Bananas Delight

There's nothing like a festive autumn romp through the highlands of West Virginia. We impatiently watched the rain drip from the sky for two solid days and anticipated a number of options for a weekend full of great paddling. With our sights set on Nelson County, we were disappointed to check the gauges early Saturday morning to find that nothing was running. Our next bet was Tucker County, West Virginia, home of the Blackwater River, wild women, deep gorges, late night fights, costume parties, and of course, purple fiddles. We loaded up our boats and hit the road.

We stopped at a gas station to fill up and I noticed a colorful pack of plastic dinosaurs on a dusty shelf. I decided they must be mine, and along with a delicious breakfast sandwich, left the gas station with a huge smile on my face. I proceeded to set the dinosaurs up on the dash board and create mock dinosaur wars including varying types of natural disasters, such as tsunamis and meteor strikes. We all laughed at the expense of the dinosaur's general malaise.

We passed Seneca Rocks and the excitement grew. We rolled into Davis, and passed by another group of boaters who also decided to temporarily transplant themselves from a large metropolitan area. They seemed a bit disinterested in our arrival, so we bid a quick farewell and headed toward the North Fork of the Blackwater. Our visual inspection yielded lots of rocks and pain. While we hiked, Billy got hit in the balls by a large stick he did not see coming.

We decided to head toward Red Creek, a wilderness run, riddled with naked bears and wandering moose. Most people do not realize the large abundance of moose in the highlands of West Virginia, but I assure you they are there. One time, I was taking a poop in a thicket of rhodedendron and I looked up to find a fierce looking four legged ungulate staring me down. I smiled and politely asked him to leave me alone. Luckily, he was an agreeable moose and sauntered off in simple satisfaction.

The turning fall foliage created a beautiful mosaic of color as we headed toward Dolly Sods and Red Creek. We found a roadside map in Dolly Sods wilderness, which indicated we were a long way from the put in, which required a long hike down to the riverbed. We bagged our plans for Red Creek and headed back toward Blackwater Canyon with the intent to do a high water run on the Lower Blackwater.

We geared up in the cold weather. Our breaths were clearly visible. The hike down was steep and unforgiving. At one point, I slipped and dropped my boat and watched it careen through the trees at breakneck speed. Luckily there were no one below. I had to take several poops before we put on the river. Billy and John had to poop a lot too.

The first mile of the Lower Blackwater was fanstastic. The level was around 600 cfs. The first rapid is known as Krakatoa, and consists of a huge pourover hole followed by another of lesser importance, but equal character. We all made it through without consequence. The next rapid was another huge pourover hole. We continued down through some technical class five boulder gardens before the river began to let up.

On our way back we passed a few folks who let us in on some inside information. The Hackensaw Boys, a bluegrass band from my hometown in Charlottesville, Virginia, was playing at a local joint, the Purple Fiddle. In a glorious moment of life, we drove speedily back toward Davis, and the darkness on the edge of town, where we pitched a twenty year old green Eureka tent with duct tape on most of the seams.

Hungry, we headed back into Davis to find food. We tried Syrianis Cafe, but it was packed, so we headed straight to the Purple Fiddle and got some grub there. We settled in, checked some gauge levels and waited for the beloved Hackensaw Boys. Our vision began to develop a bit of a haze, while the Boys ripped through set after set of sweet bluegrass. John met a few ladies, Curt tried, and Billy just sweated a lot. We laughed in merriment and our wonderful behavior landed us an invitation to a local halloween party. We were not in costume.

The local costume party was a creative affair. Cat woman was dressed in a tight black suit, and there was one particulary scantily clad witch who seemed to like our love for shenanigans and the Irish. We danced into the night. Billy put on a dazzling display of theatrical style dance movements that had the ladies wondering just what was in those tight pants.

We made our exit in style, and wobbled off to our vehicle. We had a short drive to our campsite. The night was far from over. In an erotic affair of brotherly love, Billy and Curt began to argue. Curt was sassy and definant, so Billy began to slap him in the face. John was troubled. We stopped the car when we arrived at the campsite. Billy and Curt fell out into a muddy cold cauldron and began to wrestle. We are not sure who won the tightly contested match, but neither had clothes to wear in the morning. They bonded and repaired their relationship with a shopping spree to the Dollar General, where they purchased the latest fashions in blue jeans and camoflauge pants.

We headed toward the Lower Blackwater for another run. All was well and we were generally hungover. We traveled home through the Dolly Sods and contemplated our existence while staring into an abyss of moutains from atop Bear Rocks. Billy and Curt insisted the rocks were sandstone, but God knows they are really granite.

On the way home, I was enamored with a pastry I had never before seen in my life on Earth, the Banana Delight, from Hostess. This concoction of chemical and emotional romance melted in my palette with zen like perfection. None of my companions were equally impressed, but they are simply less evolved. Until next time...