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| The "falls" in Pop's sea kayak (Cl. 2) |
Somewhere in the span of ridges and valleys between US 220 and State Route 55 lies a deep and remote canyon through which the South Branch of the Potomac slowly drains some of the most beautiful parts of West Virginia's Grant and Pendleton Counties. They call this canyon Smokehole.
Looking ahead to his 40th birthday, my brother-in-law, Sam, decided that he wanted to celebrate the way he remembered celebrating as a kid: on the water. As he tells me, some mid-May weekend was
always reserved as a weekend for an overnight canoe camping trip. And, he also tells me that it had been at least a decade since the most recent one. The responsibility was mine: find a river for us to paddle down. No wives, no kids, and no cell phones.
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| Camping Robinson Crusoe style |
That was months ago, and since then Sam and I scoured print and online river guides to find what we hoped would be the perfect weekend trip. Several options had to be arranged, because there's no telling what the water levels would be like. Sometimes in mid-May the rivers are swollen torrents. In that case we'd paddle something high up in the watershed, a tight and narrow creek. In other years the spring rain is lighter and in that case we'd be looking for a larger stream down the valley. As it turned out, the weekend we picked provided us with options somewhere in the middle, and Smokehole Canyon stood out as the best thing going. I'd have never expected it to be what it was.
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| Running the "falls" |
I try not to be a river snob, but for some reason I was under the illusion prior to this trip that in order to find scenery in the Eastern mountains like that of Smokehole Canyon, you need to be on heavy whitewater. It made sense to me -- the steeper rivers and creeks are in less inhabitable canyons and so people tend to not live there. But, Smokehole broke the mold. The steep canyon walls surrounding us as we paddled by were a thousand feet tall. Rocky crags punched through and terminated high in the sky with sharp, knuckled outcroppings. Eagles and Osprey circled and swooped. Tiny tributaries ended with tall cascading showers onto pebbled beaches. And, wildflowers in the thousands surrounded us on our flood-plain campsite. Shangri-la comes to mind, but isn't quite effective. Plus,
Smokehole sounds way cooler.
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| A happy 40-year old |
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| A damn good campsite |
Where we put in, at Big Bend Campground, required a 10+ mile drive down a road that ends there and goes no further. Beyond that, Smokehole canyon has no roads. It has no hiking paths and only a few forgotten, broken cottages. One former lodge penetrates the serenity, a hulking log cabin with dozens of windows overlooking the South Branch, but it's empty and no longer kept up. Word has it that the drive into Smokehole Lodge was over an hour on rough roads, perhaps the reason it never turned a profit. Below the 10 miles of the deepest part of the canyon, the walls recede and civilization creeps back. First, some goats in a field run away from human strangers. Then, a small church. Finally, a road and some homes that look to be in current use. A decommissioned cable car hangs over the river, reminding those who pass under of the way things used to be.
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| The Royal Glen Dam (cl. 2) |
In total, two class 2 rapids spice things up, but the class 1 rapids and fast flatwater come very continuously for over 20 miles. There are very few flat pools, and none of them are more than a few hundred yards long. Campsites are everywhere. We couldn't have asked for more.
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| Bailing after a near capsize |
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| Pop's red jacket |
Git r dun
