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

Belize

Time for another flashback.  This past June, I took a trip to Belize with twelve students from Landon.  The trip followed the success of the previous year's trip to Peru.  This time we were off to Belize to explore issues of climate change, and complete a service project in the coastal city of Dangriga while hosted by locals of the Garifuna culture. 

Our first glimpse of the jungle

The trip was a success.  We started off with a swim in the Sibun River, eighty degrees of beautiful tropical river in the middle of the jungle.  We hitched a ride on the back of a truck pulling a trailer.  We stayed a few days at the Monkey Bay Sanctuary, and went looking for animals in the middle of the night. We were a bit too noisy and came up empty handed. 

The Sibun River

Hitching a Ride

Sunrise at Monkey Bay

Empty Hammock, Monkey Bay Sanctuary

Laundry, Monkey Bay Sanctuary

We left Monkey Bay, and explored the caves of Mayan princesses.  We swam into the cave and ventured a few miles back following a stream in a huge underground cavern.  Unbelievably, our guide led us to the remains of Mayan princesses over a thousand years old. 

The Road to Mayan Princesses

Mayan Princess Skull

We spent some time in the Pine Ridge Reserve, exploring many swimming holes and hiking to Big Rock Falls. 

Sunset, Pine Ridge Reserve

Big Rock Falls

Following our stay in the Pine Ridge Reserve we were off to visit some Mayan ruins, followed by our stay in Dangriga where we helped repair a statue and paint the local museum.

Xunantunich Ruins

Local Boy Fishing

Swimming in the inland Blue Hole

The Local Girls, Dangriga

a Boy and his Horse, Dangriga

Young man, Dangriga

Painting at the Gulisi Garifuna Cultural Museum

Painting

Friends

A Helping Hand

Finally, we finished our trip with a stay on a remote Caye, and even got the chance to hunt for a few spiny lobster.

Remote Caye

Paddles like a dream

It was short and sweet.  I am definitely looking forward to this summer's adventure in Tanzania. 

Relaxing, Belizean Style

One More Speed Star

Heading west again through Kansas

Upon our return from West Virginia, we arrived back in the D.C. area to a city buried in snow.  The roads were still in bad shape on Monday afternoon.  The snow was several feet thick, buses were stuck, and there were plenty of abandoned cars.  We put the Jeep into four wheel drive to make into our neighborhood, pulled in front of our house, grabbed some shovels and started digging a path toward our front door.

Digging out in Maryland

We settled in for a day, and waited for the next blizzard to strike.  Unbelievably, another blizzard was headed straight for the region.  The snow was almost as high as the fence around our yard.  The next storm brought nearly as much snow, and incredibly high winds.  I went outside to shovel every few hours to try and lighten the load once the storm was over.  Kerry and I needed a few groceries so I headed out to see if the store was open.  I could barely see several feet, and there was not a car on the road.  I pulled in front of the grocery store and thought it was closed.  I parked in front, hopped out, and pryed the mechanical door open.  Apparently the store was open.  I was one of two other shoppers in the store. 

My friend Jeff telephone that evening.  He asked if I was still on to drive to Colorado with him.  I have to be honest, in the midst of the second blizzard and after an unbelievable ski weekend, the prospect of twenty-six hours in the car did not seem so great. 

The storm let up, the roads cleared (a little), and we were on our way.  We left on Thursday afternoon around three o'clock, and arrived in Colorado at five thirty the next day.  It was rather insane.  We stopped in Charlottesville to pick up some victory cigars and a bottle of whiskey, and another time for dinner.  The rest of the way, we stopped only for gas.

Haggard at the Colorado Border

We were haggard by the time we arrived in Boulder, but we cleaned up and headed out to grab some food and to meet good ol' Billy Strongarms.  I had not seen Billy since he left a few months before to move to Fort Collins, so it was good to reunite for the weekend.

After dinner and meeting up with Billy we crashed at Jeff's apartment in Broomfield.  We woke up and hit the road.  We stopped in Berthoud Pass to hike up and ski/ride down.  It was an epic way to start the day.  Unbelievably so, for the second time in two weeks, I was getting my chance at another virgin moment.  I had never before been to Colorado in the winter, and to earn my first turns in fresh powder was an awesome experience. 

Billy scouting it out with some local on Berthoud Pass

After our adventure on Berthoud, we headed to Winterpark.  It ended up snowing most of the day.  It was windy, so the bowls at the top were closed, but I caught my first glimpse of Colorado skiing.  I was hooked.  My legs were definitely not in shape and burning by the end of the day, but I couldn't wait until tomorrow.  I was hoping the bowls would open up and I would have a shot at above the treeline skiing. 

That evening we were starving, and went to the local Winterpak Pub for some food.  We pre-gamed with some victory whiskey in the car.  After dinner, we decided to try our hand at Big Buck Hunter, a video game in the bar.  Two hours later we were still playing, and decided that it was our new favorite post skiing endeavor.  We headed over to Ben's condo to crash.  As usual, it was great to see Ben.  The three of us fell asleep watching 'Point Break'.

Billy Armstrong carving fresh tracks, Bethoud Pass

 
The next day, the weather broke.  We headed out to the slopes for another round of insane skiing.  Ben gave us a great tour of the mountain and brought us through some amazing tree runs.  We skied together all day.  I got my wish around lunchtime when the winds quieted down enough to open the lifts to the bowls.  We tore off on some crazy bowl runs down into the trees, over and over again.  We were one of the first groups on the lift and skied until close. 

The road to Winterpark

We said goodbye to Ben, and headed back to Jeff's apartment in Broomfield to catch some sleep.  Billy drove me to the airport in the morning for an early flight home.  We'll all get the chance to reunite again this summer at the River. I cannot wait.

Jeff Chrisler after skiing Berthoud

The Snow Lillies

Snowbound

Kerry's birthday was February 8th. We decided to head out to West Virginia to celebrate in good ol' Appalachian style: blue grass and Whitegrass.

There was one major twist in our plans, the second biggest blizzard to hit the region this season. Kerry had to go to school in the morning, but I was lucky enough to have the entire day off. Landon closed in anticipation of all the snow. I spent the morning throwing our gear together, snowboards, skis, gloves, snowshoes, and dog food. This was Mogul's first big road trip, and we were not sure what to expect. We decided to take Kerry's Jeep so he could chill in the back while we drove. We are essentially convinced that Mogul is the God of Snow. We picked him up during the first snowstorm of the season, decided to name him Mogul, and it has since been the snowiest winter on record.

We were hoping to beat the blizzard and leave by noon, but we were three and a half hours behind schedule. Everyone in D.C. loses their mind when snow is on the way, ransacking grocery stores and getting in accidents even before the snow starts. So, Kerry was stuck in traffic for two hours trying to get home. Oh, the joys of the city. Finally she got home, we threw Mogul in the back of the Jeep and we were off, just as the snow was starting to stick to the street. Eight and a half short hours later we made it to West Virginia.

The trip is usually a little under four hours, but by the time we reached I-68, the road was completely covered in snow. We barely made it out of Cumberland, sliding on a forty five degree angle for a mile to make it uphill. When we reached the top we were pulled over. The officer thought we did not have the Jeep in four wheel drive. We did, but apparently it was not working so well. We ended up putting the Jeep in four low and drove about twenty to thirty miles an hour to make it there.

When we were close to Wisp, the backloads had at least six inches or more on them. There was no one else on the road. We stopped to get gas. No other cars at the station, but there were four snowmobiles. Not your typical scene in Western, Maryland.

Not your typical scence in western Maryland

We had been in the car for around six hours at this point and were absolutely starving. We pulled into the Black Bear to grab some food. It sits across the lake the fuels Wisp's snowmaking. Not necessary these days. We couldn't even see the slopes less than a quarter mile away in the midst of the blizzard.

After dinner and a beer we headed back out into the storm. We only had forty five miles to drive, but it took us two more hours. We had to stop every twenty minutes or so to get out and clean the wiper blades and knock the ice off the windshield. I took a few minutes to stop and stand in the middle of the road every now and then to appreciate the storm. Everything just seems a little bit better when it's snowing.

Alas, we made it to Thomas. Never before has Thomas felt so out in the middle of nowhere. It was magnificent. There were several feet of snow pile high alongside Main Street. We pulled up in front of the Purple Fiddle, and it felt like we were home. We walked in to live music and a packed house. We were exhausted so we grabbed our key to the guest house and headed inside to hit the rack.

When we woke up it was still snowing. I took Mogul for a wicked awesome snowshoe down the street. He was buried with every pounce, but loved every minute of it. Kerry woke up and we grabbed some breakfast and the Flying Pigs Cafe. Mogul was invited in since there were no other customers. It was a quiet weekend in the Valley. Everyone cancelled their plans because of the storm. Mogul ran into the kitchen of the Flying Pigs and decided to dine on the sausage that didn't make it into our breakfast. We paid for this later when he threw up in the car while we were at Whitegrass.

Getting pulled out of a ditch

After breakfast we headed off to Whitegrass. On the way we picked up some new snowpants. My old ones kept wetting out on me, and I didn't feel like having a wet ass all day. We were almost there. Not quite though. I took it a little too wide leaving the parking lot, thought I was on the road, but realized quickly it was a snowbank because the car was on its side. Kerry and I were laughing in the car and had to climb out through my door. Luckily, a tow truck was driving by. They promised to come back and pull us. They held true to their word, and finally we were on our way to some sweet pow pow.

After all these years, I was still a Whitegrass virgin. Well, virgins no more! Our first time at Whitegrass will never be forgotten. We skied all day long and summited Bald Mountain in the afternoon. It was perfectly peaceful and the ride down was hilarious. We half sledded sitting on the backs of our skis, and half crashed in head high drifts of powder. We made it to the bottom in one piece and grabbed some after ski beverages at Whitegrass before heading back to Thomas to eat dinner at Syrianis. After Syrianis we headed to the Fiddle to catch the Black Lillies, our favorite new band.

Entrance to Whitegrass

Kerry heading off on Three Mile

Deep tracks in fresh powder

Staring off toward the slopes at Canann

The Summit of Bald Knob

Fresh and Quiet

The Valley

The Purple Fiddle

Kerry cruisin' through the trees

Crashed out in the deep stuff

In the midst of it all

Sunday morning we were at it again. We downhilled all day at Timberline. We skied in some of the best conditions I've ever seen in the region. The woods were wide open. That night, we left the Fiddle and headed to Canaan Valley Resort so we could watch the Super Bowl.

The drive to get there on Friday night was an adventure in itself, but combined with our first time at Whitegrass, the Black Lillies concert, and insane day at Timberline, it turned into a weekend that we'll remember for a lifetime. Canaan Valley never seems to fail on delivering unforgettable times.