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West Virginia’s Outdoor Magazine
STAFF Publisher, Editor-in-Chief Dylan Jones Associate Editor, Design Nikki Forrester Pretty Much Everything Else Dylan Jones, Nikki Forrester
Even though it’s tough to keep track of time these days, there is a vague sense that change is in the air. The goldenrod is popping, the cottongrass is glowing, and a few trees are peeking out orange leaves. After a summer of long days and dinner at 10:30 p.m., I’m ready to slow down, eat before nine, and take some time to reflect. This has been quite the year, friends. It’s been filled with amazing adventures and substantial challenges. Although it’s been tough at times, the ups and the downs underscore to the billionth degree how grateful I am to live in West Virginia. Part of this appreciation stems from the accessibility of outdoor recreation opportunities. I can wander along an endless network of trails any time of day and never see another person (or if I do, it’s someone I’m super excited to see). But a more meaningful part of my psych stems from the truly phenomenal community of people that call West Virginia home. While there are plenty of places to play outdoors, the community is why so many people decide to set down roots here. I hear it all the time, and you probably have, too. People visit West Virginia and are struck with a sense of purpose and place. People move here and are immediately welcomed into the family. Although it’s nearly impossible put it into words, West Virginia’s women are what makes this place so magically undefinable.
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This issue, I had an opportunity to chat with some of the first women to boat, bike, ski, and climb here. They went on some seriously gnarly adventures, battled their way through rugged races, and pursued their passions for the outdoors even when there were only a handful of other ladies to support them. They paved the way for female adventure athletes in the Mountain State, although none of them will admit it. Along with the leading ladies, this issue highlights a few of the spectacular female athletes, photographers, and writers in the state, including Mariah Lee Hibarger, Chelsey Jones, and Liz Stout. And then there’s Molly Wolff, who despite walking a road more difficult than most of us can imagine, has found a way to push the limits of what can be achieved. These women are strong, they’re empowered, and they’re invested in making West Virginia a more inclusive place. They envision a future where our spectacular rivers and landscapes draw not just tourism, but passionate individuals who want to become part of something and make an impact. They define outdoor adventure in West Virginia and have a goofy, giggly time doing it. I am humbled to follow in their footsteps and honored to share their stories. w Nikki Forrester
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ADVERTISING Request a media kit or send inquiries to info@highland-outdoors.com SUBMISSIONS Please send pitches and photos to dylan@highland-outdoors.com EDITORIAL POLICY Our editorial content is not influenced by advertisers. SUSTAINABILITY This magazine was printed on paper certified by the Sustainable Forestry Initiative with eco-friendly inks. Please consider passing this issue along or recycling it when you're done. DISCLAIMER Outdoor activities are inherently risky. Highland Outdoors will not be held responsible for your decision to play outdoors. COVER Liz Stout and Kate Preston galloping on Cabin Mountain. Photo by Liz Stout. Copyright © 2020 by Highland Outdoors. All rights reserved. Highland Outdoors is published by DJones Media, LLC and printed at HG Roebuck & Son in Baltimore, Maryland.
Dylan Jones
FROM THE EDITOR
CONTRIBUTORS Dan Brayack, Nikki Forrester, John Garder, Steffan Gronegger, Birdie Hawkins, Darell Hensley, Mariah Lee Hibarger, Chelsey Jones, Dylan Jones, Colleen Laffey, Boyce McCoy, Paul Nelson, Nathaniel Peck, Donna Richards, Liz Stout, David Wolff, Molly Wolff, Jay Young
Wonder Woman Molly Wolff paddles the New River, pg. 40
Contents 10
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A BRIEF HISTORY OF BUNGEE
REEL FLY ART
HEAVEN HELP US
By Dylan Jones
Glory on the Lower Gauley
THE LEADING LADIES OF WEST VIRGINIA
By Mariah Lee Hibarger
By Nikki Forrester
By Jay Young
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EQUINE ESCAPE
IT’S NUTTALL CLIMBED YET
David Wolff
West Virginia by Horseback By Chelsey Jones
The Future of New Routes at the New River Gorge
EVERY ISSUE 8 Briefs 40 Profile 43 Gallery
By Paul Nelson FALL 2020 HIGHLAND-OUTDOORS.COM
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AN ACT FOR THE AGES Congress passes Great American Outdoors Act By John Garder & HO Staff
The GAOA establishes a fund to support maintenance projects on federal public lands and ensures permanent, dedicated funding of the beloved Land and Water Conservation Fund (LWCF). The bill, sponsored by Sens. Joe Manchin (D-WV) and Cory Gardner (R-CO), also received overwhelming support in the Senate on July 17 with a vote of 73 to 25. U.S. House Rep. Miller (R-WV) of West Virginia’s third district, which includes the iconic New and Gauley rivers, joined Sen. Manchin in supporting the bill. U.S. House Reps. David McKinley (R-WV) and Alex Mooney (R-WV), representing the two northern districts of the state, voted in opposition. The legislation provides up to $1.9 billion of annual funding for overdue repair and maintenance projects on public lands using revenue from energy produced on federal lands and offshore drilling on the outer continental shelf (OCS)—in addition to renewable energy receipts—over five years. The act also uses OCS revenue to dedicate full and permanent funding of $900 million annually to the Land and Water Conservation Fund (LWCF), established
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in 1964 and permanently reauthorized in February of 2019. Sen. Manchin, a leader of the effort, sang the bill’s praises. “This bill is truly an historic conservation victory and will ensure that America’s treasured public lands are preserved for generations to come,” Manchin said. “This package provides full and permanent funding for the Land and Water Conservation Fund, which has helped almost every county in West Virginia, and will significantly reduce the approximately $20 billion deferred maintenance backlog on our country’s public lands, including $60 million in deferred maintenance in West Virginia.” The LWCF has been pivotal in the purchase and protection of West Virginia’s beloved public lands and scenic rivers, including Seneca Rocks, Harpers Ferry, and the New River Gorge. The fund also supports recreational facilities in countless communities. To date, West Virginia has received $241 million from the LWCF, which has been distributed in more than 500 projects in 54 of 55 counties. These projects span everything from state park campgrounds and boulder parks to neighborhood playgrounds, swimming pools, and handicap access. Funding from the LWCF has also improved fishing and hunting access in 10 state Wildlife Management Areas. LWCF allows federal land management agencies to purchase parcels from willing landowners within the boundaries of protected areas
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when they wish to put them up for sale. Numerous land purchases were made possible with funding from the LWCF, including the Gauley River National Recreation Area, Ohio River Islands National Wildlife Refuge, and the entirety of the Canaan Valley National Wildlife Refuge. The purchase of mineral rights under the Cranberry Wilderness as a way to conserve surface land was also completed through the LWCF. The five-year maintenance fund will be used to repair infrastructure such as visitor centers, roads, and trails on federally managed lands including wildlife refuges and national parks. West Virginia’s historic and river properties managed by the National Park Service alone face a nearly $62 million deferred maintenance backlog and could benefit from the fund. Nick Joe Rahall, who served West Virginia as a Democratic U. S. House Representative from 1977 to 2015, was thrilled at the news of the GAOA’s passage. “To see it fully passed and signed into law is extremely gratifying,” said Rahall, who advocated for and defended the LWCF during his tenure. “The bipartisan support shows it’s a win-win for the American people, and most importantly, protects America’s crown jewels for future generations.” w John Garder recently became a full-time WV resident and works for the National Parks Conservation Association. He contributed to this reporting along with two HO staffers— betcha can’t guess who!
Jay Young / Adventures on the Gorge
On August 4, the Great American Outdoors Act (GAOA) was signed into law, following a 310 to 107 vote in the U.S. House of Representatives on July 22. The resounding chorus of ayes handed America’s great outdoors the greatest legislative victory in decades, and one that will be remembered for generations to come. The shining moment of bipartisanship will both repair and conserve iconic public lands in West Virginia and throughout the country.
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GRITSTONE CLIMBING AND FITNESS OPENS IN MORGANTOWN By Dylan Jones Climbers, rejoice! With the grand opening of Gritstone Climbing and Fitness, Morgantown is now home to West Virginia’s premier climbing gym. On August 8, Gritstone opened the doors of its beautifully designed 20,000 square-foot facility off the Decker’s Creek Rail-Trail in Sabraton. Three years in the making, Gritstone is the brainchild of owners Christopher Bailey and John Burkhart. The gym’s name, thought of by Burkart’s wife Aira, is an homage to the gritstone style of sandstone that forms the famed boulders and cliffs of Coopers Rock State Forest and the surrounding Cheat Canyon. The gym is located on a brownfields site that was remediated for new construction. “It was great to pick up an unused site and build it into something new,” Bailey said. The team broke ground in early 2019 and embarked on what Bailey, who also owns Rising Sun Construction in Morgantown, described as the most complex design of his building career.
Courtesy Gristone
The custom-built facility is not only visually striking, it’s also environmentally minded. A white roof reflects sunlight to save on cooling costs, large windows and automatic sensors limit the amount of energy expended on indoor lighting, and a rain garden and water collection system on the 26,000 sq-ft lot helps with water absorption and runoff control into Decker’s Creek during heavy rain. While the facility itself is worth a visit, the climbing will keep people coming back. Bailey and the Burkharts are accomplished climbers who bring a wealth of knowledge about the sport’s styles, subtleties, and culture to the
walls. Speaking of walls, Gritstone worked with Jason Kehl, a world-famous boulderer and gym designer, to design the custom climbing features.
But Gritstone isn’t just about climbing—it’s a full-service fitness facility with a separate gym and a climate-controlled yoga room.
Boulderers can monkey around on 3,500 climbable sq-ft of walls up to 15.5 feet-high with thick padding to catch falls. Those who prefer ropes can enjoy 61 rope lanes over 9,000 sq-ft of walls up to 50 feet-high, including two 15-meter speed climbing lanes.
Gritstone will also be a hub for cultural events like historical speakers, old-time music talks, and other communal gatherings. “It’s not just climbing culture, but a place of enrichment for the community in general,” Burkhart said.
But climbing walls are worthless without routes. Renowned route designer Matt Hulet moved from California to Morgantown to become Gritstone’s lead routesetter. According to Burkhart, Gritstone’s routesetting team has a combined 35 years of experience, meaning the Mountain State is now home to some of the country’s best outdoor and indoor climbing routes. Burkhart said Gritstone will leverage their routes to host nationallevel bouldering and speed-climbing competitions.
Despite the challenges of opening a business during the COVID pandemic, things seem to be off to a good start for Gritstone. “I’m watching people and my friends get stronger and better every day, and there is an enormous joy in that,” Bailey said.
The gym’s second floor is kidcentric with a pint-sized training wall, bouldering up to 12 feet tall, top-rope lanes up to 29 feet, and plenty of space for birthday parties and large groups of kiddos. Gritstone also has a kid’s climbing coach and programs focused on training the next generation of climbers.
To learn more and check out the gym’s COVID-19 policy, head over to: climbgritstone.com. w
A humble climber, Bailey looks to his past alpine climbs to evaluate success. “I celebrate when I get back to the car, not to the top of the mountain,” he said. “We’re still getting to the top of the mountain, but everything is looking good so far.”
Dylan Jones is publisher of Highland Outdoors and can’t wait to go tie-in at Gritstone when his annual summer mountain biking injuries heal.
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A BRIEF HIS TORY OF BUNGEE By Jay Young Editor’s Note: With Bridge Day 2020 unfortunately being canceled due to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, we thought we would be remiss to leave everyone’s favorite annual road closure out of the fall issue. As such, we enlisted Fayetteville’s top investigative journalist to dig deep into the annals of Bridge Day history for a unique—and untold—take on a well-told story.
jump from. Naturally, those discombobulated visitors are thinking about Bridge Day, when hundreds of BASE jumpers huck themselves into the void with nothing for protection but parachutes, goggles, and giggles.
However, that’s not to say the NRG Bridge has never hosted a bungee jump. The NRG Bridge has seen a whopping four unique bungee jumps performed by a combined total of nine people and one mid-sized SUV. Hell, most locals
remain hazy on the full story. In fact, when asked about bungee jumping, we almost always respond with a mix of partial truths and outright falsehoods—not with malicious intent, mind you, but because the true history has been largely forgotten.
I
As any local Fayettevillian can attest, the most-asked question concerning the New River Gorge Bridge is this: “Is that the one they bungee jump from?” Most of us find this odd because, no, it is not the one they bungee
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Courtesy Bridge Walk
n the heart of southern West Virginia, a rainbow of rust spans an ancient chasm nearly a thousand feet deep. That rainbow, aptly named the New River Gorge Bridge, rises 876 feet above the thrashing waters of its namesake river and spans its gorge for three-fifths of a mile. Each year on the third Saturday of October, the bridge is closed to traffic for the annual Bridge Day celebration. The bridge deck gets a break from brakes, exchanging thousands of rubber tires for nearly 100,000 pairs of rubber soles, making Bridge Day the state’s largest one-day festival.
And, as with most things Fayetteville, the curious case of Bridge Day bungee jumping is as eccentric as the characters who leapt from the steel arch clipped to a glorified rubber band. Bungee jumping on Bridge Day was never open to the general public. There are whispers in time of two men who allegedly gained approval from the Bridge Day committee to bungee jump in 1984 wearing tuxedos for a BBC program, but it’s unknown whether or not they actually took the leap. In fact, the first confirmed Bridge Day bungee jump occurred in 1985, when a professional daredevil named Skip Stanley, AKA The Blue Bandit, flung himself into the ether sporting a clown wig and blue jumpsuit. Skip was previously infamous for scaling Houston’s 71-story Allied Bank Plaza using suction cups before BASE jumping from a tiny rigged platform to escape the authorities… who caught him anyway. On Bridge Day ’92, New Zealander Chris Allum set the record for world’s longest bungee jump when he plunged 823 feet toward the river (missing the water by just 40 odd feet). It took a couple hours to reel him back in, during which nobody could BASE jump. As expected, the adrenalinehungry jumpers who traveled Lord-knows-how-long to line Left: One of only nine people to ever bungee jump from the NRG bridge. Right: The one and only vehicle to ever bungee jump from said bridge.
up and jump were not thrilled to have their thrills put on hold. Also in 1992 on the Thursday before Bridge Day, a GMC Jimmy clipped to an absurdly engineered bungy rig famously freefell off the bridge in an elaborate stunt rigged for a TV commercial. Judging by the fact that pretty much everybody tells the story of the “Jeep” that bungee jumped from the bridge, the ad campaign was not entirely successful. Interested folks can view the commercial with a simple search on YouTube. In 1993, Allum returned with six friends and a basket rig big enough to hold them all, which was then dropped from the bridge for another world record: the most people in a single bungee jump. When the basket finally stopped bouncing around on the end of the line, Allum unstrapped himself, revealing a hidden BASE rig, and leapt from the basket. This additional stunt came as a total shock to both the Bridge Day committee and the rescue boats down below. Everybody was angry, and, of course, it took forever to reel the basket back in, during which time, yet again, nobody could BASE jump. Bridge Day bungee jumping was never permitted again. w Jay Young is a Fayettevillebased writer/photographer who is horribly conflicted over the need to protect lives from SARS-CoV-2 and the need to eat funnel cake while gawking at BASE jumpers, but grudgingly accepts that the cancellation of Bridge Day 2020 was necessary.
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Reel Fly Art
W
Words and photos by Dylan Jones
hen it comes to fly fishing, there’s much more to the ages-old activity than simply hooking a fish. Some seek a wild pescatarian meal, others zen out and toss a line to practice escapism. Crafty casters like Darell Hensley take it a step—or several for that matter—further and transform angling into an art form.
raft, you have to know how to read the water to fish,” Hensley says.
Hot Rods
Hensley has been creating custom fly rods for nearly
Hensley has been chasing fish in one way or another since he can remember. From picking up his dad’s fly rod as a young boy to tying flies and hand-crafting custom decorative rods, Hensley has earned his stripes as a Mountain State master angler. As owner of Tory Mountain Outfitters in Davis from 1997 to 2003, Hensley cut his teeth as a fly-fishing guide taking clients out on the region’s wealth of trout streams. “Just like you have to know how to read the water to guide a kayak or
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30 years, and it shows in the intricacy of his designs and the consistency of the finish. He begins with a blank rod and dreams up a theme or color concept. He recently completed a rod wrapped
in threads matching the polychromatic pattern of a native brook trout. After choosing his color palette and measuring out the design concept, Hensley painstakingly hand-wraps each piece of thread around the rod, using a burnishing tool to tighten up the wraps. Hensley often uses a classic chevron wrap— an inverted V-pattern where sides meet without interruption—to decorate the butt section of the rod. He also uses decorative thread to wrap the line guides and lays out markings on the rod to help measure a catch on the fly. “It’s purely decorative, you don’t see decor on fly rods hardly ever,” Hensley says. “It’s typically seen on saltwater rods which are much larger and wrapped using big, heavy thread. The wraps are harder to do and to keep tighter on the smaller-diameter fly rods.” Hensley then coats the rod in epoxy and places it in a power wrapper machine where the speed can be adjusted to keep the rod
Darell Hensley’s fly rod workshop, where he applies colorful thread to a custom rod before using a burnishing tool to tighten up the wraps.
turning as it dries to prevent the epoxy from pooling or dripping. While a custom rod can be as expensive as one wishes to make it—Hensley says some reel seats alone can cost several hundred bucks—his average custom rod costs around $250. So, why throw down extra cash for a fancy rod? For Hensley, it’s all about the angler’s connection with their equipment while communing with nature. “There’s nothing like going out fishing with a rod you built and flies you tied and leaders you made. You’re totally doing it all on your own.”
Fly Guy
A fancy rod ain’t squat if you can’t get a bite. To increase
the chances of doing so, fly fisherfolk often have a dizzying array of lures from which to entice a picky fish. Hensley, naturally, ties his own flies, drawing from his vast knowledge of West Virginia’s rivers, their inhabitants, and seasonal changes to create his lures. Starting off with a hook— which can be as small as 1/16th of an inch—Hensley wraps the barb with various threads, metals, hairs, and other visually striking materials. Feathers are a common natural material and come from a bevy of birds like chickens, peacocks, ducks, and the golden pheasant, a bird bred specifically for its technicolor dream pelt. Flies can be tied in myriad shapes, colors, and sizes, imitating bugs throughout all stages of their creepy-crawly
lives from eggs to larvae and beyond. Hensley even has a fly that mimics the harbinger and unofficial predictor of winter weather, the wooly bear caterpillar. “It’s all about the properties of the fly,” he says. “There’s an imitation for about everything that’s out there. Some flies are realistic and have simple patterns, but sometimes simple is best.” Observant anglers peruse an aquatic tableau to see what bugs are buzzing and, in turn, what the trout are likely gobbling up. But sometimes, there’s not much to see. Calm water and a lack of riparian hors d’oeuvres simply don’t provide visual clues. Cue the attractor pattern, an abstract version of something natural that can draw a bite out of sheer novelty. With flashy colors, shiny metal wraps, and
bizarre silhouettes, attractor flies are merely suggestive forms. Think of it like a bowl of neon gummy worms being presented to a child—it’s virtually guaranteed to at least draw interest. “They don’t necessarily represent anything, it’s the artistry of what’s tied into them,” Hensley says. “The colors and the parts are just fantastic looking.”
Hook, Line & Thinker
Even with a shiny lure, a bite is never guaranteed. A successful fly-fishing outing, unlike lazily tossing a bobber into a tepid pond, requires more than patience or sheer luck. “There’s the art of the rod, and then there’s the art of the angling,” Hensley says. West Virginia has
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an abundance of rivers and streams that vary in elevation, flow rate, temperature, and acidity. All these factors combine with staggered insect hatches throughout the season to make each waterway unique. When he ran his fly shop, Hensley maintained a hatch chart on the shop’s website that showed which bugs were hatching when and at what elevations as the seasons made their way up and down West Virginia’s mountains. Speaking of hatches, fish lay eggs, but also love to eat ‘em. Rainbow, brown, and brook trout all love an egg-celent meal and follow each other around during their respective spawning and hatchling seasons. To fawn over a spawn or match a hatch, Hensley has lure cases filled to the gills with various fish and amphibian egg cluster patterns. “They swoop right in to eat the carnage and whatever they can find,” he says. On the North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac, a high-quality, low-elevation trout river where the famed Tuscarora quartzite cliffs often meet the river’s edge, beetles and other insects fall in the drink throughout the day. When Hensley can see the surface being disrupted, he knows the fish are hungry and presents his fly by casting directly against the rock so it bounces off and makes a splash. In faster waters on steep creeks in the mountains, the goal is to present a fly that won’t sink quickly and get caught in the shallow bottom. Flies tied with
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“There’s nothing like going out fishing with a rod you built and flies you tied and leaders you made. You’re totally doing it all on your own.” natural hairs like deer and elk, which have air cells in the follicles, float better than feathers or synthetic materials. Hensley tends to fish a wide range of flies and materials in a single outing, typically starting with imitation flies before moving to flamboyant attractors. “As the trout are fished for harder, you’ll see them come up, take a look, and then just swim away,” he says. “The chartreuse and blue tones and shiny sparkles seem to give them something else to look at and avoid the refusal.”
Cast Away
But sometimes, try hard you might, the fish just won’t bite. Hensley says on clearwater days, the fish might be enticed by the fly you’re presenting but end up seeing the line. Instead of swapping flies, he changes down his tippet—the last section of line attached to the leader. Some tippets are as thin as
It is, by common consent, a good thing for people to get back to nature. -Aldo Leopold OUTDOOR EDUCATION
Davis, West Virginia
appalachianexpeds.org
1/3000th of an inch, or about the width of a human hair. “It has intentions of eating, so it’s a hungry fish,” he says. “They really enjoy making you extremely frustrated.” So, what keeps Hensley coming back for another bite? Beyond the human desire to emerge victorious and defeat frustration, he points to the level of environmental cleanliness trout require. West Virginia’s native brook trout, and especially the insects they devour, don’t tolerate pollution and reside in cold-water streams flowing through heavily forested areas. “Wherever trout live, it’s beautiful, pristine water,” he says. “If you’re pursuing wild trout, they’re gonna take you to some pretty spectacular spots.” w Dylan Jones can’t make you a custom fly rod. However, Darell can. If you’re interested in swapping fish tales or inquiring about a fancy rod of your own, send him a message: darellwarbird@live.com.
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HEAVEN HELP US Glory on the Lower Gauley
By Mariah Lee Hibarger
Rafters splash through the Canyon Doors rapid during Gauley Season. Photo by Jay Young / Adventures on the Gorge.
Traversing 17 river miles and featuring a handful of choice class IV rapids, the
Lower Gauley paddles and feels like the logical conclusion to the worldclass adventure that is the Gauley River. Although this stretch is often overshadowed by its bigger, badder sister, the ‘Lower G’ is a stand-out destination run, worthy of a trip on its own. Whether you want to push your limits kayaking a new section of water, or you want to go paddling with one of your girlfriends and take in the fall colors, or you want to test the latest river surfboard, the Lower Gauley has much to offer. I was blessed to grow up canoeing with my family in Arkansas’s Ozark Mountains. My home creeks were small enough that we could take a canoe and
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run pretty much anything if there was enough water. Every year, we got in as many trips as we could on classics like the Buffalo, Mulberry, and Big Piney. We took family road trips to canoe the headwaters of the Missouri and the interconnected lakes of Isle Royale, including one harrowing experience crossing Lake Siskiwit with a strong head wind and breaking waves. While each of those rivers and lakes posed formidable whitewater challenges for a kid in a canoe, those trips were ultimately about fun, connecting with family and friends, and immersion in the environment. One thing I remember most wasn’t the whitewater, but looking around at
Birdie Hawkins
I
f you know anything about anything in the whitewater world, you’ve heard of West Virginia’s Gauley River. And if you’ve heard of the Gauley, you’ve most certainly heard a lot about the Upper Gauley. The so-called Beast of the East earned its whitewater reputation for good reasons, five of them being the legendary class V rapids with household names like Insignificant and Lost Paddle. But just several river miles below the take-out at Mason’s Branch, a lesser-known, but just-as-beloved section of the Gauley beckons paddlers willing to trade a little gnarliness for a lot of solitude.
Prepare for splashies!
painted bluffs and beautiful leafscapes, spotting wildlife, and playing in the water. It was having the trust and independence to be in charge of my own craft while playing outside with people I love. The whitewater was just the icing; the cake was simply being on the water. I think about those experiences when I compare the Upper Gauley (which I haven’t run for several years now) and the Lower Gauley (which has become my WV staple). While we didn’t have access to the commercial whitewater industry and big-volume boating in self-bailing, seemingly indestructible inflatable rafts when I was a kid, we did have access to some of the most scenic rivers in the continental United States. That early access to canoeing classic whitewater creeks influenced my appreciation of the Lower G, which is a bigger, badder version of what I ran with my family in my childhood. The scenery is beyond scenic; it’s surreal. Take Canyon Doors: from the moment those streaked, towering cliffs come into view through the rapids, it feels like you are starring in your own whitewater movie. The Upper G definitely wins on adrenaline factor; during normal Gauley Season releases, the dam release starts early in the morning. You can sprint through your trip, take out at Mason’s Branch, and be home for lunch. You can spend the rest of your day enjoying a big boost of happy river hormones knowing you’ve survived a class V river run. And yet, there is something to be said for slowing down and taking one’s time. The water gets to the Lower Gauley later in the day, giving you a chance for a leisurely morning and plenty of time to set shuttle. The Lower G features some longish pools and a flat-water paddle to the take-out, a great opportunity to wind down after the rapids. With twenty named rapids, including Koontz Flume, Heaven Help You,
Top, Middle: Diagonal Ledges, photo by Molly Wolff. Bottom: Koontz Flume, photo by Jay Young / Adventures on the Gorge.
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and Pure Screaming Hell, there is no shortage of adventurous adrenaline to be had. It’s also a great section of whitewater for surfing at Diagonal Ledges or having a picnic lunch on the rocks. On top of some spectacular paddling, I appreciate taking the day to slow down and savor the entire trip. Floating gives me an opportunity to look around, just like when I was canoeing the Buffalo with my family as a kid. And in light of COVID, I gained a deep gratitude for slowing down while doing something that makes me feel really good. Sometimes there is something to be found inside ourselves during the flat water when we drop into a steady pace and rhythm.
Appalachia is full of scenic rivers— full of beautiful places to check out fall colors, fish, hunt, hike, bike, paddle, and even surf. Although the Upper Gauley will not disappoint your inner thrill seeker, the Lower Gauley is not too shabby. With the exposed cliffs and long pools between rapids, it is a little more pleasant, a little easier to appreciate the scenery and stretch out, and a little nicer to share the river with everyone. With the later start on regular release days, it has a quieter, more relaxing pace and everyone on the water is a bit more staggered. And with several big, beefy rapids, you still get your whitewater fix. While you won’t have that Coliseum feel that you get dropping over Sweet’s
Falls on a busy Gauley day surrounded by video kayakers hoping you’ll make their next carnage highlight reel, you might find some other features that are worth celebrating. Sometimes slowing down and taking in the scenery is just as rewarding as speeding up and chasing adrenaline or being the show. Sometimes, it’s not about the adrenaline at all, it’s about the entire experience from start to finish, top to bottom. w Mariah Lee Hibarger is a teacher, traveler, and professional guide who splits her time between Fayetteville, the Grand Canyon, and Latin America.
David Wolff
Never write off a rainy day on the river.
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THE LEADING LADIES OF WEST VIRGINIA
By Nikki Forrester
I
n the early 1980s, West Virginia was not known for its outdoor recreation resources, and women who were passionate about adventure weren’t always welcomed by the local community. “Back then no one wanted to rent to river people,” says Colleen Laffey, a world-class paddler, skier, and camera operator who moved to Fayetteville in 1981. “Now it’s the whole #vanlife thing. Back then, they lived in vans because they really had to.” Today, it’s relatively normal for women to hop into vans and travel across the country pursuing the outdoors, but adventurous ladies from the eighties were on the fringe, sometimes stigmatized for their passion to get after it. In the face of challenges, these women tried harder, got stronger, and had more fun while doing it. Using gear that was just awful by today’s standards and working in an outdoor world chock-full of men, these ladies not only pushed the limits of what was physically possible, but also the perceptions of what female adventure athletes could do—all while balancing full-on careers and families. These women undoubtedly set the bar high, but more importantly, they set the tone. The spirit embodied by the leading ladies of West Virginia shaped the culture and community that defines outdoor adventure here today. Thanks to their hardcore and humble efforts, more gals are getting out, smashing barriers, and making the outdoors an increasingly inclusive place.
BAD GEAR, NO FEAR The 1980s and 90s were the heyday for whitewater in West Virginia. There were at least 16 whitewater rafting companies in Fayetteville alone, which attracted adventure-seeking clientele from far and wide. Everyone had to be adventurous back then because the technology was nowhere near what it is now, says Terry Peterson, associate
professor of adventure sports at Garrett College and one of the few women to guide on the Cheat, Gauley, New, Youghiogheny, and Russell Fork rivers. “We wore tennis shoes and wool socks and you’d buy wool sweaters at the used clothing store. You were lucky if you got a Farmer John wetsuit. It was brutally cold,” says Peterson. Along with less-capable personal gear, the rafts were not self-bailing, a key consideration when navigating holes, drops, and waves. Piloting a 16foot bucket boat through class V rapids was far more difficult when it was filled with clients and tons of water. Peterson recalls using five-gallon buckets to empty water out of her raft after going through each rapid. “Rafting was harder. Kayaking was harder. The river’s the same, but the gear makes a big difference in the skill level that you need to be able to do it,” says Laffey, who guided on the New and Gauley rivers. Climbing, skiing, and mountain biking also required some serious skill and finesse given the technology. Nanette Segilman, artist and longtime ski patroller at Canaan Valley Ski Resort, remembers when Chip Chase and Winslow Ayer introduced her to telemark skis. “Three-pin, long, skinny skis with metal edges. I don’t know how we turned them,” she says. Mountain bikes didn’t have many of the fancy components they have today either, like suspension systems and dropper posts. “They beat you to a pulp,” says Diane Miller, a marathon runner, skier, and mountain biker who started adventuring in West Virginia in the late 1970s. “I can remember riding Plantation for the first time; I think my body hurt for seven days.” Riddled with roots, rocks, and ruts, Plantation Trail in Davis is still notoriously difficult even with more capable mountain bikes by today’s standards.
BREAKING BARRIERS As the gear pushed women to improve their skills, the male-dominated
outdoor scene pushed them to get physically and mentally strong. Being an adventurous woman often means you not only have to prove something to yourself; you have to prove yourself to others. “We were of the fringe, and women even more-so to be guiding, especially when you get into the harder rivers,” says Peterson, who’s paddled the Upper Yough well over 3,000 times. The ‘good old boys’ club’ vibe was palpable in the rafting, climbing, and mountain biking industries, where women’s capabilities were sometimes doubted. “When I had a bad day, I needed to train again, but if a guy had a bad day, [he] just had a bad day,” says Peterson. Diane Kearns, co-owner of the Gendarme and Seneca Rocks Climbing School, also remembers far more men than women working as rock climbing guides. The women who started guiding were “very confident, self-assured people because you’re working in a man’s world,” she says. “You just have to go ‘No, I got this. I do know what I’m doing.’” During the winter, these women continued challenging notions of what was possible. Before Canaan Valley Ski Resort, few ski areas permitted their ski patrol employees to tele ski. “That was a really big deal,” says Segilman, who became ski patrol director at Canaan in 1985. Despite some initial pushback, Alice Dunning Vernon, a renowned skier, paddler, and mountain biker, took her National Ski Patrol test on tele gear and worked as a ski patroller at Canaan while she was pregnant with her daughter. “I can’t stress enough the difference in how much more women celebrate their pregnancies now than they used to,” says Laffey. “Her ski patrolling while pregnant was huge.” Regardless of their capabilities, women weren’t always compensated equally for their achievements. Because there were so few female mountain bike racers, the prizes were often far less for women than men. “Sometimes you
Clockwise from top left: Annie Simcoe, photo by Boyce McCoy of MountainBurst. Katie Johnson playing in the waves, photo by Colleen Laffey. Cassie Smith, photo by Donna Richards. A tele-lady dropping knees during a race at Canaan, photo by Darell Hensley. Nanette Segilman cruising up Candy Corner at Seneca Rocks, photo by Darell Hensley. Terry Peterson skiing in an aspen grove, photo courtesy Stephen Strothers.
didn’t get money at all,” says Dunning Vernon, who despite winning recalls not even earning back the entry fee at some races. “Then it’s just a cycle. You’ll get more women if you offer better cash prizes.”
RACE ME Despite the challenges, these ladies saw no reason why they shouldn’t pursue their passions and push the boundaries of what could be achieved outdoors. “I always felt like I was mentally tough,” says Dunning Vernon. “I might not be fast, but I could out-suffer someone for a long time.” And suffer she did, often for 24-hours straight. In 1993, Laird Knight started the infamous 24 Hours of Canaan race, the first 24-hour mountain bike team relay in the country. In its first year, Dunning Vernon and Miller put together a women’s elite team. When Knight began allowing riders to race solo, Dunning Vernon immediately signed up. “It was hard but it’s only for a day,” she says. As someone who enjoyed riding at night, Dunning Vernon was able to rack up laps while other racers rested. Her husband and son camped out along the trail in sleeping bags to offer support throughout the race. Although she doesn’t remember ever breaking 100 miles, she frequently rode 80 or 90 miles across dense mud, slick roots, and giant bogs. Miller also enjoyed the suffer fests of Knight’s Canaan Mountain Series races. “I would run 15 miles in the morning and come over and do the bike race.” During one race, Miller took on Mary Morningstar, a newcomer to the mountain bike racing scene. “I would pass Mary on the technical and she would fly by me on the downhill,” says Miller. “We did this through the whole race and we were both so competitive we really weren’t talking to each other.” Toward the end of the race, Miller and Morningstar had to cross the Blackwater River and they both fell over, sending their bikes downstream. As they picked up their bikes, Morningstar
yelled, “You can have it!”, to which Miller retorted, “Race me, damn it!” “We both picked up our bikes and ran to the top of the hill,” says Miller. “It was the spirit of ‘you’re not quitting now.’ I don’t even remember who won.” This competitive spirit transitioned with the seasons as the ladies traded in their boats and bikes for skis. Crosscountry skiing at White Grass first brought Miller, Peterson, and Segilman to West Virginia. Laffey and ski-legend Charlie Waters also worked at White Grass during the winters, running the café and teaching cross-country and telemark ski lessons. When they weren’t working, these ladies often competed against one another during the telemark race series that occurred throughout the region. “If you weren’t feeling like you were just going to yard-sale hard, you weren’t going quite fast enough,” says Dunning Vernon. “There was always that fine line of really letting it go.” Along with the adrenaline, she says the kindness among the competitors made the race series extremely fun. But no matter how badly they wanted to win, they never forgot how to support each other. Cassie Smith, a world-class mountain biker who came to West Virginia in 1988 for college, recalls when a bee stung her while leading the final race of the WVMBA Point Series. On the verge of winning the championship, she started having a reaction. Five girls were behind her in the race, but instead of passing Smith, they stopped to lend her a hand. “They wouldn’t finish in front of me,” says Smith. “I get chills talking about it. It was such a great sportsmanship experience. The girls, the camaraderie, I’ll never forget that.” Clockwise from top left: Cassie Smith, photo by Steffan Gronegger. Alice Dunning Vernon (center left) and Diane Miller (center right) at a bike race in Canaan, photo courtesy Diane Miller. Hilarie Jones (front), the second female raft guide in WV, at Pillow Rock in the 1970s, photo courtesy Hilarie Jones. Dunning Vernon picks up speed during a telerace at Canaan Valley Ski Resort, photo by Darell Hensley. Katie Johnson, photo by Colleen Laffey. Stephen Strothers, Terry Peterson, and Brad Moore taking advantage of a rare “Septembruary” snow, photo courtesy Stephen Strothers.
Maura Kistler doing what she does best.
While being an adventurous woman comes with some unique challenges, the outdoor recreation community in West Virginia was extremely supportive and welcoming overall. “I moved to West Virginia and I instantly had this profound sense of place and my belonging here,” says Maura Kistler, climber, paddler, and co-owner of Water Stone Outdoors in Fayetteville. “There’s something really cool about the energy of this place. I’m kind of goofy about it.” Her goofiness helped create the tightknit, inclusive community that defines the New River Gorge today. From 1982 to 1985, Kistler climbed exclusively at Seneca Rocks and remembers seeing a couple on a 5.7 route, later she found out they owned the gear shop. “That was the raddest thing I could imagine at 23 years old. It’s funny to me that that’s where we ended up,” she says. In 1991, Kistler and her husband Gene moved to Fayetteville to start establishing routes at the New River Gorge. “We had so many people staying with us when we first rented in Fayetteville, which was kind of scary. It was just a total flophouse and we lived next-door to the mayor and were representing the new climber population.”
At the time, the New River Gorge didn’t have a centralized climbing scene. People camped wherever they could and chilled on the bridge at night because there wasn’t much else to do. In 1994, Maura, Gene, and Kenny Parker opened Water Stone Outdoors, and since then, have watched Fayetteville develop into the vibrant outdoors community it is today. Although the town’s growth was slow and punctuated by setbacks, Kistler says, “it’s been a gift in disguise. It’s one of the reasons we have such a coherent vibe in this community.” Part of this coherent vibe is a willingness to help those following in their footsteps. After working as a raft guide for several years, Laffey got into video kayaking, which allowed her to reconnect with her passion for photography. She shares this passion with Katie Johnson, who grew up on a farm in Iowa and moved to Fayetteville in 1993 for Gauley Season. Despite a long-standing interest in kayaking, Johnson never quite found the right community of mentors until she moved to West Virginia. “I didn’t know that the people who were reaching out to help me, like Colleen or some of my guy friends, were world-class boaters,” says Johnson, reminiscing about how
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Laffey taught her how to roll a kayak in five minutes. “The level of skill here is really high, but you would never know it.” Once she started kayaking, Johnson was hooked. She got into video boating and started challenging her friends to surf big holes and waves on the New River. In 1995, Johnson met her future husband, B. J. Johnson, who convinced her to spend the winter paddling creeks throughout the East Coast. They brought their video cameras, put the footage together, added music from West Virginia bands, and released their film under their production company, Falling Down. “We sold our first video and it blew up,” says Johnson. (Watch it. Seriously, it’s awesome.) After the video was released, the Johnsons were offered sponsorships and started doing freestyle competitions around the country. As a sponsored paddler, it would have been easy for her to develop an ego. Instead, she was always a little bummed to leave West Virginia to embark on the competition circuit during the summer. Now, as a full-time resident, she invests in the next generation of female whitewater athletes. “They’re fired up to paddle. I love seeing their energy and enthusiasm.”
Molly Wolff
BUILDING COMMUNITY
PAVING THE WAY Although these women could have settled down anywhere, many settled on West Virginia and the rest still call it home. For them, the accessibility of natural resources was ideal for recreating, pursuing professions, raising families, and growing the community of adventurous gals. “I work all over the world and then I come home and I’m happy to be here,” says Laffey, who recently returned from a trip to Fiji while working as a camera operator for the World’s Toughest Race. “More appealing than all the outdoor pursuits is the sense of community and the people who are here.” Johnson agrees that travelling gave her a greater appreciation for what’s in her backyard. “We can have kids, have a job, and still go out in the evenings.” She says teaching her kids how to swim, paddle, ski, and bike was just as fun as learning herself. “Our kids are both in college now, but they still like to play with us because we do fun things,” she says. Beyond their own families, these leading ladies are invested in supporting the next generation of female adventure athletes. As mountain biking grew in popularity, Smith, along with legendary racer Sue Haywood and artist Annie Simcoe, created opportunities for girls and women to get into the sport through the National Interscholastic Cycling Association and women-specific clinics and workshops. “If you can get a woman away from her significant other, she tends to
not judge herself so harshly,” says Simcoe, a full-time artist who helps manage the trails at Big Bear Lake Trail Center. “It becomes this really supportive, really fun environment that has a whole lot of giggling.” Haywood also brings this welcoming spirit to the Canaan Mountain Bike Festival each year. “Sue’s done so much for women’s biking,” says Miller. Today, there are far more women guiding and pushing the limits in outdoor adventure sports, in large part because these exceptional ladies paved the way. Through writing this story, I learned the smallest fraction of what these women actually accomplished. Instead of reciting a laundry list of every gnarly thing they’ve done, they giggled through stories of their past, imparted a deep respect for those who came before them, celebrated the achievements of their friends, and treasured what they’ve learned from the girls who followed in their footsteps. Hardcore and humble with a sense of humor—if that’s what it means to be an adventurous woman in West Virginia, sign me up. w Author’s Note: There are so many women that broke down barriers in outdoor adventure sports in West Virginia and helped create the communities that thrive here today. While they couldn’t all make it into this story, their contributions are deeply appreciated. Nikki Forrester is associate editor of Highland Outdoors and was infinitely inspired to out-suffer anyone after writing this story. FALL 2020 HIGHLAND-OUTDOORS.COM
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EQUINE ESCAPE
West Virginia by Horseback Words By Chelsey Jones & Photos by Liz Stout
“No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle”
M
any moons ago, I was connected with the Randolph County Regional Riding Club (RCRRC). Thanks to this eclectic group of people, I’ve spent countless hours in the saddle; not a single one of which was wasted. The group is mostly made up of old-timers, grandchildren, and young guns all seeking one thing: an escape. In camping with my fellow twoand four-legged companions, I’ve come to experience West Virginia in ways understood by few since the days of the pioneers. To some, horse-camping can seem like quite a silly thing. Isn’t camping challenging enough? It can be overwhelming to pack food, gather gear, and carry enough water for an extended trip, not to mention bringing a horse along with all the requisite gear. While the prep and planning are far more extensive than that for a typical camping trip, it’s always worth the extra effort. Smokey Stories The evening before a ride at East Fork Campground near Durbin, the group gathers round the fire. This is when old-timers and young folk with names like Bombshell, Hoot, and Mole share how they earned such names and then some. I live for these stories. Smoke rises into the air as someone inevitably
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- Winston Churchill West Virginia’s terrain can be varied and brutal for both horse and human.
utters the phrase, “Hey, you remember when... ” The tall tales that follow may terrify any newcomer, but can also produce belly laughs big enough to pull a muscle. Some stories I’ve heard a thousand times, like when our unofficial trail boss and fearless leader got himself lost for three days on the backside of Seneca Rocks. Other stories, I’ve lived to tell myself. While peacefully plodding along the Greenbrier River Trail toward the end of a 17 mile-day during a three-day pack trip, we noticed cows grazing in a field near a camp called May Bottom. Upon spotting the bovines, Champ, a spunky, little, green Tennesee Walking Horse quickly dipped his shoulder to turn and run in fear. His rider was unseated, and, although she managed to stay on, the jolt was too much for her pneumatic riding vest. Designed to pop open before a rider hits the ground during a fall, this vest exploded while on horseback. The chain of events kicked off a stampede that could rival the excitement of a thundering herd of wild buffalo.
And then there are the stories you can’t help but laugh at, like the tale of a poor little jack donkey who was unwillingly adopted, castrated, and sold to a church for a live Nativity scene only to have his true owners show up months later with hopes of breeding him. How many of these stories are true, only God knows. All I know is that when someone says, “Hey, you remember when…” I buckle up for whatever’s coming next because I know it’s going to be as bumpy as a bareback ride through Dolly Sods. Matewan Mud Dawn breaks in Durbin. Horse camp breakfast is a family affair. Be it conversation or cooking, everyone is expected to contribute something. Together, we scrounge up a meal fit for the finest cowboys and cowgirls. My old tin percolator pours coffee so black I call it Matewan Mud. It’s paired with sizzling bacon and fried eggs flopping around in an old iron skillet so big we call it The Child Cooker. After breakfast I seek out my horse and trail partner, Jean-Luc Ponycard.
Over the years, I’ve entrusted him with my life. I toss my wool pad and black leather saddle over his white and champagne-colored back. Then he’s ready for our packs. No matter the plan, I always bring food for two days, rain gear, a good knife, and a few other essentials. If the stories from the oldtimers taught me anything, you never know what to expect in the wilds of West Virginia. I mentally prepare for the adventure ahead. Because West Virginia is one of the most biodiverse regions in the world, the terrain on which we’ll be riding is a journey into the unknown. When lumbering along the trails of Lost River after a rain, I expect soupy mud that’s thick enough to suck both human and horse shoes right off. When barreling through the backwoods of Canaan Valley, our feet and nerves must be tough as nails. A tumble on the rocks could end even the strongest relationship between rider and equine. This ride in Durbin brings with it loud puffs of steam and whistles from the Durbin Flyer, an old steam engine that carries tourists into town. Riders take a break deep in the wilderness.
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Once saddled, Jean-Luc is a thousand pounds of go-anywhere, do-anything muscle and he knows it. He prances like a proud show pony. As I swing my leg over for a quick look around, it’s easy to understand how these animals helped build our modern world. A good trail horse doesn’t question where it’s going—just point and go. The weight of a human or a loaded pack of supplies on his back matters little to Jean-Luc. Magical Vistas The group sets off. Riders and equine counterparts fall into a rhythm. I close my eyes and the magic begins. I hear the familiar crunching of gravel and dirt under hooves. Birds chirp and chitter at one another in the forest to announce our arrival. Occasionally, a horse snort mixes with the smell of welloiled leather and sweat. Vistas spread out in storybook layers before my eyes. West Virginia’s wildlands offer scenic diversity rivaling that of entire countries. Riding through Little River, near Durbin, the views are deep, verdant, and fresh. It’s a lush contrast to a ride on Rocky Ridge above Canaan Valley, where big skies, talus slopes, and vast bogs play latitudinal tricks on the mind. I have to remind myself we’re not in the Alaskan Tundra. Riders like to point out unique rock formations and prominently announce rare flowers like lady’s slippers and jack-in-the-pulpits between the silences. Everyone’s on the hunt for chicken-of-the-woods, morels, and other edible
The author on Jean-Luc, the star of this horse tale.
mushrooms to complement dinner that evening. The ride goes on this way for hours, plodding through valleys and splashing across streams. The places through which we travel often feel lost in time. There’s so much to learn. Depending on who’s in front
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or behind Jean-Luc and me, I spend much of my time like a child, pointing at things and asking, “What’s that?” Dense as the surrounding forest, the cherished knowledge of the old-timers transforms me. I feel the fleeting responsibility to retain and protect as much as I can for the next generation.
Before long, someone shouts from the front of the team, “This one is steep!” They’re warning us about the upcoming hill. Jean-Luc breaks into a canter up the mountain side. A demanding slope, it requires experience from both horse and human. The group knows how to spread out, allowing enough
Stylin’ in the Sods
Chris Clarke shows riders the route on Rocky Ridge.
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Griffin, companion of photographer Liz Stout, looks over Canaan Valley.
room for each other to work through the line like an oarswoman working a river. I support Jean-Luc to the best of my ability. In reality, I’m just grabbing for his mane while his powerful legs propel us up the hill. We understand respite is near upon reaching the summit. There, we rest. He’s lathered with sweat from the work. As a simple reward, I scratch
his favorite spot underneath his mane. At the top of the mountain I understand why these places are known as “Almost Heaven.” The experiences I am able to have among them are provided by JeanLuc’s hard work. The simplicity is what it’s all about. When you’re nestled among the hills and hollows of West Virginia, nothing
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else matters. The world will be waiting for you when you get back, but until then, enjoy the escape. w Chelsey Jones is a lifelong resident of West Virginia and special education teacher in Randolph County. She’s also a wife, mom to two adopted pups, and forever-friend of Jean-Luc.
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IT'S NUTTALL CLIMBED YET THE FUTURE OF NEW ROUTES IN THE NEW RIVER GORGE By Paul Nelson Correction: This article was updated from the print version to clarify the existence of bolting restrictions on sections of the Meadow and Gauley river gorges managed by the National Park Service.
F
ive years ago, Alex Megos travelled from Germany to the New River Gorge (NRG) eager for a challenge. One of the world’s best rock climbers, he nabbed first ascents of two of the hardest sport climbing routes in the NRG region—and the country. Super Pod (5.14d), an extension of the classic testpiece The Pod (5.13b), became the first of the grade for the NRG and, as such, currently reigns supreme as the hardest route in the region. But with plenty of unclimbed Nuttall sandstone remaining, limits continue to be pushed at the NRG, despite the current climate of climbing ethics and varied bolting restrictions.
LIKE A ROCK
This legendary geologic formation is Noel Lewis stretches out on The Pod (5.13b) at The Coliseum in Summersville Lake.
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Dan Brayack
Ah, the Nuttall sandstone. It’s the rock of ages. At least it has been for the last 300 million years. Slicing through the Appalachian Plateau like an aquatic knife, the New River has not changed course in hundreds of millions of years, and any soft, rotten rock it encountered was carried down toward the Mississippi Delta long ago. Yet the Nuttall remains.
The author on the first ascent of Are You an Idiot? (5.12 R), a headpoint at Bridge Buttress in the NRG.
named for John Nuttall, a 19th century coal baron whose heirs still own many of the namesake cliffs in the region. This bullet-hard rock is incredibly gritty and grippy even during West Virginia’s notoriously humid summer months. It weathers into an array of climbable features like vertical cracks, flakes, slopers, crimps, pinches, and pockets.
Dan Brayack
TO BOLT OR NOT TO BOLT? In the early 1990s, the sport climbing craze sweeping the nation arrived in the NRG. Route developers and first ascentionists took full advantage, bolting the plum lines, hard projects, and everything in between. But as the bolts began to multiply, so did the worries of overbolting. In 1996, the National Park Service (NPS) declared a moratorium on drilling new climbing bolts into the cliffs contained within the NRG National River. While some drill-happy route developers were disheartened, this was not an entirely negative action as it spared the NRG from becoming overbolted.
Today, the replacement of existing bolts for route safety is permitted. Aspirant route developers can still equip new routes by submitting an application with the NPS and paying a non-refundable fee of around $60—and hoping they don’t deny your dream line. There are also plenty of fully-equipped, but unclimbed routes waiting for first ascents by hungry climbers. Route developers have free reign to bolt new routes along certain privately owned sections of the Upper Meadow River Gorge. However, bolting restrictions still apply across any sections of the Meadow and Gauley river gorges managed by the NPS. Along the Upper Meadow, the Nuttall shows its face with a thick layer of cap rock offering large holds akin to those in a climbing gym. The easier face climbing here goes hand-in-hand with the lax bolting laws. However, some developers have been unable to discern between lines that should be bolted and those that are simply bad routes. If you climb much at the Meadow, you’ll learn
that some routes may lead to ever-wet rock, awkward clipping stances, and less-than-inspiring movement.
HEADSPACE CADETS One result of the bolting restrictions was the development of a vibrant culture of headpointing at the NRG. For non-climber folk, headpointing is the careful rehearsal of a dangerous and difficult route on toprope before a lead. A play on redpointing, which means completing a route after several tries, headpointing requires a certain headspace to be completed successfully. Popularized on the diminutive gritstone cliffs of England, most climbers acknowledge that a headpoint is not as pure of a style as a traditional ground-up, onsight ascent. But headpointing is a pretty cool solution for contriving new first ascents, given the clifftop access, endless hard faces, and current bolting restrictions at the NRG. It also provides a great opportunity to combine headspace with really
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Brent Perkins cranking hard and placing gear on a 2010 traditional ascent of Proper Soul (5.14a), a famous sport route in The Cirque.
Headpointing is ideal for routes featuring blank swaths of unbolted rock between the large crack systems that would be bolted at any other crag. For a tight-knit niche of New River climbers, venturing away from protectable cracks and onto the faces armed with nothing but a bit of gear and in-depth knowledge of the Nuttall’s subtleties is what trad climbing here is all about. The prolific Pat Goodman has long combined his traditional climbing background with strong bouldering skills to create some truly amazing headpoints like Thundering Herd (5.13b R) and Scavenger (5.13c R), all worthy of their significant danger ratings. Even a decade after Goodman’s first ascents, these lines do not see frequent repeats.
ROCK ON So, what is the future of climbing on the Nuttall sandstone? While the aging cadre of the world’s best climbers is now looking to wunderkind youths to climb the first 5.15d, significant potential for groundbreaking new routes awaits those willing to scale the NRG’s striking faces. Visiting British climber James Pearson established the first 5.14 gearprotected headpoint at the NRG, and numerous other lines are waiting for trad climbers to attack their cruxes. For sport routes, there is remaining potential to push the envelope. Before he went back to Germany, Alex Megos previewed a potential climbing route at the towering overhang of The Cirque in the NRG. He stated wistfully that if he were a local, he would love to put months of work into the project. Given that Megos has completed a 5.15a in
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just two tries, it’s safe to assume that there are 5.15 routes at the NRG waiting for the right climber. Will the next jump in difficulty be made by a visiting superstar swooping in with world-class talent, or will it be one of the up-and-coming competition climbers with gymnastic skills honed in an urban gym? Or will it be a homegrown achievement by one of our locals—the dirtbags who work menial wage jobs, live in moldy tents, and endure sweltering heat and humidity through the summer just for those rare great days on the rock? I can’t wait to find out, as it’s certainly Nuttall over yet. w Paul Nelson is currently trying to age with grace into his 40s and does not have enough skin on his fingertips for his twin passions of bouldering and jazz guitar. He lives in Fayetteville with his wife, dog, three cats, and gecko.
Series: Dan Brayack
hard, devious moves that you would never attempt to climb without prior knowledge of its subtleties.
Pat Goodman on the first ascent of Scavenger (5.13c R), photo courtesy Pat Goodman Collection.
What’s your coming to West Virginia story?
MOLLY WOLFF By Dylan Jones
disease that can, at times, be completely debilitating.
By now, you’ve figured out that this issue highlights many of West Virginia’s talented women. While there are many strong women among our hills and hollows, Molly Wolff is undoubtedly one of the strongest.
Although I “knew” Molly for several years through contact on social media and publishing her photos in the magazine, I hadn’t spoken deeply with her prior to our lengthy discussion in late August. I laughed, teared up, and was inspired by her journey. I can only hope that after reading this candid interview, you walk away feeling the same. May Molly’s attitude and outlook lead us all to look at each day a little differently and to push on through it all.
She’s a skilled adventure athlete, one of the state’s premier photographers, a wife, and a mother of two adorable kids. Last year, Molly fell inexplicably ill before being diagnosed with an auto-immune connective tissue disease. She somehow finds the time and energy to balance her many titles while dealing with a degenerative
This interview was edited for length and clarity.
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I grew up in the outdoors in New Hampshire. My parents were into hiking and camping, nothing extreme, but I really gravitated toward that. I ended up at Southern Virginia University on a cross-country scholarship and got my bachelor’s in physical education and recreation administration. During undergrad, I did a semester with the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) in the southwest, and an internship with ACE Adventure Resort [on the New River], where I became a whitewater rafting and climbing guide. After I graduated, I didn’t know what to do, so I came back to West Virginia and continued raft guiding at ACE. My husband David and I originally met in raft guide training, which is hilarious as a sort of raft guide romance. We moved out to California and worked as climbing guides in Joshua Tree for a few years before David had the opportunity to move back and start New River Climbing School. We really prefer West Virginia over California. It fits our lifestyle and mentality and feels like home. I came back to ACE to guide for a few years and worked in the marketing department before starting my own photography business. I do contract work for West Virginia Tourism, commissioned work for publications, and sell my images at galleries. I also put in a couple days a week for Active Southern West Virginia; getting people active is something I’m passionate about.
Tell me about your adventure with motherhood. We were really excited to become parents. I can definitely relate to other women who are struggling to get pregnant or be able to carry to term. I’m only five years into this and love being a mom, but it is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I love how there’s a shift in gender roles and dads are becoming more involved with their kids, because that’s how it should be. David carries equal weight in our household with childcare and domestic work. We’re a total team. As a mother, I have a lot of guilt that I’m not showing up for my kids while I’m getting out working and playing. I have to overcome that because I know I’m a good mom and I’m giving them a great life. But I think it’s important to do what you enjoy, and I think I’m a better mom for pursuing things that are important to me. Struggling with guilt is a common theme in motherhood. Are we enough? That’s another question women have to face. We have so much pressure to be at home with our kids but also be killing it in a career. Struggling on a daily basis with all these concepts of what we’re supposed to be is grueling. Your life drastically changed last year. What happened? In January of 2019, I was named Photographer of the Year by Blue Ridge Outdoors magazine. I was super psyched and doing really well. Two months later, I got super sick. I lost about 40 pounds and had
Courtesy Molly Wolff
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numbness and tingling in my hands and feet. I couldn’t walk; I couldn’t see. I didn’t know what was happening. My tests kept coming back normal. I had a brain MRI and they found lesions on my brain. At one point, I thought I had multiple sclerosis. I had a false positive for Lyme disease. I spent over a week in the hospital and it took over a month to get a proper diagnosis. I have overlapping autoimmune diseases including lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, and osteoporosis as a complication from medications. I went from being really high to my life completely falling apart.
“I don’t feel pain when I’m on the river, which helps me live in the moment. Kayaking seriously saved my life.”
You got really into kayaking. How did that come about?
How have you pushed through? It’s been over a year since I’ve been in the hospital. I’m doing so much better, but it’s really affected my career and everything else in my life. I have trouble breathing because of my lungs. I have weak bones, weak muscles, and joint inflammation. I have sensitivity to the sun. I’m 35 and it’s been really depressing. I struggle with mortality. Over half of people with lupus end up having kidney failure. It’s a debilitating disease and I know that it will impact me later in life.
Courtesy Molly Wolff
How has your disease impacted your adventure lifestyle? A lot of people end up living pretty normal lives with lupus, but being a really active person, it’s already affected me. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to do things. I know being active keeps me healthy, but I’m one fracture away from being in a lot of trouble or
he’ll ask questions like, “Are you going to be sick until you die?” Imagine having your child ask you that and you have to say, “Yes, I will always be sick.” I’ve told Arthur the most important thing in life is to be kind to other people. It’s fun to have these deep life conversations with a five-year-old because they have so much pure insight. If one good thing comes out of this disease and parenting, it’s that my kids will hopefully grow up a little more understanding and compassionate.
needing surgery. I can’t run, I can’t wreck my mountain bike, I can’t fall while bouldering, I probably can’t drop waterfalls in my kayak anymore. The doctors asked if I’m at risk of any falls or impacts, and I’m like, “Yeah, I live in an impact world.” Osteoporosis was a new diagnosis that’s really hard for me just because I’m fragile now and if I push it and break my pelvis, I’m so screwed. How has your disease impacted your family? It’s been hard for David because he has to deal with taking care of me and
the kids, working, grocery shopping, everything fell on him. And dealing with the fear of being a single parent, with the fear of me dying, he has been through a lot. I’m immune-compromised, so we don’t use childcare. One of us is always home with the kids. We love it, but it’s pretty full-on. I struggle with my energy level and I have to limit my sun exposure because that is a disease trigger. My fiveyear-old Arthur asks, “Mom, why are you always sick?” It sucks to have to answer that to your kid. I tried to explain to him what lupus is and
I’m honestly kind of shocked that I did. I never had an interest in kayaking; I was terrified of being trapped in the boat and being upside down underwater. I think what drew me to it the most was the stress of motherhood and getting a little bit older where I wanted something that was mine. I was tired of just being a passenger in a raft. I wanted to be completely in charge of my destiny going down the river. I learned to roll a whitewater kayak in a pool in December of 2018 then started having symptoms in early 2019. Kayaking came along simultaneously with this disease. Fortunately, I made some great friends who helped me get back in my boat before I could even walk. They carried my boat to the river and I used my walker or cane to get in the boat and paddle around on flatwater. I kayaked my first piece of whitewater in June of 2019.
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Molly running a boof line on the Lower Gauley.
when I’m on the river, which helps me live in the moment. Kayaking seriously saved my life. Has your perception of the outdoor world changed? I want people to understand that the outdoors is for everyone. I’m exhausted of people putting down those who aren’t elite. If someone wants to get out and kayak class II whitewater in a full-face helmet, let them. If people want to climb on a top-rope their whole life, let them. If people want to ride a fullsuspension mountain bike on a rail-trail, let them. Maybe it’s super painful for someone to get moving in the morning and that full-suspension bike alleviates their joint pain. We just don’t know what other people are going through. I want people to be more supportive in the outdoor world because we know how good this is for our health and our wellbeing. I want people who have disease or pain or disability to feel welcome and be taken care of. Any advice for other people who are struggling?
Kayaking was super therapeutic in my recovery; it gave me a goal to work hard and get back out there. I went from not walking or being able to pee on my own to running hard rivers pretty quickly. I latched on to that as something that provides encouragement and makes me feel good about myself. The day after boating, I’m in a ton of pain. You don’t get freebies on whitewater; you truly are in charge of yourself and you have to work at it. There’s no faking it. It’s really empowering when I’m like, “Hell yeah, I just ran what this dude did and he’s been doing this for 20 years, and I’m a mom with kiddos.” But on the flip side, when I’m feeling weak and unsteady, I get really upset. Like, should I just quit kayaking because it’s frustrating? I know I’m not going
to do it forever, so why put in the time to work on it? It’s kind of that cliché of just enjoying things while you can. If I get another good year of kayaking, I’m super proud of what I’ve accomplished. How has kayaking helped you cope? Kayaking is very gentle on my body if I’m careful. I’m less likely to break things kayaking than I am mountain biking or climbing. When I’m on a kayak run that’s harder, which is often for me, I stop thinking about work and disease. I’m truly focused on my line and when I make it through that run, it’s like the best feeling in the world. No matter how scared or nervous I am, I have such a sense of accomplishment, and that is so empowering for me. Kayaking has given me a sense of community. It’s given me goals. It’s given me accountability because I make plans with people and I have to show up. By the time I’m paddling, I feel better. I don’t feel pain
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Check out Molly’s work in-person by visiting Tamarack or online at www.mollywolffphotography.com.
David Wolff
What’s it been like pushing yourself in a physically demanding sport while dealing with a debilitating disease?
My hope in being open and sharing with people is that they don’t feel so alone. I want people who have a disease to be vocal and find support. If people didn’t know what I was going through, they would not understand how to support me. I don’t think that my illness or my troubles are any worse than anyone else’s. You don’t have to have a fancy diagnosis to be going through just as much as the next person. I’ve had a lot of people reach out to me like, “Oh my gosh, I’ve been going through these things; thank you for telling your story because I felt alone.” That encourages me to tell more people. I’m not trying to seek attention and I don’t want people to feel bad, but I do hope it’s inspiring for people who are in pain. I also really want more women to feel empowered. Even at 35 with kids and a disease, you can still get out and learn something new. w
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Growing up in Cumberland, Maryland, the hills of West Virginia were always just a stone’s throw away. West Virginia is where I first picked up a camera and learned how to take photos, and it’s where I first fell in love with wilderness. Autumn in the Allegheny Highlands is hands-down the most magical season. There’s no better feeling than looking out over the hills and seeing them bathed in hues of gold and crimson while wind-blown leaves encircle you in the crisp air. Even while spending last summer living out of a van in Wyoming, I always caught myself thinking about how beautiful the West Virginia highlands would be when I returned home for fall. I have yet to find another place on the planet that can match the feeling of walking through a red spruce forest or standing under a waterfall in the misty backwoods of the Mountain State. Photos and caption by Nathaniel Peck. FALL 2020 HIGHLAND-OUTDOORS.COM
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