Fishladder Series

The weather was perfect on Sunday afternoon.  I met Mark and Scott for some Falls laps.  After a run through the Fishladder and a lap through center lines, we started talking about the lack of a Fishladder link on the Americanwhitewater page.  The Fishladder consists of six slides in quick succession.  It moves quickly and is often much less photographed than the rest of the lines on Great Falls.  We decided to take on the afternoon project of photographing each of the six major slides in sequence.  We plan on heading back out again, but here is what he have so far.  It's hard to imagine a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon. 
(The first shot is not from the Fishladder, but I had to pay homage to Scott's sweet boof)

Scott Anderson, 'Grace Under Pressure'

Scott on the first slide of the Fishladder

Scott, second slide of the Fishladder

Mark Loeffler, second slide of the Fishladder

Third slide, 'Under the Bridge'

Mark, fourth slide

Mark, fifth slide, 'Around the Corner'

Long view of the last slide

Last Slide

Big

It was big. 
Scott called me on Friday afternoon.
'You wanna' run the Fishladder?'
'Definitely.  I'll meet you at there at four o'clock'. 
I called Pags to see if he was game.  He was in the midst of driving a school bus back to Calleva.  I assured him not to worry.  I could fully outfit him with gear.  He was down. 
I usually shy away from higher water levels.  I am trying to break the habit, move out of my comfort zone. 
We ferried around to warm up, boofed over the dam and headed downstream.  I followed Scott in to the first slide.  I hit the wall stroking hard, backentered near vertical and threw a huge brace to keep myself from flipping.  I pulled into the relative calm of the river right eddy.
Pags was coming in hot.  He hit the wall with full force and stopped dead in his tracks.  In an instant he was facing upstream front surfing the first slide.  Scott and I looked on with a small sense of urgency.  We didn't really want to entertain the idea of a swim.  Pags eventually surfed over the top of the pile, a bit stirred, but not too shaken. 
Scott headed into the second slide.  Pags and I elected to check out the river right line known as 'Tight Squeeze'.  We had never seen it before.  We approached it quickly to find a large log blocking the entrance.  We banged over some rocks and started to appreciate the name of this short section. 
We met Scott above the thrird slide. 
'We'll see how it goes'. 
He disappeared into the center of the huge wave.  Pags and I sat for a brief moment, contemplating the size and speed.  He took off.  I paused for another moment and let go.  I blanked out as I hit the wave face.  I came through hurtled toward the river right wall and straight into the fourth slide.  I ducked under a fallen tree with downhanging branches and launched into the river left eddy.  I admitted my gut wrenching fear as we laughed at the absurdity of the size and speed at higher water levels. 
We discussed the fifth and sixth slides.  Scott and Pags wanted to run straight through.  I thought I might eddy out above.  A few short seconds later we were careening around the corner and headed straight into the last slide.  I looked right and decided to follow them straight into it. 
In mid-slide I watched Pags surf the top of the pile.  He blew out as I smashed into the ten foot wall of water.  I crashed on through and eddied out screaming at the top of my lungs.  I sat in the eddy with Pags.  We just looked at each other and yelled.  We looked at the sky slapping our hands in the water next to our boats.  Smiling.  Smiling.  Laughing, smiling, breathing sighs of relief and gratitude. 
In the midst of it you can feel it. 
It makes sense.
Sometimes the only kind I know.

See you on the river.

North Cackalacky

So, there we were.  Boulders to the left.  Trees to the right.  Sun overhead, staring down the throat of the snarling beast of a dragon.  Wilson's Creek. 

Alright, alright.  No drama.  Here's the real deal. 

                                                 Curt Joyce, Ten Foot Falls, Wilson's Creek

Me, Ten Foot Falls

I took off from the lovely little metropolis of D.C. on Thursday morning and headed down to meet up with Warthog.  He recently returned from a long epic little sojourn to New Zealand chasing some lil' kayking philly.  He was gone for months, and I was eager to hear his stories of rivers and romance.  He did not disappoint. 

We met up at Dixie Caverns, a bit past the 'Noke, ditched his truck, threw his gear in mine, and hit the road.  We filled each other in on life, our latest adventures, and our plans for the upcoming months. 

We drove for hours until we hit the booming town of Boone, North Carolina.  We were hungry and made the appropriate refueling pitstop at a little restaurant called Galileo's.  We decided this was our 'spot' in Boone, and returned days later for another meal on the way home.  After dinner we drove some more, and then some more, and then just a little bit further.  It was hours later that we ended up smack dab in the middle of darn tarnation in the woods of Appalachia at the doorstep of Bruce Gray's cottage, country store, and trout pond.

                                                               Triple Drop, Wilson's Creek

We walked in around ten o'clock at night, surprised that he not only existed way out here, but was also open at such a late hour.  Bruce was behind the counter.  Way behind the counter sitting on his couch.  We quickly realized this was also his home.  Bruce appeared to be enjoying a little of grandpa's old cough medicine and jibed us with some congenial conversation.  We heard more truisms in ten minutes than one might hear in a lifetime.  Bruce was not only a shopkeeper and trout farmer, but replete with philisophical wisdoms beyond the abilities of our tired river dreaming brains to bear at such a later time of night. 

He offered to let us camp in his backyard next to the trout pond for free, because he wanted us to know that 'in this whole crazy fucked up world, that he, Bruce Gray, was the one damn individual that gave two shits about us'. 

       Razor's Edge, Wilson's Creek

He then offered us beers and let us join him behind the counter next to his glorious piping hot wood stove.  We chatted some more as Bruce told us about Barbara and breakfast in the morning while he played video poker on the television with one hand. 

We said goonight and headed out to put up the tent next to the trout pond.  Mogul was joining us on this adventure and was running around chasing the thousands of tadpoles littering the ponds edge. 

It rained through the night, but we woke up to sunny skies and warm weather.  Perfect.  We headed toward Wilson's and a great morning on the river. 

The river was recently declared wild and scenic.  It easily lived up to such an honor. 

        Paddling out of Razor's Edge

When we were finished we headed over to the Watauga back near Boone.  The weather changed dramatically and by the time we arrived it was cloudy, near snowing and about freezing.  Curt met up with his friend Drew and they bombed the gorge in an hour or so.  We then headed over to Johnson City, Tennessee to hang with a few of Drew's close friends.  We drank some beers, played a little disc golf, and ate some pizza.  We transferred to another bar, but I was beat and fell asleep with the dog in the back seat of my truck.  We went back to the house and I passed out on the couch.  Drew and Curt headed out for another round. 

In the morning I explored Johnson City with Mogul who was happy to be out of the truck for a while.  After a breakfast of baby shower cookies we headed for the river.  I am still confused about what in the hell a nipple brush is.  It seems really weird. 

The Watagua is a classic North Carolina river.  It's a beautiful gorge and offers continuous, challenging whitewater.  In terms of difficulty it's been described as something a bit harder than the Upper Yough, but a bit easier than the Upper Blackwater.  No matter really, just an incredible day of quality time on the river. 

The weather was incredible, sunny and warm, but the forecast was for more rain and the worst the next day so we decided to head back to Roanoake.  We crashed at Curt's mom's house that night. 

In the morning we chilled over a leisurely breakfast before I hit the road for home. 

Great to see some new rivers with a good old time friend. 

Lots more to come now that the weather is finally getting warmer. 

Until next time.

Mogul