As I walked into Lisa Trout’s student advising office this summer for pre-orientation advisement, I didn’t know that I would be forced to make so many choices.
“What’s your major?” she asked.
I told her, “Mass communications.”
“Do you want to be a full-time student?” I thought for a moment and finally told her yes.
“So what kind of classes do you want to take this semester?”
That was the big one. For 30 minutes, I banged my head against the enigma that is choosing classes for your first semester of college. “You can’t have these classes because they’re filled,” Trout said. “I wouldn’t recommend these classes to an incoming freshman.”
There were simply too many decisions and not enough answers!
Finally, like getting blood from a stone, she had a 14-credit hour week for me. As I prepared to leave, she asked me one more question: “What about a PE, Josh?”
I sighed mournfully. “Okay,” I said, whining, “What have you got?”
She read off a list that I found, for some reason, quite humorous. Scuba diving, tennis, equestrian, archery – they all sounded like activities I would be forced to do at a summer camp. The list went on and on with nothing sounding interesting.
I was about to give up hope until she mentioned one last class. “… and we offer river rafting.” It’s the first year that class is being offered,” she said, absently. I think she had given up hope too.
But something about river rafting caught my attention. She didn’t know much about it besides that it would be taught in the Mini-Dome and would probably include a class trip.
After a few moments of thought, I smiled and told Trout my answer.
Walking into river rafting on the first day, I didn’t know what to expect.
When I sat down in my desk, I found myself in a small room with 15 strangers. Up front was a ranger-looking fellow just a little older than me with a full beard and a class roll. His name was Wes Miller, and he told us that he was our instructor.
He went over the syllabus, told us what he wanted us to get out of this class, and then told us the only class trip would be Sept. 26-28. At the time, I think that latter piece of information was the only thing we students cared about.
The first few weeks of class were much like any other exercise in college instruction. We played a game to learn each others’ names and began to discuss topics like water hydrology and reading the river.
We went as far as covering the “psychology of the river.” All of this was good and well, but we students still only cared about one thing: the trip!
When the day to leave for the Nantahala River finally arrived, I was more than a little nervous. I had never rafted before, and on top of that, I still didn’t really know the other students in the class.
We left on a Friday, planning to arrive at Tsali Campgrounds and pitch our tents. The next morning we planned to go to Nantahala Outdoors Center, where we would be taking our two rafting trips. Again, that night, we would sleep in our tents, and Sunday morning we would attend a water rescue course.
Everyone who knows me knows that I like to keep to myself. Although I thought that all the folks in my class were great, I must admit that I was not looking forward to spending all this time with people I hardly knew.
On Friday, we separated into groups and “road-tripped” our way to North Carolina. I rode with Mike Rice, Scott Winfield and Randy Doan.
Right away, we had trouble. The directions Wes had given us off the Internet were, to say the least, a tad bit confusing. It took us half an hour to get out of Johnson City.
When we finally found the interstate, I began to understand the guys a little better. Mike’s goofy but he has a good heart, Scott’s really into running and is a fierce competitor, and Randy is kind of quiet, but his silence hides a profound intelligence.
Not surprisingly, nothing brings a group of guys together like a road trip. We got lost at least another 12 times, got kicked out of Food Lion (it wasn’t our fault), and braved Mike’s “exciting” driving skills on dark winding roads. I was having a great time, and I wasn’t even on the river yet.
When we finally found the campground, we were exhausted. Much to our dismay, the girls decided to camp at Wes’s site (we had even saved them a place), so that left us guys to eat our s’mores and talk until the wee hours of the morning.
Also, we discovered that we were all pyromaniacs, so you can imagine the antics we were up to. (Don’t worry – no property was damaged and no one was hurt. We were good.)
When morning came (and it came way too early), we got dressed and left for the river. Weeks of preparation and listening to Wes’s lectures had all led up to this: we were going to brave the Nantahala.
After a short lesson from NOC semi-guide Kathy, we suited up and got on the bus. The trip began eight miles upstream and ended at the center, so the bus was necessary unless we wanted to do a lot of hiking.
As we rode the bus, the mood of our group was great. The adrenaline was pumping and we were ready.
I don’t think any of us were scared – Wes had done a good job. However, the amount of waivers we had to sign was a little disturbing. I know we signed at least eight throughout the course of the trip.
When we got on the river, all of us who had never rafted before marveled at the simple grandeur of the raft in the water. We each had a paddle that seemed to magically make the boat go, and we though that incredibly cool.
I think the guides and the river veterans thought our inexperience was hilarious, but none of us had much time to think about anything. Our journey down the river wild began quickly.
The first few rapids, called Patton’s Run, were not too fierce. Kathy, the guide on our boat, told us stories and offered us sound advice. “Don’t hit the rocks that have names,” she said, and we nodded in agreement.
Of the four of us in that raft – Scott Mays, Leeann Turley, Kat Conner and me – I don’t think that anyone wanted to take a swim due to ramming something nicknamed “Jaws” or “Pyramid Rock.”
Here’s a little advice for all you beginning rafters: when someone says duck, don’t duck and look up a few seconds later to see if you can quit ducking. I made that mistake and got a busted lip for my trouble. Tree limbs can be very dangerous.
As the trip progressed, Kathy let all of us take a turn at guiding the raft. The captain sits in the back and acts as a rudder, issuing commands to the crew and controlling the direction of the raft.
Consequently, the captain is the most likely to be thrown out of the raft. Scott found this out the hard way.
As he took over being captain, Kathy informed us that we were about to come across the biggest rapids we’d seen so far. But we didn’t make it that far.
As we got close to the rapids, we got a bit too close to the shore. While Kathy and Scott were trying to get us back to the middle of the river, no one was paying attention to the huge rock we were about to hit. I was thrown backward on impact and crushed Kathy. As we both struggled to get up, I believe it was Kat who screamed, “We lost Scott!”
Immediately, Kathy got back in the captain’s spot and started barking orders. We spotted Scott ahead of us and paddled quickly to get in front of him.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t set ourselves up for the fast enough and ended up taking those terrible rapids backwards. Scott followed us and Kathy got us in close so Leeann could pull him onto the raft like a fisherman pulling her catch onto the deck of her ship.
Scott was fine. He quickly assumed the role of captain, and after all the excitement, we were on our way again.
When Kathy changed boats and left us on our own, we discovered a new challenge: the deluge.
It rained like I’ve never seen it rain before. Miserable, cold, blinding rain that made even the easy spots of the river less tolerable. You may be thinking, “Don’t you stop rafting when it rains like that?”
The answer is no. We kept going toward the end of the ride, straight into the mouth of Hell itself at Nantahala Falls.
Nantahala Falls was the climax of our journey down the river. Labeled as Class 3 rapids, it was the most difficult part of our trip and put the “finishing touch” on our skills as rafters.
If we could make it through, we would be river rookies no longer, but instead battle-hardened veterans.
Through the storm, we navigated the tricky approach to the falls, Scott as our captain and we as his crew. We came around that final bend in the river and came face to face with our foe.
Unfortunately, our approach was a little off. We were too far to the right, too close to the menacing rocks that made the rapids so tough. However, Scott knew he had to keep the boat from going into the falls sideways, and magnificently turned the boat the right way. If he hadn’t, we’d all been in the river catching ropes from the guides on the bank.
As it was, we hit the rapids only slightly off, but that mistake was costly. Scott flew up in the air and landed on me, hitting me in the head with his paddle in the process.
We all stayed in the boat, but were too excited to realize that we were about to hit a low-lying rock. Before we knew it, we were stuck on the rock and our raft was filling up with water!
We could have panicked. We could have jumped out of the raft to swim. But our training took priority and we all piled onto the side of the raft opposite the rock.
This put pressure in the proper places and we were free – soon after, we paddled into shore.
Later that day, we went again, this time without any guides. We ran that river like we had done it all of our lives, successfully navigating the rocks, rapids, and even Nantahala Falls. I think we made Wes proud.
Later that night, we celebrated. The trip could have ended right then, and I would have been happy. But what happened next made this trip one of the best trips of my life.
Early Sunday morning, Scott Winfield and I got up to start a fire and cook breakfast. It was dark, and I needed a flashlight to find my way around. Sleepily, I stumbled off into the night to find a place to relieve myself.
As I stood in some dark corner of the campground doing my business, I happened to look up. Immediately I lost my breath.
I had never seen a night sky so beautiful. Every star was visible, producing a sense of wonder and excitement in me that I hadn’t felt in years.
As I hurriedly zipped up, my experience was completed by a shooting star that flew brilliantly across the sky. I’ll remember that moment for the rest of my life.
I loved the trip. I loved the class. I’m glad I got to know all of the guys and gals that shared the experience with me. But that starry sky … that’s something I would have never stopped to look at in my busy everyday life. River rafting gave me that joy; it gave me that memory.
If ETSU offers an advanced river rafting class, I’m going to take it. I want to hit the river again. I want to relive that experience – and I’m sure that Wes Miller, Brian Gibson, Andy Toth, Katherine Webb, Scott Mays, Steven Trentham, Mike Rice, Collin Spaulding, Jane Myers, Randy Doan, Scott Winfield, Wendi Smith, Kat Conner, Leeann Turley, Drew Walsh and Hank Hogan would want to relieve it again as well.
Here’s to the river – may it ever flow.

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