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.