Don’t Let The Jangle Jangle You

Sometimes things don’t go to plan. We try to avoid it, but it inevitably happens, so it’s important to be ready for it. I’m going to share an experience awhile back that really tested my nerves, and I hope you can learn something from it.
Back in early September, I was invited for an evening run on the Raven Fork, a run I hadn’t yet done but was keen on getting it so I agreed. I loaded up my Nirvana and started the drive from Asheville. About 50 minutes in, I realized I left my throw rope in my Antix. This was red flag number one, but I kept on going knowing that I didn’t have time to turn around.

I arrived a little early and waited for the other two to show up. A little bit later, I got a text from one of the guys I was going with that they were running behind. This was red flag number two. We were already pushing daylight with a 5:00 meet and now it was pushed back another 30 minutes. They showed up, and I let them know I didn’t have a rope to which I received the response, “Really? I forgot mine too.” That meant we had one rope between the three of us on a class 5 run. Thankfully we found another rope in the back of the truck, but we were still down a rope. We hurried to load up our gear and then made our way up to the put in.

If you’re familiar with the Raven Fork during the summer, you’re very aware of the immense greenery; if not, I’ll fill you in: lots and lots of stinging nettle infringing on the trail. Not only this, but the rhododendron, no matter the time of year, is incredibly dense too. This didn’t slow us down too bad, but near the end of the hike, something really did.

The last part of the hike is very steep, and I took a funky step, causing my shoe to completely tear in half and my calf to cramp. I was now shoeless, cramping, and had left my water bottle at the top in the car. Thankfully one of the guys had tape, so I was able to tape my shoe to my foot at the put in, but it was janky. By that point I was cramping in both my calves, not something you want to have happen on a run notorious for its portages. We made our way down the run pretty quickly, trying to get through the hikes as fast as possible. This posed quite a challenge for me as I was unable to point my toes at all or else I would cramp. The slick rocks and dense forest became both a physical and mental thing for me. I had to keep my ankles locked while climbing over logs, causing me to lose my balance multiple times. Plus, light was fading as it was most likely around 6:00 actually got to the start of the river. The rapids also were challenging me more than they should have. I was off my A-game and was mislead by some of the beta which resulted in some sketchy lines that made me doubt myself. After one of the bigger rapids, Mortal Kombat, one of the guys asked me if I was alright. It occurred to me that my anxiety had leaked out into my face. It was that moment I realized what I needed to do.
I shook my head and arms out, tightened up my face, took a deep breath, and reminded myself that I’m a better paddler than this and need to get my sh*t together. This helped calm my nerves and get me back into the mindset I was in earlier that day. We paddled down to the biggest portage of the day: Big Boy. This hike is very stout, and I knew going into it that I needed to mentally prepare for my legs seizing up. I went slow and tried as hard as I could to keep my calves from flexing. I fell a few times but kept on charging, and I was lucky enough to avoid cramping beyond the point of being able to walk.

We finished the hike and knew we were good on light. Knowing that all that there was only one more, short portage and a few more rapids, all of us relaxed a little bit, but it didn’t last long. Entering into the top the Mangler, a few tree branches were leaning over the last boof before the eddy. The guy in front of me got his paddle snagged on the tree, ripping it out of his hands and tossing it into Mangler. He grabbed onto a rock on the wrong side of the river right above the rapid. After a couple minutes of trying to figure out what to do, he took matters into his own hands and pulled himself into the eddy above the rock. We threw him a paddle and he paddled over to us. We took a moment to regroup, and I gave him the ICE hand paddles I had. This was luckily the end of our troubles, and we got back to the car right as it got dark.

My immediate response to the day was that I didn’t want to go back. It stressed me out mentally and physically more than any other day of kayaking, and it wasn’t even the hardest whitewater I’d done. It took my calves a couple days to recover, and my feelings about the run didn’t change much, but after a couple weeks of thought, I started to rethink it a bit and think more about the quality of the whitewater. Now, 3 months later, I can say I’m excited to go back, just a little earlier in the day and with more water.