Gauley Fest - A Festive Occasion

Gauley Fest

A Festive Occasion

by Lincoln Price

Publication Date: October 1997

Somewhere in the southern part of West Virginia lies a small town known as Summersville. It is a town just like any other. Children can be seen playing in their yards after school, the parking lot of the local grocery mart is constantly packed with cars, a church can be found for almost any denomination, and the local fire department is always ready in case of an emergency. Yet each year, thousands of people from all over the world gather together in the town of Summersville for one basic reason. They gather here simply because a river runs through it.

This river, known as The Gauley, has created a reputation for being one of the most challenging rivers in the country and ranks as the number seven river in the world. Some of the nation's biggest whitewater is found here, twisting and turning as it tumbles through any raft, kayak, or canoe that miscalculates in its treacherous path. Together it is divided into three sections, the Upper Gauley, Middle Gauley and Lower Gauley. Each section requires only the most experienced guides and paddlers to enter its waters.

Every year in the third week of October, a festival is held in Summersville in celebration of the Gauley River. From the outside it looks more like a carnival than a river festival. Over the years it has grown into somewhat of a trade show, with almost every whitewater outfitting company in the business present and ready to grab your attention. The fairgrounds are lined with hundreds of canvas tents with each company displaying all that they have to offer. For the average enthusiastic boater, it is like being a kid in a candy store and having the opportunity to sample every flavor.

At Gauley Fest, it seems that nothing really has a set price. Instead, it embraces the nostalgic atmosphere of bargaining, the way it used to be in the world not too long ago.

"How much for this?"

"A hundred and fifty."

"Oh c'mon, I just saw one five minutes ago for seventy-five, and in much better condition."

"Sorry pal, can't go below a hundred and forty."

"Well, how about a hundred and twenty-five? That's all I got."

"Sold!"

Rafts, kayaks, canoes, paddles, helmets, jackets, sunglasses, sandals, ropes, anything and everything, new and used, it can be found. Whatever you really want, it's always there and always for a fair price. You just have to work for it a little bit.

Above all, the Gauley Fest serves as a gathering place for people to come together to share one common and overwhelming emotion--the feeling of the river itself. Throughout the entire crowd there is the hum of the "water war story," of how the river did this to that raft and trashed this kayaker. If you look closely enough, you can see friends comparing scrapes and bruises with another. I met one girl who had most of the skin ripped off her hand.

"How did that happen?" I asked her as I pointed at her hand.

"Iron Ring," she replied. Iron Ring is a nasty class five rapid on the Upper Gauley that will tear a boat or raft to shreds if you fall too far left. Obviously, she had encountered such a situation.

"I got caught at the bottom hole and it spun me into the rocks," she explained.

"Did you swim?" I asked, wondering if it tossed her out of her kayak and into the current.

"No way, I pulled it out once the hole released me. I can't wait to do it again tomorrow!" she answered with a smile. There was a reflection of modest pride and excitement in her voice, symbolizing the common attitude of the Gauley. Sometimes the battle wounds are mild and harmless, other times they look deep and scary - but no matter how severe the wounds really are, everyone is still smiling and ready to charge down the river the next morning.

Shortly after ten o'clock the fireworks light up the night signaling that the festival is well under way. The crowd only seems to grow even larger as everyone hoots and hollers, raising their drinks to the sky. Music comes pounding down on top of you from some tent that you never can seem to find. In the bright, crackling mist of the smoke, you wonder again whether it is actually a festival, a carnival, or a circus. Whatever it is, you realize that you're there having the time of your life, smiling somewhere in the small town of Summersville, West Virginia.