Rock Bottom: Follow Two Drunken Idiots as They Attempt to Survive the New River Gorge

By Matthew Smith for Literary Non-fiction

O’Donnell Sept. 9, 2004

“A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now." Thomas Pyncheon, Gravity’s Rainbow.

Approximately 10:00 pm. I stand on the bank of the river sopping wet and cold, with my dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs and swollen knee producing a smorgasbord of pain throughout my whole body. Did all this really just happen? Could I have really just done what I did? Is there any way I could have really been that arrogant or is stupid the more accurate word? I imagine what should be going through my mind is "wow, I’m lucky to be alive", but instead all that I can think of is two simple questions which I pose to myself “where is Parker?” and "is this rock bottom?" It’s hard to believe that only a few hours ago I was dry and warm sitting in a bar without a care in the world. I think back to 5:30 and recall the events which led me into my present predicament.

5:30 pm. Parker and I stand at the bar of Charlie’s Pub, in Fayetteville West Virginia, drinking cold beer after a day of kayaking and drinking. Parker and I are raft guides for the Appalachian Wildwaters in Fayetteville. We both had the day off so we went with a commercial trip down the New River. Going down the river with a commercial trip not only gives us a free ride to the river, but also gives us a free meal, which for to broke and starving raft guides means a lot. Now we’ve come down from the day’s rush and don’t quite know what to do next. Parker is about five feet ten inches, skinny but athletically built, and his shoulder length blond hair makes him look like the quintessential California surfer dude, even though he’s from Kentucky. We get along really well because we think alike, which is to say not at all.

“I’ll get the next round,” Parker offers.

“I can’t take this smoke for another minute, bro. I got to get out of here,” I tell him. Charlie’s Pub is kind of a dive with no ventilation.

“Where we going to go then,” Parker asks.

“Do you want to go back to the outpost,” I propose. The outpost is the Appalachian Wildwaters HQ where we work as raft guides.

“There’s nothing going on over there tonight.”

We both sit, drinking our beer, thinking of what we can get into when the epiphany strikes parker: “Let’s go boat the New River again.”

I’m intrigued. “Do you think we have enough daylight to do the river?”

“No way in hell,” he says.

I respect his candor. “It will be dark by the time we get to Kinis,” I state. The Kinis is a monster of a class V rapid on the New River. Parker just looks at me and grins. The little voice in my head is screaming no, but when have I ever listened to that voice?

The Kinis rapid is really three rapids very close together, which makes the whole thing about a three quarter mile long class V rapid in the last few miles of the river. Rapids in the Eastern U.S. are classified I-VI with I being basically still water and VI being considered too dangerous to run commercially. The Kinis rapids are considered a class V due to the fact that the rapids are in close succession, the length of the rapids and the steep decent of the river during these rapids, which makes for big water.

“Well, we’re wasting daylight so let’s get moving,” I am now drunk and committed to something I’ll probably come to regret.

* * *

Approximately 10:10 pm. I have had a chance to catch my breath and clear my head in the night air a little bit. Now that I’m thinking clearly my first priority becomes re-locating my shoulder. I notice a boulder that’s about waste high, which is perfect for what I need. I limp over to it and place my hand on the top of it, and as I do the pain intensifies enormously. I take a deep breath and start to bend down at the waist, which is bringing my arm parallel with my head. I feel the socket grinding against the newly torn muscles in my shoulder as I maneuver my arm to the exact position for re-location. I take another deep breath as a new wave of pain surges through my body as I feel my arm reach the position that I need. I pause for a few seconds while I try to steady my nerves and calm my mind for climax of pain that I’m about cause myself. As I release the air from my chest I jerk my whole body back and to the left hard, and feel my shoulder drag back into my socket. I am overwhelmed by such an exquisitely intense pain that for this moment in time there is nothing else in the world but this pain. After I recover a little, I begin to wonder about Parker again.

* * *

7:30 pm. We sit in our boats on the New River trying to let the water sober us up a little before we get to the rapids. It’s not working very well. I look up to see the setting sun bleeding red and mauve across the West Virginia sky. I see the sun’s fading light pouring down the mountains in its’ dying attempt to light the river valley. For a moment I am overwhelmed by the beauty of this river, and for a fleeting moment being here on the river at this time becomes the best idea we’ve ever had. Then I hear the roar of Miller’s Folly, a class IV, which brings me back to reality. I’m not too concerned about this rapid, but it does bring me back from my previous reveries. I’m once again worried about the Kinis. I’m only worried about that big class V. The other rapids should not really be that hard even without light, but the Kinis rapids can hurt you even when you can see. With six miles to go and several stops on the way, we just can’t get there in time. We’re pushing daylight now, and there is no way we can get past the Kinis' before dark. I resign myself to my fate and decide to have fun. The Kinis will be there whether I worry or not, and besides this will surely make for a great story some day.

* * *

Approximately 10:15 pm. My situation has improved now that my shoulder is back in the socket. My knee and ribs are still hurting, but I can handle that. Now that my pain has diminished somewhat, my situation begins to become clear to me. I’m about a mile from the take-out and Parker’s truck. I can hardly walk on my knee. I’ve just lost at least a thousand dollars worth of equipment. And I don’t know where Parker is or even if he is alive. Is this rock bottom? Can it get any worse?

That is when it occurs to me, “Oh god, Parker’s got the keys!!”

* * *

Approximately 9:30. So far the river has been a blast. The lack of light certainly adds an element of fear and excitement to the river, but now as we paddle out of Double Z, class IV, I realize we’re coming up to the Kinis. As you paddle closer to this rapid the roar of the water becomes deafening. The closer I get the harder my heart begins to pound. My throat is completely dry, and my tongue feels like sand paper in my mouth, and I now realize what a really bad idea this is.

I yell to Parker, “Can you see the entrance?”

This is all-important, because if you mess up the entrance your ride will become painful and even deadly. If you are too far left, you end up hitting a hole called the cloud chamber, which is a large drop that creates a hydraulic hole that will flip a thirteen-foot raft with a full crew in a second. If you are to far right you have lots of undercut rocks. These are rocks that have water flowing underneath them, which will suck a person down and usually when you go down you do not come back up. The key to the entrance is what is called a marker rock, which is a rock at the top of the rapid that we need to almost touch as we enter the rapids. This rock lets you know where you need to be, and if you are too far left you hit the cloud chamber. So, as one could imagine, I am very concerned about our entering these rapids in just the right spot.

“Yea, I see it. Just follow me, it’s over here,” Parker answers.

“B.S.” is what I think of that answer. I can’t see anything, and I don’t remember seeing Parker put on any night vision goggles when we put in. Oh god, I think we’re going too far left!

“Are you sure we’re not too far left?” I ask.

“No, we’re golden, just follow me,” says Parker.

Why am I listening to this idiot? I know him! He’s a damned fool, and probably crazier than me! Oh god we’re too far left. I can’t see Parker. If we are as far left as I think we are then we are headed for the cloud chamber. This is bad. Over the roar of the water, I can barely make out that voice in my head saying, “I told you so.”

* * *

Approximately 9:32 pm. We drop into the Kinis rapids, too far left. My adrenaline is pumping, ears ringing from my pulse and every muscle in my body is tensed. I can taste the fear in the back of my throat. I am no longer in control. I have chosen my course and now must ride it out to the end.

I, of course, hit the cloud chamber. I drop about three feet and hit the massive wave that is created by the sudden drop in elevation. This wave is the reason this is called the cloud chamber. Once you drop into it all you can see as you look up is the white foam this wave creates. The cloud chamber feels like getting hit by a truck. I capsize, and I am momentarily re-circulated in the wave hole, which batters my whole body while I am upside down under water. I am mercifully released from the hole, and I roll back up, but now I am disoriented and dizzy from the vertigo. Should I go left or right? The water is moving too fast, and I have no time for thinking. I just plow ahead and paddle as hard as I can. I hit another hole and capsize again. I roll back up on my second try, and now I’m out of breath and suffering vertigo so profound that I can’t even tell which way is upstream or downstream. I keep paddling hard plowing through waves, holes and everything thing else that can be thrown at me. My back and arms feel as though they are on fire from the physical excretion I have demanded from those muscles. My body’s running on nothing but adrenaline and fear that is when I hit another wave, but this time, as I capsize for the final time, I feel several pops in my shoulder. My shoulder has just dislocated and now I am screwed.

I swim out of my boat, and fight my way to the surface to get some air. I see what I think could be the shore, so I swim as hard as I can with one arm in that direction. I’m almost there when a wave hits me and takes me under. My body strikes against something hard, two ribs crack and I almost wrap around the object. My life jacket brings me to the surface where I suck in some more air, painfully. I slowly make my way to the bank. Exhausted, I am completely tapped of energy, but then again I should probably be dead.

* * *

Approximately 10:20. It’s hard to imagine that just a few hours ago I was sitting in a bar having a beer complaining about cigarette smoke. I begin to limp downriver toward the take out hoping to find Parker. My knee is killing me, and I can hardly breathe because of my ribs. This was a really bad idea. A whole mile is what I have to walk, and then I’m just hoping to have a way out of here. I might have to stay out here till tomorrow. Once again, I wonder where Parker is, and if he is all right.

* * *

Approximately 10:00 pm: I stand on the bank of the river sopping wet and cold, with my dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs and swollen knee producing a smorgasbord of pain. I don’t fully understand the ramifications of all that has happened this night, but things are obviously bad. I know I’m hurt but not the full extent of my injurious. My boat and paddle are gone, and I will never get them back. My best friend Parker may be hurt or possibly dead. I have no idea. I can only hope he is in better shape than myself, but I still fear the worst. This is without a doubt the dumbest and most arrogant thing I have ever done. Standing here on the bank of the New River I can safely say that, yes, I have hit rock bottom.