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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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


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

~Lesley Blanch~

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


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

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


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


 

Round 5: The Story (Fifteen Foot Rookie Runs)

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



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


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

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


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

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


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

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


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


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

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


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

Round 5: The Story (The Ole' School Days of RVA)

"We must always have old memories and young hopes."
               ~Arsene Houssaye~



When I refer to the "'ole school days", keep in mind that 2003 is the tail end of those days.  The real "ole' school days" were the 90's, and those were the days of the Double R Bar, the original Richmond BIG water paddlers, and 20+ foot runs on the Lower.  Those days were before my part of the RVA whitewater history, so D.J. can fill you in on the "real" original days of the raft shop.......................then Buzz took over, the fun ended, and the real business began.  The good ole days of absurd drunkenness in the shop, mid night runs, and not giving a fuck were over, and Richmond Raft Company became a "legit" operation.  Buzz did well with the marketing, and the whitewater of the James was alive with smiles and rainbows.  The guide crew started to form, and before long a true paddling community had been born and was now growing.
   River Guides are a rare breed.............it takes a unique person to want to guide whitewater, and with that unique character comes a strong personality.  When you add the fact that you are all young, in shape, and half naked in the sun and water all day doing bad ass shit, well, let's just say it sets things up well for off the water (and sometimes on) extra curricular activities.........and obviously it still does.  The last decade of raft shops across America have been the sites of more debauchery, drunken hooliganism, tall tales of whitewater legends, small tales of greatness on the rivah, true love, true heartbreak, true paddling, and all out fun, joyful memories of how it used to be.................and only half of those memories will ever be remembered.


“I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
                                 ~F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise~
 In the Spring of 2003 I was working for an alternative school in Brooklyn Park, teaching middle school kids.  This place was intense.  The kids were wild as hell, and just keeping everything in check from day to day was a non stop chore.  I loved the job and was enjoying what I did, and I was doing it in a diverse community and with a well rounded team.  On the weekends I was not using my time in the most constructive of manners (aside from playing soccer every Sunday), so I decided to look into a new activity with one of my friends.  We were going to a group interview for RRC to become guides.  On the night of the interview, we walked into the shop down by the rivah, and found a small warehouse full of random people sitting around talking.  My buddy and I went to the end of a wooden picnic table in the middle of the room.  There were a couple of guys sitting on the counter top, some standing outside smoking cigarettes, a girl at the end of the table reading a book, and a few people sitting on top of another picnic table talking.  An older man was behind the counter and he was talking to individual people.  After a few minutes of observing, I could see what was going on.
   The man behind the counter was Buzz, and he was interviewing people, and while doing that, the current guides were sizing up everyone in the room.  Basically, it was like a backyard football game when it comes time to choose teams.  While sitting and waiting I noticed the girl reading the book looked familiar for some reason.  After a few minutes of talking to my buddy and being bothered by who she was, I finally just leaned over and asked her........."Do we know each other?".  Remember that I have no game, so even though it sounded like a pick up line, I actually meant "Do I know you?"  She of course responded "I don't think so", but then she did talk to me for a bit, so I guess it worked.  After my interview my buddy and I headed home, and in all honesty I didn't think about the interview all that much, but I did remember the name of the girl reading the book.....................Marcelle.
   I received a call a few days later saying that I was invited to Spring Raft Guide training, every Saturday for two months in the early spring, I believe starting the first week of March.  My buddy had not been chosen, which really sucked.  I reported on the first Saturday, bright and early ready to go...............and the girl reading the book reported too.  Sweet!


“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.” 
                        ~Haruki Murakami~


   Raft guide training naturally creates a team environment among the strong, while simultaneously weeding out the soft.  It's early spring, cold as hell, the water is higher, and if you train to be a guide, you will swim.........a lot............in cold water!  If you aren't swimming, then your instructors suck.  By doing all this, a lot of people just don't come back the next weekend.  Marcelle and I kept coming back, along with a handful of others.  By late April, we had been beaten down but were ten times tougher on the rivah then we ever would have been otherwise.  Some of our original instructors, Ben, Dwayne, Sam, etc., truly did an exceptional job at training raft guides back in the day.  The class that graduated that year with Marcelle and I, as well as the graduating classes from the years before and the year after made up a group of boaters who all remain in the boating community today.................which is what makes everything that has happened so heartbreaking.  There was no Team WAV or Passages crew, or 14th Street whoring, or Fat Bastards, or anything else.  There was simply a small, good group of people, and the James was our playground.  We were all friends.  There was no back stabbing, sleeping with friends girlfriends, competition on the rivah, and there was no Fourteenth Street to fuel it all.  We were friends, and we just loved to hang out with each other.  I loved to hang out with Marcelle.
   Over the course of the summer the rivah community grew closer together.  Marcelle, Liz, myself, Danny, Allison, Rand, Ben, Hunter, Dwayne, D.J., Elyse, Mike, the little leprechaun, Matt, and a slew of other dirt bag raft guides and kayakers spent the summer pushin' rubber on the James, jumping off the Belle Isle Bridge, swimming at Pipeline at low water (which happened a lot back then), fishing custy's out of Pipeline, running evening play trips, and being young and wild.  Marcelle and I were friends for the first half of the summer, and I think that friendship is what helped our relationship grow.  The hardest part about losing her in the end is that I lost my best friend.  She always was, and without her I feel lost.
   I still remember the first time we were on the rivah together, the first time I kissed her, the first time I knew I loved her.  It didn't happen quickly, although I always knew it would.  By the end of the summer the secret was out, and no matter how much I tried to deny it, I had a girlfriend, and a damn interesting, unique, creative, and beautiful one at that.  Marcelle was quickly becoming a part of my life, and in doing so, I was quickly beginning to find myself and what I wanted in my own life.  Without her I am not sure that ever would have been possible.


“You only need one man to love you. But him to love you free like a wildfire, crazy like the moon, always like tomorrow, sudden like an inhale and overcoming like the tides. Only one man and all of this.” 
                   ~C. JoyBell C.~


  At the end of the summer the entire crew headed to the Lower Yough for a company trip.  That weekend is when I knew that Marcelle and I were going to be together for a long time.  I loved paddling the rivah with her, and I loved to watch her style rapids.  She was a hell of a good guide...........that I never doubted.  But she was also a good person.  She wanted to experience life.  Her artistic nature allowed her to see the world in a unique and beautiful way.  Her feisty spirit gave her an energy that was magnetic.  Her warmth and caring for the people she loved was unparalleled.  She drew me in, and having the opportunity to be a part of her life gave me hope, and it gave me purpose.
   Over the course of the next year Marcelle finished her senior year at VCU and she and I started spending a lot of time together.  We worked together, both on the rivah and at the Y, played together, both on the rivah and on the soccer field, and basically started living together.  I helped her with her senior art projects, she was always there for me, no matter what.  We started to fall in love.  I was still a mess in my own life, but with her by my side I felt motivated and energized to make something of myself.  I had just never thought about what I wanted to make of myself until she came along, and I think she sensed that, so she took it upon herself a lot of the time to help me find my way.  I am so grateful to her for that.  It is why I fell in love with her.  She was the only one that truly cared.
   Over the winter Marcelle and I began to kayak together with some other friends, but it was a light hearted commitment the first year.  I bought a boat and began to swim the James at low water, and Marcelle encouraged me the entire way.  In February the James rose to fifteen feet, and being young and dumb, we decided to test our stupidity by going on a high water, winter time play trip.  We put in at Huguenot flat water, just under the Huguenot bridge.  We took out at the southside of Fourteenth Street.  It took us 45 minutes to make the trip (normally a four hour trip), but a lot happened in that forty five minutes......................so stay tuned.


“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” 
                                                              ~Eleanor Roosevelt~


To find out what happened in those forty five minutes, click here...........Fifteen Foot Rookie Runs 

Round 5: The Story (The Intro)

"There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance."
                                                 ~Gilbert Parker~ 

   Over the winter of 2003 my grandfather became ill and had to enter the hospital.  He was a great man, like all grandfathers.  He had lived through the depression, fought through World War II, built a life and a family in the post war days, and sent his son away to college for the first time in our family history.  He was a very proud man, but to me he was just my grand-pa.  When he entered the hospital I went to see him with my parents.  I realized that the hospital was close to a friends place that I frequently visited.  Over the course of late winter and spring I went to visit him almost every evening and just sit and talk.  

   During that time in my life, I was lost.  I had a job, and friends, and a life, but none of it made any sense to me.  I felt like a fraud, because the life I was leading didn't seem like my own, and I was lonely.  There were many nights I sat in that hospital room and listened to my grandfather tell stories, mostly about the war.  He described a time that he was scouting in the bombed out cities of France, alone, weaving through the rubble looking for Nazi's.  He said that he rounded a corner and came eye to eye with a German soldier, alone, also armed to the teeth.  My grandfather raised his gun a split second sooner than the German, and the German was killed.

   I think about that story often.  One second in time was the difference between the existence of us all. Had the German raised his gun first, my father, myself, and Marlow and Quint would have never been born.  Our family name will continue in history, and the difference was a split second in time...............I listened to my grandfather tell a lot of stories about the war while in that hospital room.  I never told many people that I went to visit him as often as I did.  I went because I wanted to be there, and because I didn't want him to be lonely.  I went because I liked to listen to the stories that he told.  It helped me understand what was important in this world, and what was not.  My grandfather passed away a few years later and at his funeral I talked to some family members about those nights that I sat listening to his stories about the war.  My father said that as far as he knows, I was the only one he ever told those stories to.  He didn't talk much about the war, and after listening to the things he told me, I understand why.  My grandfather was a great man, and part of him now survives alone inside me.  That is what it means to have family.

   On the last night I went to the hospital, I remember thinking that my grandfather was going to pass away.  I went to the small chapel located in the hospital and I prayed for him.........then I sat in there for hours and just thought.  I thought about my own life, and I thought about the person I was.  I prayed that I could find some meaning for myself, and some meaning to my life.  One week after sitting in that chapel I started paddling, and I met Marcelle.

“For a moment at least, be a smile on someone else’s face.”
                           ~Dejan Stojanovic~

To continue the story, simply click here..................... The Ole School Days of RVA 

Week 24: The Perfect Rivah - Part I

"The progress of rivers to the ocean is not so rapid as that of man to error."

                                                       ~Voltaire~ 

   Every paddler has a favorite section of rivah.  Some paddlers prefer the steepness of low volume creeks such as the Green Narrows, others prefer big water runs like the Cheat, and yet others prefer the technical slots and boulder gardens of the Upper Yough.  I enjoy all types of runs, from steep creeks to big water, waterfalls to play boating (water ballerina's).  I learned to paddle in WNC, which is full of steeper creeks, so my comfort level is at it's highest when I am creeking.  When I returned to RVA and began paddling the James at higher flows I discovered that it took me outside of my comfort zone, and I found high water on big rivers to be more psychologically challenging for me.  Over the years I have conquered that fear, somewhat, and now feel comfortable reading and running big water Class IV-IV+ rivahs.

   But my love of rivahs is characterized by much more than just the quality of whitewater.  Kayaking is much more than just a trip down a rivah, and it is more than the adrenaline of the whitewater.  Kayaking is a close relationship with Mother Nature, and the balance you have with her is a key component to grasping the concept of paddling.  Remember, kayaking is about finesse, not strength, and the better you are able to understand the movement of water, the more you will be able to work with the currents and exert less energy.  Based on this philosophy, a strong connection with nature will make you a more complete paddler.


"Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience."
       ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

   I find my strength in nature not through the rapids, but through the calm stretches in between.  Paddling whitewater is competition within myself.  I run rapids so I can grasp balance within myself.  I float rivahs so I can connect with nature.  I find a lot of strength through nature, and recently I discovered that the way I see the world may be completely different than the way anyone else sees it.  I love photography and used to take a lot of pictures (like the pics throughout this post.  Those are all mine)  Photography gave me a way to help others see the world through my eyes.  It gave me a way to express my own personal love for rivahs and for the world around me.

  I explain all this to demonstrate why the Lower Gauley is my favorite stretch of whitewater on earth. The Upper G has world class whitewater, bigger than almost any rivah in the Mid-Atlantic, and it offers great challenges for big water seekers.  But it lacks the scenery of the Lower.  The Lower Gauley is the perfect balance of quality whitewater, beautiful landscapes, hidden crick canyons, fluffy surf waves, big water lines, flowers, animals, rainbows, Care Bears................and it rains skittles sometimes.  Seriously, it does.  I trip down the Lower Gauley is like a trip into another world.  You are isolated, deeply hidden from everything that makes modern society what it is.  There is nothing but forest, whitewater, you and a boat...................................

   

                         

.................pictures do not do this section of rivah any justice.  The whitewater on the Lower G is by no means simple, and sometimes there are moves that must be made and there are places out there that can kill you.  A trip down the Lower G is the perfect balance between every aspect of nature and whitewater.


"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."
                ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

   On Saturday I hit the Lower G with a group of RVA boys and soaked up every moment of the experience.  The Gauley has a Middle stretch between the Upper and Lower that contains Class III rapids and more jaw dropping scenery.  Putting in at Mason's Branch, the commercial takeout and site of the epic West Virginia car chase, gun tottin' hillbilly incident, gives a great chance for an easy warm up and float through Gauley Gorge for about four miles.  Mason's Branch is also an alternative takeout to the higher takeout for the Upper, more infamously known as "kayakers nightmare".  After four miles of easy rapids and endless gorges, the whitewater picks up, but the scenery just keeps getting better.  Our group rounded the last turn of the middle gorge and approached the top of an ominous horizon line.  

   The group was relying on me to remember all the lines and lead them through to safety.  On some rivahs, my directions would be precise, and lines would be explained through specific details.  On the Lower G, the conversation usually goes something like this..................

Fellow Boater: "Hey Justin, where do we go down here?"

Me:  "I dunno.  This way looks good."

.............I am not trying to be a dick in these cases.  It is just, there are over 100 rapids on the Gauley that are Class III-V.  That's a lot of whitewater to remember, and fact is, it is a read and run rivah, so no matter how much I run it, I never remember shit about it.  It is a good lesson in "working it out as you go."  I always remember the biggest stuff, and know all the lines, but the dialogue from above was repeated about twenty times on this day.  Plus, I'm crazy.  Why the hell would anyone follow me anywhere.

   The horizon line we were approaching jogged my memory and I turned to the group and said "This one is a little steep."  The rapid is known as "Backender", and it is a series of big waves that end in two offset holes.  The rapid starts on the far right and then works back to the middle.  In my opinion, it is one of the bigger rapids on the Lower section, but technically it is on the middle.  I led through the top of the wave train, working my way over walls of water, straining to see what lurked beyond the next wave.  At the bottom of the rapid I saw a munching hole approaching, so I threw in a right draw and slipped past it.  As I passed I looked down into the hole and remember thinking "hope no one goes in there!"  Well, they did.........all of them.  One after another, like domino's.  As the carnage played out, so did a swim.  The boater was frustrated with himself, which is always the case............but it is important to remember one rule in kayaking that applies to us all.  Everyone is between swims.  No one can escape that.  I last swam at Great Falls two summers ago (which is not a place you want to swim), but I know my next swim might be lurking just around the corner.  Kayaking is 30% physical, 70% psychological.  Once you get in your head it is hard to get out of it.  Swimming early in a run, with twelve miles of Class IV-V whitewater ahead, is a good way to get in your head for the day.


"With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with the future. I live now."
               ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

   After the carnage was cleaned up and all heads were re-attached, we continued down rivah, passing the Koontz' Flume put in and one of the last spots to escape before the Lower Gorge.  Straight ahead of us lied Koontz Flume, one of the biggest rapids on the Lower Gauley.  The line is straight down the middle, but there are lots of places on either side that you do not want to be, and the water is big, especially for a group who had spent the last two months paddling the trickling water of the James.(Although it was an epic Spring and early Summer, the last few months have been bone dry in RVA)  Our group approached, and I could sense that there was some apprehension in the approach to the next rapid.  I decided the best thing to do was scout the line.  In most cases this is not the best idea to remedy a case of the nerves, but since the line was straight down the middle I felt it could help.  We hopped out on rivah left above the drop and took a quick scout.  I always love scouting, not because it gives you a look at the rapid, but because it gives a chance to take a time out and soak in the scenery.  After everyone saw the obvious line, we hopped in our boats and turned downstream.  Koontz's pulls to the right as you enter the top holes, and it is important to line up heading a little left for the main drop.  I entered the line and made my turn, assuming that the group would follow behind.  As I approached the lip of the main drop I saw the tongue and lined up, dropping through the main flow, passing crashing holes and pour overs on both sides.  The far right side of the drop is ugly, full of chunky, sharp rocks, an undercut, and a sticky pour over hole.  The left side of the drop is a very large, deep hole.  The middle was smooth as silk, and I slipped down through it's guts, punching holes at the bottom of the long tongue.  Once passed the crux, I turned back to check the progress of the group behind me.  As I turned I watched a fellow paddler float extremely far right, just above the drop, upside down.......................damn it.  As his boat approached the lip of the pour over, I watched his paddle pop out of the water and into a set up position.  The boat began to fall over the pour over, and as it did, he rolled, literally while falling over the drop.  He landed in the exploding maw of whitewater at the bottom, directly in front of the undercut, and then disappeared...............................damn, this day was not going well.

"Always do what you are afraid to do."

        ~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

See ya on the rivah..................hopefully in an upright boat.      PEACE

    

   CLICK HERE for Part II of the story.  

   

   

Success through Failure

"Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."
                                                ~Soren Kierkegaard~

   The Island Chronicles is on hiatus.  The story will be finished, but I am taking time to think before I speak,  edit before I post, and write from my heart, not from the fire which burns inside me................easier said than done.  That fire is what makes me who I am.   But I need to find a balance, and I am working on it.  Apparently modern society is not ready for someone like me, or ready for what I have to say, so in response I am going to try and behave myself while still holding on to that edge that makes my writing blunt, honest, to the point, and sometimes unfiltered.  

   The past two years of my life have been one hell of a wild ride.  There was adventure, tragedy, sorrow, excitement, one time encounters, sadness, enlightenment, joy, new discoveries, risk, chance, failure, and success, plus a hell of a lot more.  The successes are what I hope to take away from it all.  After two years of going non stop, pissing off as many peeps as I possibly could, and living life with no rules, I have found a little peace within myself, and am in a state of reflection.  I only hope this state is what happens just before the state of growth and understanding, and hopefully peace within myself.  So in the meantime I am using my head to guide me, instead of my heart, and the first question I asked myself is, "What have you learned?"  Well, let's find out (My boy Thoreau gets center stage on this one)......................


"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves."
                         ~Henry David Thoreau~

   The first lesson I learned is that living on an Island makes perfect sense to me.  While living there I ate well, slept well, worked hard, was healthy, was content and sometimes happy (Mike knows what that feels like............to be sometimes happy).  Modern society is a scary thing for someone like me to grasp.  I spent most of my life forcing my mind to question everything that was simple and obvious to everyone else.  Why do we sit and work 40, 50, 60 hours a week just so we can afford a bunch of shit we don't really need?  Why do we feel the need to constantly grow our material wealth, collect new things, use possessions as a representation of who we are?  Why do we watch the Today Show?  Why did anyone create reality TV in the first place?  Why is Miley Cyrus considered a role model, what the hell is twerking?  What is the worlds obsession with Zombie's?  Why do we make our lives as comfortable, as safe, as secure as possible, and then write books, create TV shows, and movies, and discuss things that are the exact opposite.  Is it human nature to fight and survive before being content and secure?  Is our human nature being compromised by the way we are teaching our children to live?  When is the entire system going to fall, and when it does, what will be the outcome?  If the system doesn't fail, will we be better human beings for it, or will we continue to allow the shit that we see, read, learn, and experience to define us based on a common idea that we should all be similar, live similar, and behave in an overly peaceful, controlled way?  (after reading these questions hopefully you have a better understanding of why I lost it for a while)  

   These questions are what called me to The Island in the first place, and they are what call me back to it now.  But there is one thing that keeps me grounded these days..................hope.  The hope that one day I will run to my boys, hug them tight, and never again let them go.  My life is defined by the two people in this world that the system has barred me from being with.  Ironic, don't ya think?  But I will see them again.  It won't be tomorrow, or next month, or maybe even next year.  Unfortunately Marcelle has made that clear.  Every once in a while she responds to an email with one sentence.  It always says the same thing.................."I want you to know that you will always be their father."  Well Marcelle, actions speak louder than words.  My message for you after two years is simple.  I was always a good father.  Let me see my children.  You loved me, and I hurt you, and for that I deserved to lose you.  But I never hurt my children.  All I did was love them.  Please stop doing what you are doing.


"The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend."
       ~Henry David Thoreau~

   The second lesson I have learned is the lesson of friendship.  I have true friends in my life now, along with the friends who have stuck by my side. Friends who see me for who I truly am, encourage my strengths, and don't judge me for my faults.  In return all I can do is give them all of my respect, and that is what I try to do.  I never would have known who sees me for me and who saw me for a benefit to themselves until all of this happened and until I did something as crazy as live on an Island.  Once I moved there the real people showed up, and damn was it enlightening.  All I did was sit on a giant rock and go kayaking, and write, and so much more came to me than I ever could have discovered out there.  It was so simple, and yet so hard to do.  I find that fascinating.  


"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."
                ~Henry David Thoreau~ 

   The third lesson is that human behavior is habitual, and highly addictive.  With that being said, smart phones will destroy the world.  I chucked my phone in the rivah six months ago.  It made life much simpler.  Yes, it is a pain in the ass for others sometimes, but it helps me control my life.  After six months without one, in a way I have discovered a whole new world................the real one.  You should look up and try it sometime, because there is some pretty cool shit going on in it.


"If the machine of government is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law."
                                          ~Henry David Thoreau~ 

 

   Lesson Four is that I do not believe we are a representation of our leadership, and I for one am thankful for that.  This is not and will never be a blog about politics, but I chose to re-enter the modern world at an extremely fucked up time.  Our leadership at the moment is an embarrassment.  I am not referring to our current Administration, or Congress, or Republicans, or Democrats, or the Tea Party, or anyone else.  I am referring to all of them.  They are an embarrassment for the way they have behaved and the people they are representing.  But most importantly I worry that the behaviors being exhibited are a foreshadow to our future......................actually, I don't want to think about politics.  It scares me, so obviously I haven't figured this one out yet.................but I know this.  To all those who "lead" our country...................shame on you!


"There is one consolation in being sick; and that is the possibility that you may recover to a better state than you were ever in before."
                                                              ~Henry David Thoreau~

   Lesson Five is that I need to be humble in life.  There was quite a fire raging inside of me for the past three to four years, and I hold my emotions on my sleeve, so it was exhibited rather wildly...............I'm cool with that.  I still have passion, and don't have any regrets, except for allowing the FSW to ever have a part in it, but it is what it is.  I believe that everything that happens in this world has a purpose and happens for a reason, so I am excited for the opportunity to discover that purpose in the future of my life.  My life is an empty canvas at the moment, and for the first time ever I have the brushes and colors to paint whatever picture I choose.  Being humbled is what has given me those tools, and I am grateful for that.

"Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after."
                          ~Henry David Thoreau~

   Lesson Six is that I need to learn to love myself before I can love another.  I loved Marcelle, and still do love the memory of her, but I never loved myself when I was with her.  I viewed myself as trash, and because of that I chose to be with trash, with the Fourteenth Street Whore.  The FSW represented nothing more than what I saw in myself.  I never felt that I deserved to be with Marcelle, and I think I sabotaged what we had because of that.  I knew Marcelle loved me, more than anyone could imagine, and I truly loved her.  I just couldn't accept her for whom she was and she couldn't accept me for who I was.  It is tragic, because there was very deep love there, and I threw it away.  Somehow, one day, I will have to forgive myself.


"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined."
                                   ~Henry David Thoreau~

   Lesson 7 is that I am lucky.  I am lucky because I have had the ability to experience a freedom in adulthood that few people ever get to experience, and that freedom was wonderful.  The trick now is finding a way to hold on to that freedom while accepting some of the flaws of our society.  But for a spring and summer, and really for the last two years, my freedom in this world was untouched.  It is pretty amazing I survived as well as I did for as long as I did.  One of the only ways I did it was the goodwill of others, and for that I am extremely lucky.


"This world is but a canvas to our imagination."
                   ~Henry David Thoreau~

    And finally, Lesson 8, the most important one.  The past is what it is, and the future is what we make it.  I think that speaks for itself.............................there are so many more lessons that have been learned, and many of them are more important than these.  But these are my thoughts for today. After six months on The Island I will never be the same, and that is a good thing.  I have come a long way, but have an even longer way to go.  With that being said, I hope you enjoy the next post................Round 5:  The Story of Marcelle and Me...........you may be surprised how it reads.


"It is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things."
                         ~Henry David Thoreau~

 

See ya on the rivah.....................hopefully on my return to The Island one day.

P.S.  I can't believe I am about to say this, but I am a little bored of kayaking.  A year like the one I lived will do that to ya.  I am looking for something new....................and I think I found it.    
     

    

       

"One Great West By God Yakin' Story"

****Fall is here and I felt The Island Chronicles needed a new look.  Hope you enjoy it, and I hope you enjoy the fact that you don't have to read white type any longer.  To all those who respectfully asked that it be changed, happy reading!...........oh, and be warned, the following story is a story from my past, so read with caution.  Remember, I wasn't always a perfect angel like I am now, so you may not approve of some of our actions in this one...........deal with it.****


"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me."
                                                                       ~Hunter S. Thompson~


   West Virginia is a place unlike any other.  It has world class whitewater, great moonshine, deep, dark hollers to lose yourself in for days, but most of all, it has the best hillbillies in the world.  I love hillbillies.............they don't give a fuck...........about anything.  And they will tell you that if you have a problem with anything they say or do.  Due to this, I relate to them very well, and have used my hillbilly social skills to have some good times while in West By God.  But my first encounter with West Virginia hillbillies was my most educational, so lets go back and tell "One Great West By God Yakin' Story".......................as sad as it is to say, this is a completely true story.


   "Gauleyfest 2012.  I headed up to the hollers of the West By God mountains with a group of rivah guide bums to see what kind of trouble we could cause in one weekend............well, our conclusion is that we could cause quite a bit when fed the proper amount of moonshine.  Our day started with a bright and sunny trip down the "Lower G".  I love this section of rivah.  The whitewater is big, easy, and fun, but the scenery is unparalleled to any other rivah in the Mid-Atlantic.  The gorge walls begin to break down and loosen their grip that they hold on the rivah in the Upper G, forming towering rock walls, sprawling valleys between deep crick canyons, and Anstel Adams like landscapes that roll on for miles.  After a solid ten miles of big water Class IV, the rivah flattens out and long stretches of mountain landscapes reveal themselves as a reward to all boaters...................

Pic featured in the 2014 Hyside Catalog

   ............The best way to celebrate this reward is with a jar of West By God's finest.  On this day, the jars were tipped back and the moonshine flowed strong as we floated deep through the beauty of The Gauley.  We reached Swiss, our takeout, after a solid four hours on the rivah, and geared down for the shuttle. We chose our DD, got in the car, and headed up top to run the shuttle.  The shuttle from Swiss to Mason's Branch is a solid 30 or 40 minute drive.  Halfway through the ride, the pavement cuts away to the left and one of those all to common dirt roads drops away to the right.  Exiting from pavement to gravel can be tricky when you are DDing a car full of moonshined up river guides.  As we came over the hill and exited onto the gravel, a family of West Virginia boys were sitting on four wheelers on the right side of the road.  We swerved quickly around them and kept on cruising down the West By God back road to Mason's Branch.  
   I was in the back seat downloading pics to a lap top and not paying attention to what was happening.  After five minutes or so I looked up and realized we were flying through the forest on a gravel road at about forty miles an hour.  My two fellow boaters in the front seat were talking about racing or something, and I looked behind us and realized there was a four wheeler chasing us.  The driver was in a rather feisty mood, and for some reason was under the impression we were in a Dukes of Hazzard style back roads chase between Bo and Roscoe.  They were now having fun with the situation, while I kept observing the developing scene.
   I looked back again to study what the four wheelin' hillbillies were actually doing.  The four wheeler was a two seater and there were two patrons along for the ride.  In the drivers seat was a West By God good ole' boy, complete with a wife beater, Mountaineers baseball cap, and a big old lipper..................oh, and he looked really pissed off!!  To his right was his beautiful bride, complete with missing teeth, a classic West Virginia muffin top, and some classy tats, possibly prison style.  She looked pissed too.  I decided to take action and try to clear up the scene..........................

Me:  "Dude, they looked pissed."
Driver:  "Naw man, it's cool.  They want to race."
Me:  "I don't think they want to race.............seriously, they look really pissed."

   At this point I was studying the scene out the back window, still flying through the woods in the middle of no where.  I watched the toothless girlfriend pull a white handkerchief out from her back and hand it to her meth'd out husband.  When he took it I realized what it was as he put the handkerchief between his legs and under his seat.

Me:  "Dude, that guy has a gun!"
Driver and Passenger:  "..........................(silence.  They were not really listening to me or believing me)
Me:  "Seriously, that guy looks pissed off and has a gun."

   About this time the four wheeler raced up to our back left as the road narrowed between a rock wall and a steep drop off.  The driver had three choices..................run the four wheeler off the road into the wall, swerve off the drop and into the woods, or stop.  We stopped......................in the middle of the West By God wilderness, being chased by a gun tottin' West Virginia Hillbilly, pissed as hell about something.  This was not good.  


"We are here and it is now.  Further than that, all human knowledge is moonshine."                                                                 ~H.L. Mencken


   The four wheeler pulled ahead of the truck, cut us off, and the good ole boy hopped out and started walking towards the car.  At this point I could see what was about to happen but did not know what to do, so I just sat there and watched it play out.  He walked straight up to the drivers window, pulled out the gun, and put it right up to the temple of the driver...................."Holy Shit!  We are going to DIE!'.  I didn't actually say this but it is what I was thinking.  The dude had a rather crazy look in his eyes, he was breathing so hard he was growling, and sweat was pouring down his face, soaking his dip stained wife beater.  Then light was shed on why this man was about to kill us..........

Hillbilly:  "Boy, you just almost ran over my son."
Driver:  "Sir, I am so sorry.  I did not mean to upset you in any way."  (Smart decision on what to say. After all, there is a gun to your head.)
Hillbilly: "I ought to kill you right here."

   Then the hillbillies girlfriend went off the deep end like a ranting, angry, muffin topped  accomplice always being interviewed on Cops, trying to pull the gun away from her husband, while at the same time bitchin' us out for speeding.  (by the way I agree that they had a right to be angry.  We were in the wrong............but a gun, c'mon.  That's a little much.)  Then more hillbillies pulled up on four wheelers..........about four or five of them.  Wow, things just kept getting worse by the minute.  The first dude looked just like the grandpa on Duck Dynasty.  He pulled up and looked at me, stating,"I ought to cut you up in pieces and leave you in the woods."....................lovely.  At this point I was scared shitless and simply trying to figure out how we were going to get ourselves out of this little pickle.  That is when fellow boaters came to the rescue.  During the ordeal other boaters were coming up the road from the takeout and had stopped, watching how things played out.  Apparently they became tired of waiting, and decided to do something about the situation, yelling that they were calling the cops.  This definitely got the hillbillies attention.  Within a few seconds they were all back on their four wheelers.  They took off, scattering about in four different directions, and then disappeared..............leaving the three of us alone, sitting in the car, in the middle of the woods, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.  
   No one spoke.  We just started driving again in silence.  I kept looking up into the trees, worried that the hillbillies were about to attack with a second wave.  I think we were all thinking the same thing at that point..................."we need to get to other people ASAP."  We made our way down the mountain and to the put in at Mason's Branch.  The entire experience was left echoing in our minds as we drove back to the takeout to tell the tale to our fellow paddlers.
   The moral of the story is simple..................don't ever fuck with West By God hillbillies.  After living in the sticks for a month now, and traveling to the gorges of West Virginia no man's land for half my life, I have learned that West Virginia hillbillies are the real deal, and they are not fond of boaters either.  It is also important to remember that moonshine usually leads to nonsense and should only be consumed when you are not mobile or planning to be mobile within six to eight hours of consumption.  Finally, if you are ever being chased by a four wheeler on a backwoods West Virginia road, whatever you do, don't ever stop.....................at least, that's my advice.  


“When a poet digs himself into a hole, he doesn't climb out. He digs deeper, enjoys the scenery, and comes out the other side enlightened.”
                                                                ~Criss Jami, Venus in Arms~



See ya on the rivah.....................hopefully not being chased by toothless, gun totin', West Virginia hillbillies!    PEACE

   

Week 23: Part II "Bears, Boatin', and The Boondock Saints"

“All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.” 

~ J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring ~

   ...........so let's review.  I am alone in the middle of the forest, no one knows where I am, I just stumbled over the remains of an old still, and I am in West Virginia...............this is not good.  So what happened?  I hate to disappoint everyone, but I was not taken hostage by gun tottin' hillbillies, nor was I considered a "legal killin".  Instead, I actually used common sense and just kept on walking.  (I was tired of writing the other night so I used it as a good transition..............my bad.)  Eventually I pulled out the map and reviewed my path, used the land features to locate my position, and determined I was right where I should be.  Within 20 minutes I was back in the cabin.  It was only when I sat down that I realized just how tired I was and remembered that although I had years of experience in WNC creek hiking, I was now ten years older and no longer playing soccer.  Living on an Island makes you physically strong, but my aerobic fitness sucks at the moment.  Kayaking very seldom pushes my fitness level outside of an elevated heart rate.  Whitewater kayaking is about finesse, not strength, and a smooth kayaker is effortless in his approach to the sport.  Living on an Island doesn't allow much time or room for soccer or fitness.  I just became a lot stronger............which helps.  

   I laid down on the couch and focused on the dead silence that existed in my life now.  Was this what I was searching so hard for?..............maybe, but my head was not focused on understanding it at that time.  I was still trying to figure out why Laurence Gonzales decided to use my life as a metaphor for being lost in the woods.  It truly did freak me out.  If you asked me today why I strayed for even one minute from my family my answer would be..................I have no idea.  Seriously, I don't.  I have been asking myself that same question for a long time.  And if that is my answer then I must be lost.  
   "Bending The Map" continued to explain the relationship between being lost in the woods and being lost in life..................

   "Research suggests five general stages in the process a person goes through when lost.  In the first, you deny that you are disoriented and press on with growing urgency, attempting to make your mental map fit what you see.  In the next stage, as you realize that you are genuinely lost, the urgency blossoms into a full-scale survival emergency.  Clear thought becomes impossible and action becomes frantic, unproductive, even dangerous.  In the third stage (usually following injury or exhaustion), you expend the chemicals of emotion and form a strategy for finding some place that matches the mental map.  (This is a misguided strategy, for there is no such place now: you are lost.)  In the fourth stage you deteriorate both rationally and emotionally, as the strategy fails to resolve the conflict.  In the final stage as you run out of options and energy, you must become resigned to your plight.  Like it or not, you must make a new mental map of where you are.  You must become Robinson Crusoe or you will die.  To survive, you must find yourself...............then it won't matter where you are."

                                                                  "Bending The Map"  Laurence Gonzales

.................so it took me quite a while to figure out that when he said "you must become Robinson Crusoe" he didn't actually mean, "become Robinson Crusoe.".................I'm kidding.  Fact was, it did still matter where I was, so whatever I had come here to find was going to take some work.

"The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time."
                                             ~Abraham Lincoln~ 

    On Wednesday I got in a solo run on the New Rivah after visiting Fayetteville and one of the outfitters about guiding.  Fayetteville is a pretty cool small town, and definitely has a good small town feel with a courthouse in the center of town, some good bars, a coffee shop, and plenty of out of work raft guides, kayakers, and rivah bums to make the town look productive..............notice I used the words "look productive", not "be productive."  Paddle bums are good at chillin', unless it is time to paddle.
    I came to West By God to be alone, so paddling solo was an activity I planned to frequent while here.  Paddling alone in West By God is a lot harder than paddling alone on The Island.  Everything here is really, really BIG.  The shuttle for the New is forty minutes one way, so solo paddling is not the easiest thing in the world to accomplish.  My plan was simple...........drive to the put in, slide my boat into the rivah, enjoy the meditation of floating alone through The Grand Canyon of the East, then hope for the best at the takeout.  As long as I didn't encounter disgruntled RVA paddlers pissed off about references to the FSW or Fat Bastard I would be fine.  (even if I did encounter them, they would probably run away.......they like to play pretend too.)  After two hours of big water Class III and IV and some much needed rivah solitude, I found some fellow paddlers before the last rapid willing to give me a ride back to the top.  They were good people who enjoyed talking about rivah safety, so we had a pleasant ride.
   On Thursday I ran a check out trip on the New Rivah early in the morning.  Afterwards, I drove to a tributary of the New in a town called Ansted. The tributary was Mill Crick.  Mill has a nice little stretch of Class V creekin' on in it, and the entire run is roadside and can be shuttled in about five minutes.  There is a nice 20 footer in there and the run looked fun as hell, but unfortunately it was a low water trickle.  Late in the afternoon I took one of those roads that you probably shouldn't go down in West By God.................I drove it all the way to the end and then a little more.  I parked my car, geared up, and started walking.  As expected, the trail dropped away quickly, this time tumbling toward the Class V section of The Meadow.  Within 20 minutes I reached the bottom of the gorge and started hiking down rivah towards the Gauley.  I wanted to be able to scout and see the rivah and this was not happening from the trail, so I cut through the woods and popped out into the open.  After 30 or 40 minutes of exploring the Class V lines of The Meadow, hoping rocks, and looking for sieves (which there were plenty of to discover) I headed home.  As I hiked out I strolled leisurely through the quiet, moist forest (I just wanted to use the word moist), and I took in the solitude of nature and the fading evening light dancing through the leaves.  After about 8 or 9 switchbacks I came up the trail and heard rock fall coming from the woods ahead of me.  The rocky line of the cliff traversed upwards until it reached the horizon line of a meadow in the evening sun.  On the horizon line I could see a large silhouette moving across the scenic meadow.  Initially my brain told me it was a cow, but then I did a double take, thought about the rock fall and all the noise, and realized I was looking at a bear.  After years of WNC hiking and camping I have had numerous bear encounters (but not as many as Marcelle.  That girl was a bear magnet).  The bears in WNC are the equivalent of large dogs, maybe 200 to 300 pounds.  This bear was the size of, well......, a cow.  The bears in West By God are apparently like everything else hear...............BIG.  But fortunately they are almost always very shy and my new friend dropped off into the woods very quickly.
   I have said before that I do not believe in coincidences.  Well, I also believe in symbolism.  (or is it symbology.............(Boondock Saints......great movie))  Seeing a bear this early in my stay was a symbol to me.  So I did some research on the friendly bear................


"...........the bear is emblematic of grounding forces and strength. This animal has been worshiped throughout time as a powerful totem, inspiring those who need it the courage to stand up against adversity. As a spirit animal in touch with the earth and the cycles of nature, it is a powerful guide to support physical and emotional healing.
The bear has several meanings that will inspire those who have this animal as totem:

•    The primary meaning of the bear spirit animals strength and confidence
•    Standing against adversity; taking action and leadership
•    The spirit of the bear indicates its time for healing or using healing abilities to help self or       others
•    The bear medicine emphasizes the importance of solitude, quiet time, rest
•    The spirit of the bear provides strong grounding forces"

   Don't worry............I do not plan on turning this writing into a "spiritual journey" about life.  But the meanings of animals originate from Native American tradition, and in my opinion the Native Americans knew how to live.  They kayaked, lived in teepee's, lived off the land, believed in community, could hunt, fish, garden, and rock climb, and they were always smokin' some good shit.  What's not to love about that life!

   On Thursday I also found out that a crew of paddlers were coming to West Virginia and I needed to break out Pink and get ready for some paddling.  After a first week that included some solo boating, Mental Mapping, moonshine stills, waterfall climbing, bear sightings, and lots of time for reflection, I was ready to paddle........and it just so happens that my favorite stretch of whitewater just happens to be the Lower Gauley.  Between the scenery and the perfect balance of whitewater and nature, it is a rivah that is rivaled by very few...............and I was living in it.  Looks like this ride is going to keep going just a bit longer.

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” 

                                                                                         ~Hunter S. Thompson~

See ya on the rivah.................most likely paddling alone.       PEACE