Just notes along the way
Not much to remember. Stu and I squeezed our gear into his Ford Escape and headed South, from time to time trying to raise on a cell phone the groups that were already there. We were hoping to hook up either with folks from Michigan, or with the Keelhaulers Southern Rivers Trip. The rest of the Renegade II tour, that is, Brent, Dan, Duarte, and a couple of his friends, were going to run the Green Narrows. We thought it too much for a warm-up trip for either of us (and a bit too ambitious to try out my brand-new Lil’Joe), so we were hoping for something easier. In a Subway somewhere in Kentucky we learned that the Michigan group was still in West Virginia, scrapping the Nolichucky plans in favor of the Elk, the Meadow, and laps down the Cranberry. The Keelhaulers Southern Rivers Trip has their sites set on Nolichucky and maybe Ocoee. The rain, predicted a week earlier, wasn’t happening, so our choices of warm-up run were quickly dwindling. But, there was always the Tallulah. I missed my wife all the way down. Maybe except the coffee breaks. Nah, then I missed her even stronger (Lena, you’re reading this, right?)
I spent the night hanging in my hammock between two trees near the Ocoee put-in. Stu slept in the car. Around eight-thirty we got up and headed towards Georgia. Tallulah was the only thing that was running within hundreds of miles – and soon we got a call from Brent saying that they were waiting for us at the put-in. I looked at the GPS and determined that we had about 30 minutes to the put-in.
In about an hour and a half, we were there. The day was sunny and warm, so our wetsuits stayed dry. The 600 rusty rungs of the put-in ladder were waiting for us. We passed by a group of people in open canoes, waited for the knees to start working again, and splashed into the water.
My line down the first drop wasn’t as good as it could’ve been, considering that I flipped on the top and washed through a couple of small holes. As irritating as it was though, I fared a lot better than the swimmer next to me – he dislocated his shoulder and was in considerable pain. I helped him reunite with his group, and we went on. My own boating was sluggish at best, but I managed.
There are two big drops on the Tallulah – Oceana and Bridal Veil. At 500cfs, Oceana is quite friendly – at least for those who run the center line. The alternative (going far left and shooting past the jagged boulder dubbed The Thing at 30 miles per hour) is too much like using yourself as a bowling ball, with The Thing serving as a pin. The main objective (to get the boat to the bottom) is easily reached, but some of the possible outcomes are less than painful. We all chose to run the center line, except for Duarte, whose line started at the center, but instead of ferrying in front of The Thing like us mortals, he went to the right of it. Made it look smooth, too. When I grow up, I want to be like Duarte.
Stu ran the center line too, but in the bottom hole his roll has failed him, and the ensuing swim was preserved for posterity both in video footage and as still shots.
There were some other noteworthy runs – in particular, a young paddler in a small playboat, who ran straight into the face of The Thing. According to the laws of physics, we were expecting a pit-on, broken bones and a subsequent evacuation. Instead, his boat literally soared upwards, cleared The Thing, and landed on the other side. I still can’t tell how he did it. My opinion leans towards an optical illusion, or less likely, a case of spontaneous levitation – although some were arguing a rogue surge of the pillow. For now, there is no firm consensus on the matter, so it will have to stay unexplained.
After the takeout, we headed Northwest and looked at the waterfalls on Cullasaja. A sweet run! One of these days I might be boater enough to run it, too.
Unfortunately, during the dinner I noticed that my digital camera’s viewfinder and the screen steamed up on the inside. Next morning, it wouldn’t power up at all. Even worse, my SLR can’t easily get into or come out from the stern of my boat – so all the pictures from the trip are from the first day.
The pictures of the day are here:
www.fotki.com/glick/tallulah_gorge
Also, some professional pictures can be found here:
www.downstreamphoto.com
And the pictures of Cullasaja falls are here:
www.fotki.com/glick/cullasaja
Brent, Duarte, and the rest went out to run the Green. Stu and I decided to spend one more day on Tallulah, to get a better warm-up (neither one of us was satisfied with our performance the day before). We also wanted to see what the gorge was like with an extra 200cfs in it.
There were even less boaters on Sunday. The weather cooled down, so we geared up to compensate. If anything, the run was easier than the day before – we remembered most of the tight spots, and none of the holes grew much worse. The only noticeable difference was Oceana. At 500cfs, the center line was easy and controllable – you go down the main slide sideways, paddling forward at an easy pace, and stay ready with a right brace. When hit the hole, side-surf it towards The Thing on the river-left (that’s where the hole kicks, because the rock shelf that forms the hole is slanted that way). Because of the slant, the side-surf is no work at all, and surfing across the pillow of The Thing is just as easy. But during the 700 cfs Sunday release, the pillow grows bigger and more powerful, and the surges can throw the paddler several feet in the air – with no telling which way he’ll land. Last year, several people landed on the rock upside-down, on their heads or shoulders. So, I decided that at 700cfs, the river-left line offered more control. As it turned out, I was wrong.
A good Samaritan with a video camera offered to talk me through the line. He pointed out the rooster tail to aim for, and suggested that I should brace on the side away from the rock, because the objective was to allow the boat to bounce off the pillow. I did what he said – and maybe, just maybe, I ended up even further right than he said. Next thing I knew, I was hurtling straight towards the center of The Thing. I did the only thing that I could think of at the time – present the bottom of my boat towards the rock.
The impact felt like a landing from a good size waterfall. I bounced off the pillow, then the water dragged me on my side towards the hole at the bottom of the rapid. Even running on my side, I still had enough momentum to punch the hole. I rolled in the outflow, thankful for the elbow guards.
Almost nobody ran the center line on Sunday, and those who did, were thrown by the pillow of The Thing every which way. Perhaps, the only truly dependable line at that level is to run to the right of The Thing – but it requires a lot of confidence, high degree of control, and a no-nonsense attitude towards the bottom hole.
Bridal Veil drop has proved to be more entertaining. The drop is a simple slide that leads into a large, almost river-wide keeper hole. The only line is to hug the left bank, sliding down the rocks barely covered by water, and punch the far left shoulder of the hole. At 700cfs, it actually becomes easier, because more water is coming down the rocks, and it’s easier to build enough speed on the way down. One river feature makes the drop more interesting – the river-wide small hole right above the drop. It’s not powerful enough to stop a kayak, but it can slow it down or change the direction. Most paddlers punch it with plenty of speed.
To start the day’s entertainment, we saw a successful run of Bridal Veil in a Topolino Duo tandem kayak. The boat effortlessly punched through the top hole, slid down the far left, went over the shoulder of the bottom hole, veered left, and flipped! The paddlers set up for the roll on the simultaneously, and the boat snapped up a lot faster than a regular kayak would. The crowd of onlookers cheered, and with a good reason!
The next incident was all about the fallacy of taunting the river gods. A guy in a yellow playboat got into the hole on the top and started throwing cartwheels. A few on the right, then a few on the left – all controlled and very deliberate-looking. When he had enough, he set up a brace, floated up and over the pillow, and went down the slide. He took a couple of lazy strokes to get him towards the left of the drop, which almost worked.
But not quite. Soon enough, he was doing cartwheels in the bottom hole. The first couple of cartwheels looked so well-executed and controlled, that I couldn’t tell if he was in trouble or not. But when his head went underwater, I realized that he wasn’t playing – and that there wasn’t anybody in sight with a throwbag, except me. I tried to run or walk down the left bank, but the rocks were too slippery, so I sat down and slid towards a rock shelf on my butt. Then I hit him with a throw rope – easily the best throw I ever made! Unfortunately, the paddler didn’t see the rope, and didn’t grab it. By that time, he was out of his boat.
The only other mishap on the river had to do with Stu’s paddle. After we ran one of the last drops, somebody noticed that a half of his left blade has snapped – it was still okay for forward strokes, but not for low-brace. I got out my breakdown, and we ran the last Class 3 – neither Stu nor I making it look pretty. Each missed a boof at the top, flipped in the first drop, and proceeded upside-down through the most of it, rolling on the bottom.
After a nice Chinese dinner, Stu and I drove towards the campground where Brent and Dan stayed the two previous nights. Stu drove and I navigated, which explains the scenic shortcut, that turned into a two-hour-long detour. To compensate, I took pictures of the main falls of Cullasaja – a remarkable sight. We made it to the campground two hours after dark, and were soon asleep, listening to the sound of the long-awaited rain.
In the morning, Brent drove over to the area with a better cell phone reception and soon came back. The Green was running at 100% release, plus some water from the last night rains that should pad the rocks somewhat. An ideal level for an introductory run.
Soon, we were running the shuttle. And suddenly I found myself in the spot that I remembered from two years back – the top of Frankenstein rapid, the first serious drop on the Green Narrows. The move there is somewhat involved: Squeeze through the crack between two rocks, drop into the current that goes perpendicular to the crack, ferry across the current, catch a micro-eddy under the right bank, then peel out and boof the drop on the river-right slot, and finally, ferry back to the river-left in front of an overhanging undercut rock. Again, my line was less than perfect – I blew the first ferry and ended up running the wrong slot, the one on the river left. I didn’t get stuck (mostly luck), but the current shove me into the undercut. I was able to push off with little difficulty though, and caught an eddy on the bottom. I don’t think Stu’s line was very clean either, but at least he ran the right slot.
The next few drops we pretty much followed Brent. He’s been paying attention to his last few runs of the Green, and is now familiar enough with the river to guide our little group. Before Zwick’s, we got out of the boats and scouted the drop. From the bank it seemed a lot easier than from the boat – punch a hole on the river-right (taking care not to slam into the rocks that guard the right side of the drop), than work your way right, trying to end up on the right of the horseshoe-shaped main drop of Zwick’s. The second-best line is running the horseshoe on the far left, and the worst one – trying to punch the hole on the horseshoe head-on in the center. The move is somewhat difficult, because if starting on the right, most of the water pulls the boater towards the center of the drop. My line was by no means picture-perfect – I ended up running the center of the bottom hole, but the Lil’Joe slid over the top of the hole without even slowing down.
The next drop, called Chief, was a bit unnerving, because the main line goes straight over a rock sieve – the only place where somebody died on the river. I made it over the sieve without any problems, but hit too many rocks along the way for my comfort. Next time, I’ll be on the right of that drop, instead of its center. That center is evil.
We carried the four drops of Gorilla, and splashed down below Flume. We ran Scream Machine without incident, but the hole on the bottom of Nies’ Pieces got the better of Stu and me. The AWA description says that the hole is "sticky above the 100%". I can attest to it. After spending some time upside-down, trying to catch the outflow with the paddle, rolling up and getting sucked back in, I ran out of air and pulled the skirt. The boat played in the hole for a while more, then floated out. Stu (who was already out of his boat) helped me to get situated on the rocks along the river-right. Stu’s boat was gone out of sight, but he still had his paddle. We assessed the situation, thinking of different ways to get Stu to the left bank. Finally, Brent saw a way to climb up the wall of the gorge, and Stu headed upwards. Brent and Dan ran Rapid Transit, and I followed. The pool below the drop was large enough to tow a swimmer across, so I remained there to wait for Stu’s descent, while Brent and Dan went further downstream to hunt for Stu’s boat. Soon I spotted Stu about fifty feet up the Rhododendron-covered cliffs and shouted for him to climb down. He did, eventually. We crossed the river, but not completely without accident – Stu slipped and couldn’t hold on to his paddle, so it floated downstream on its own. Luckily, when we reunited at the bottom of the drop, Brent and Dan had captured both Stu’s boat and the paddle, both in good shape.
We ran the new line down Groove Tube – boofing the drop straight down the center. My boat landed flat with a hard thump, and we carried around Sunshine. It was inspiring to see a group of local paddlers, who ran Gorilla/Sunshine combo without getting out of their boats, even without catching the set-up eddy before Sunshine.
The rest of the run proceeded without a hitch, except for me sliding face-down on Little Sunshine. Soon, we were back in our cars, heading towards the dinner and the campground – but not before checking out the local outfitter store.
The night brought more rain, and after checking the levels, we decided to run the forks of the French Broad. These are both short runs, so we thought that we might be able to run both the North and the West forks. On the North Fork, the AWA description rates one of the rapids (Boxcar) at 5.1. That rating made me nervous, and I didn’t run it – although walking away from this drop was quite depressing. It truly felt as a lost opportunity.
A couple of drops later, we got out of our boats to scout Submarine. The hole on the river-left looked big and recurculating, so we ran the right side.
As we carried our boats towards the cars on the takeout, we ran into Joshua. He was anxious to run the West Fork with us, so we threw the boats into his pickup and he gunned the engine. The West Fork of the French Broad turned out to be a short, but very fun run. There are three significant rapids, all slides, all easy to scout and fun to ride, without much in the way of consequences. As we neared the takeout, Joshua told us that there’s time enough for another run of the North Fork – if we use the alternative put-in and takeout that he knows about. So, we did.
On our second time down, I did run Boxcar. I still can’t tell what it did to deserve a 5.1 rating. The line is straightforward – just charge down the far right – and the hole on the bottom isn’t bad.
My second run down Submarine was the entertainment of the day. This time, the water was a good two feet lower (the level was dropping very fast), and the river-right line that we ran earlier, was now a sieve. So we ran the river-left, punching through the hole. All except me, that is. Instead of punching it, I went for a ride. A long ride. First in the boat, then out. On the right bank, the hole is supported by a sheer rock, and on the left, it flows into an undercut (Closet Of Doom, according to AWA). There was no hope of swimming out of that one on the surface; I had to let the outflow grab me and carry me deep under the hole. I surfaced about ten feet downstream, while the boat kept bouncing and cartwheeling in the hole for quite some time – ten minutes at least – before finally floating out. Dan caught my paddle on the way out, which was intact – but one of the pogies was missing.
The night was rainy again. The temperature dropped, and the mountains around us were covered by snow. I was concerned about paddling without my lost pogie, but by some miracle, the store manager was in, and he sold me a pair of pogies – more than an hour before the official store opening time.
Our original plan was to go North towards West Virginia and run the North Fork of Blackwater, but it was too high. So we ended up going towards the Wilsons Creek – and found it too low. The only other option was the Watauga. After a less-than-scenic two-hour detour down the dirt roads, we came to the put-in.
The water was high. It was dropping, to be sure – the last reading of 800 cfs was from seven o’clock in the morning. But still, AWA doesn’t recommend this run above 650cfs. Brent said something about ending the trip with a bang. Stu decided to opt out, and I was on the verge of it – but at the end, decided to go.
It was big, pushy water. To me, it was a totally new experience – when the confidence in each maneuver is very low, the boat gets thrown around all the time. There was no telling if a brace or a ferry will work. It was hard to tell if an eddy turn would actually get me into an eddy, or just get me tangled in the boiling interface. My body tried to compensate for the lack of precision with extra force – which only made things worse: By the end of the first mile I was physically exhausted. The run was six miles… We did carry Hydro.
I don’t remember much of the rest of the run. The rapids weren’t all that big, but with my reduced confidence level, everything seemed ten times harder than it really was. At one point, when scouting on the left, I saw an easy-looking slide into a small hole. What I failed to notice, was the circular current in the feeding eddy – the hole was recirculating, and a lot bigger under the surface than it was on the top. Soon, I was swimming again, with my boat doing flips and gyrations in the hole.
Brent helped me to get to the shore, then he and Dan took off after the boat, while I started walking along the left bank. The water was fast. About a quarter of the mile downstream, I saw my paddle on the rocks on the left side – Dan saw it floating in an eddy and threw it out of the water. The boat was a whole mile downstream. Luckily, Brent had his tow system, and he was able to get the boat to the river-left before the next major drop, and I reunited with my boat – sans one of the pieces of the breakdown paddle.
That rapid was pretty difficult – several moves, dodging large holes and a sieve on the river right. We all ran it, with me flipping and hitting the side of my helmet in the process. All three of us carried State Line Falls, although Brent and Dave spent some time looking for possible lines. I wanted no part of it.
After running the last rapid (the holes looked formidable, but I was still good for the good old "follow-the-leader" routine) we got to the takeout. How the world had changed! The snow was gone, the sky cleared out, and we were getting a good dose of sunshine. And my part in the Keelhaulers Renegade Tour II was over, except for the aching muscles and the missing gear. But I’ll be there the next time!
See you on the river!
Boris
April 2004