Southern Fried Creekin’

10:00am.

It’s Sunday. Sunny. The Pigeon River flows by outside our room; a gentle stream when the Walters Power Plant isn’t releasing water. It will turn on later in the day, but there’s more to today than just a fun run on the Dirty Bird.

11:30am.

The boating crew assembles at the barn. Myself, Nila, Wilson, Preston, Oakes, and Chike. We load our equipment into our cars and talk about the day ahead of us. Some of us talk beta for the run, others check their phones to see when the water turns on. “4:00pm,” someone says, “we’ve got some time to wait.”

12:00pm.

We set out early, a two hour drive ahead of us towards Bryson City. The air seems to get heavier the closer we get. Preston, Nila, and I talk less and less with each mile. The reality of the run is setting in. Are we ready for this?

2:00pm.

The water is off, like we thought it would be. But at least we get to scout and see our hazards underwater. As pull across the bridge near the takeout, we begin to see the steep staircase of waterfalls and boulders. The Cascades.

3:30pm

The water begins to flow. The trickle that was barely audible 5 minutes ago has turned into a roaring river, constricted into the narrow canyon. Mist from the Horns of God billows up over the road. We stare at the first drop, thinking twice.

But we blow up the rafts.

4:00pm.

Wilson and Preston launch first, opting for a right side approach into the horns. Looking downstream, we watch them tumble over the edge, and hear some shouts from the onlookers above the falls. Chike and Oakes follow, taking a similar line. Over the edge. Shouting.

Finally we push off the bank.

Nila and I ferry to the left side of the river, hoping the rest of the crew made it safely. We drop the first two ledges and begin to drift towards the Horns of God. It looks so narrow. At the last moment we opt for the Meltdown, a double tiered drop on the left side of the falls. We crash over the falls and begin careening down the next slide. We hit the bottom sidewise, but the boat stayed upright.

4:05pm

We eddied out below the Horns. Our first Class V rapid of the day. Everyone seemed to be a little shell shocked, with a couple scrapes and scuffs. It was so much bigger and faster than we thought. But we made it. There was still more than a half mile of nonstop chaos downstream, but there was no turning back. The only way off the creek was down. And down we went.

4:10pm

We weaved our way through a few Class IV boulder gardens, the water muddy enough to hide more than a few boulders blocking our path. Then the river began to narrow and steepen, the water seemed to be rushing downhill like a on a water slide. This was Big Kahuna. We knew we had to stay left, but the water pushed us to the middle of the creek. We slid, mayb thirty yards, and then dropped into a sticky hydraulic right above the falls. It stopped us. We began to slowly drift toward the 12 foot falls, all of the water squeezing into the center of the canyon and dropping out ahead. Paddle, paddle, paddle. The boat straightened out, and we dropped, gravity ceasing to exist for a moment. The feeling of falling. When we hit the water the boat was sucked into the boiling hole at the bottom of the falls, sinking us up to our chests in water. But we popped up.

4:20pm

After Big Kahuna, we found a brief respite on river right perched on some rocks halfway down the Junkyard. A manky Class V with a tendency to pin rafts and kayaks alike, we were glad for the break. We watched the other rafts make their way through, and then it was our turn. We shot a little chute in the center of the river, dodging some very nasty looking pin rocks, as we prepared for the 20 foot slide below us. As we dropped, we grabbed the NRS strap around the boat and skipped over the recirculating hole at the bottom. 3 down, 1 to go.

4:25pm

We sat in the pool below the Junkyard, watching Oakes and Chike disappear I’ve the first drop of our final Class V, Chinese Feet. Whistles. Oakes was in the water. We took off downstream, hoping to help. We sent the first dropriver right, a perfect fit. But immediately after the first, our right tube caught the rock on the right at the top of the second, much meatier drop. We yanked ourselves free and plummeted the 9 feet down into another boat swallowing hole. We popped up and saw Chike downstream, alone in the middle of the next Class IV riffle.

4:30pm

Chike paddled the boat through, reuniting with Oakes at the bottom. He had been picked up early by Wilson and Preston; a broken thumb his prize from the run. Wilson, we learned, earned a set of broken ribs (see video for visual explanation). We paddled our way through the remaining Class IV boogie, which seemed like child’s play after the continuous slides and drops upstream. Our first steps on dry land seemed like they were heavier than before. It was hard to stand. The adrenaline was pumping through us all. I cracked a warm beer and drank it. Insanity is fun. Drop ledges, not bombs kids 🤙

Nasty Nate