The New River has been carving the Appalachian Valley for the past 10 to 360 million years–depending on who you ask–which makes it an ancient river–ranked behind the Finke and Meuse as the world’s third oldest river. Of course, there is the obvious non sequitur, given the river’s moniker and apparent age.
One story claims that its name comes from a translation from Indian dialect meaning “new waters.” Another explanation tells of Captain Byrd who had been employed to open a road from the James River to Abingdon in 1764. Byrd used the Jefferson-Fry Map published in 1755. However, this map did not show the river, so Byrd noted it as the “New River.”
Originating in North Carolina, the New River flows 360 miles north until it meets the Gauley River in southern West Virginia, providing some of the best whitewater (Class IV rapids and above) on the planet, and the main reason for our visit.
Our first look came from an overlook behind the Canyon Rim Visitor Center,
treating us to canopied canyon walls as far as we could see, soaring 876 feet above the water.
and a profile of the New River Gorge Bridge (the Rusted Rainbow).
When the New River Gorge Bridge opened in 1977, it was the world’s longest single-span arch bridge for 26 years. With an arch 1,700 feet (518 m) long, it is now relegated to the fifth longest.
While I appreciate the engineering feat of a half-mile span that saves travelers 45 minutes of detouring,
it’s the river I’ve come to conquer.
New and Gauley River Adventures shoved off from Stone Cliff at 10am–14 miles downriver from the bridge–with six eager adrenalin junkies and our guide, Costa Rica Scott in one raft, and a support raft to tag along. Leah refused to float with us, despite my gentle coaxing.
Once we were properly outfitted with life jackets and helmets…
off we went…
While the first half of the trip was relatively lazy, with fountains of 60oF spray coming from occasional haystacks and laterals, the spring run-off and torrents of rain before our arrival had turned the second half into a fast-moving, turbulent churn, filled with hydraulic traps, and 7 foot waves.
which had us threading our way through Keeneys, Dudleys Dip, Double Z, Greyhound, and Millers Folly Rapids with increased caution.
Miraculously, we never flipped and everyone remained in the boat throughout the ride. However, the soul behind me spent most of the time stretched across the raft with his head pinned over the gunwale, retching. Fortunately, whenever our pilot commanded us to “dig in” (paddle like our lives depended on it), I avoided smacking him across the face.
After 4 hours on the river, our take-out was just shy of the bridge, beyond Fayette Station.
What a blast! If only there was time to run back and do it again, but that would have left little time for hiking to Diamond Point;
visiting Cathedral Falls in Ansted;
investigating abandoned beehive coke ovens in Nuttallburg;
strolling through a mining ghost town (pop. 5) in Thurmond;
or just chilling at The Outpost, “Where Wild Meets Wonderful.”
Perhaps another visit is in order.