~Ghalib Shiraz Dhalla~
2007 was a year that entered into my life very quietly. I spent that New Years Eve alone in the small cabin I loved so dearly, deep in the forest outside Brevard. Marcelle had traveled back to Charlottesville to spend time with her family, and I remember quietly watching the ball drop and listening to a driving rain storm commence outside. The ironic part about the rain was that within minutes of the stroke of midnight, the deluge ceased, and the stars came out to welcome in the New Year. It was a very symbolic entrance into the year that would inevitably define a large portion of my life.
Throughout the winter and early Spring, the separation of our two lives continued to broaden like a rivah, and I continued to allow The Epic Worthlessness that is Man to draw me away from Marcelle, and instead push me deeper into the wilds of WNC. While she developed her career on trail with the beloved hoodlums of Camp Woodson, I embarked on increasingly difficult kayaking adventures. The North Fork, Wilsons Crick, Watagua, The West Fork, play days at Hell Hole on The Ocoee, Section IV, the massive drops of The Little in Dupont (Well, the first two that is. Screw that third one), cool down laps on the Davidson...............one by one I diligently checked off rivah after rivah as any aspiring boater does throughout their career. With every new crick and rivah came the expansion of my skill level, feeding a never ending hunger for more sizable and more demanding whitewater puzzles. I was a very prudent paddler, and my progress was slow and meticulous. Early on in my career, during my first year in WNC, I attempted to charge forward, determined to reach the Class V level as hastily and recklessly as possible. However, that mindset changed with a simple miscalculation on an easy Class III crick line one summer afternoon in 2005. After accidentally flipping above a six foot ledge and being sent tumbling over the drop upside down, I landed head first directly on a rock slightly submerged under the water. Without a helmet, the incident would have surely split my skull like a canoe. However, my helmet safeguarded me properly, refocusing the impact to my rib cage as the full weight of my body and boat crunched my mid section like an accordion. I was very lucky that the impact and the way I landed did not break my neck or damage my spine. The incident did produce contusions in my ribs, resulting in a particularly painful paddle and hike out of the gorge, as well as a month long recovery. This episode spooked me early in my paddling career, and the reckless abandonment that I had possessed throughout my days of soccer and first years of boating ceased. I became an extremely cautious paddler, content to progress forward at my own pace. The positive side to this set back was the ability to develop a love for the overall aspect of paddling. I no longer focused on the adrenaline infused and glorified notion of whitewater, but instead directed my attention to the overall aspect of the beauty of the sport, eventually leading me to a love for whitewater photography. Kayaking allows us the ability to enter other worlds, places that only our skill and determined mindset can take us to. Sitting below drops deep within inaccessible gorges allows us the ability to appreciate an aspect of nature that cannot be found anywhere else. The beauty and natural gifts that our sport delivers became the reason I loved to paddle. To this day, I still never forget to sit in an eddy, take a deep breath, push the outside world far away from my consciousnesses, and appreciate the natural, untouched beauty of the rivah. That is why I paddle, and that is why I will always cherish the sport of kayaking.
"It's not a far away exotic locale. It's just a moment we inhabit in an exotic way - a choice we make to live more playfully, to live more alive......"
~Sandy Gingras~
As the year progressed, the void between the two of us broadened even further, and I observed Marcelle continue to pull away, failing to properly communicate her feelings or thoughts about the future of our relationship. My communication skills were less than perfect as well, however, I attempted to reach out to her in subtle ways, but that seemed to only push her away further. Over the winter months, I helped her locate and purchase a $600.00 pop up camper in the hopes that we could pursue new and creative adventures, using the camper as a tool to bring us closer together. Little did I know that Marcelle had alternative plans with her newly purchased prize. In late Spring she came to me and announced that she was restless and worried that she was not prepared for the "domestication that we were inevitably falling into." This came as a surprise to me, seeing that the Flower Pickin' Gentleman's life is what I thought she longed so much for. In looking back on that time, I believe Marcelle didn't know what she wanted, and was making decisions based on her needs and not considering what was best for us both. This irritated me considering I had always tried to put aside my own personal wants to do what was right for the commitment that I had made to her. And so, in early May of that year, she decided that it was best for her to move out of the cabin and set up an alternative life on the grounds of her employer, living in the pop up with our dog T in the shadow of the Black Mountains, deep in the WNC wilderness..........................WTF?!? Let's just say I was slightly confused by this decision. She insisted that it was not because of me, but more an attempt to "find herself"..........again, WTF?!? I was rather heartbroken, but Marcelle continued to do what was best for Marcelle, and before I knew it I was living alone, stuck with our bills, our responsibilities, and left worrying immensely about not only her safety, but her own mental stability. I would wander out to her camp spot and visit her throughout the summer, trying my best to convince her to come home, but anyone who knows Marcelle knows she is the most stubborn pain in the ass that ever walked the face of the earth. It was not long before I knew I would need to let her go about her life in her way, and simply wait for her to come to her senses.
Many of my friends offered different advice for me, and in hindsight I should have listened to those friends. The way they saw it, Marcelle didn't deserve to come back, and she had made a selfish decision that she would have to live with, because it was time for me to move on. I had a quality job, good friends, an adventurous lifestyle, and the ability to make my way on my own in the world. But I was heartbroken, and I missed her. I decided to do what any true kayaker would do.........drown my sorrows on the rivah. (not the best choice of words there) So over the course of the summer of 2007 I truly stepped up my paddling abilities and utilized the time she had awarded me to fully immerse myself into the life of a dirt bag paddling nomad. There were many weekdays that I was unable to find a paddling partner for these exploits (most people had normal job schedules), which limited my choices for places to paddle. But when the weekend came, I would hit the Class IV-V world as hard as I could. My weekday limits came as a result of two factors...........my safety on the rivah and the need for a shuttle vehicle. I chose the places that I knew were safe.............Section IX of the French Broad (in which I could walk the train tracks back to the car), the Nantahala (which offers shuttle service for a modest $2.00 fee), and a one hour drive to Charlotte to experience the U.S. National Whitewater Center, which is an outstanding way for some relaxing solo paddling in a giant concrete ditch with constantly moving eddies and raft guides that steer their boats like a newly permitted teenage girl driving daddy's car............the whitewater at the park is the easy part. It's everything else going on around the whitewater that will kill you.
"The danger of venturing into uncharted waters is not nearly as dangerous as staying on shore, waiting for your boat to come in."
~Charles F. Glassman~
The Nantahala is an elementary, carefree, and incomparably cold rivah, and I used to thoroughly enjoy solo paddling it for a variety of reasons. First, at the time I was living in WNC I sucked at kayaking, and the rivah was an easy and safe Class II(III) solo paddle. Second, it's in a beautiful gorge with fun Class II rapids and plenty of people both on the rivah and on the banks to converse with. However, it is also quite simple to escape the crowds and find a bit of rivah solitude when needed. (safety meetings) And third, the outfitters rent out duckies and rafts to clueless tourists without any knowledgeable guides. The tourists fumble and bounce down the rivah throughout the day, creating an epic amount of amusement for skilled paddlers to sit in hidden eddies and be entertained for hours by the carnage that ensues. I have witnessed heroic fathers cluelessy attempt to navigate Nantahala Falls many times, only to narrowly escape drowning their entire families and securing the cold shoulder from their wives for at least the next week.
On one particularly warm summer day in 2007 I sat in an eddy, enjoying the solitude of the rivah. After a few minutes a line of colorfully clad kayaks came bouncing down the rapids. The boats were led by an older man who was obviously an experienced kayaker. His duct taped and faded PFD, worn down paddle blade, and lack of rivah knife is what gave him away as an expert boater. As I continued observing the unfolding scene I realized that each boat behind him had a miniature head peaking out of the cockpit, vigorously paddling and moving down the rivah with little to no control. What I was witnessing was an NOC kayaking class for kids. I sat and observed the scene for a while and then paddled behind them down the rivah to see how the group fared in the rapids. All I could see were smiles on every kids face. After taking the time to observe the joy, comradery, and skill being displayed, I came to a very eye opening revelation about my life.....................I wanted that! I wanted to run a kayaking program. I wanted to teach kids the joy and beauty of the sport I had come to love, and above all else, teach them the discipline and motivation that kayaking and the rivah bring to someones life. For the first time ever, I knew exactly what I wanted, and I knew how I wanted to make my mark on the world. At the time, I felt that Marcelle was slipping away forever, so I was searching for something new to fill that void in my life. Teaching kayaking to the next generation was the lifestyle I would fill it with......................Stay tuned, because the second half of 2007 ends up taking a turn that no one saw coming, not even me.
“Most people want to be circled by safety, not by the unexpected. The unexpected can take you out. But the unexpected can also take you over and change your life. Put a heart in your body where a stone used to be.”
~Ron Hall~
Many of my friends offered different advice for me, and in hindsight I should have listened to those friends. The way they saw it, Marcelle didn't deserve to come back, and she had made a selfish decision that she would have to live with, because it was time for me to move on. I had a quality job, good friends, an adventurous lifestyle, and the ability to make my way on my own in the world. But I was heartbroken, and I missed her. I decided to do what any true kayaker would do.........drown my sorrows on the rivah. (not the best choice of words there) So over the course of the summer of 2007 I truly stepped up my paddling abilities and utilized the time she had awarded me to fully immerse myself into the life of a dirt bag paddling nomad. There were many weekdays that I was unable to find a paddling partner for these exploits (most people had normal job schedules), which limited my choices for places to paddle. But when the weekend came, I would hit the Class IV-V world as hard as I could. My weekday limits came as a result of two factors...........my safety on the rivah and the need for a shuttle vehicle. I chose the places that I knew were safe.............Section IX of the French Broad (in which I could walk the train tracks back to the car), the Nantahala (which offers shuttle service for a modest $2.00 fee), and a one hour drive to Charlotte to experience the U.S. National Whitewater Center, which is an outstanding way for some relaxing solo paddling in a giant concrete ditch with constantly moving eddies and raft guides that steer their boats like a newly permitted teenage girl driving daddy's car............the whitewater at the park is the easy part. It's everything else going on around the whitewater that will kill you.
"The danger of venturing into uncharted waters is not nearly as dangerous as staying on shore, waiting for your boat to come in."
~Charles F. Glassman~
The Nantahala is an elementary, carefree, and incomparably cold rivah, and I used to thoroughly enjoy solo paddling it for a variety of reasons. First, at the time I was living in WNC I sucked at kayaking, and the rivah was an easy and safe Class II(III) solo paddle. Second, it's in a beautiful gorge with fun Class II rapids and plenty of people both on the rivah and on the banks to converse with. However, it is also quite simple to escape the crowds and find a bit of rivah solitude when needed. (safety meetings) And third, the outfitters rent out duckies and rafts to clueless tourists without any knowledgeable guides. The tourists fumble and bounce down the rivah throughout the day, creating an epic amount of amusement for skilled paddlers to sit in hidden eddies and be entertained for hours by the carnage that ensues. I have witnessed heroic fathers cluelessy attempt to navigate Nantahala Falls many times, only to narrowly escape drowning their entire families and securing the cold shoulder from their wives for at least the next week.
On one particularly warm summer day in 2007 I sat in an eddy, enjoying the solitude of the rivah. After a few minutes a line of colorfully clad kayaks came bouncing down the rapids. The boats were led by an older man who was obviously an experienced kayaker. His duct taped and faded PFD, worn down paddle blade, and lack of rivah knife is what gave him away as an expert boater. As I continued observing the unfolding scene I realized that each boat behind him had a miniature head peaking out of the cockpit, vigorously paddling and moving down the rivah with little to no control. What I was witnessing was an NOC kayaking class for kids. I sat and observed the scene for a while and then paddled behind them down the rivah to see how the group fared in the rapids. All I could see were smiles on every kids face. After taking the time to observe the joy, comradery, and skill being displayed, I came to a very eye opening revelation about my life.....................I wanted that! I wanted to run a kayaking program. I wanted to teach kids the joy and beauty of the sport I had come to love, and above all else, teach them the discipline and motivation that kayaking and the rivah bring to someones life. For the first time ever, I knew exactly what I wanted, and I knew how I wanted to make my mark on the world. At the time, I felt that Marcelle was slipping away forever, so I was searching for something new to fill that void in my life. Teaching kayaking to the next generation was the lifestyle I would fill it with......................Stay tuned, because the second half of 2007 ends up taking a turn that no one saw coming, not even me.
“Most people want to be circled by safety, not by the unexpected. The unexpected can take you out. But the unexpected can also take you over and change your life. Put a heart in your body where a stone used to be.”
~Ron Hall~
See ya on the rivah..........................hopefully discovering your own personal dream. PEACE
To find out what turn it takes, click here..................................Part II
To find out what turn it takes, click here..................................Part II
