Pringle

Just back from a long weekend of non-stop adventure. Stories to come... for now, here's a short film of our exploratory run on Pringle Run near Albright, West Virginia.

Untitled from Brett Mayer-Aschhoff on Vimeo.

High Ridge

The phone rang. I rolled over. The phone rang again. My arm reached toward the night stand and fumbled for the phone. I pressed the 'accept' button. 'Hello'. It was Curt. I fell asleep at nine o'clock the night before. 'I'm on my way dude'.
I thought Curt was coming at seven o'clock. It was six. I shut my eyes for a few short moments, adjusting to the thought of getting out of bed.

I climbed out of bed. I put my feet on the floor. The floor was cold. I walked into the bathroom and flipped the switch. I turned on the faucet, dropped my boxers, and hopped in the shower. Warmth.

The doorbell rang. It was Curt. Kerry answered the door. He came in and took a seat. I gathered my things, threw them in the back of his pick-up truck and we hit the road.

Three hours later we were approaching Seneca Rocks. We drove too far. We pulled a U-turn and headed back south. Our eyes were peeled. We were looking for Forest Road 761. The gateway to High Ridge. We did not have any information on the creek, only tid bits of information we heard from friends who ran the creek earlier in the year.

761. We found it. We hung a left and headed up the mountain. The weather was glorious. Blue skies and sixty degrees. It was the kind of day you dream about. Perfect light, a shimmer of a breeze. Gorgeous.

We plowed our way up the muddy road, fish tailing a time or two in Curt's Nissan pickup. Suddenly, the ride was over. There was a large gate in our way. We hopped out and surveyed our surroundings. We were close to the top of the ridge. We examined the topo map and decided we should hike up the road a bit further in search of the put-in.

There was a sign warning of a natural gas well at the top of the mountain. Ridiculous. Here we were in search of a ride on a beautiful pristine piece of water and it was under siege from six hundred different chemicals being pumped under ground to 'frack' the gas out of the rock. The natural gas companies can only recover a portion of the fluid. The rest ends up in the aquifers, eventually seeping out into local waterways. Lovely.

We threw our gear on. The sky darkened. A storm lay on the horizon. The temperature started to drop. We headed up the road. It began to sleet. We passed the natural gas pad. Despicable. Minutes later we passed an ancient rusted pick-up truck. We took a picture. Ten minutes later and we arrived at a small culvert.

This must be it we thought. Not enough water. We were at the top of the mountain so we headed down. Five minutes later and we found the put-in for High Ridge. Beautiful. We were not sure what the normal flow looked like, but it appeared we had enough water to get down. We geared up, hiked in, and put on.

I snapped the spray skirt. The seal launch was memorable. I launched off of a rock that sent me sailing through the air to the other side of the creek. I settled into the river, pointed my nose downstream, and was off to the races. After a number of large drops, I stopped in an eddy and stared back at the gradient. Impressive. Curt settled in beside me a few moments later.

We hopped out and scouted for forty five minutes. The gradient was incredible. The creek was eight foot after ten foot after twelve foot drop continuously no stopping. The snow was pouring down. The wind was blowing hard. I sat in my boat trying to warm my hands. I was about to launch over a twelve foot piece of mank into more continuous mank. Exciting. I had a minor temper tantrum because I could not feel my hands. I got out of my boat. Curt meandered up the trail.

'Let's hike out'. We surveyed the scene. It was two o'clock. Time needed to scout versus daylight available - not looking good. We decided to accept defeat and try again another day. It was a major bummer. We shivered and slipped our way back up to the fire road. One mile later and we were back at the truck. Lessons learned.

After warming up we made our way toward Canaan Valley. Burritos at Hellbenders. We ate.

As we write, we are sitting in the hostel at the Purple Fiddle. A long day, but nothing a few sips of Kentucky moonshine cannot cure.

More adventures on the horizon for tomorrow.

Until then...

Brett and Curt

Bitch Monkey

There I was. In the midst of it. Cliffs to my left. Waterfall to my right. It was beautiful outside. It was seventy degrees, the wind was blowing seventy miles per hour, and the sunlight filled the small canyon in a way that felt like velvet. The leafless trees blew in the distance. Their scraggly branches danced with the effervescent blue sky. I folded the camera down. The battery was dead.

I took two strokes forward and began to pick up speed as I approached the lip of the first slide. My boat hurtled forward and I stared into the gaping jaws of the first hole. I feathered my left blade a bit and pulled my self atop the right curler and punched through. Sometimes the first drop goes smoothly. Sometimes. There are other times when it punches you in the face and typewriters you into the left wall, almost as if the river was speaking up a bit... 'Don't get too brave their boy'.

I followed the current through the canyon, rocketing toward drop number two. I angled left, started on the right, two three strokes, and bam! Contact. It hit me in the gut and hurled me right. I dipped a blade and paddled forward. I stroked around the log on the right wall, lined up behind and prepared to drop into the third slide.

Things were different. The drop was no longer the same. A log submerged against the river left wall created a large hump in the downstream flow. It changed the angle of the main flow and pushed it further right. Normally one lines up on the right and fires it up right of center with a hint of left angle. When run successfully, one would easily careen past the small crack dropping from the third slide over a fifteen foot waterfall into the Back Canyon.

I never tried the Back Canyon. The main lines were so much fun, and it always looked a bit too manky. Most folks stay to the left and leave the Back Canyon alone. Fewer still run the crack over the waterfall that connects the two canyons in a rather heinous looking spray of jagged rocks and water mixing and swirling through the air in a way that makes you a little scared just to look at it.

Things were different. I lined up on the right with a larger degree of left facing angle and began to power my way down the slide with the intent to move across the face of the breaking wave into the safety of the slack water on river left. Almost all of the main flow was now going directly over 'Bitch Monkey'. I ran the drop successfully twice the day before and once the day before that. It seemed as straight forward as the old line, it simply had a new twist.

I went under the bridge and crashed through the wave. I felt like had a great angle. I blinked. There was water in my eyes. I opened them. I was not where I was supposed to be. I tried to correct. It was too late. 'Bitch Monkey' had me. It was pulling me backwards like a vacuum. There was no escape. I took a big lefty backward stroke and hoped for the best. I blanked. I was upside down under water. I felt no impact. I felt no rocks. I held my paddle, reached out and rolled up. I opened my eyes. I had never been here before. It was kind of nice. I was up against a big wall. I took a sweep stroke and faced down stream. My boat felt different. I was not sure what it was. I paddled into the eddy above the last slide. The whole moment was a bit surreal, but incredibly clear. I let out a scream of joy. I popped my skirt and looked down to notice the bolt that connect the back band to the ratchet split the plastic. It must have happened on impact. I decided I didn't feel any impact because all of the shock was absorbed by the screw. Crazy.

I pushed my feet forward to steady myself in the boat and hurled down the last slide. My day on the water was done. I walked back to the car to meet up with Kerry.

I always wanted to run 'Bitch Monkey'.