Tellico - Class IV

About two weeks ago the East Tennessee area received exponential rainfall that resulted in the flooding of several rivers. The Ocoee River was one of these. As explained in my second blog post, normal flow on the Ocoee is 1,200 cfs (cubic feet per second). The day I rafted the Ocoee at 8,500 cfs was a monumental experience for me. At the height of the flooding two weeks past, on December 2, the Ocoee  River ran 14,000 cfs.

(Ocoee No. 2 Dam flooded at 14,000 cfs)

On that day, I was at home in the Lebanon area and had to work. For a brief few minutes I thought about calling Katie, my boss, and trying to negotiate getting the next two days off; I wanted to raft the Ocoee at 14,000! But I came to my senses after a minute and knew I could not ask off work. It was too last minute, and I do want to be able to leave every job I work with a reputation of being reliable. So instead I spent my entire morning drooling over the photos friends were posting of the high water. This was not an unprecedented thing - the Ocoee has run up to 20,000 cfs. But it was rare.

Though I did not call my boss, I did call Stephen. I asked him if he was running it, and he said that he too had to work and was equally bummed about it. I asked how long he thought the river would run high like this, and he said the 14 grand would probably wash out pretty quickly, but that it would still run high water (around 2 - 3,000 cfs) for a week or two. I told him I was itching to get on it and had Sunday and Monday off, but if it was below 8,000 by then it wouldn't really be worth the three hour drive for me. He agreed. Instead, however, Stephen proposed another plan. Though the Ocoee would be too low by Sunday to be adventuresome for us, he said the Tellico River would probably be running about normal flow by then (it was currently at 11 ft, which is terribly high). I had never been on the Tellico River and desperately wanted to run it. I told him that sounded like an even better idea, so we decided to plan on R2ing it Sunday morning (Dawn would not be able to come because of work). 

When Saturday morning came I received a text from Stephen explaining that he wouldn't be able to raft the Tellico the following day because of work. He was extremely sorry and wished he could, but it just wasn't going to work out how we planned. I was sad to hear it; I had been so excited about R2ing with him and getting to run the Tellico. As I saw my weekend adventure slipping away, I suddenly had another thought -perhaps Noah would want to run the Tellico with me! 

Noah is a very dear friend of mine who is also a raft guide at Adventures Unlimited. He started guiding rafts the year before I came, but had already been working for the company for a few years prior. Noah was one of the first friends I made when I came to Ocoee. He was living a lifestyle similar to mine, in that he had chosen not to go to college and instead save his money to travel and fund his outdoor life. This past summer (my second season, his third) Noah took up kayaking - and he took to it fast. In mere months he was mastering whitewater in his kayak, unafraid to try anything. By the end of the season, Noah was traveling all over the Southeastern States running a multitude of different rivers. 

When Stephen told me that he couldn't run the Tellico on Sunday, I messaged Noah on Facebook to see if he would be willing to R2. He and my friend, Sara, who's also a guide at AU, were both planning to kayak while Stephen and I rafted. Noah replied:

"No, Susan. You're going to ducky it."

About midway through the summer Noah tried to start getting me into the sport of kayaking. His passion was certainly contagious, but I was timid toward it because I couldn't roll a kayak. There is, however, this thing called a "ducky". It's also commonly called a "funyak". It's basically an inflatable sit-on-top kayak. You paddle it the same way you paddle a hard boat, but since you're not constrained in a hull and since it doesn't hold water (being inflatable), the boat doesn't roll. If you turn upside down in the middle of a rapid, you're automatically released and you simply have to pop the thing right side up ad crawl back on it. There's no swimming with it over to a bank in order to drain the water out, and there's no feeling trapped upside down in a cockpit. Now, if you can roll a kayak, that's undoubtedly much better. If you cannot roll a kayak, funyaking provides a way for you to experience the sport without the fear of swimming (not because you won't swim, but because it's no longer a big deal). 

Stephen and Dawn have two funyaks that they usually let any of their friends use. One day during the summer when none of us had trips, Stephen sent out an invite for people to join him while he went kayaking, and he offered the two funyaks. Graham, a fellow raft guide and friend who trained the year I did, took up the offer, and so did I. Before we got to the river I had already decided I would run the meat of everything. I figured, if swimming is no big deal, why not do it big? My adrenaline pumped as I left the eddy at the put-in and ferried out into Grumpy's, heading straight for the sweet spot of Grumpy's ledge. I was also the first one out, so I had no safety. I T-ed up on the huge wave and, thanks to the whitewater skills I already had from rafting, felt my way through each stroke and ran it clean. I had never yet done anything so invigorating. The rest of the river was a whole new world. All those rapids I knew so well in a raft seemed so much bigger and so much more technical in a small funyak. I absolutely loved it. I only swam once on that run, and the next run we made right after it I paddled without swimming at all. I knew out of the gate this was a sport I could take to. I didn't doubt I would experience my share of swims, but it felt natural; it felt good; and it was fun.

(Me paddling Stephen's Aire Linx funyak - taken in the Doldrums on the Ocoee. This is the same boat I paddled on the Tellico)

Having had these few experiences in the funyak, when Noah told me I should ducky the Tellico my reply was:

"Well...okay!"

It seemed a little risky since it had been several months since I'd paddled a funyak and since I no longer had my summer strength. I wasn't entirely sure that I could manage, but I knew Noah wanted to kayak, and I figured I'd better push my limits while I'm young. The shear nervousness of reentering a sport I had little experience in made my adrenaline flow before I'd even gotten my car packed. There were three waterfalls on the Tellico, the biggest being a 15 ft drop. The more I thought about it, the more stoked I was. I checked with Stephen to make sure it would be okay to borrow the Linx and then asked Dawn if I could use her drysuit (since I was betting I would swim). They graciously approved of both, so I called Noah and we worked out the details of when and where we would meet the next day. When I went to bed that night, I found it much easier to go to sleep than the last two times I planned spontaneous trips, though I was just as excited. Perhaps my body really was tired, but I also think that to some degree I was getting used to this pattern of "be ready for a last minute trip". I enjoy living this way. It keeps me on my toes, and it's a huge thrill to pack up and head across state for an unexpected weekend of whitewater.

On Sunday, December 6th, I headed out at 6 o'clock in the morning and got to the Outpost around 10:00 am Eastern time. I collected the funyak, paddle, and dry gear from Stephen's camper and then spent some time with Old Man Dave before I left for Noah's house. 

When I got to Noah's, we waited for Sara to arrive and then packed up the cars with kayaks and duckies. Noah's younger sister, Chancey, was also going to ducky. 

The drive through Tellico Plains was gorgeous, affording panoramic views of mountains and valley farmlands in many places. As we wound our way through these mountain roads, we eventually found ourselves driving right alongside the lower Tellico. Once we started seeing vehicles parked on the curb with kayak racks on top of the cars I knew we were driving beside the portion of the river we would soon be paddling ourselves. I gazed down at it and studied each rapid as we passed by, scouting out the boulders and waves and other general features. I saw kayakers on the water and watched them boof off of rocks and carve into eddies. Some of them I waved at, and they waved in return.

When we got to the top my nerves kicked in. We unloaded the boats, pumped up the two duckies, and changed into our dry gear, then shuttled the cars to the bottom. When we were all reconvened at the river bank, we launched in. 

The motions and movements for paddling the funyak came back to me immediately. It felt so good to be on the water. As we made our way downstream, the mild current provided a nice warm-up.

The first major rapid we came to was Top Ledge, a six foot waterfall. We all eddied out above the drop, but there wasn't much explaining to do. I simply watched all of them run the ledge and figured I would follow behind. I saw where they went and pulled out of the eddy to line up for it. I was familiar with the concept of boofing, but had never done it in practice. I paddled up to the edge of the drop, planted my paddle blade on the shelf and pulled back as hard as I could while thrusting my hips forward and leaning back. The front of my boat soared over the ledge...and promptly came to a stop. My inflatable ducky was stuck on the rock ledge from the weight of my body. Whereas hard boats can easily slide over rocks of all kinds, my funyak would not slide over this one. I was hanging out over the waterfall looking at my friends in slight dismay. Noah warned me not to lean too far right; if I rolled off on the right I would crash on top of a protruding rock that could do some harm. After several attempts to shove myself off the ledge, I finally threw all my body weight forward and held my position leaning over as far as possible. The boat tipped forward and slid slowly until it finally dropped vertically and penciled into the water, resurfacing immediately for a clean run. One down, two more waterfalls to go. I hoped they wouldn't be quite as suspenseful as that one.

The next waterfall we came to was an 8 ft drop. In the eddy above, Sara explained to me that there was a curler wave in the middle of the rapid you wanted to hit and cross over as you dropped. If you hit it with too much of an angle, it would roll you over for a nice sideways drop and swim at the bottom. I thought sarcastically, "Cool." I watched her run the ledge, and unlike the first waterfall, I had no visibility to the bottom. I couldn't see what I might hit after the drop, nor could I see my friends. I pulled out of the eddy and paddled up to the ledge with as much speed as I could manage. I ran it right down the middle on top of the curler wave, and when I hit the water below it was so shaky I thought for sure I was going to swim. I actually let go of my paddle with one hand and grabbed my nose (because swimming a rapid is no big deal, but God forbid I get water up my nose). But to my delight, I was able to steady the boat with my hips and completed a clean run. I cheered and so did my friends. I was so excited!

 Up next, Baby Falls. The 15 ft drop. For many kayakers, this was a beginner's waterfall, having no comparison with some 30 and 40 ft waterfalls that experienced kayakers run. But I was undoubtedly a beginner, and this would be the biggest drop I'd ever run in my life.

(Baby Falls running a little high.)

(Baby Falls a little low. You can see some of the rocks on the right side here without much water running over them, but they must have been submerged when we ran it because I ran that river left line. Also, the darker water in the middle of the ledge indicates the tongue I am about to describe.)

I was so pumped. As always, we stopped above for briefing. Sara told me about a tongue in the middle of the ledge that was nice if you didn't want to drop vertically, but that it created a larger hole at the bottom that swam a lot of people. She told me it would be safer to run left of it; but this meant I had to paddle across the rapid just below a certain rock with not much room for error. After everyone ran it, I paddled out of the eddy. I saw the rocks Sara had directed me by, and I ran where she ran. As I crossed below that last rock above the tongue, I was right at the ledge but facing it with a 10 o'clock angle. I suddenly thought, "This does not seem right." As the front of my boat came over the ledge I planted my left hand blade on the shelf and pulled back as hard as I could to correct that angle. I soared over the falls. It was a brief moment in time, too short even for me to conceive. I hit the water and the funyak plummeted under, and promptly resurfaced for a third clean run. Before I could cheer I looked at my friends and they were already cheering. As I paddled into the eddy Sara called out above the noise of the waterfall, "That was a perfect boof, Susan!" She then also said, "Be careful, this eddy feeds right back into the hole and it will suck you in." Oh, excellent.

I was elated, but there was too much going on to think about my excitement. We were all crammed into the river left eddy and paddling to stay there, while also discussing our immediate next rapid - Diaper Wiper.

When I researched the rapids on American Whitewater's website, I had read that beginners should run the river right line at Diaper Wiper. It's a difficult rapid known for swimming people, and the right line is easier, whereas the left line is much more technical. This thought, however, never occurred to me when my friends said we would run the left line and shouted back to me, "Just follow us!" One by one they entered the rapid, and I followed suit. We ran down a tight channel that hugged some boulders on the left, and about midway down the rapid was a huge curler just in front of another boulder. The curler looked difficult because it was created by a cross current as the water flowed down that left bank, hit the boulder, and surged river right. I watched my friends hit this curler with a right hand angle and lean downstream to avoid flipping. For me it seemed intimidating, but I thought as long as I did the same thing I could make it through. When I hit the wave I must not have had a enough of an angle, because instead of getting carried to the right around that boulder like my friends were, I found myself being pushed right toward it. With no time to correct, my funyak washed up sideways against this large rock. Time slowed down in my mind as I considered that this boulder could very well be undercut. My friends had not warned me of this, and afterward I determined they most likely would have if it was truly undercut, but I didn't know. All I could think was that a cross current like this would probably wash away rock matter over time and carve out the underside of this rock. In an instant the powerful water forced my upstream tube to submerge. I reached up to grab the rock but before I could the small boat flipped and I plunged into the water. I clung to the side of the ducky and felt my legs get pulled under it toward the boulder. I swear my heart could've pounded out of my chest. But instead of being sucked into an undercut, that heavy cross current washed my body out to the right of the rock. As it did though, I felt my legs brush the inside of it. There was certainly curvature. In retrospect, the boulder could have simply had a concave shape without being undercut at all. I just don't know. But though I did not find myself stuffed into a dark airless place, I did find myself having my diaper wiped by this rapid. My body hit several rocks before I got to the bottom and somehow my knuckles were bleeding, too. When I did get to the bottom, I didn't have the strength the hold onto the slippery funyak and my paddle, and I let go of the boat. Sara was in a river right eddy and I chucked my paddle to her and swam faster to the boat and grabbed a metal ring on it. I drug it over into the eddy with Sara and crawled up on a rock to catch my breath. I was shaking all over. I smiled and started to laugh. Some kayakers were watching from an eddy opposite of us and I threw up a fist and cheered. They laughed, too, and smiled. I knew I was okay. I thanked Sara for grabbing my paddle and we headed downstream a short way to where Noah and Chancey were stopped. I then realized that Chancey had also swam the rapid. She was okay, but was too shaken up to keep going. She said she wanted to stop, but Noah encouraged her to paddle the short distance to Bald River Falls where she could take out and wait by the road with other people. She agreed, so we started downstream.

(Bald River Falls - This waterfall is not actually a part of the Tellico, but can be seen clearly from the river as it is the last portion of Bald River, which feeds into the Tellico.)

When we came to the inlet of Bald River Falls, I knew I didn't have the strength to carry the funyak up the dangerous route to run the waterfall. I had told Noah before we put on that day that I wanted to run it. Whether or not I would have if I'd not swam Diaper Wiper, I don't know. I'd like to think I would have had the guts; but it didn't matter now. I simply didn't have the strength. Noah didn't ask about it, so we made sure Chancey took out safely and then headed downstream. The next rapid we faced was Jared's Knee, a Class IV.

Jared's Knee was a blur for me. There were three sections to the rapid, and I remember dropping ledges, catching eddies, and hitting holes. It was technical, and I made sure that I followed my friends precisely. To my great joy, I ran all of it clean. Sara did tell me afterward about a large boulder that was undercut, but I didn't know which one she meant and couldn't picture it. It didn't matter now. I had run the Tellico River with only one swim, on the bluest December day I could ask for, with some good friends. I felt both fatigued and invigorated. We took out just above the bridge where we had parked the cars. Noah wanted to do another run, so I changed clothes at the car and got Chancey while the others paddled again. We shuttled Noah's car back to the takeout and made good timing, as we didn't wait long before they were in sight and hauling their kayaks up the bank. By now it was nearly 5 o'clock and the sky was overcast, making it feel a bit more like December. I was dry and cozy in my brown cargo pants, old leather boots, and grey sweater. The others dried off and we all chatted about the river while we snacked on bananas and kettle chips. Once all the gear was loaded, we piled into the cars and headed back to Noah's house. That night I got to go to Bible Study at Todd and Laura's house, dear friends of mine from the church I attend in summer. They live merely ten minutes from Noah. I couldn't imagine a better way to end that day. I spent the night there and the next morning roamed their farm and spent the afternoon visiting some more with Laura and my friend Kristin. When I left Laura's house, I went back to the outpost to drop off Stephen's gear and I spent some more time with Old Man Dave before heading home. I told him all about our run on the river, and he told me about his own adventures in Tellico Plains. If you ever want to sit and listen to a man with stories, go sit on the hill with Dave.


The Tellico River. There was something about it that ignited a flame in my whole being. Though I had funyaked the Ocoee and loved it, the desire to get in a hard boat had never lodged in my heart. But no longer. As I drove home that night, kayaking was all I could think about. Even now kayaking is all I can think about. I'm no longer afraid of rolling; I'm determined to learn. Rafting is not a sport that will ever fall by the wayside for me; I love it too much. But as one sport often leads to another, I know that as long as the Lord allows, kayaking will be my future. 

Tallulah - Class V

(A preface note for this entry: The photos Stephen took on this trip haven't gotten to me yet, so the photos I use here are taken from the internet. Once I get our photos, I will exchange and add them. I can, however, include the video footage Stephen put together for this trip, which will be attached at the end of this post.)

After rafting the Upper Hiwassee on Tuesday, Stephen and Dawn were already planning to raft the Tallulah the following Sunday. During our "jeep ride" up the mountain they had asked me if I wanted to come with them. I still needed to find a winter job, but was so thrilled at the thought of running the Tallulah I told them to go ahead and plan on me being there. If I found a job and couldn't make it down Saturday night, I would just have to wait for another opportunity next season.

When I returned home from the Hiwassee trip, I went out the next day and applied for a job at a local pizzeria called Nona Lisa. The owner, Katie, received me well and invited me to fill out an application, which I did. She called me in on Friday for an interview and asked me if I could start working that afternoon. I said, "Absolutely!" I told her that I had plans to go rafting that weekend, but if she wanted me to stay so I could train, I would certainly stay. (Responsibility would have to come before adventure if I was going to have a paycheck over the winter.) But Katie was very gracious to me and encouraged me to go ahead on my trip. I was so thankful! I had secured a job and was still going to be able to raft a new river - and a Class V at that!

When Saturday came, I eagerly packed up all my gear - barely dry as it was - and headed for Ocoee around Noon. I would spend the night in Stephen and Dawn's camper at the Outpost and they would meet me early Sunday morning to leave for the river. It would be a two and half hour drive.

During the drive to Ocoee, I spent time praying to the Lord and thanking him for his grace. I was astounded by all the ways in which he has blessed me - blessings I do not deserve. For none of us deserve the grace of God. Certainly not myself. For though we may all appear to be good people outwardly, the human heart is full of evil. I know this to be true of myself. If I do good, I do good with the intention of receiving praise. If I love, I love only to be loved in return. If I am charitable, I act so that I may receive something in return. All of our motives are selfish. This is our sin. We want what will benefit us, and we do not know how to love selflessly. Only God loves truly. God is love. Once we know the love of God, once he regenerates our hearts and makes us alive, only then can we love others and grow in virtue. This virtue is often tainted by vice, for we still fight and often succumb to sin, but the Lord does increase his children in holiness. For this I am thankful. And I am thankful for all the Lord's blessings in my life.

I arrived in Ocoee around 4 o'clock Eastern time and spent the evening visiting with Dave, the grumpy old man who lives on the hill (he's actually a sweetheart). After dark I returned to the camper and struggled to go to sleep for all my excitement.

The next morning, Dawn was the first one to arrive at the Outpost. She had just finished working a shift on the ambulance (she is an EMT and Stephen a paramedic - both work on ambulances). She hauled all of their rafting gear into the camper to sort through it, and while sorting she made fruit smoothies and we conversed about our religious beliefs.

When Stephen arrived he already had a Puma loaded up on top of the van. We grabbed all the gear, threw it in the back, and piled in. I made sure I had plenty of warm dry clothes for the ride home, and plenty of snacks for the ride there.

We turned right out the Outpost onto Highway 64 headed toward Murphy, North Carolina. This drive took us right alongside the Ocoee River and up through the lower Appalachian Mountains. It was a beautiful drive, winding through hollows and hills, passing farmland and small country towns.

As we neared the river, Dawn briefed me on paddling with Stephen in an R3 situation. She told me what to expect from his guide commands, and how to run certain rapids like Tanner's Boof. When we got to the parking area, there were at least a hundred other people all outfitted to go rafting and kayaking that day. You could feel an atmosphere of whitewater camaraderie where everyone was unloading gear from car tops and suiting up in their helmets and pfds. Stephen found a shuttle and took the van down to our take-out. Dawn and I organized the gear in a way we could carry it down the 596 steps we must walk (with the raft!) to get to the bottom of the gorge and put in.

When Stephen returned, he turtled the raft on his back so that Dawn and I only had to carry the dry boxes the hundred yards or so to the top of the stairs. When we reached them, we set the raft on the railing and he and I slid the thing all the way to the bottom. It was cumbersome, and we had worked up a good sweat by the time we got to the river. I was fascinated with the put-in system; there were stairs all the way down to the water for kayakers to slide off into the eddy, but rafters had to hook carabiners and ropes to their boats and lower them down to a slanted rock shelf from a wooden deck up above it.

(In this photo you can see the kayakers walking down to a platform on the left where they push off into the water. The terrace extending to the right is where rafters lower their boats over the railing and down the rock shelf. Someone must crawl out on the shelf to catch the boat and lower it the rest of the way into the water. That was my job when we did this. Also, what this photo doesn't show is the roaring 100 ft waterfall just to the right outside the scope of this picture - Hurricane Falls. Though it's not runnable, the sight of it and the noise certainly adds a level of intensity.)

The very first rapid on the Tallulah hits you right out of the gate, with no warm-up. It's called Last Step. It consists of a couple of ledges you drop with a cross current at the bottom that shoots your boat to the left next to a rock wall. As we put on, I watched an acquaintance of mine run the rapid whom I knew from the Ocoee. When she and her friend hit the cross current, their boat turned nearly straight up on its side and she fell out. That was comforting.

We took our turn to ferry across stream and set up for the ledges. We ran them and hit the cross current clean, but I felt the force of the current as it grabbed our boat. Dawn had grabbed my arm just to be safe, since I was on the "falling out side".

The next rapid comes immediately after Last Step, and it is Tanner's Boof. Stephen eddied out and told us how we needed to run it. He said it was actually an "auto boof", because a rock protruding from the pour-over helped launch you out. We ran the boof and hit the water clean, immediately back-paddling to avoid running into a large boulder, and then slid through a narrow rock passage. It was pretty cool.

Up next was the rapid of fame on the Tallulah River - Oceana. Class V.

Above this rapid we pulled over on river left and got out of the boat to scout it. We watched several kayakers and a few rafts run the massive slide. I watched one kayaker run the middle line and boof off the rock ledge seen here midway down the rapid just to the left of that explosion of water. His whole boat left the ledge and he got some incredible air before he landed in the green water of the eddy on river right. I was so stoked. After Stephen took several photos, I cheered, "Let's do this!" and we made our way back to the boat.

As we entered the rapid, Stephen warned us that it was imperative we hold our 10 o'clock angle. He said once we launched over the rooster tail at the top there was no going back, no way to stop your speed, and no way to change your angle. If you didn't have the right angle, you chanced smashing into the protruding square shelf that creates the huge mass of water in the middle of the line. Some friends of mine had done just that the week before and when they hit the rock it blew the middle thwart out of their boat. The plan was to run just left of it, though there's no way to avoid crashing into the spray of water (which that was fine. It wouldn't be fun if you didn't experience the water monster in the middle of the rapid. We just didn't want to hit the rock monster).

We launched over the rooster tail and I was impressed at how quickly we gained speed. I felt like I might fall out of the raft and leaned over toward Dawn to counter the pull of gravity. When we smashed into that water monster, I actually thought we hit the rock. I learned afterward that we didn't. That spray of water had so much force, and you hit it with so much speed, it's like being slapped in the face with a wet mop (as Stephen so aptly described it later). But the rapid isn't over yet. After you hit the water monster the line takes you right into a meaty hole at the bottom of the slide. Our boat submerged in this hole and I grabbed the strap on my opposite side in an effort to stay in. We had run it clean, and I screamed with excitement when it was over. I had never done anything so fun in my life. That rapid was awesome. I wanted to carry our boat up the rock shelf on river left and run it again, but I knew that would be a huge hassle for three people, so I didn't suggest it. If my adrenaline hadn't been pumping thus far, it was certainly pumping now.

I'm fairly sure that the next rapid was called the Gauntlet, though I only remember big waves and holes, but no defining features. I certainly remember the following rapid, which is called Bridal Veil.

Like we did above Oceana, we parked our boat above Bridal Veil and scouted the rapid. Stephen pointed out a rooster tail we wanted to line up on and how at the bottom of the slide there was a wave we wanted to hit that would launch us slightly upward and into the eddy on river left. To the right of that launch, the rapid formed a huge hydraulic hole we didn't want to get caught in. We ran the rapid clean, and that little launch at the bottom was a lot of fun. A pretty cool rapid all around, but not nearly as intense as Oceana.

When we pulled into the eddy, some kayakers paddled over to us from river right. Their expressions were worrisome, and they asked us if we had room for another person in our boat. One of their friends was kayaking and swam the Gauntlet and experienced foot entrapment. In an effort to save herself, she had to pull her ankle out the rock trap in such a way that she sprained it pretty badly. She couldn't walk and couldn't put pressure on it by paddling anymore. We ferried across the pool below Bridal Veil and parked on the bank. Dawn administered what first aid she could while Stephen arranged the boat to accommodate another person. We were able to have her sit in the front compartment and Dawn and I moved to the middle thwarts to paddle. She was extremely grateful and offered us homemade cookies if she ever saw us again.

With our new companion riding along, we ferried back across the river to the far river left bank and entered Zoom Flume.

After Zoom Flume came Amphitheater, but past that I don't remember any other names of rapids. We dropped ledges, punches holes, and climbed waves. I had more fun rafting the Tallulah than I had ever had in all my whitewater adventures. In describing it to Stephen and Dawn, I told them I almost felt like it was disloyal to the Ocoee to love another river more. But in hindsight, it's not a matter is disloyalty. It more like leaving your home to experience a new adventure and being overwhelmed with the beauty of a new place. When you go home, it will always be peaceful and refreshing, simply because its home. But you will always long to go new places.

When we reached the lake, we paid a man with a motor boat to tote us across to the takeout. We said goodbye to our companion and wished her well and we carried our gear back to the car. After visiting with some kayakers and having a glass of wine, we loaded up and drove to the top. We parked where we began and spent a few hours hiking around the rim of the gorge and getting some photos. We shared some good conversation about the Lord, as Stephen is very inquisitive about my faith and enjoys philosophical discussions. We hiked well after dark and finally headed back to Ocoee around 7 o'clock, stopping for Hibachi on the way back. It had been a good day, with great memories made. Stephen was planning to come back the next weekend to kayak the Tallulah one last time before they shut up the dam for the winter. He invited me to come with him, but I declined on the grounds that I was eager to start looking for a church. I had now run the Tallulah. I needed to start settling into a routine at home as I began my new job. I figured I would be done with whitewater now for the winter. But though I did not return to East Tennessee the next week or the following, I was not done with whitewater just yet. There was yet another river that would soon run due to substantial rainfall in the East, and little did I know I would be out there once again, only this time not in a raft.



Stephen's Go Pro video footage of our Tallulah run:

Tallulah River - Go Pro Footage

Upper Hiwassee - Class IV

After completing my second season on the Ocoee at the end of October, I moved to the Lebanon area of Tennessee east of Nashville. I thought I would be done with rafting for the year. It was, after all, turning cold. I moved in with my brother and sister-in-law and spent the first week there adjusting to this next season of life.

But after only a week of being in my new home with my brother, I happened one night to see a Facebook post from Stephen about rafting (if you've read my blog entry about rafting the Ocoee at 8500, you'll remember that Stephen is the brother of Carlo Smith, who owns Adventures Unlimited, the company I guide for. Stephen is a good friend of mine and will appear often in my whitewater stories). On November 9th, Stephen posted:

"Dawn and I are thinking about an Upper Hiwassee run tomorrow since the Chattooga is getting so high. We're looking for some people to join us. Call, text, or reply if you want to come make a trip tomorrow."

I stood in my bedroom reading the post. I had not yet found a winter job. I had no obligations; I was not short on money; I could make this trip. As I realized these things I began to burst with excitement. I had heard the Upper Hiwassee was a good run, and it would my first new river - thus far I had only ever run the Ocoee. It was, however, 9 o'clock at night and they were making this trip the next morning; I was three hours away from the Chattanooga area.

I immediately called Stephen to see what the situation was like. He told me so far it was him, Dawn, Chuck, and Chris Noles. I asked where they were meeting and what time. He told me Hiwassee Outfitters, 10 o'clock. I said I would call him right back. I ran downstairs to David and Robyn to ask them if there was any pressing thing that should keep me here the next day - did Robyn need me to watch Lincoln, my nephew, or did David need me to help with yard work? They said there was nothing that should prevent me from going, and both laughed with me in my excitement. I ran back upstairs, called Stephen, and exclaimed that I would be there. He asked me to repeat myself because in my hysterical excitement he thought I was actually crying. Sometimes, I should confess, I become greatly enthusiastic about things.

It was difficult trying to go to sleep that night, but I drifted off at some point and awoke again at 4:30 in the morning. I loaded up the car with all my gear, dry clothes, and food, and set out at about 5:00. I watched the sun rise as I drove down 840 toward Interstate 24. For some people, the drive to Chattanooga may seem long. For me, I'd driven that route so many times it just felt like going home.

When I came into Ocoee I stopped by the Outpost to pick up the wetsuit I had asked Jamie if I could borrow. Then I took Highway 411 toward the Hiwassee and arrived at Hiwassee Outfitters shortly after 10:00. Chris was the only one there when I pulled in, and shortly after Chuck drove up. We exchanged hugs and exclamations of "I'm so stoked!" When Stephen and Dawn arrived, we got two Pumas from the boat shed and strapped them on top of Stephen's paddling van. We hit the dirt road up the mountain, and off we were.

The drive over the mountains really was breathtaking. It was akin to riding a jeep trail, and each turn afforded beautiful overlooks of the mountains around us staged before a brilliant blue sky. About halfway through the ride we stopped to look at some old ruins near a creek, and when we did Chuck hopped out of the van and motioned for me and Chris to get out too. Chuck always has some wild plan up his sleeve, and I love him for it. So we got out and Chuck climbed up the side ladder on top of the van. The boat deck Stephen had mounted there was just big enough for all three of us to stand on the forefront of the deck and hold on to the Puma straps with one hand. So that's how we rode the rest of the way. We ducked trees, balanced our bodies like surfers on ocean waves, and whooped and hollered. We were already having a blast.

When we arrived at the place where we planned to put in, we unloaded the boats and the gear and Dawn drove the van to a nearby parking area. In the meantime, Chris Noles found a way to climb on top of the giant green flume line extending over the river, and Chuck and I joined him eagerly.

(In this photo, from left to right - Me, Stephen, and Chuck)

(Chuck doing a headstand on top of the flume)

(Chris, Me (hidden in front of Chris) and Dawn ahead of us walking the flume. Dawn joined us when she got back from parking the car.)

Once we were all geared up Stephen lowered the boats down from the road into the creek running beside it. It was not the Hiwassee, but it was a tributary that joined the Hiwassee not very far down. So we put on and did a little creeking until we reached the Upper H. Stephen and Dawn R2ed, and Chris and Chuck and I R3ed.

The first major rapid we came to was a Class IV called Hollywood Bowl.

At the entrance, the rapid contains a great ledge shaped like a horseshoe. As we dropped the ledge, the current quickly started pulling us river right, but we needed to go middle left. As we paddled forward to fight the cross current we nearly pinned the tree shown in this photo directly in front of the kayaker - the tree whose leaves are noticeably lighter in shade of green than the others. We scraped by it, dropped the next ledge (where I perceived two great V-shaped waves converging upon us), and fought our way through the rest of the rapid where massive boulders threatened to pin or flip our little Puma.

(Bottom of the Bowl)

I was pumped after we got to the bottom of Hollywood Bowl. I was thrilled with the excitement of not knowing what lay ahead. I had only ever been on a river that I knew, and knew well. When I go down the Ocoee, I know what each rapid looks like; I know what I'm going to need to do with my raft; I know (for most part) what I need to avoid. But this was another ballgame. I knew nothing of what to expect. And that added a keen intensity that raised my adrenaline levels.

Another rapid we encountered consisted of a narrow passage where all the water was forced into a tight channel that created a large V-shaped wave train. That alone is not very frightening, but directly to the right of that channel was a series of boulders, almost like a wall, all of which were severely undercut. Water poured through the bottoms of these boulders. Consequently, the water flowing from under the boulders created a cross current that collided forcefully with the wave train through the channel. All that to say, if we ran the wave train straight and caught any edge of that cross current, it would undoubtedly flip our raft and send our bodies swimming into the undercuts.

So Chuck, who was guiding our raft while Chris and I paddled, pulled a move that was so sweet, so cool, I can only relate it to a skateboarding trick. As we approached the convergence of these two currents, Chuck held the boat straight entering the V train until I nearly thought he meant to risk flipping us; but at the last second, he whipped the boat around and angled the raft with its nose inches away from the boulder wall so that he was "grinding" the two currents where they met. I hope the reader can imagine what I mean. Picture a skateboarder flying down a sidewalk approaching a set of stairs, with short railing beside these stairs. He maintains a "downstream" angle just until the very moment that he's next to the railing, and then, on his board, he leaps up onto that railing so that he's now made a 90 degree turn and rides the rail perpendicular. That's what it was like. But in a raft. It was awesome.

Another rapid I remember well had a ledge extending about half the width of the river. We didn't notice the horizon line immediately as we approached it, so we found ourselves scurrying to face upstream and ferry away from that ledge. We didn't want to run the drop because we had not discussed it with Stephen and therefore didn't know what was on the other side - perhaps pinning rocks, anything. As we slid down a tongue of water just left of this ledge I looked over and observed the most frightening hydraulic hole I've ever seen. I'm not sure I can actually explain what it looked like because the physics of it didn't make any sense. The water pouring off the ledge here seemed to pour at a steep angle, perhaps 60 or 70 degrees, but not straight down like a waterfall. The boil was extremely abnormal-looking. The water seemed to boil excessively high in relation to the water pouring from the ledge - like the hole was very deep, but the boil very high. I just can't articulate this well enough. Whereas most boats will hit a hole and either punch through it, or crank sideways and flip, or stall out and surf, it seemed that if a boat ran into this one, the hole would eat the raft and suck it all the way down the bottom of the river and never let it resurface. Now, I realize physics don't work that way. But this is what it looked like. It was scary, and I will most likely forevermore avoid that hole.

I had an awesome time rafting the Upper Hiwassee with those guys. The rapids weren't very consistent in comparison with the Ocoee, but when we hit a big rapid, it was great fun.

(Me and Chris at the end of the Upper)

After we finished the Upper we paddled the Lower to get all the way back to Hiwassee Outfitters, whose outpost is right on the river.

(From left to right - Chuck, me, and Chris - Paddling the Lower)

When we got the boats put away in the shed, we said our goodbyes and I headed back to the outpost to return my wetsuit. I spent some time with a friend and left Ocoee around 7 o'clock. When I finally arrived at home in Lebanon, I went straight to bed and crashed. I had made a round trip to Ocoee and back in one day, with rafting in between. And that's when I realized - while I'm young and single, with no financial constraints or housewife duties, I can make a day or weekend trip to any river in the East, and raft all through the winter.

And so it began.

The Day We Rafted the Ocoee at 8500 cfs - Class V

In the summer season the Ocoee River normally runs 1200 cfs (cubic feet per second). Though the TVA usually has competent control of the water flow because of the dam and flume systems, sometimes due to heavy rains upriver the water levels will rise. If the water level exceeds 3,000 cfs, rafting companies will not take customers down the river. It is deemed too dangerous.

On July 3rd of this year, 2015, there was so much upstream rainfall that the Ocoee ran 8500 cfs. Rafting companies were totally booked for the 4th of July weekend, but had to cancel all trips because of the outrageous water levels. Outpost owners were furious that TVA had not been releasing water over the two days during the week that we do not raft, because it was believed that if they had done so it might have washed out enough water to provide more suitable rafting levels by the weekend.

While the owners and managers were frustrated and angry with TVA, I couldn't help being elated. The previous day I had rafted the Ocoee at 4,000 cfs and thought it was awesome! It was first experience with high water. But to find out it was running almost 9 grand was more excitement than I could contain. I never thought I would have that opportunity by my second year as a raft guide.

Immediately I started trying to put together a team of people to go down the river. None of the senior raft guides would go. They said they'd seen too many people get hurt, too many die, and they wanted nothing to do with it. They said they would've gone when they were younger and dumber, but not now. I realized I was the young and dumb one, but that was okay. I was hungry for adrenaline. I wanted this experience. I knew the risk, and I was willing to take it. Could not the Lord take care of me in any situation?

Most people I asked to come with us declined, until at last we had a 7 man crew consisting of 3 rookies and 4 second-year guides. This was not an Olympic crew by any means, but we felt competent enough we thought we could survive. Of the second-year guides, we chose Chris Storgion, a young man who had been on the Gauley River in West Virginia, to guide our boat. It is a Class V river, which meant he was the one with the most big water experience. He was also simply a good guide - confident in his skill and able to command a crew.

The only hitch in our endeavor was the fact that the only boat available for use was one none of us had ever paddled and was missing the front thwart. There were footcups in the front, so...that was good. There would be no warm-up to test how the raft maneuvered, no practicing at all. We were going to put in just below the first rapid and there we would be, on the Ocoee River at 8500 cfs.

When we first put the boat in the water and got in, the current was so strong we struggled to get out of the trees and brush on the bank. When we finally did, we could feel the incredible speed of the water. In a matter of seconds we were at the Staging Eddy, the first place we all stop on a normal rafting trip. There wasn't actually an eddy anymore - it was washed out. But there was some calmer water that we slowed down in while waiting for some friends to catch up. We had three friends rafting separately in a small Puma, and one friend, a senior raft guide and brother to our company's owner, who was kayaking. We gathered ourselves and headed downstream for Broken Nose - a Class IV rapid and normal flow, a Class V at this level. We scouted it out as we came around the bend in the river and decided to go far left of the whole rapid. In lieu of running Broken Nose, we got to hit several huge holes that developed from all the rocks and boulders in the middle of the river. As we came into Slice and Dice, I looked over to my right and saw a huge hole big enough to fit a commercial van in. That hole was created by a rock shelf that's so obviously above water at normal flow we rarely pay attention to it. This same principle would be our near downfall further downstream.

Washing Machine was my favorite hit at 8500. In the video footage you can see the waves that we crash into, but there is no way for a person to possibly conceive of the power and force with which those waves hit you unless you've experienced it. What looks like fun in the video felt like terror in real life.

As we approached Double Suck, Chris intended to hit the meat of it. He was only deterred by our earnest imploring that we avoid it to the right. I had seen what Double Suck looked like the day before at 4,000. I knew that sometimes those things wash out at bigger water levels, but I sincerely did not want to chance dying in a cabin sized hydraulic hole. So we skirted Double Suck to the right, only to realize that it was in fact washed out into more of a standing curler wave (which was pretty cool). However, we had not considered that the rock shelf immediately downstream from that rapid would create a giant hole. We were used to ignoring it. So with full force, we crashed down into the meat of an alien hydraulic. Chris was flung into the middle of our boat, the boat was slung into the hole sideways, my friend Levi fell out of the boat, and we were getting surfed. It was terrifying. We paddled our hind ends off trying to just keep the boat straight while it was getting surfed, lest we should go in sideways again and flip. That could have entailed death for any one of us. All it would take would be to get separated from the raft and swim into a hydraulic hole that recirculated your body until you drowned. Levi finally resurfaced, hand clutching the strap on the side of the boat. One of the guys pulled him in while we kept it straight. His life jacket had come unzipped in the swim. Whether the boat endered out of the hole or whether we actually paddled our way out of it, I have no idea. It all happened too fast. But we made it out, and we were all okay. Just a bit shake up with racing hearts. But that is, after all, why we do these things.

Downstream we continued to hit big waves, trying to avoid the nasty holes. Stephen, our kayaking friend, would advise us on how to run rapids; he had run the Ocoee a couple of years before at 10,000 cfs. In the second half of the river, our biggest concern was making it through Tablesaw and Diamond Splitter, two Class III+ rapids at normal flow, Class V now. When Stephen had gone out at 10,000, the other boat in his group flipped in Tablesaw and a good friend of mine swam almost a mile of the river. They thought they might lose him. So we were wary as we approached these rapids and discussed our plan. As we came into Tablesaw, we ran the right side of the line over Prudential Rock. To our immediate left was a massive hole created by the giant boulders there on the bank. We cranked the boat right to hit Diamond Splitter, T-ed up on the waves, and ran it clean, sliding by the small rock sticking about two feet out of the water (normally the Diamond Splitter rock protrudes a good 15 or so feet out of the water - certainly a landmark). At the bottom of the rapid we cheered and threw up high fives, elated to have made it through. Just as we were calming down, we realized we had been too careless in our celebration. None of us thought about what kind of waves or holes the rocks past Diamond Splitter might create, and I yelled out "Oh, heads up!" as we drifted dead sideways into a hole. Everyone in the back of the boat, myself included, fell out. I remember the feeling of terror as I felt by body pulled by gravity over the edge of the raft, plummeting into the muddy water. I was sucked down, but quickly began to resurface...only to find myself hitting the underside of the boat. I scrambled  below it, and was promptly recirculated further under the water. I was terrified that I was caught in some kind of hydraulic, and I began to resurface a second time and hit the underside of the raft again. The thought ran through my mind, "Perhaps the boat is stuck here getting surfed, and perhaps I'm getting recirculated underneath it. Maybe this is how I'll die." These thoughts occurred to me over a period of time that felt like an absolute eternity. You'll notice however in the video that I'm only in the water approximately 5 seconds. It's incredible how time slows down when your adrenaline is racing and you're in immediate danger.

I did finally resurface next to the boat and my friend Dan pulled me in. We pulled in the others, too, and thanks to the Lord, we were all okay. We recollected ourselves, managed to catch a tree on the bank and breath for a second, and then we kept going.

At the end of the river we hit several massive waves and found the water to be level with the pavement at the takeout. We paddled over to the bank, stepped out, and cheered. Friends who had followed us in their cars met us here and congratulated us. Park Rangers looked on in amusement. My friend Leon, who had followed by car and watched us get surfed after Double Suck said with a grin, "You can smell the adrenaline on you guys!" It was a great day. We packed up the gear, headed back to the outpost, and agreed that yes, we would do it again.



To watch the 34 minute video footage of our trip, click this link below:

Ocoee at 8500 cfs - Unedited Footage

My Home River - The Ocoee - Class III+

I started training on the Ocoee in March of 2014. This photo was taken then at the Middle Ocoee Put In. Business is slow during the cold early Spring months, which allows plenty of opportunity for the rookies to get out on the water.

By May of 2014 I was checked out as a raft guide for Adventures Unlimited.

This photo was taken at Double Trouble, a Class lll rapid that always affords great photo opportunities for customers.


When I don't have a customer trip, I still get out to play on the water.

Surfing Double Suck with my friend Emileigh, who in this photo in nearly submerged in the hole.

History and Whitewater Beginnings

I began my whitewater adventures in the Spring of 2014. I was 20 years old and nearly finished with one year of college, with no intention of returning in the Fall. I had been planning to drop out of school since September of my first semester. I wanted to live freely outdoors, and I realized right out of the gate that would be difficult with a cloud of college debt looming over me.

After hiking a section of the Appalachian Trail with a small group of friends, Lauren, one of the girls in our party whom I had not known prior to the hike, invited me to go rafting with her on the Ocoee River where she was a guide. I had never been on whitewater in my entire life and was eager for the opportunity to try a new activity. 

Lauren took me down the river one weekend in mid March. It was the beginning of their rafting season - only the second weekend of guide training. I absolutely loved it. At the end of the weekend Lauren's outpost manager, Jamie, invited me to keep coming back on the weekends to continue training. This was the gig: "be here each weekend to train, and this can be your summer job." I was a hippie with no direction who wanted to be outdoors. They were going to pay me to play on the river. So I started training.

I picked up the sport quickly. Senior raft guides spent hours pouring out their knowledge and teaching us how to guide. I was grasping the concepts of reading whitewater and maneuvering a boat while physically getting stronger each week. By May I checked out as a raft guide for Adventures Unlimited. The journey began.

This journey took an unexpected turn midway through the summer. I became a Christian. But allow me to rewind a bit.

I grew up in a Christian home attending church every Sunday. At age 8 I publicly "accepted" Christ and was baptized. In the years that followed I was heavily involved in my youth group and was a professing Christian. 

But I was not. 

How was I to know that I wasn't a Christian? I knew what was expected of me, I knew and recited the church's statements of belief, and in some ways the tenets of "the faith" seemed logical. But how does one know what bread tastes like until one has eaten it?

In my senior year of high school, at the age of 18, sin was ever more appealing to me. I desired things that were, at the very least, not condoned by the Christian faith, or at most, not allowed. I realized this discrepancy and felt compelled to rid myself of a major hypocrisy. I quit attending church with my mother and renounced my "faith" in Christianity.

In all those latter years of my teenage life I was tormented by the need for a knowledge of truth. But I sought it in vain places. Depression drove my soul mad, for there was no other soul in which I could confide the thoughts of my heart. After graduating high school in May of 2012, I spent most of my time smoking marijuana, reading Buddhist holy books, and daydreaming about living a life like Jack Keroac's. I wanted to be free; I wanted to know truth. But I did not know that I was a slave to my sin, my selfish desires, nor that I was blind to truth and groping about in the dark. 

In the final months of summer after I graduated high school, just before I was going to be off for college, I underwent severe trials that postponed my college attendance until the Fall of 2013. It was then that I went to The University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, and it was in the following semester that I met Lauren and came to the river. There I met fellow-minded people. People who were poor; people who loved the outdoors; people I could smoke with, who all had different perspectives of life. I was happy, and I began to realize how all of the difficult things I had experienced had worked together to bring me to this place. A light was dawning, but I did not know it. I was however increasingly thankful for how my circumstances had turned out, and this was the thought that prompted me to see the light: if my spirit is so thankful that it yearns to give thanks...there must be someone to receive my thanksgiving. I remember the moment that thought came into my mind. I was standing in the center aisle of the bus, geared up and heading to the river. When the thought occurred me, I remember timidly shifting my gaze upward, and perhaps for the first time in my life, truly, I acknowledged God. I said, "Thank you."

I was thankful because it seemed to me that if all those hard trials had led me to a good place, perhaps when the next trials came in life I could trust God that he was working through them for my good. However, in the couple of weeks that followed that initial interaction with God I made no attempt to pursue him. I was still enslaved to my sin, because that was what I loved. And for the one wondering what exactly was my sin, it was this: my desire to fulfill my own plans, however seemed best to me, instead of submitting to the one who created me to fulfill his intended purpose for my life. And this is our purpose, manifested in a multitude of ways: to glorify God and enjoy him forever.

At the right time, I fell deathly ill with a parasite. For the first time, I smoked marijuana for its medicinal benefits; it was the only thing that helped numb the pain and give me enough of an appetite to hold down food. However, no earthen substance can cure the malady of the soul, and this was the Lord's primary concern and objective. I eventually saw a doctor who diagnosed the parasite and prescribed pharmaceutical medication, but I continued to decline in health. So much so that my mother drove across the state to bring me home for recovery. This was the Lord's doing. As I rested at home, I pondered all the ways in which God had worked in my life, and I could tell that the more thankful I was that happier I was in turn. This reminded me of Biblical teachings I'd learned as a child. So one afternoon while my mother was at work I took her Bible and sat on the back porch. I didn't know at the time why I felt so compelled to read it. But I opened it to the book of James, and as I read, the eyes of my heart were opened. My ears were made to hear. I knew, somehow like never before, in a way that I could only describe as supernatural, I knew that the words I was reading were true. I knew it so deeply I longed to submit to those words, simply because they were true. 

"Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness."

"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind."

"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him."

"Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Be wretched and mourn and weep. Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you."

As I began to recover from the parasite, so my soul was being mended by the Lord. In one moment of time, brief and utterly vital, he regenerated my heart and gave my soul life. He himself is life, and he came to me and made me his own. I understood for the first time why Jesus Christ was crucial. He is the Son of God, holy and pure, and by his undeserved death, he paid the debt I owe to God. Allow me to explain. If a potter makes a pot, does he not have the right to determine that pot's purpose? Does he not also have the right to destroy the pot? Yes on both accounts. No one would argue otherwise. How much more then does God rule over his creation? He made us and gave us life, and he made us for a purpose: to glorify him and to enjoy him. If we do not live out our purpose, we forfeit our life. We do, in fact, deserve to die. But God is gracious beyond comprehension. It is not his desire that we should die. But he is also a God of Justice. And Justice demands that where we have defrauded God by using our life to do as we please, we must die. That would be just. But God made a way for us to be reconciled to him. By sending his Son to die in our stead (who did so willingly out of love for us), the debt we owe God has been fulfilled. And he offers us eternal life (eternal because he himself is life and he has no beginning or end - he is God) if we will only believe. Many people do not believe that Jesus is the Son of God. They turn away from him, and in doing so, they turn to death instead of life. These are things I myself heard all the days of my childhood but never believed. Why do I believe them now? Because I believe that 2 + 2 = 4, and I believe that 90 degree weather is hot, and I believe that water sometimes pours from the sky...because I have experienced these things. If you've never eaten bread, how will you know what it tastes like? You cannot know until you eat it. And how do you eat it? You ask for it; you seek it out. Though you will find when you do it was God seeking you, moving you to seek him.

I did not intend this post to be a testimony to the things I believe. I actually intended it to be a documentation of the rivers I have run so far to date. But oh so often do I proceed from one topic to Christ. Perhaps not often enough in conversation. Lord help me to be bold and to recognize opportunities to confess truth. But when I write, it seems he pours out of my heart. This post may be a good platform from which to view my journeys as they come. God has saved me from his wrath; he has filled my heart with his love; and he has called me out of darkness that I might be an instrument to carry his love and his gospel into the world. For me this journey has begun as a raft guide. And to the raft guides I will preach Christ crucified for the world.