STORY: Running Chattooga's Section O

What do the Tallulah and Section 0 of the Chattooga have in common?

Many years ago I was fortunate in having the opportunity to paddle both of these incredibly beautiful and challenging sections of the Chattooga River. Back then our numbers were few and our voice was small; the river was closed with a only a whimper from the boating community. So now AW tells me we have a chance....

Please, write those letters as the original post asks!

The AW proposal is very, very valid! The times I paddled there, I didn't see another person (with the obvious exception of my paddling companions)--not a single fisherman--not a single hiker.

I've added a short story. I posted it here a year or two ago and although it commemorates a friend, it also gives (I hope) a small glimpse of Section 1 of the Chattooga.

While on my way to the Chattooga River last Summer I stopped off at a favorite whitewater shop to pick up a sponge. My previous sponge had disappeared into the black hole of "loan me your sponge" and I needed a new one. The shop owner said that he didn't stock sponges anymore and now carried stern drain plug retro-fit kits instead. He implied that everyone was going to the drain plug and that sponges would soon be an endangered species as these exotics became more numerous. I left empty handed, knowing that time constraints wouldn't allow me to retro-fit then and there. However, that little incident brought back a memory....

It was during the Winter of 1975 that Joe Stubbs and I made our first descent of Section I of the Chattooga. We were both nervous as well as excited about paddling this section of the river. We termed such excursions "backyard expeditions" and spent most of our weekends seeking them out. As we stood on the bridge at the Burrell's Ford put-in and peered downstream, the river disappeared into the misty shadows. Somewhere down there in the unknown we knew that a magnificent riverwide waterfall and a foreboding place called the Rock Gorge awaited us.

We were soon joined by Allen Singley, our River Meister. During the 1970's Allen was pushing the whitewater envelope. In an era when canoe club and group trips were the norm, Allen was out there solo creekin' (although it had no such name at the time) and, with a small group of friends (or his dog), exploring what were to become some of the South's classic, yet esoteric runs. Today several formidable drops bear his name or were named by him. On Overflow Creek we have Singley's Falls, Gravity Falls, and the ominous Great Marginal Monster. Whimsical, yet descriptive names are a Singley signature.

We donned our gear, put on the river, and paddled off into the mist. The first rapid of consequence that we encountered was called "Hole in the Wall." I recall that Allen said, "Stay a bit right or you might break your ankles." With a description like that, I had no problem in keeping a bit right. This was my first experience with the concept of the "Verbal Scout." That is, someone who knows the river well gives you a verbal description of just what's over that spray- filled horizon line you're about to go over for the first time!

A little later Joe and I watched from the safety of the right bank (the verbal scout had failed us) as Allen picked his way down the approach rapid and then precisely hit the slot of safe passage over Big Bend Falls. Remember, this was 1975 and boats were made of fiberglass, thirteen feet (plus change) in length, and a boof was ... well, I don't know what a boof was in 1975. We worked our way down into the Rock Gorge and just before Allen disappeared over another blind drop, he said , " This is Harvey Wallbanger, be careful!" We ducked under a huge hemlock log and blindly followed him over the double drop. I flipped in a reflex wave coming off the rock wall that Mother Nature had placed entirely too close to the runout of the drop. I guess it was understood that the name of this drop also doubled as a "Verbal Scout." I had missed the connection entirely and met "Harvey." Later Joe and I watched from the safety of the left bank as Allen came over a steep drop, punched a good - sized hole, then caught a narrow, offset exit slot (enhanced by the presence of a vertical log). It was shortly after this rapid, called Maytag, that IT happened. As Joe and I dumped the water from our boats in the conventional manner, we noticed that Allen tilted his C-1 upright after fiddling with something on the stern. What I had previously thought was a big ball of "duck tape" on the stern of his boat (a common sight on glass boats) was actually a half-glassed, half-taped halved plastic clorox bottle strategically placed cap up in the stern of his C-1. When he unscrewed the cap and tilted the boat upright, a beautiful little artesian spout of river water leapt from the bowels of his boat, danced down the rock, and returned home. Joe and I looked at each other - words were neither spoken nor needed - we knew that this was one of those special little moments that periodically comes by in life (we didn't need much back then). Earlier we had witnessed his paddling genius and now we witnessed his inventive, functional genius. We all returned to the river and finished up the rapids of the Rock Gorge. Upper and Lower Big Harry Bastard were the closing curtains to our Rock Gorge ballet. As we paddled the flatwater section to the Highway 28 takeout, the conversation between Joe and I was noticeably uplifted - I remember it like it was yesterday....

Nowadays when I look at the new boats, I see that most have stern drain plugs. A trip to one's favorite whitewater shop or a glance through any whitewater wishbook and there they'll be - those nice little retro-fit kits all bundled up in their plastic bags. In retrospect, I'm certain that Allen had his "hoola hoop," his "pet rock," his "chia pet" there in that halved plastic clorox bottle (although certainly more functional). But it was just for him; no big deal.

I had all but forgotten about this story until that one day last Summer when I walked into a whitewater shop and couldn't buy a sponge. I just thought I'd share a fond memory of a beautiful stretch of River and a true story about one of our original River Legends here in the South.