventures, using the camper as a tool to bring us closer together.  Little did I know that Marcelle had alternative plans with her newly purchased prize.  In late Spring she came to me and announced that she was restless and worried that she was not prepared for the "domestication that we were inevitably falling into."  This came as a surprise to me, seeing that the Flower Pickin' Gentleman's life is what I thought she longed so much for.  In looking back on that time, I believe Marcelle didn't know what she wanted, and was making decisions based on her needs and not considering what was best for us both.  This irritated me considering I had always tried to put aside my own personal wants to do what was right for the commitment that I had made to her.  And so, in early May of that year, she decided that it was best for her to move out of the cabin and set up an alternative life on the grounds of her employer, living in the pop up with our dog T in the shadow of the Black Mountains, deep in the WNC wilderness..........................WTF?!?  Let's just say I was slightly confused by this decision.  She insisted that it was not because of me, but more an attempt to "find herself"..........again, WTF?!?  I was rather heartbroken, but Marcelle continued to do what was best for Marcelle, and before I knew it I was living alone, stuck with our bills, our responsibilities, and left worrying immensely about not only her safety, but her own mental stability.  I would wander out to her camp spot and visit her throughout the summer, trying my best to convince her to come home, but anyone who knows Marcelle knows she is the most stubborn pain in the ass that ever walked the face of the earth.  It was not long before I knew I would need to let her go about her life in her way, and simply wait for her to come to her senses.
   Many of my friends offered different advice for me, and in hindsight I should have listened to those friends.  The way they saw it, Marcelle didn't deserve to come back, and she had made a selfish decision that she would have to live with, because it was time for me to move on.  I had a quality job, good friends, an adventurous lifestyle, and the ability to make my way on my own in the world.  But I was heartbroken, and I missed her.  I decided to do what any true kayaker would do.........drown my sorrows on the rivah.  (not the best choice of words there)  So over the course of the summer of 2007 I truly stepped up my paddling abilities and utilized the time she had awarded me to fully immerse myself into the life of a dirt bag paddling nomad.  There were many weekdays that I was unable to find a paddling partner for these exploits (most people had normal job schedules), which limited my choices for places to paddle.  But when the weekend came, I would hit the Class IV-V world as hard as I could.  My weekday limits came as a result of two factors...........my safety on the rivah and the need for a shuttle vehicle.  I chose the places that I knew were safe.............Section IX of the French Broad (in which I could walk the train tracks back to the car), the Nantahala (which offers shuttle service for a modest $2.00 fee), and a one hour drive to Charlotte to experience the U.S. National Whitewater Center, which is an outstanding way for some relaxing solo paddling in a giant concrete ditch with constantly moving eddies and raft guides that steer their boats like a newly permitted teenage girl driving daddy's car............the whitewater at the park is the easy part.  It's everything else going on around the whitewater that will kill you.    


"The danger of venturing into uncharted waters is not nearly as dangerous as staying on shore, waiting for your boat to come in."
                                                       ~Charles F. Glassman~
   The Nantahala is an elementary, carefree, and incomparably cold rivah, and I used to thoroughly enjoy solo paddling it for a variety of reasons.  First, at the time I was living in WNC I sucked at kayaking, and the rivah was an easy and safe Class II(III) solo paddle.  Second, it's in a beautiful gorge with fun Class II rapids and plenty of people both on the rivah and on the banks to converse with.  However, it is also quite simple to escape the crowds and find a bit of rivah solitude when needed.  (safety meetings)  And third, the outfitters rent out duckies and rafts to clueless tourists without any knowledgeable guides. The tourists fumble and bounce down the rivah throughout the day, creating an epic amount of amusement for skilled paddlers to sit in hidden eddies and be entertained for hours by the carnage that ensues.  I have witnessed heroic fathers cluelessy attempt to navigate Nantahala Falls many times, only to narrowly escape drowning their entire families and securing the cold shoulder from their wives for at least the next week.
   On one particularly warm summer day in 2007 I sat in an eddy, enjoying the solitude of the rivah.  After a few minutes a line of colorfully clad kayaks came bouncing down the rapids.  The boats were led by an older man who was obviously an experienced kayaker.  His duct taped and faded PFD, worn down paddle blade, and lack of rivah knife is what gave him away as an expert boater. As I continued observing the unfolding scene I realized that each boat behind him had a miniature head peaking out of the cockpit, vigorously paddling and moving down the rivah with little to no control.  What I was witnessing was an NOC kayaking class for kids.  I sat and observed the scene for a while and then paddled behind them down the rivah to see how the group fared in the rapids.  All I could see were smiles on every kids face.  After taking the time to observe the joy, comradery, and skill being displayed, I came to a very eye opening revelation about my life.....................I wanted that!  I wanted to run a kayaking program.  I wanted to teach kids the joy and beauty of the sport I had come to love, and above all else, teach them the discipline and motivation that kayaking and the rivah bring to someones life.  For the first time ever, I knew exactly what I wanted, and I knew how I wanted to make my mark on the world.  At the time, I felt that Marcelle was slipping away forever, so I was searching for something new to fill that void in my life.  Teaching kayaking to the next generation was the lifestyle I would fill it with......................Stay tuned, because the second half of 2007 ends up taking a turn that no one saw coming, not even me.


“Most people want to be circled by safety, not by the unexpected. The unexpected can take you out. But the unexpected can also take you over and change your life. Put a heart in your body where a stone used to be.”
                                                    ~Ron Hall~

See ya on the rivah..........................hopefully discovering your own personal dream.  PEACE


To find out what turn it takes, click here..................................Part II   

The 2014 Island Chronicles Update

“Once we accept our limits, we go beyond them.”
                                            ~Albert Einstein~

   The Island Chronicles took some time off..............and I am sure a lot of you were thinking, "hell yea!  Now I can live in peace and just paddle."  Well, guess what?......................It's back.  Deal with it.  For the rest of you who did miss The IC, my apologies for the hiatus.  I needed a break............ from the story, from life, and from the train wreck that had been rolling along for about two years.............plus everything in the Northern Hemisphere seemed to be frozen solid for the past two months.  Living on The Island was, apart from having two wonderful boys, the coolest trip I have ever had the opportunity to experience, but unfortunately it was an experience that came at a cost.  Living on an Island and isolating yourself away from society does not help when it comes to being forced into a fight for your children.  In fact, it makes it pretty easy for those who want to portray you as "crazy" to make a pretty strong case.............I didn't care.  I just let everyone say what they wanted to say about the situation, and just continued to write what I felt needed to be written.......and I still don't care and do plan to continue to write what I feel needs to be written.
   So here we are, with a fresh paddling season upon us and a whole new set of adventures waiting to be had, new controversies to discuss, and a story waiting to be concluded.............with that being said, it is time to continue The Island Chronicles.  The story, the West By God adventures, and last but not least, my blunt and colorful opinion about a range of topics both in the RVA boating community and beyond. Why?...............why not?   After all, you're reading this now, which means you have nothing better to do with your time at the moment, so you may as well just enjoy it, learn from it, disagree with it, and take it for what it is worth.  Know what I mean?


  “Did perpetual happiness in the Garden of Eden maybe get so boring that eating the apple was justified?” 
                                          ~Chuck Palahniuk~


   Damn, that is one hell of a quality quote!  Just to update those who are either new to The IC or are not regular readers, this is not a normal blog.  Blogs suck!  PERIOD.  I despise them and do not read them.  In fact, if you go back and read the past posts in this blog, you will see that there are many things I do not agree with.  I use to let this bother me.  But now, I am pretty much indifferent to just about everything.  I will explain why that is later.  But by being indifferent, I can now continue the tradition of The IC with an entirely new and self amusing perspective.  
   It is important to know that this blog is an ongoing story.  It is written so you can either choose to read the story from the beginning, or just jump in and read a post here or there.  I do not write this blog for anyone other than myself, and I am perfectly fine with that approach.  If you don't like it, then don't read it.  I am cool with that.  I also follow one continuing philosophy.................perception is reality.  Every single one of us experience something different in life every moment of every day, so we all have our own reality based on our different perceptions of the world.  This is my perception.  If yours is different, ok.  I am cool with that. The question is, are you?


“Humans see what they want to see.”
                                              ~Rick Riordan~

   The Island Chronicles will still follow the same model, and will still be written with the same bluntness and controversial TRUTH that it has always been written with, however I will be writing from a new perspective.  Everyone who read this blog over the coarse of the last year probably said something like, "WOW!  Justin lost his damn mind.  Dude up and moved to an Island and said fuck it to society!  Now he is pissed off at everyone and doesn't seem to mind giving his opinion about, well, everything.".......................for those of you who did make that statement I have one thing to say...........Congratulations Captain Obvious!  Of course I lost my mind!  I had a meaningless affair with an 18 year old whore and threw away my family for nothing, and as a result had a scorned, pissed off, and very wealthy wife take everything from me (rightfully so) and then use my own children to seek revenge (NOT rightfully so)......................so yes everyone, I did lose my mind.  It's cool.  Hemingway said so.......................


"A man never knows who he truly is until he falls in love, gets in a fight, and loses his mind at least once in life."
                                              ~Ernest Hemingway~


   Looks like I am three for three.................I guess that means I know who I am now.  (and on a side note, my fighting experience came from my college days, not from The Fat Bastard.  That wasn't a fight.  That was just pathetic...........but we will get back to The Fat Bastard a little later, trust me on that)  It is important to note that The Island Chronicles are unique.  Most people lose their minds, find them, and then sit down and write what happened after all is said and done and their lives become boring and mundane again.  However, for those of you who followed this story from the beginning or caught up at some point over the past year, the perspective was different.  This story actually played out through the course of a complete life breakdown..........basically, I found a creative and colorful way to lose my shit, say fuck it, and then tell the world what I didn't like about it while I had everyone's attention as the crazy dude living on The Island.  I sat down recently and re-read The IC from the beginning, and one thing is for sure.................I lost my shit, but had one hell of a fun and adventurous time doing it.................for everyone that came along for the ride, thanks!  I hope you enjoyed it too!
   Well, now I have regained my shit, cleaned up my position in the world, and am looking forward to what chapter of life is next.  I sit here with the focus of rebuilding life and trying to re-invest in the belief that the system is necessary, the way of life I am being asked to lead is the healthiest approach for myself and my children, and that I am capable of investing fully in a "normal" lifestyle in order to be with my boys.  I will need to do all of this while remaining strong in the beliefs I have developed from the lessons I have learned over the past two years and beyond, and most importantly, the lessons I learned while on The Island........................I am finding this to be a tougher endeavor than I had originally thought.  I have read a lot of different stories recently about men who dropped off the grid, from deep Alaskan adventures to modern day urban exploits, and all had one common piece of knowledge..............coming back is hard.  
   I am finding this to be true, but I take it step by step, day by day, and try not to question why most things are pointless and stupid and completely unnecessary in our world.....................seriously, people amuse the hell out of me.  We have gotten so far away from what is important that it truly baffles me..............but that is an entirely different conversation for a different day.  Right now the focus will need to be on coming back.     So stay tuned.  I am sure 2014 will be just as interesting as 2013.  The RVA paddling community never disappoints.  Along the way look for the continuing story of my journey through a decade of the whitewater world, the biggest West By God adventure of all, tragedies and controversies,  and plenty of opinions to brighten up your day.


“Tell me that the purpose of life is to have fun, and without a care in the world I'll begin wreaking havoc on everything I pass. Now that's what I call pure, honest fun.”
                                                                     ~Criss Jami~     
           
See ya on the rivah...................with a new approach to bashing the shit out of life!   PEACE  

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 (The Flower Pickin' Gentleman)

“The course of true love never did run smooth.”
                                         ~Shakespeare~

   Life #1- The Flower Pickin' Gentleman..............this is the life everyone knows, and the story everyone has heard before.  Boy kayaker meets girl, boy kayaker falls in love with girl, boy kayker and girl run away together and live happily ever after, girl tells boy kayaker "we about to have a baby!!!!", boy kayaker does the right thing, girl takes advantage and uses the kids to try and own boy kayaker for the rest of his life...................wait, back up.  We are only to the "boy kayaker and girl run away together and live happily ever after" part.  This is the part of the story where Marcelle is home for half the week and I am the splendid angel that every woman dreams of having the ability to mold.  During that time we lived a quaint little life deep in the hills of WNC.  The garden, the cabin, the normal job working for the betterment of mankind, the long country walks, all of it fit this life perfectly.........and that was just the thing, it was perfect.  It had to be perfect.  Marcelle would not have it any other way.  Everything we did, everything we were was just that..............perfect.
  I loved this life.  Who wouldn't?  Marcelle was a wonderful person, loved to cook and was an excellent chef, and we lived in a beautiful environment that only strengthened the feelings we had for one another because we were experiencing it together.  It was a life that made me want to be a better man.  Marcelle made me want to be a better man.  Living with a woman like Marcelle taught me that women have beauty, caring, and above all else compassion inside their hearts that a man can never possess.  We are simply a contradistinct species, and the qualities we possess are far more eccentric to modern society.  This is technically not Marcelle's, or any other woman's fault.  It just is.  The real problem arises because our society continues to become softer and softer, and in doing so the natural instincts that we have as men become more and more useless, turning us all into flower pickin' gentleman.  It is quickly becoming a woman's world, and fella's, we are sitting on the sidelines waiting to be told what to do next.  This is why we kayak.  This is why we run for the hills........to be men.  To utilize the instincts we naturally possess as men and simplify the world around us.  (which is why I still question the presence of women in kayaking, but that is a whole different topic......yea, I said it.  Deal with it!)
  There is nothing wrong with expecting perfection out of your partner................at times.  However, many women (and by no means am I saying ALL women..........calm yourselves ladies) have a tendency to never be satisfied with what they have or have already changed, and in doing so always want more............c'mon ladies, you all know the kind of woman I am referring to.  They look at the man they have chosen for life and say, "he is not bad, but what can I change about him to make him.............perfect." (and on a side note, if you are a woman reading this post and don't know any women like that, it is most likely because YOU are the woman I am referring to) Give that mentality enough fuel and time, and before long the man finds himself in his back shed, otherwise known as his "man cave", with no heat or electricity, surrounded by his trusty kayaks, sitting on his beloved ripped apart old couch, sneaking a late night safety meeting and wondering when the hell his testicles fell off.  (damn, I love a good run on......especially one that ends with the word 'testicles')


“There are two questions a man must ask himself: The first is 'Where am I going?' and the second is 'Who will go with me?'
If you ever get these questions in the wrong order you are in trouble.”
                                            ~Sam Keen, Fire in the Belly~

When I first read this quote it really freaked me out.

   I wish the man writing this post had been there to teach me this lesson when I was living the "American Dream" all those years ago.  I wouldn't have taken the lesson and concluded that Marcelle wasn't the right girl for me.  Instead, I would have realized that we are all creatures of habit, even Marcelle, and what I was doing was developing a very bad habit in her and in myself............I was making her think she would always get everything she wanted with me.  I should have realized that I needed to stand my ground as a man and develop a more balanced approach to our relationship.  I spent half the week doing exactly as she pleased and creating a persona that wasn't necessarily the real me.  I did this because it was easier than fighting her.  Marcelle could fight......well.  She always kicked my ass in an argument, as well as beat my ass a few times........seriously, she did.  (on a side note ladies, never hit a good man, or any man.  It is one of the worst positions you could ever put a man in.  He won't hit back, can't defend himself, and knows that one wrong move on his part will lead to a life altering event.........but yet the woman just keeps on hitting.  It is just wrong)  But I took the easy way out.  I just said "yes dear", knowing that within a few days Marcelle would hit the trail, and that other side of me would crawl out from the depths of my own natural instincts.  I would return to Life #2 - The Epic Worthlessness that is Man......................I'm going to have some fun with that one.  Stay tuned


“When a man cannot chose, he ceases to be a man.”
~Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange~


See ya on the rivah....................with blue lips, icicles in my beard, and a thin line between determined and just plain crazy .     PEACE


To find out just how worthless man can be, click here...........The Epic Worthlessness That is Man