PRELUDE

            I arrived at Chin-nut, uh, oops, I mean Chestnut Creek on Thursday afternoon. It was a warm, sunny autumn day. Brian welcomed me with the usual litany of rules and regulations. To my utter joy and surprise, I also got a bonus tale of woe, sorrow, exceedingly dry summers, and a collection of water jugs for the campfires. I laughed, I cried, I mentally banged my head against a brick wall. Freeing myself from the clammy grip of a lonely rule-laden campground owner (that’s a figurative grip; we weren’t in any type of embrace, so don’t even go there), I was on my way to my campsite. Home Sweet Site 34.

A haiku, submitted for your reading pleasure:

Camp Nazi

Signs are abundant

Fires in a pool of water

The price of beauty?

Friday morning found me in an oddly comfortable melancholy state. I decided to do some hiking since I was all alone and didn’t really feel like spending the day playing Parcheesi with Brian.  So I went to the NRG visitors center for some advice on where to hike. The park ranger was really helpful and suggested a couple of trails meeting my criteria (not too strenuous, nor too long – I may be outdoorsy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not lazy). I decided on a trail called Endless Wall. It just so happened that it was about one mile down the road from the campsite so it really met the criteria. This trail had several climbing access trails off of it, which I explored. I found myself looking straight off of 40-50 foot sheer cliffs at the New river below. It was a great view of the Gorge itself and I saw only one other hiker the entire day so if you like solitude, this is the trail for it.

On one of the climbing access trails, I heard some voices nearby so I sat on the edge of the cliff and looked around for who was making all the noise. I should have looked down. There were two rock climbers living up to their titles so I watched them climb up the rock, then rappel back down. Seems kind of silly to expend all that energy to climb up the face of a cliff just to turn around and go right back down, but then, I find enjoyment from bouncing off of rocks in a little plastic boat.

As I rounded a corner heading back to the trail head, I recognized a peculiar, undeniable odor and began to hear the hoots and hollers of revelers. I continued along, trying not to disturb anything, when I suddenly came up on some post-modern hippies smoking what smelled like an entire forest of pot. I scared one of them so bad he almost fell off the cliff he was standing on, trying to hide the joint he was holding.  (Like the smell didn’t already give him away. He may be a pothead, but at least he’s got two brain cells to rub together. Mind you, not many more than two, but at least two lonely little cells.)

All in all, a great hike. If you find yourself in the New River Gorge sans boat and paddle, your soul will thank you for taking it on a walk along any one of the trails in the area.

Now, on with the report:

Dedication: I would like to dedicate this report to my good friend Feline Groovy. Without whom, I could have done this. 

Disclaimer: the following is a fictional account of actual event. Any references to actual people or places are purely coincidental. All names have been changed to protect the “innocent”.

Chapter 1

            It was a dark and lonely night at the camp. I was about to start a fire and drink alone when a voice rose from the darkness.

“Are you Doug from the Corn?”

“Yes, I am”

“Hey, it’s Hazmat!”

As luck would have it, the Hazmat clan pulled up in the neighboring site and set up camp. After a few pleasantries, I was offered a fresh camp-cooked spaghetti dinner, which sounded much better than my planned solo weenie roast. Dinner was a whole grain feast fit for a King (of Waverly). Mrs. Hazmat really knows how to work it on the camp stove and the Haz-kids were quiet well behaved.

            After doing the dishes (which consisted of throwing the paper plates in the appointed and labeled receptacle for food scraps) and helping unload the Haz-truck, I headed home and started the campfire in preparation for the welcoming of the rest of the Corn Contingency. Hazmat joined me for a beer as did Mrs. Hazmat once the children were locked safely in the truck.

            The remainder of the Corn Contingency soon arrived with Greg and Daniel in tow. Tents were pitched, cars unpacked, and the beer began to flow! The Camp Nazi made an appearance shortly thereafter so we quieted down (after all, quiet hour began sharply at 11:00 and it was already 12:30) and eventually we all fell off to sleep in our own beds (no funny business!).

Chapter 2

            Saturday morning arrived way too early and found some of us with a slight hangover. Chef Guy cooked up breakfast which of course contained pork product (anything less would be un-Corn-like and completely unacceptable). And we began loading up the wagon for the Gorge. On the way out, we were informed that our personal quiet hour would be an hour earlier tonight since we took an hour of quiet time from the other campers…that’s right, we were given a demerit. Oh, the shame! Oh, the humanity!

            The shuttle shuffle commenced at 10:00 at the visitors center parking lot. Lovely Queen Alicia handled things expertly and after a lot of jockeying and milling about, we finally headed off to the put in around 11:00 and were on the river by noon! There were 14 boats in all. I don’t remember all of the names so please forgive me if I have forsaken you, but the list went something like this: Queen Alicia, Ken of the Bell, Monster, Jules (PFD), Guy, FatDoug, Daniel (PFD), SwimmerGreg, then there were the folks I didn’t really know. I think there were maybe a couple of Robs and the rest is a blur. I know there were 4-5 open boats (and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that one of those open boats contained a solo Ken of the Bell on his virgin C-1 trip on the Gorge). I think there was also a shredder somewhere as well.

            The river was low that day, my friends. That’s right. Low. I know, it’s hard to believe, what with the copious amounts of rain we’ve all experienced this summer. I think the gauge showed something like -.012 ish (though I’ve never been one to pay too much attention to gauges). There wasn’t much water in the river but at least we had an abundance of goose poop covering the exposed rocks! The first excitement of the day was Upper Railroad. When we started up to it, there was a plethora of boats and boaters on the left bank. There was also a rope hanging over the left half of the river. Queen Alicia, in her infinite wisdom, saw this and decided we would be wise to run the far right side; “creeking it” she says. As we headed over to the far right, one of the boaters on the left bank started blowing on his whistle and waving franticly for us to come over there. So we all paddled the width of the river to see WTF he wanted.

            Once we made it over to Frantic Whistle Blower (I think that was his Indian name, or was it his Porn Star name? I can’t remember.), he told us a tale of rapids being run at very low water, Clam Shell Rocks living up to their namesake, boaters who miraculously escaped the clutches of a pinned boat in a very dangerous place, and boats that were still MIA under Clam Shell rock after a day and a half of extrication efforts. He suggested that we run the rapid far river right. Deja vu. I could have sworn that’s where we just were…

            All made it through the creek route without incident. In fact, there weren’t any casualties until the bottom of Under Cut Rock, where two of the forgotten-named open boaters swam. They were fortunate enough to make it to the shore before getting swept through Broken Nose as they were heading straight for the “place you don’t want to be” according to our expert guide and mother duck, Queen Alicia. I am not counting a swim after catching a gunnel while surfing a casualty but that was up by “Greyhound bus stopper” which wasn’t even a Volkswagen stopper this day. Much of the day on the river was spent playing, surfing, and generally enjoying life. Above the major rapids, we could here the distinctive call of a mother duck, “Julie!! JUUUULLLIIEEEEE…” with the equally distinctive, “ALICIAAAAAA! I’M COMING!!!” from the duckling.

We made it to the take out, loaded up all of the boats, and headed back to camp. We were fortunate enough to have Dave of the Angry Wood and his partner in crime Princess Stinky JJ running the Official Coastals Trip on the upper section and deliver the Corn Wagon to camp from the put in. Thanks Dave. You’re the Best! A great day on the river. No swims in the Corn contingency! Thank you, mother duck!  Alicia is the world’s most awesome NRG guide in the world!

Chapter 3

            The Gauley Festival was slated for fun on the Corn Calendar of events Saturday evening. I really have to hand it to the AWA, they sure know how to throw a party, complete with total and blatant disregard of legal drinking ages. (If only I knew about this when I was 18. I had to drink the hard way: pay off older people to buy me alcohol.) The vendors were out in full force, as were the drunken young girls and drunken old hippie chicks, both looking for some young kayaker loving and both striking out miserably. Deals were found (from the vendors, not the drunk chicks), haggling was unsuccessfully attempted (with both the vendors and the drunk chicks), and much beer was consumed. Things were done in a fit of inebriation that were not remembered in the morning (and I choose to forget such things and who did them, cuz that’s the kind of friend I am). We ran into good friends who aren’t afraid to paddle “grown up” rivers like the Upper G and heard stories of chin-plants onto not so soft rocks, helicopter rescues, and conquering big rivers with big rapids. We all met up at the designated rendezvous and headed home. It was a very wise decision to put the most drunk, least able to handle his liquor guy in the middle of the back seat of the Corn Wagon, tucked safely away from any window in case the need arose. I on the other hand, was happily sitting in the front seat as I called “shotgun!”

As we arrived at the camp, I bailed out at the bath house.  As I made my way back from the bath house, all was quiet (what with the extra-early curfew imposed on us) sans a meek voice calling out to someone. I couldn’t quite make it out, so I listened more closely:

“Ralph!....RALPH!!!!........RAAAAAAALLLLLLLPPPPPPHHHHHHH. uuuuhhhhgggg.”

I recognized the voice.

As I got closer to the camp, there I saw him, on all fours as if looking for something. But what could he be looking for?

His sobriety.

He was able to pour himself into his tent and the rest of us sat quietly by the fire, whispering so as not to disturb anyone nor receive another visit from the Gestapo.

Chapter 4

            Sunday morning found us most of us in a chipper disposition, with one of us looking much paler and punier than normal. More pork products and eggs were cooked up by our fearless chef Guy and camp was broke. We again met Queen Alicia at the visitors center for the shuttle shuffle. We ended up with 12 boats this time, with the same Core of the Corn, Queen Alicia, Ken of the Bell, SwimmerGreg, and Ralphy (formerly known as Daniel). We also had with us a Dick, two Robs, and a very nice lady whose name I can’t remember, but she was schooled in the Way of the Corn.

            The river was no higher and just as goose poop laden as the previous day. Did that slow us down? Well, actually, a little, but we had no less fun. Most of us were able to remember the lines from the day before but Queen Alicia was right there in her ever- caring fashion giving us who needed it the low-down on the major rapids.             Upper Railroad was clear today so we ran the traditional far left slot. It was a hoot. No one is certain if the boat remains trapped in the clenched mouth of Clam Shell Rock. It’s an unsolved mystery. Maybe they’ll feature it on a lame TV show. The Keenys were well navigated by all with only one or two must-make moves and a few combat rolls. Again, carnage-wise, a very uneventful day. Jules hit three combat roles in the middle of Undercut just to show off. Much more playing was done today since everyone was loose and relaxed from the previous day’s successful trip.

That is until Fayette Station. There we were, having fun, being relaxed, laughing, joking. And then we saw him. On the rocks on the side of the river. How did he find us? How did he know when to show up? Smile for the camera, JR is filming us. The curse. It happened. Two swims. See Dick swim. Swim, Dick, swim! See Julie swim. Swim, Julie, swim. The day ended with a wet Jules and a wet Dick.

            We got to the take out, dried off, loaded boats on cars and trucks, watched some sweet girl on girl action, got in our vehicles, and parted. Thank you New River for hosting the Corn and their friends. You were a gracious host, providing much fun and pleasing memories. We will be back.

Let it be known for the record that the Corn is now fully EnGorged.

The end.