Mary in the Prairie

The rain rolled into the region on Thursday night and continued into Friday morning. I hoped the creeks in Nelson would run, but the rain never made it. there. West Virginia and western Maryland were pumping. Curt showed up at my doorstep at nine o'clock on Friday night. We threw our gear in the back of the grease car and hit the road.

Sixty miles into our trip west, the filter on the grease car took a turn for the worst. In dramatic fashion the car began to pull, and eventually lost power. I switched back to diesel. I was frustrated. I replaced the filter a mere fifty miles beforehand, and theoretically they should last around one thousand to three thousand miles depending on the quality of grease. There was only one explanation. Bad grease. I poured five gallons of partially hydrogenated peanut oil into the tank sometime last week. It looked a bit suspect, but against my better judgment, poured it into the tank anyway. As we approached Front Royal, I knew I was paying the price for lack of prudence. Alas, our trip to the mountains and creeks of West Virginia would not be free, but come with a price.

We drove through the cold black night frozen to the bone. The heat was dead. The beauty of the grease car was the enticing allure of free fuel, but with the grease system non-functional, the incisive reality of traveling the tempestuous roads of West Virginia in a bone cold car that handled turns like a small ship in a large squall was quickly disheartening.

We rumbled across the bridge into Davis around one thirty in the morning. We took a right and headed into the bog on the edge of town. The road turned to dirt, gravel and mud. Our senses changed as we drifted into mountain time and the world was once again real. We wondered if Billy was doing alright, alone in the sunless, wet expanse of open land.

He smiled as we pulled beside his Toytota Camry station wagon. Immediately we pulled our gear out of the car and pitched the tent. In an ominous moment of unforseen misfortune, I reached for my sleeping bag and it was not present. I pushed some gear around, fumbled through the trunk and came up empty handed. Bummer man. I was in for a long cold night.

So, with a pile of bad gas and a sleepy head, I put on every stitch of clothing, crawled into the back of the Camry with Billy, and began to shake the dark away. I drifted in and out of bad sleep. In the middle of the night, I woke up and could not feel my feet. We left the back of the hatch open, so Billy could stretch out. The tent tarp protecting us from the wind blew away, and we were essentially sleeping outside. I was beyond cold.

Billy pulled out a space blanket. I truly hope I am never in a situation where I need to use a space blanket in the wild, because they are not warm. Two more hours of dozing in and out of conciousness, and the sky turned a bit pink in the western horizon. We got up, took the tent down and headed over to the take out for Red Creek. I savored twenty minutes of warmth in Billy's sleeping bag on the way there.

We met up with Scott, Tyler, and John Greer at the take out, cooked up a bit of breakfast, geared up, and headed up the fire road to the put in. We stared in disbelief as we stood five miles from the put-in hike and the fire road was closed. Not to be denied, we craftily engineered a pile of logs and rocks in a sharp incline up the face of an otherwise impassable boulder neighboring the closed gate. Billy hopped in his Camry and in a valiant effort attempted to ride the lightning up and over the boulder. He stopped before crushing his oil pan. Several more modifications, attempts, and one hour later, we were denied access to the remote wildnerness gem we were after. We were forced to create a new plan.

Three of us decided to hit the North Fork of the Blackwater, and three set out to try and catch the Lower Otter. In depths of the North Fork, the day turned from despondent to magic. The sun burst through the sky and lit up the canyon in charming contrast. We spent five hours on a one mile run, savoring every last drop on the creek. It was our first time down, so we scouted every drop. Unforgetable boof after boof we picked our way down with grins stretched wide. Double Indemnity and Cow Pissing on a Flat Rock were the favorites of the day.

The hike out of the North Fork is steep and when we reached the top we were exhausted. Curt and Tyler walked down the trail to meet us. Their run on the Lower Otter was likely in need of a bit more water, but nonetheless, they enjoyed the remote gorge. We headed off to Davis to eat dinner at Syrianis. I ate an entire pizza.

We ran into Hazmat and talked about our day. Hazmat is a boater from Winchester, who we seem to see just about every time we venture out into WestVirginia. Tyler saw his buddy Cale, who kindly offered to let us sleep in his warm cabin below the Sods. We ventured out to the cabin after dinner, and were more than happy to find a warm fire and a place to take a hot shower. Cale is a truly awesome dude, and is in the business of outfitting old Landcruisers with diesel engines. We talked grease and biodiesel as the night rolled on.

In the morning, Billy headed out to the Lower Blackwater, and I went with Scott and Tyler to meet John Haddock, and Dan on the Top Yough for a high water run. I was rested, but was not too psyched to be cold again after staying in the cabin. The hole at Swallow Falls was a monster. I ran the far left line, a ten foot boof onto a rock shelf into another ten foot boof. I was pumped. A few more miles into the run, and my left arm was really sore. I was starting to lag behind, and a bit tense with the higher flow. John forget his dry top and was paddling in a splash jacket in frigid temps. Needless to say he was cold. We took out after Suck Hole and headed hiked back o the car. On the way back, we ferried across and hiked up Muddy Creek Falls, the tallest waterfall in Maryland.

We all met up back in Friendsville and headed to the Banana Leaf near Cumberland for dinner. A few more hours and we were back in DC. We reluctantly left our home, and began the shift back to the imaginary world of people. It was a truly epic weekend.

... one more thing

I met a girl named Mary

Gonna' take 'er on down to the prairie...

Until next time...