River Yak: Day 4: Four Days, Two Rivers, Almost 100 Miles

We planned on getting up early and leaving as soon as the sun came up on the morning of day 4. Knowing this was our last day of C.R.A.K. and we had a timeline in which to reach Richmond, we missed our chance to get up with the sun in order to huddle like babies in our sleeping bags because it was so damn cold. This was the only day cold weather hit us. Eventually, one at a time, we emerged from our warm cocoons of down feathers and got underway somewhere close to 8am. Fog lifted from the warm river like smoke from a wildfire. Until the fog began to burn off, B.I.L. and I had to keep near one another in order not to loose eyesight of each other. When visibility finally reached decent levels, we took advantage of the wispy fog to grab some really cool photos.

The fog was lifting from the river in spiraling twists of little tornadoes. Fog tornadoes are evidently vampiric in nature, as they do not turn up on film. Attempts to photograph them were futile, and unfortunately this is one natural phenomena you either have to read about or get lucky enough to see for yourself. The twisters rose high off the water until they could not be seen anymore because of the rising sun. They were only a couple of inches in diameter, and did not move from their focal point on the water, but were just as fascinating to watch as their larger, destructive siblings.

Here is a picture I took of B.I.L. taking a little rest early on day 4. The skyward twisting fog is slightly evident in this photo, appearing as jagged finger-like extensions jutting from the top of the smooth blanket on the waters surface. We didn't get very far this morning because of visibility, both from the fog and the glaring sun in our eyes.

About an hour into the day, we found the public area marked on the map. It was a boat ramp next to a highway. We stopped for a little rest and I took the opportunity to some more work on the charts and figure our exact mileage and time to Richmond. While we were there, some high school age kids parked their cars in the parking lot and ventured down a path that led to a hidden hang out under the bridge. One by one, carloads of kids parked in the lot and headed down the trail. B.I.L. and I paddled away and waved back to a couple of them waving at us. This sparked a reminiscing conversation between the two of us about our high school hang outs. In my town, one of our haunts was the river. As sneaky as these kids were, I knew exactly what they were up to. The river wasn't very deep in this area, so I assume they didn't have the luxury of a diving platform as we did in our river. A cop once informed us, "The bridge is not a diving board." To which we promptly corrected him with, "No, it's not springy enough for a diving board, but it's a great diving PLATFORM." That little comment put a stop to our river hang out for a few weeks. The threat of arrest really is scary to a bunch of kids. But only for a few weeks.
The clump of trees in the center of this photo is our island we camped at. To show how little progress we were making this day, notice the fog is almost gone. At this tip of the island lies a pretty good explanation for why there were no private property signs posted. We discovered a birding blind with a state owned sign attached identifying it as a blind. Bird hunting is a sport I have never figured out. How sporting is it to hide in a camouflaged blind a person can't even see with some realistic decoys floating in the water and a bird call? Then when the birds come, the hunters spring from the blind, or just stay concealed in it, and start shooting without really having to aim. At least with training deer to come to a feeder set with a timer, the hunter actually has to aim! Real men hike in bear country, without a gun.

B.I.L. is a sucker for tree houses. This one caught his fancy, with good reason, and he could not resist taking its picture. Not really a tree house, per say, but still cool, none the less. I hope some rich sucker didn't build this for his spoiled kids. I wanted one of these badly when I was a kid. Not fair. It's right on the river, too!

This was the first structure we saw as we began to get closer to Richmond. This area of the river is developed more than the rest of our trip. Sparsely located large houses began to spring up. We still found ourselves in large areas of no development, though. For a while, the tracks ran alongside the river. A train passed in the opposite direction of our travel and honked at us. It's one thing to get a truck to honk at you. A person who can get a train to honk at them is in a whole new class of cool. Inevitably, though, the large houses began to grow closer together as we reached the lake formed by Bosher Dam.

Again, the current slowed to almost nothing in the lake, making for hours of boring paddling. We also ran into more people in this area, but still not many. Another boat ramp made for a nice resting place and we had the thrill of watching a guy we named Bubba put his jet ski in the water. Bubba seemed like a nice enough person, even if he was a few inches from having his shorts cover his ass crack. B.I.L. and I noticed this at the same time and tried to conceal our laughter. Concealing laughter only makes it more obvious you are laughing at someone. There were only three people on the ramp, and two were laughing. You'd think he might pull up his shorts. Nope.

He had a cigarette in his mouth and carried a bottle labeled as tea, but it didn't look like any tea B.I.L. and I have ever drank. We compared our experiences with tea over this subject. After a few seconds of cranking on the starter Bubba's jet ski fired up with enough smoke to put out his cigarette and he noisily sped off, in the same direction we were about to go. "Keep close to the bank," I cautioned B.I.L. It didn't need to be said, we both knew, but something needed to interrupt the following silence. About half an hour later, we encountered Bubba speeding past us, back up river. He waved with the cigarette between his fingers as he hauled up the river.

Later on we passed a boat which two guys were fishing from. Neither of them waved when I did. This automatically made them assholes to both of us. One had a military style haircut, so we brainstormed with each other and decided he was in the marines. They were both drinking, which it is illegal for the operator of a boat to drink. We rounded a bend in the river and they were out of sight. A shallow shoal forced us closer to the center of the river as I heard the familiar sound of an outboard wound up to full throttle. "Look out B.I.L., the marine and that other guy are coming," I said. We paddled as close to the shallow water as we could. In a few minutes the boat rounded the bend and passed by us very quickly. I made the observation to B.I.L. that these guys either knew the river extremely well to be going that fast, or they were idiots. Judging from their lack of the ability to wave and bad haircuts, we deduced they were idiots. An hour or so later, we found the ramp they had pulled out from. A fresh beer can lay on the beach next to the ramp, so I paddled over and discarded the litter in a trash can at the top of the ramp.

Once we were fully in the lake, we saw another bald eagle and two people rowing. The rowers were actually stopped, watching a flock of Canadian Geese swirl in the air above the lake. We stopped, as well, to see if they were planning on landing or if they had just taken off. A peculiar white goose flew with the rest of the flock. This one had a very prominent orange beak and matching feet. I pointed in the air like a flailing idiot hollering at B.I.L. who was a few yards behind me, "A white one! Look at the white one! You see the white one?" Of course he did. The poor thing stuck out like a streaker in a soccer match. If bird hunters ever aim, that is the goose that will be chosen. He doesn't stand a chance of making it past Alabama.

It didn't take long to spot the area the rowers had come from. A public park with an emphasis on rowing was located on river right at the very tip of the lake. We parked our boats to get a closer look. The park was very nice, with the cleanest public restrooms I have ever seen. B.I.L. and I used them because they were so pretty. We both agreed the restroom would make an ideal indoor camping spot, if needed.

There was a lot of real estate on the lake. Most of the houses had docks with pretty nice power boats moored to them. Some even had concrete ramps built, giving the landowners ideal access to the water. A few of the people who lived in this area have attempted to build retaining walls at the water line. It was funny to see the river reclaiming her banks by chewing its way behind the walls. Retaining walls on a river are in no way a good thing. All of the retainers had promoted premature erosion of the banks downstream of them. As much as people think Mother Nature needs help from Man, she doesn't. Maybe people don't realize the river was there thousands of years before they decided to build their dream house on the banks. No matter what is done to tame the forces of nature, it all fails. Even dams crumble.

An exclusive marina was even included on the lake, called Virginia Power Boat Association. Even their website is members only. We searched in vain for a restaurant, but found nothing. They probably wouldn't have let us in, anyway. I mention the power boat club because I noticed a serious lack of sailboats. I didn't see any. Not even a Hobie or Sunfish, which are easily found on any lake. Maybe the current is normally too strong or the water is not deep enough for a sailboat, but everybody seemed to be enjoying their motor boats. Although, we didn't see any boats underway in this area.

The foundation of the lake and our first major obstacle of the trip, was Bosher Dam. Somebody was thinking of paddlers and built a very nice portage around the dam. Thanks! Bosher Dam is a low head dam, just like the Woolen Mills dam in Charlottesville. The dam is a very dangerous area to play. Our boats were a little lighter when we carried them through the portage than they were on day 1, but they were still not easily maneuvered once out of the water. B.I.L. called his wife from this area to make sure she was still going to be available to pick us up. The time was now a little after 1 o'clock. She would be available until 5. No problem, we were less than 10 miles from our take out.

We paddled to the next obstacle, a "Z" dam about one mile from Bosher Dam. Again, somebody was thinking of paddlers on this dam and built the longest portage I have ever seen. The trail was a dirt path just like any hiking trail. I dragged my boat the length of it, then went back to help B.I.L. with his larger, heavier kayak. We labored over his boat, taking turns carrying the heavy end, and stopped several times to allow the feeling to come back into our hands and arms.

A "Z" dam is pretty simple to describe. It is a dam that stretches from bank to bank in the shape of a "Z". I don't know why they are built this way, or what the original purpose of this dam was. I'm sure it started as somebody trying to help Mother Nature. It's another low head dam, but only rises a few feet from the top of the water on the downstream side. Water gushed over it on this day, but it's not really as dangerous as Bosher Dam or Woolen Mills dam. A person could just stand up and walk out of the "Z" dam.

When we finally reached the end of the portage with B.I.L.s kayak, we rested for a bit. I was getting nervous about the unknown rapids coming up and drinking a lot of water. After a few minutes, we jumped back in our boats and headed to the first area of white water called Pony Pasture. Pony Pasture was difficult because there were so many rocks. The passages between them were only wide enough for a kayak. We had to pull our paddles from the water in many areas and let the current pull us through. Close to the end of this set, we encountered Richmond Raft Company with six of their rafts. Not a good sign for me, who was hoping for the water to be low enough to not encounter any rapids.

Some of the areas were pushing my limits as a paddler. I don't have much white water experience, and didn't have a spray skirt on my kayak. We did our best to stop and scout the routes before running, but the water rarely slowed down and pushed us hard all the way through. In most places, we were running ill-advisably blind, that is, we didn't know what the hell we were doing. The photo to the left is the only shot we got of any of the rapids. The water was running too fast for either of us to stop and take any pictures. In the few areas we were able to stop, I was pumping water out of my boat. This link explains this portion of the river extremely well. We ran all of the areas pictured and written about on that site. The last 50 yards was constant class IIIs with a couple of class IVs. We could see our take out point, and I wasn't going to die that close to completion. Keep in mind as you read, I was hitting class IVs without a spray skirt, and neither of us capsized. We are truly amazing kayakers...hold on while I laugh.

Halfway through this section of the River, I revisited God. I prayed in a way I have not prayed in about ten years. I didn't bother with praying to God or Jesus. I wanted to make sure I had the right one, so I prayed to "Whoever is up there." We had a couple of really scary close calls, but in the end we made it. I don't think it matters which religion is right. Something is definitely up there, and It looked out for us that day.

When we reached the calmer waters of the lower James, B.I.L. and I looked at each other in great relief. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. We survived rapids that have killed much more experienced paddlers, I had no more unknown routes and distances to calculate, we didn't get in trouble for trespassing, I made it home the day of my anniversary, and we were on time for B.I.L.s wife to meet us at the dock. A thought popped into our heads a few months ago and with careful planning, and most of all, determination, we made it happen. In four days, two rivers, and almost 100 miles, we accomplished something we aren't sure has been done since the day of the batteau. Two kayakers with a dream tackled the Rivanna and James Rivers. We did it.

I'll end this post with more pictures from the trip that didn't have a place, elsewhere.

I was going for the Pirate look and ended up with the Hillbilly look, instead.