Milepost

It is hard to believe, but this is my one hundredth entry. I started 'Homegrown Locals' four years ago. The original title of the blog was 'Kayak Harder'. I started writing simply in the spirit of wanting a written record of some of my adventures on the water. In many ways, my writing remains true to my original intention. At certain points I approached the endeavor more seriously, and on other occasions let many months pass in between entries. When I look back, it is easy to see how my writings and adventures coincided with where I was and how I felt about life.

There were times when I considered giving it up. There was this nagging insistent feeling that what I was doing was simply a waste of time. I am glad that I continued. My life changed dramatically in the past four years. I feel incredibly lucky to have had so many opportunities to see and do things I never imagined I would have the chance to do. I am thankful for the friendships I forged over the past several years. My friends are often my inspiration for doing, exploring, and seeking the truth in life. Paddling whitewater often seems the glue that keeps us all together, but over the years our friendships have grown far beyond the river.

I moved to Bethesda, Maryland when I was twenty-five years old. In all these years, I never really felt like I moved to Bethesda. I always felt like I moved to the river. I remember my first night in my old apartment at Landon. I put my boat on my Jeep and asked for directions to the river. I pulled in the parking lot and carried down to Sandy Beach. I surfed a few waves around S-turn rapid, and met an old guy named Frank. He had long scraggly white hair, and a peppered beard. He had an old school surf boat. It was a warm summer night. We laughed and surfed until dark. The sunset in the gorge was beautiful. I was completely hooked.

It is an interesting thought; the river has been the most persistent presence in my life since I started all this. It never leaves. It is always flowing. It is always there. It is always calling me back. I have driven to the river feeling brave. I have driven to the river feeling sad. I have driven to the river feeling angry, lost, and confused. In every instance, I left feeling a little better than I did when I arrived.

None of us ever really know what's over the next horizon line. I feel like I spent a lot of my twenties seeking out new horizons and running most of them blind and backwards. I broke a lot of boats, drank a lot of beers, slept on the ground in a lot of different places, and broke my own heart more times than I care to admit to even those that are closest.

The river flows on though. There is no slowing it down, no holding it back, and whatever I was before, I know that I am now not the same. I am bits and pieces of all the rapids I ran clean, my worst swims, and all the times I hiked out. I am the best and worst of what I have always been, but just a little bit different every day.

I think most of us are this way.

So, I suppose I shall mark this post with a toast: to falling apart and pulling your heart back together.

I hit the river this afternoon. It was cold and I was alone...

but that was just an illusion.

'Keep it together Mayer, keep it together'.

Here's to one-hundred, and the best yet to come.

Cold and Alone from Brett Mayer-Aschhoff on Vimeo.

Seneca Mission

Seneca Creek from Brett Mayer-Aschhoff on Vimeo.

The Rescue

I am finally finding a quiet moment to sit down and write this story.  I hope I can recapture the emotion from last week, but I am afraid doing so is going to be a difficult task.  Nevertheless, I am going to give it my best shot. 

A little over a week ago I saved a woman from drowning on the Potomac River.  Perhaps I should correct myself in laying claim to being in control of the event of saving this woman, but in the common vernacular it was in fact me who paddled out into the water to save her.  I am simply not so sure I was working alone.

It was Friday.  I left school on a warm, sunny afternoon.  I jumped in my truck and headed to the Falls to unwind with some afternoon laps.  I could not stop thinking about something I caught on television the night before, a documentary about a spiritual healer in Brazil.  As strange as it sounds, after I watched the film I was markedly calm.  I went to sleep.  When I woke up the feeling remained.     

I arrived at the river.  The parking lot was mostly empty.  A couple strolled the towpath. A woman walked her dog.  The temperature was above average for the time of year, but it was an otherwise normal afternoon.  I crossed the canal and headed down the path to the river.  The water level was high. The river had been low for months.  It was the first time I saw it with real water in it for quite a while.  I decided to walk around 'Grace', and ran one lap on the 'Fingers'.  I paddled down through O'Deck.  I surfed the wave for a bit, but was not really in the mood.  I really just wanted to be outside and enjoy the afternoon.  I paddled down to the 'Fishladder' to take out, but decided to float down through 'Rocky Island Waves'.  As I paddled downstream, I noticed a woman crouched by the side of the river in a small pothole.  I noted she was pretty close to the water, it did not seem too unsual. 

I looked up at Rocky Island.  The sky was bright blue and it was warm.  I knew there were not too many warm days left in the season, so I hopped out of my boat and climbed the cliff to sit in the 'King's Chairs'.  The chairs are natural stone formations that look like someone took a huge ice cream scoop and scooped out a chunk of rock to make a  smooth stone lounger.  It was the perfect spot for a warm sunny November afternoon. 

I was sitting for a while.  I was thinking about the film I watched the night before, God, being in the moment, and a smathering of other utterly idealistic notions for which my mind is all too commonly attuned.  I decided to close my eyes and try to clear my mind of any extraneous thoughts.  I placed my hands on the rock, and started breathing in and out very slowly.

Suddenly, I opened my eyes.  I am not sure why I opened them at that moment, and I am not sure for how long I had them closed.  I scanned the river.  Immediately I noticed the pink hat bobbing up and down through 'Rocky Island Waves'. 

I yelled out.  I was too far away.  No response.  I ran quickly.  I down climbed.  Loose rock slid as I scrambled down the vertical pitch.  My boat sat in the shadows.  I jumped in and strapped my helmet.  No time to pull my skirt.  My arms stroked voraciously at the clear crystalline water.  My body tired. I mumbled words of encouragement under my breath to keep going.  Finally, I reached her. 

'Are you alright?'  She looked up with a milky white stare. 

'I'm fine'.  I was confused.  The water was freezing.  She was not flailing around.  She was drifiting in the current like a floating stone.  She was anything but fine.  Several hundred more yards in the main current and she was going to float straight to the bottom.  This stretch of river sees an average of six or seven deaths per year.  This year, the park service had already seen eight.  Nine was not an option.

'Do you want me to tow you to shore?'  The answer seemed obvious, but I awaited her response anxiously. 

'Yes'.  I pulled hard.  We made it to the rocky bank in the nick of time.  There was no one else on the water.  There were no hikers.  There were no climbers.  The gorge was empty.  I took off my dry top and gave her my t-shirt.  She pulled off her wet top.  I stared up at the cliff face.  We were not in a good spot.  The only way out was up.  We had to get back to her car as quickly as possible.  Hypothermia can set in quickly.  I was thankful we were not miles from help, but we still had to negotiate the cliff. 

I asked her name, and a few other basic medical questions.  I explained I would scout a route for us to make it up and out.  I looked carefully, trying to find the easiest way up.  After a few moments I was satisfied, and we proceeded to climb.  There were a few places where exposure was a big risk.  One misplaced step and we could both wind up in the river, or worse breaking our fall on a rock ledge fifty feet below.  I spotted her, braced her, gave her hand holds, and hoisted her to the top.  It was a relief when we were off the rock face. 

She was in relatively good spirits.  Cold, but not too distraught.  The hike out was short.  After ten minutes the trail came to an end and we were near the parking lot.  I noticed the park police car, but there was no ranger.  I figured it was a good idea to report the incident if someone was around, but it was most important to get her a change of clothes and into a warm vehicle.  There were two kayakers in the lot changing after their surf session at O-Deck.  She changed her clothes.

I was cold.  We hopped in her car.  She blasted the heat.  I felt there was something more to the situation, but I was not sure what.  I told her there was no good reason for me to be sitting on Rocky Island that afternoon.  There was no good reason I opened my eyes to see her hat at that moment. 

She asked if I believed in God.  I said yes.  I was sitting on that rock for a reason.  She said she was glad I rescued her, because she was beginning to feel forsaken by God. 

I asked her why she felt that way. 

'My life has been a lot of pain.'

'Why is that?,' I replied.  She responded with a long list of abuses, broken relationships, and recent misfortunes.  She recently lost her job and was working as a cashier at McDonald's to make ends meet.  She said she had no friends, and asked if I had a lot of friends.  I told her I was lucky to have some good ones. 

She leaned her head on my shoulder.  The bright lights shone through the car window.  It was the park police.  I hopped out and met the officer halfway. 

'Is that your boat?,' he asked.  I told him it was.  On our way out of the gorge, he was hiking in to do his nightly rounds.  He was making sure there was nothing unsual going on in the park at dusk.  He noticed my boat, and assumed an accident had taken place.  He called in the park helicopter to do a search.  They were looking for me. 

There was no way I could have known.  I explained what happened.  He walked up to the car and questioned her.  I sat in his police car, and cranked upt the heat. 

He came back and was about to back up his car.  I told him he may want to make sure she leaves the park.  He asked what my intuition was.  I told him I was not exactly sure, but it was possible she did not just trip and fall. 

He asked her as politely as he could if she had thrown hersel f in the water.  When she responded no, all he could do was let her go.  I got out of the squad car.  I walked up to her and gave her a hug goodbye. 

'Take care of yourself,' I said.  I thought to say 'I love you' for some strange reason, but held back.  She understood. 

The officer drove me back to my truck on the Maryland side.  It took nearly an hour to make it there with Friday night traffic.  I shook his hand and bid him a good night. 

'It was good thing you did tonight,' he said.

I closed the car door. 

I am not sure I will ever by able to explain that evening, but I do know the entire event was not a coincidence.  I will never know if she threw herself in the water.  I am not so sure she did.  Maybe it was more like she was 'pulled' in by circumstances outside of her control.  Perhaps the circumstances of her life led her to the edge of the river in the strangely cushioned depths of an ancient stone pothole to contemplate the meaning of it all.  Perhaps she arrived at the river's edge in the same way as I arrived at the top of the rock, likely contemplating the same questions. 

There are things we cannot see.  There are things that happen that are far outside of our control. 

The river is wide.  The river is deep.  It is shallow.  It is rocky.  It flows in straight shots.  It meanders back upon itself at the strangest of times, but all the while it is creeping ever forward.  There are a million ways to be dashed to bits. 

That afternoon I felt light in the deepest of my bones. 

We are not foresaken.   

Thanksgiving Sessions

The fall season is flying by in a hurry.  So far the weather has been unusually mild, and there has been relatively little rain.  The Falls are typically starting to run high again this time of year, but we've had water levels hovering around an average of three feet for the past several weeks.  It is hard to complain.  The boating has been great.

This weekend offered some more beautiful weather.  A lot of guys were in town for the holidays, so we met up for a 'Thanksgiving Session' this afternoon.  I caught some good footage and filmed a few new angles. I climbed on top of the rock in the middle of the river above 'Sweet Drop'.  The video short is compiled from today's session.

Congrats to Scott and Katy on their recent engagement.

Cane Creek Farm

Kerry and hit the road last weekend for a wedding down in Durham, North Carolina.  We decided to spend the day at her cousin Elizabeth's farm, Cane Creek, on Monday.  

We got a chance to eat some great food from the farm, and had a fantastic morning catching pigs and turkeys to send to market.  It is an incredible feeling to wake up, walk outside, and go to work knowing you will be able to spend the entire day out in the fresh air.  The first chore of the morning was to hitch the chicken mobiles to the tractor and move them about ten yards to a new spot in the pasture.  This helps spread the chicken manure around the field.  They came running by the hundreds as we filled the trough with their morning feed.

When we were finished we ventured off to pick up the trailer used for picking up the pigs on market day.  We found an entire herd of Red Devon cattle in our way and had to wait for them to move along to the next field before we could get to the barn.

Catching pigs was new experience.  Pigs are amazing creatures.  One of the most remarkable attributes of pigs is  their personality.  Each pig is slightly different than the next, and we were introduced to the crew of 'all-stars'.  Donovan is the friendliest.  While pigs are normally quite skittish, Donovan saunters over and stick his snout right into your legs to say hello.  In complete contrast is Wayward Pig.  He should have been sent to market more than a year ago, but he is on to the farmer's game, and when they come rolling in to catch his buddies, he is sure to stay hundreds of yards away.

We tied off the feeders the night before so the pigs would be hungry in the morning when we opened the one with the corral.  We backed up the trailer and began to usher the biggest pigs aboard.  After several tries, and a lot of running and chasing we had the pigs we needed.

We took them back to the barn, and it was off to try our hand and catching turkeys.  The goal was forty, but it turned out they were mostly underweight and needed another two weeks of fattening before sending them to market.  We caught twenty-five.  It was my first time catching turkeys.  It is a little like taking a 'shot' in wrestling to grab their feet.  Once their feet are secured, you come over top and smother their wings so they cannot beat you, and carry them like a football to the trailer.

The visit to the farm was great, and left Kerry and I with a lot to think about as we move forward.

New Boat

I have not been able to spend much time kayaking over the past few weeks.  I cracked two boats in the past nine months, and my weld on my old Jefe was far from adequate, and leaking tremendously every time I was on the water.  Finally, my warrantied Remix hull made it in, and I installed the outfitting on Friday night.  I got the chance to take it out on Sunday afternoon for a few laps on the Falls with Geoff Calhoun.  I took this photo series from the session:

Pummel at 2.9

U-Hole Boof on Virginia Lines

Right Line Entrance at S-Turn Rapid on the Virginia Lines

Right Line at the 'Spout', on Virginia Lines

Geoff on Low Water 'Grace'

Classic Autumn Days

Somewhere between Riley's Lock and Great Falls

This past weekend offered up two incredible back to back classic Falls days.  The weather was perfect, lower sixties, blue skies, and plenty of sun.  The nights were crisp and cold.  Kerry and I woke up on Saturday morning, and decided to head out on a new adventure.  We were tired out from being on the road the weekend before at her cousin Elizabeth's farm, so we wanted to stay local.  I had the idea to grab the canoe and head up to Riley's Lock and canoe down to Great Falls, walk around the Falls and then canoe Mather Gorge to Old Angler's Inn.  We were not sure how long it would take, but after a leisurely morning finally got up to Riley's to put on around two o'clock in the afternoon.

We only had about three and half hours of daylight, so I knew we had to keep a steady pace.  The first part of the trip offered some great canoeing through the George Washington canal.  There were four or five quality class two, maybe three rapids with some interesting tight maneuvers through log jams and big boulder gardens.  We made our way out to the main Potomac and headed downstream for some beautiful calm flat water paddling.  There was a surprise five or six foot cobbled ledge about half way down that offered a quick thrill as we found the only open sluice with enough water to keep us from hitting bottom.

Sunny Waters on the Potomac

We spotted a Bald Eagle along the way, and after about two and half hours made our way into familiar territory.  We started recognizing some of the trees on river left, the big sycamores that line the River Walk trail in Great Falls Park.  It was getting dark quickly by the time we took out above the Falls and the temperature was starting to drop quickly.

The river was low, and the Gorge was calm, but S-turn is always full of squirrelly water, and it was the one part of our trip that I was a bit nervous about in the canoe.  Mogul was joining us, and was not too much trouble, but any sudden movements would be enough to tip us on a strong eddy line.

Kerry was a bit panicked when we got to the entrance of the gorge, so I came up with a quick plan 'b' and walked us along the cliff wall down below the rapid about one hundred feet downstream.  Getting back in the canoe was difficult and the canoe sat directly next to a strong eddy line.  Mogul jumped off the cliff into the boat and we held onto the wall and pulled our way away from the stronger current, dug in, and paddled out into the main flow.  We paddled through the Rocky Island wave train and floated the rest of the Gorge with ease.  It was completely dark, and a half moon sat overhead.

We were frozen by the time we took off the river, but it was an awesome spontaneous adventure on a beautiful fall day.  

Mogul in the Canoe

Painting Lines

Firing up the Right Line at the Spout

It's been a great start to the fall season.  Buckley came down last week for his sister's wedding.  We hung out on Wednesday night with Trope, and again on Monday morning to catch a little action on the Falls.  We took two runs down Maryland side before firing up the Virginia lines.  

The fall season always brings about its share of change, but this year the change seems particularly abundant.  My life as well as those I keep close, all seem in a state of flux faced with big decisions and fresh horizon lines.  Change can spur the occasional anxious moment, but more than anything I like to think of change as an opportunity.

My time at Landon seems to be drawing to a close.  I hope not to make a rash decision about my next step in life, but to carefully consider all the options and decide what the next step may be.  I am well aware the grass is not greener on the other side, rather it is merely different grass.  Any situation in life will bring about its share of imperfections and frustrations.  We simply need to decide what frustrations we are willing to deal with, as we follow our passions and pursue our desire of what we think life should be.

This can undoubtedly be an overwhelming process of pursuit.

Thank goodness the river is there to lift our spirits.

Digging Up Old Times

52 Miles

I made my return to the Gauley River. 

The Gauley is often a milestone in many paddler's lives.  Most never forget the feeling of their first time down, scared at 'Insignificant', wide-eyed at 'Pillow' and terrified in 'Lost Paddle'.  The river is a true classic.  Time passes in a paddler's life.  Bigger rivers and steeper creeks come to pass, but the allure of the Gauley remains.  It is a pilgrimage.  It is a sacred space where the community gathers and revels in all that it is.  The paddling community is made up of a unique breed of individuals from working professionals to bearded, dread-locked, back of my van lifestylers who breathe water instead of air.  They all have one thing in common though.  It is a respect, a fascination with an ideal that seems lost, or at the very least, hard to find in modern society.  It is a feeling of a life without walls.  It is a feeling of a life about possiblities.  It is a feeling of... perhaps quite obviously... life.  Simple, visceral, moving life.  On the river, things makes sense because things are real.  One gets to blend, and mesh with the very essence, the very core of the lifeblood of the planet.  In this environment, it is an easy mental exercise to let go of the constant neverending chattering monologue of you mind.  We are out there, because of this simple thing.  

We decide to go to the river.  We make a conscious choice to seek it out, to learn from it, to experience it. 
 
We paddled fifty two miles on Saturday.  It is known as the double-marathon, a logistical, mental, and physical challenge.  It was a long way to paddle.  It was a series of small moments strung together over nine hours of river time.  Almost all of it, I do not remember.

It was deep into the second marathon, that one moment in particular stands out in my mind.  We were out of the rapids.  Most of the rough stuff was over.  The river was calm.  There were a few small ripples on the surface.  The sun was beginning to dip near the tops of the trees.  We paddled straight into the evening light, squinting so hard we could barely see.  The trees shimmered alongside us in the breeze, and it was quiet.  The clink of my wedding band on the shaft of my paddle played a steady beat as the strokes melted away.  At times the sun was so strong, I could only manage to stare as far as the bow of the boat.  The water gently lifted the boat up and down.  We paddled in sequence like this for some time, rounding a bend, sliding onward, passing into the depths of a long shadow created by a high bank.   


There are reasons we go to the river.        

Early Fall in the Sods

Bear Rocks Trail

Kerry and I hit the road on Saturday morning.  We quickly gathered up our backpacking gear and threw it in the back of the pickup truck for a weekend of wandering around in the Dolly Sods.  I was excited to get away for a long weekend after two weeks of being reimmersed in life at school.

We met Katie and Scott in Friendsville around noon.  Katie, Scott, and I were set to spend a few hours paddling the Upper Yough.  We consolidated all of our kayaking gear and headed for the put-in.  There was an early fall chill in the air.  A cold front was blowing through the area.

Mogul's New Friends

Mogul made a few new friends in the parking area.  One dog was a perfect doppelganger.  They chased sticks around while we were suiting up.  The Upper Yough was great as always.  I saw Travis Overstreet at National Falls, always great to see him.  We paddled so quickly we ended up catching up with the release bubble.  It was a slow slog to the take-out, but the beautiful day made it more than bareable.

Once we were off the river, we met up with Kerry and headed to the Riverfront Hotel for soup, salad, and delicious homemade bread.  Maggie and Jeff were sitting at the table next to us, and we all talked while we ate.

Goldenrod

We hit the road for Canaan Valley, stopping at the local Wal-Mart in Oakland to pick up a few provisions, most importantly a sleeping bag for Kerry.  We thought about hitting up the Purple Fiddle to catch the evening show, but decided to build a fire, kick back and relax; a good choice.

Amber Waves of Grain in the Dolly Sods

In the morning we geared up and headed up to the Sods.  I had never before seen so many cars on the access road.  It was so dusty we were coughing the whole way to Bear Rocks where we ditched the cars.  We decided to do  a huge loop in the northern part of the Sods, a few trails I had not done before.  The vistas and wide open plains in the first few miles were stunning.  I could not help but think how badly I wanted to go back and mountain bike the same trails.

Intersection of Bear Rocks and Raven Ridge Trails

We hiked at an unhurried pace, and took plenty of time to take it all in.  We were unsure of where were going to camp, given the incredibly large amount of people in the area.  We decided the best spots were likely taken, so we settled on a site off trail near Blackbird Knob.  It worked out perfectly.  We built a great fire, ate some backpacking meals, and wiled away the evening looking at the stars.  The cold set in as our fire wound down, and we were eager to get into our sleeping bags.

In the morning we hiked out and hit the road.  It was the perfect way to spend the weekend before the start of the school year.

Kerry Crossing the Beaver Dam

Scott and Katie near the Finish

Good company and good times.   

Skull Island

Mark Loefler, Scouting Glen Park Falls on the Black River

Homegrown Locals held its first official, all hands on deck gathering in two years. The boys flew into upstate New York a few days before the wedding so we could paddle the Black River, and camp out on a small island in the middle of the St. Lawrence named Copperas.  We renamed it Skull Island in the wee hours of the morning when we became pirates and were trying to defend our turf from a wild pack of invading cousins.

Billy arrived on Tuesday night.  He had not slept in days due to celebrating his birthday.  He sounded a bit stressed on the phone, so I put his mind at ease and ordered him a limo.  He stepped off the plane and met the limo driver Neil who was holding a sign that said STRONGARMS. 

Neil dropped Billy off at the Black River and we enjoyed a long playboating session at Hole Brothers.  Afterward we went and picked up Mark and Lauren and took them back to Tip Camp.  Mark, Billy, and I took the boat out to cruise around the islands for a while.  When we got back to Tip Camp Billy promptly passed out. 

In the morning we woke up and drove back to Watertown to meet the rest of the crew.  Ian, Curt, and John pulled up in Ian's Subaru.  We had to move quickly so we didn't miss the release.  Unfortunately, Scott was still en route and we had to hit the river without him.

the whole crew getting ready to hit the Black River

The Black River is an awesome run.  The river starts off a bit slow, but picks up the pace when it starts to gorge up after Glen Park Falls. 

Mark Loefler, Glen Park Falls

Curt Joyce, Styling Glen Park Falls

Ian Buckley, Glen Park Falls

Billy Armstrong, Glen Park Falls

Glen Park Falls was a nice start to the gorge section.  We hit a few nice quality class three rapids before pulling off to hit up a fifty foot cliff jump.  A few local guides were paddling down river with us.  They were super cool and shared the local beta. 

Mark Loefler, Backflipping the Fifty Footer

The river kept getting better.  The next big rapid was called the Poop Chute, and we all found out why.  The rapid is kind of like a sloping waterfall into an offset seam, hole thing, that sucks you down to the bottom and spits you out after a few seconds. 

The Poop Chute is Kind and Lets Strongarms Go

The river soon came to an end and courtesy of the local guides, we had an entire shuttle bus waiting just for us at the bottom.  It was an amazing day on the river, and a special moment to have all of us on the water together again.

Homegrown Locals

Mark Loefler and his daughter Lillian in Clayton

We hopped in the cars and headed north toward the St. Lawrence.  We arrived at Rockledge and picked up some firewood for the night's bonfire.  Scott joined us in Clayton, and the entire crew was in one piece.  The boat ride out to Copperas Island was really slow, but no one cared. 

Landfall on Copperas Island

We arrived on Copperas and immediatley built a fire.  As the fire burned, we hopped in the water for a swim while the sun was going down.  Things began to get a wee bit foggy after the swim.

Skull Island Revelry

Just when we thought no one else was showing up, fireworks exploded overhead.  Kerry's cousins were on their way.  At this point we declared ourselves pirates and prepared to defend the island while they tried to make landfall.  After a bunch of nonsensical grumbling, we greeted them in merriment. 

Apparently the cooler kept moving in the middle of the night.  All of us tried to wrestle it, but we lost.  We woke up in the morning to a smoldering fire and heavy eyelids. 

Just like old times. 

Homegrown Locals, French Creek Marina Docks

The Notch

After almost two months away from the Falls, I finally made my return.  I joined Scott Anderson, Sean Devine, Mark Loeffler, and Eric Ornsetin for a few laps on the Maryland side.  It was a beautiful evening, and as the sun was setting, Pummel was perfectly lit. 

The photo series from the evening:

Sean Devine, the Notch

Scott Anderson, covered up in the Notch

Eric Ornstein, the Notch

Sean Devine, entering Pencil Sharpener

Scott Anderson, entering Pencil Sharpener

Mark Loeffler, entering Pencil Sharpener

Sean Devine, in the Notch

Scott Anderson, in the Notch

Mark Loeffler, in the Notch

Eric Ornstein, in the Notch

Epic Ascent

Heading into Dean's

I arrived back in town a few days ago after a long summer away.  I spent two weeks wandering through Virginia and West Virginia, a week training for the Great Falls kayak race, and then went north to the St. Lawrence river with Kerry.  We spent a few weeks getting ready for the wedding, got married, and then flew south to one of the Bahamian out islands for our honeymoon.  There are many stories to be told, so I will have to chip away slowly at the task of recording it all. 

Kerry, Cape SantaMaria

The trip to Long Island in the Bahamas was incredible.  Kerry's best friend Lindsay was kind enough to offer us her family's house on the beach.  We rented a car and explored the island.  The island is eighty miles long and only four miles wide. The Bahamas are home to one of the world's largest concentrations of blue holes, essentially large underwater cavern systems and sinkholes.  Dean's is the deepest in the world, close to seven hundred feet deep.  We traveled down to Dean's twice.  The first day we arrived we threw on our snorkeling gear and swam toward the edge of the abyss.  Blue holes are super eerie places.  Large concentrations of fish hang around the outer edges of the holes.  The ocean floor goes from knee deep to several hundred feet  within several yards.  Dean's is about thirty yards across.  When the sun shines directly on the hole you can see clearly to the other side.  Kerry and I swam the perimeter first before I ventured into the middle.  I was honestly kind of nervous as I flippered my way from one side to the other.  There is an incredible sense of quiet and calm, but mostly an overwhelming sense of an unknown world that feels like it might swallow you whole. 

On the far side of the hole, a limestone cliff rose about forty feet out of the water.  The limestone was incredibly sharp.  A rope ladder hung from the top, and after climbing it a few times to take the plunge from the top, I could not resist the temptation to try and climb the rock.  A spire hung from the ceiling, about four feet in diameter and reached down about fifteen feet above the water.  I climbed the pitch next to the spire until I was even with it, and then leapt toward the spire and tried to hold on.  I missed on the first few attempts, and decided to abandon my efforts for the day. 

Kerry and I headed into a small little village called Clarencetown to grab some dinner.  We met a potcake

dog named Happy, and ate fresh conch salad from the Rowdy Boys of Long Island.  We thought about spending the night, but decided to drive back north.  In the morning we woke up and headed south again.  I wanted one more shot at climbing Dean's.  We ate lunch at a place called Max's Conch on the way down.  As you might imagine, we ate more conch there. 

Potcake Dog, Happy

Most people go to Dean's to snorkel and free dive.  I imagine it is quite possible no one has ever climbed the route I was attempting there.  It would seem a strange idea for any climbers to venture to Dean's because it the only climbing around.  The idea of being the first or one of only a few to climb at this world class place was incredible. 

Sunset at Rowdy Boys

I put on my snorkel gear and headed to the cliff on the far side.  I made my way up to the dyno, but fell on the first two attempts.  It was pretty difficult climbing and I knew the dyno was going to take everything I had.  On the third attempt I finally nailed it.  I was super psyched and began climbing up the rest of the spire.  I reached the top and was able to rest under a large roof.  There were a few dicey looking holds that would have been bomber if I knew they would not crack, but I was not sure.  I decided to make a huge throw for the top.  I took a few deep breaths and leapt out to reach above the roof...

and fell. 

The water was crystal clear and before I surfaced I opened my eyes, surrounded by fish. 

Kerry and I decided to call it an early day and headed back to the house on the north end of the island.

It was an epic ascent, and one of our first adventures as a married couple.

I will never forget it.