Wallaces impromptu NRG trip
Posted: Wed Apr 23, 2008 10:21 pm
At the urging of a couple of friends, I have settled down to spin a tale of our grand adventures from this weekend (I know it's a little long, but I haven't spun a tale in a while so I got a little over exuberant )…
So there I was sitting at my desk diligently working away on a Thursday morning when I get an email from Guy. Being the curious type and also not ashamed to check personal email at work every once in a while, I opened it up. I was so excited with the news that I almost laughed out loud (that’s LOL’d for you young whipper-snappers). It seemed Wallace wanted to go run the New River Gorge (NRG). There had been a significant amount of rainfall in West Virginia causing the river to shoot up to 3.0 feet on the Fayette Station Bridge gauge. I had already made plans to possibly paddle the downtown James once or twice and spend the majority of my weekend sitting in front of Guy’s TV banging on a toy drum (playing Rock Band). Rock Band can wait…
I hadn’t been on the NRG in about two years or so and then it had only registered an optimistic zero on the bridge gauge. Of course, some may remember my first descent of the NRG (refresher course can be found here). I believe the gauge was around 2 feet and the NRG handed my behind to me on more than two occasions. In exchange, I gave the NRG my boat, dignity, and self respect. Needless to say (but not to read) I was willing to forego a weekend of brain cell killing video games for my vindication. I did what any 13 year old girl would…I texted my BFF.
“OMG teh NRG is going off. Want 2 go?”
Greggie-poo replied almost immediately with an emphatic “Hell Yeah!” Once I got his confirmation, I called Guy to share the good news. Even better, Tommy was interested as well. To recap for those who either can’t keep up or can’t remember, that made it a five-some (aw, yeah) – Me, Guy, Tommy, Greggie-poo, and the trip originator, Wallace.
And then it happened. Wallace reneged on his trip. Apparently, he had drunk- mailed us (if you’ve ever gotten the 3 AM call from an ex who is just exiting the bar alone and doesn’t really want to be alone, you know what I’m talking about). Tommy started waffling too. Guy was considering staying home since he’s been out being a Banff for the past 2 weekends with keeesssmannn (I can never remember how many e’s, s’s, and n’s are in his name, so I’m throwing in a few extra in case I forget later).
Meanwhile, Greggie-poo had already gone home on his lunch break to pack up his gear and tell his lovely girlfriend that he would be going out of town for the weekend. She is such a patient and understanding woman. I didn’t have the heart to call him and tell him the bad news: The trip was canceled. You’re stuck on the James and singer position in Rock Band…
I arrived at Guy’s Friday night around 8. Greg had just gotten there and was already surfing por…uh, I mean checking river levels. Guy was out gallivanting with young, highly uninterested women. When Guy got home (alone), the first thing out of his mouth was “Tommy called and asked what time are we leaving in the morning for the NRG?” I’ve never been happier to see Guy (well, except for that one time…).
So there we were, ready to head to the river Saturday morning. Greg had a wonderful idea. “Let’s just take one car. It will save on gas, and I’m sure we can hook up with someone for shuttle.” Tommy soon arrived and we hit the road with the two car sickness prone people in the back seat. We got to the visitor’s center around 2:00 to see if maybe there were other boaters that we could “hook up” with (not like that). No luck. We did however; note the bridge gauge was reading 3.1 according to the dry erase board in the lobby. We made it to the put in around 2:45 and sent Greggie-poo to the take out to hitch a ride back. We then entertained ourselves in the drizzle (I’ll spare the details). An hour and a half later a Mercedes SUV drove up and out pops Greg. He has a talent…
We put on the river around 4:00. It was A LOT pushier and A LOT larger than I remember it being two years ago (of course, it was 3 feet higher than it was 2 years ago…). I was almost as nervous as the first time I put on this river. Guy was kind enough to point me in the right direction and make sure I didn’t hyperventilate. All was well until the eddy above Middle Keeney. The blood started to drain from my extremities in an attempt to preempt any shock incurred. Guy fed me the basic line and peeled out. I watched him hit the first drop and then went for it. It was a wild ride, and to my surprise I stayed upright. Whew.
“I’m thinking about walking Lower Keeney.”
“Do whatever you feel you need to, but it’s just like Hollywood in reverse.”
So I hung back in the eddy and watched as Guy and Tommy went through. I decided I didn’t have the lower extremity coordination to navigate the walk. I peeled out and hit the cleanest, driest line through Lower Keeney of the day. Whew again.
I finally started to loosen up and relax. Everything was relatively uneventful until Double Z. We found out why they call it Double Z instead of One Z and maybe a semicolon. Like little lemmings we all fell into a hole and flipped. Then like soggy little lemmings, we all rolled.
“oh. That’s why they call it Double Z.”
We got off the river at 5:30. That’s right. An hour and a half run. A new record. We packed up and headed up the goat trail out of the gorge. It started to rain. We couldn’t see the road. The windows started to fog. We still couldn’t see the road. It started to hail. We decided to pull over before we drove off the mountainside.
Went to Pies and Pints to watch the local scenery then off to the hotel. Greg passed out on his cot, I texted a new found friend like the little school girl I am, and Guy and Tommy went to the bar. For some reason, Tommy and I found ourselves feeling quiet nauseous that evening. Tommy faired much worse than I.
The next morning found our gear soaked. We took it to the laundry facilities, watched some TV, shopped at ACE, and then hit “The Cathedral” for a 2.5 hour breakfast. The wait staff is slow, but at least they forget your order.
Anyway, the river was up another half foot on Sunday. That put it to 3.6 on the bridge gauge. Tommy and I were still feeling puny. I almost pussed out, but decided I would regret it if I did. So, I manned up. I didn’t really remember the lines from the day before, but then I was near blacking out most of the day Saturday. Guy fed me the lines again, and I had a pretty good day till Middle Keeney. I missed reading the pour over that Guy managed to skirt. Dropped in the hole and tried valiantly to brace. No luck. Got swirlied a bit, then rolled in time to catch the end of the eddy above Lower Keeney. Whew. At least I hit my roll. Then came Lower Keeney. I was feeling better. Looser and more relaxed. The top wave was slightly washed out, but I hit it right where I wanted to. Forgot to make the right turn. Hit the curling second wave and in one fell swoop rolled up and kept going. Another flip, another roll. “Damn. That’s twice as many as yesterday.” We were all much more cognizant of Double Z. Unfortunately, I followed Tommy until he got stuck in an eddy line. At that point, I had a decision to make: scoot over left and hit the hole again or bump Tommy and push him into a rock…Tommy got flipped on the rock. At least I yelled “Sorry Tommy” as I bumped by him. He rolled upright like the Monster he is. Before we knew it we were at Fayette Station. We saw the first boat outside our group in a wave above the drop. I have to say, it was super nice to have the NRG to ourselves for 2 days. Anyway, back to Fayette Station: I followed Greggie-poo. The first wave stood him straight up on his stern. The second wave finished the deal. I took note and started paddling much more aggressive and blew through the first and second wave. Got lazy and the third wave took the opportunity to say hello. I tried to roll. No luck. I took a cheap half roll to catch some air. Didn’t help much. I took another half roll to catch some more air. Helped a little more. Decided that if I didn’t at least try to slow down, relax and set up my roll, I’d swim for sure. The fourth time is a charm. I finally rolled, paddled over to the takeout where a local was taking pictures. I’m so happy that wonderful bit of paddling skill is caught on film somewhere…
So there I was sitting at my desk diligently working away on a Thursday morning when I get an email from Guy. Being the curious type and also not ashamed to check personal email at work every once in a while, I opened it up. I was so excited with the news that I almost laughed out loud (that’s LOL’d for you young whipper-snappers). It seemed Wallace wanted to go run the New River Gorge (NRG). There had been a significant amount of rainfall in West Virginia causing the river to shoot up to 3.0 feet on the Fayette Station Bridge gauge. I had already made plans to possibly paddle the downtown James once or twice and spend the majority of my weekend sitting in front of Guy’s TV banging on a toy drum (playing Rock Band). Rock Band can wait…
I hadn’t been on the NRG in about two years or so and then it had only registered an optimistic zero on the bridge gauge. Of course, some may remember my first descent of the NRG (refresher course can be found here). I believe the gauge was around 2 feet and the NRG handed my behind to me on more than two occasions. In exchange, I gave the NRG my boat, dignity, and self respect. Needless to say (but not to read) I was willing to forego a weekend of brain cell killing video games for my vindication. I did what any 13 year old girl would…I texted my BFF.
“OMG teh NRG is going off. Want 2 go?”
Greggie-poo replied almost immediately with an emphatic “Hell Yeah!” Once I got his confirmation, I called Guy to share the good news. Even better, Tommy was interested as well. To recap for those who either can’t keep up or can’t remember, that made it a five-some (aw, yeah) – Me, Guy, Tommy, Greggie-poo, and the trip originator, Wallace.
And then it happened. Wallace reneged on his trip. Apparently, he had drunk- mailed us (if you’ve ever gotten the 3 AM call from an ex who is just exiting the bar alone and doesn’t really want to be alone, you know what I’m talking about). Tommy started waffling too. Guy was considering staying home since he’s been out being a Banff for the past 2 weekends with keeesssmannn (I can never remember how many e’s, s’s, and n’s are in his name, so I’m throwing in a few extra in case I forget later).
Meanwhile, Greggie-poo had already gone home on his lunch break to pack up his gear and tell his lovely girlfriend that he would be going out of town for the weekend. She is such a patient and understanding woman. I didn’t have the heart to call him and tell him the bad news: The trip was canceled. You’re stuck on the James and singer position in Rock Band…
I arrived at Guy’s Friday night around 8. Greg had just gotten there and was already surfing por…uh, I mean checking river levels. Guy was out gallivanting with young, highly uninterested women. When Guy got home (alone), the first thing out of his mouth was “Tommy called and asked what time are we leaving in the morning for the NRG?” I’ve never been happier to see Guy (well, except for that one time…).
So there we were, ready to head to the river Saturday morning. Greg had a wonderful idea. “Let’s just take one car. It will save on gas, and I’m sure we can hook up with someone for shuttle.” Tommy soon arrived and we hit the road with the two car sickness prone people in the back seat. We got to the visitor’s center around 2:00 to see if maybe there were other boaters that we could “hook up” with (not like that). No luck. We did however; note the bridge gauge was reading 3.1 according to the dry erase board in the lobby. We made it to the put in around 2:45 and sent Greggie-poo to the take out to hitch a ride back. We then entertained ourselves in the drizzle (I’ll spare the details). An hour and a half later a Mercedes SUV drove up and out pops Greg. He has a talent…
We put on the river around 4:00. It was A LOT pushier and A LOT larger than I remember it being two years ago (of course, it was 3 feet higher than it was 2 years ago…). I was almost as nervous as the first time I put on this river. Guy was kind enough to point me in the right direction and make sure I didn’t hyperventilate. All was well until the eddy above Middle Keeney. The blood started to drain from my extremities in an attempt to preempt any shock incurred. Guy fed me the basic line and peeled out. I watched him hit the first drop and then went for it. It was a wild ride, and to my surprise I stayed upright. Whew.
“I’m thinking about walking Lower Keeney.”
“Do whatever you feel you need to, but it’s just like Hollywood in reverse.”
So I hung back in the eddy and watched as Guy and Tommy went through. I decided I didn’t have the lower extremity coordination to navigate the walk. I peeled out and hit the cleanest, driest line through Lower Keeney of the day. Whew again.
I finally started to loosen up and relax. Everything was relatively uneventful until Double Z. We found out why they call it Double Z instead of One Z and maybe a semicolon. Like little lemmings we all fell into a hole and flipped. Then like soggy little lemmings, we all rolled.
“oh. That’s why they call it Double Z.”
We got off the river at 5:30. That’s right. An hour and a half run. A new record. We packed up and headed up the goat trail out of the gorge. It started to rain. We couldn’t see the road. The windows started to fog. We still couldn’t see the road. It started to hail. We decided to pull over before we drove off the mountainside.
Went to Pies and Pints to watch the local scenery then off to the hotel. Greg passed out on his cot, I texted a new found friend like the little school girl I am, and Guy and Tommy went to the bar. For some reason, Tommy and I found ourselves feeling quiet nauseous that evening. Tommy faired much worse than I.
The next morning found our gear soaked. We took it to the laundry facilities, watched some TV, shopped at ACE, and then hit “The Cathedral” for a 2.5 hour breakfast. The wait staff is slow, but at least they forget your order.
Anyway, the river was up another half foot on Sunday. That put it to 3.6 on the bridge gauge. Tommy and I were still feeling puny. I almost pussed out, but decided I would regret it if I did. So, I manned up. I didn’t really remember the lines from the day before, but then I was near blacking out most of the day Saturday. Guy fed me the lines again, and I had a pretty good day till Middle Keeney. I missed reading the pour over that Guy managed to skirt. Dropped in the hole and tried valiantly to brace. No luck. Got swirlied a bit, then rolled in time to catch the end of the eddy above Lower Keeney. Whew. At least I hit my roll. Then came Lower Keeney. I was feeling better. Looser and more relaxed. The top wave was slightly washed out, but I hit it right where I wanted to. Forgot to make the right turn. Hit the curling second wave and in one fell swoop rolled up and kept going. Another flip, another roll. “Damn. That’s twice as many as yesterday.” We were all much more cognizant of Double Z. Unfortunately, I followed Tommy until he got stuck in an eddy line. At that point, I had a decision to make: scoot over left and hit the hole again or bump Tommy and push him into a rock…Tommy got flipped on the rock. At least I yelled “Sorry Tommy” as I bumped by him. He rolled upright like the Monster he is. Before we knew it we were at Fayette Station. We saw the first boat outside our group in a wave above the drop. I have to say, it was super nice to have the NRG to ourselves for 2 days. Anyway, back to Fayette Station: I followed Greggie-poo. The first wave stood him straight up on his stern. The second wave finished the deal. I took note and started paddling much more aggressive and blew through the first and second wave. Got lazy and the third wave took the opportunity to say hello. I tried to roll. No luck. I took a cheap half roll to catch some air. Didn’t help much. I took another half roll to catch some more air. Helped a little more. Decided that if I didn’t at least try to slow down, relax and set up my roll, I’d swim for sure. The fourth time is a charm. I finally rolled, paddled over to the takeout where a local was taking pictures. I’m so happy that wonderful bit of paddling skill is caught on film somewhere…
I mean, I know you’ve got my email after you spammed me with your political views a few days ago. I guess I shouldn’t be TOO surprised as you DID dis me on the cabin in Webster Springs. 
