Thunder In The Mountains - Whitewater Rafting

Thunder In The Mountains

by Randy Zilz

Publication Date: August 1998

The sky is black - Black with the smoke belching up the side of a 1,000 foot cliff. A crashing sinister-colored river slams through the rough-cut rocks, exploding into them and spewing its own peculiar cloud. Train sounds ricochet off the walls of the gorge, echoing from miles away. Flames from the coke ovens throw a ghostly reflection against the billowing cloud that was forever present. Reality is distorted. It is a scene from Hell. It is the West Virginia coal mines of the 1920's.

This was the color of the overwhelming sense of history we experienced while wandering through the small towns and hills of "Wild, Wonderful" West Virginia. Bed and breakfast inns have been created out of the mansions once owned by "Old Coal." Photographs and old news clippings are displayed in little stores and cafes in the villages. As we found out later, hundreds of artifacts from a bygone era are still in place, begging to be explored.

Seventy years later, the massive walls of this canyon are now covered with trees - they have all grown back since the mines shut down. A glittering river slams through rough-cut rocks and the mist sparkles in the sunlight. Sounds in the gorge still include the river, but the only work noises come from the whitewater rafters pulling through a fifteen foot "hydraulic boiler."

Located just an hour from clean and modern Charlestown, WV, the New River Gorge area lists dozens of activities for vacationers, from perfect weekenders to month-long excursions. Our ability to remain flexible was the thing that changed what was supposed to be a weekend bed and breakfast trip into an exciting and athletic adventure.

Leaving picturesque Charleston, we opted for Rt. 60 up the Kanawha River. The Kanawha is formed at the junction of the New and Gauley Rivers. Marveling at the many waterfalls and bridges that line the road, we eventually made our way to the Hawk's Nest State Park. Proceeding on the Hwy. 19 intersection, we turned south toward Fayetteville and Beckley.

Barely five minutes of pleasurable driving had passed whereupon we came across the New River Gorge bridge and overlook. Stopping for just a moment to view America's longest single-span arch bridge, we noticed several tiny dots floating in the river almost 900 feet below us -whitewater rafters.

"That looks like fun!" said the wife. She has always been the adventurous one in the household. Personally, I felt just the slightest knot in my stomach as I watched the tiny tubes bouncing through the rapids. The knot was not from hunger. "There's a rafting outfit 'just a spit' the other side of the bridge," remarked one of the fellow overlookers, "you ought to give it a try."

That was all it took. That darned ability to be flexible was about to carry us away again. So here is where the trip really began. The very next road on the other side of the bridge turned out to be the driveway to the resort and the old road that used to traverse the gorge before the new highway.

A covered, wooden bridge led to the camp simply entitled "Rivers." Our encounter at the check-in facility was pleasant, as we learned the resort had an outfitters store, campground with acres of tent space, RV hookups, charming, rustic cabins complete with tin roofs, a restaurant, convenience store, and even a saloon. The staff also informed us of special lodging packages they had with local hotels and bed and breakfast inns, but we opted for the camping cabins.

After settling in, we spent the rest of the afternoon exploring our surroundings. The old road leading to the gorge, we were told, was lined with unusual rock formations, creeks and waterfalls. They were right. The short half mile or so to the river turned out to be a two hour walk with all the interesting detours. There was a picturesque waterfall emptying into a circular pool, not thirty yards off the road, that we swore we would revisit as soon as we had the time and a bottle of champagne.

When we finally reached the river, it was already close to sundown. The tall waves at the Fayette Station rapids were beginning to change color from green to dark gray. The New River Gorge bridge loomed above us, and it was hard to believe that the journey across the gorge had once taken travelers more than forty-five minutes.

Returning to camp, we decided to give the saloon a closer inspection. A fellow who turned out to be our raft guide for tomorrow's trip called out a friendly, "Howdy!" from atop a fourteen foot ladder. Even from that height, I could see that he was big enough to lift us both off the ground with one hand. "Where y'all from?" he asked while adjusting the ceiling decorations.

"Michigan," I said. "We're taking the raft ride tomorrow."

"Great!" he said. "My name is Tim. Are you ready for your trip?"

"I think so." said the wife, "Is it really dangerous?"

"Well," said our guide, "it's better than any amusement park you'll ever go to. You'll have to work a little bit though. Say, a couple of us are ordering pizza from the restaurant - care to put in an order?"

And so it went - pizza and rafting stories sprinkled with some local gossip finished out the evening. Strolling back to the cabin, we expected to be swarmed by the pests that are so common to our home state - mosquitoes. To our pleasant surprise, the only things we were swarmed by were the flashing fireflies. It was the end to a perfect day and we were lulled to sleep by the music of frogs and crickets.

We awoke the next morning just as the sun was melting a cloud that had slipped into the campground unnoticed. After a quick continental breakfast, we were outfitted with life preservers and paddles and boarded the bus for a short ride to the "put-in." As the bus wound its way up and down the mountains, our guide talked over safety procedures and river strategy. We felt we were ready for anything the river had in store for us.

Boy, were we ever mistaken! While we felt perfectly confident in our guide's ability and our equipment, we were totally unprepared for the level of excitement as well as the fantastic sights that we experienced. From the very first rapid (appropriately named "Surprise," as you will find if you take the trip) to the last set of antique ruins left standing alongside the river, we were as children undergoing the adventure of something totally new - a rare occurrence for anyone over the age of 25. The real zinger was that the entire two and one-half days at camp cost less than an evening at the highbrow restaurant where we usually celebrate anniversaries and birthdays.

The last set of rapids was the Fayette Station group that we had discovered the day before. This was the "take-out" area and the end of the journey. A short bus ride up the hill and we were into the hot showers, enjoying complimentary beverages and a video of our day's trip in the Red Dog Saloon, while our steak dinner was being prepared. (All this was part of our trip package.) The chatter from those in the rafting group sounded like that from the winning team after the Superbowl. Then evening...

The sky is black. Night time and oil lamps glow in "company town" cabins. Flames from the coke ovens flicker off the billowing cloud that was forever present. But, somehow the night still brings a stillness. This it starts - slow at first, like crickets around sundown - the screech of a fiddle and the short sting of a banjo. In a short while the music heats up to locomotive temperatures. It has to, because it's early to bed in order to get up tomorrow to a dark sky and another "16 ton."

The sky is soft and dark. Lightning bugs sparkle and fires in the Rivers' campground start to glow. Some of the campers have brought guitars and a couple of local people are coming down with fiddles and banjos. The music is going to blow the barn doors off the Red Dog an echo off the New River Gorge Bridge just a stone's throw "down the hill." There's music in the gorge at night again. Songs our grandparents might have sung.