Like many good things in modern life, it started with e-mail exchange. It went something like this:

My phone rings at 11:00 am Saturday morning. Stu's voice is full of energy:

- Are you ready to go?

- Sure, come on over! All packed and ready to roll.

I fumble as I get out of bed, shower, and stuff a weekly supply of underwear into the backpack, while the microwave is working on my morning bean burrito. Stu shows up as I'm finishing my first coffee mug of of the morning.

Next thing I know, I am in the cab of Stu's truck. Trying to remember what I forgot to take with me this time. And going South! Did I take the throw bag?

As we cross Ohio, I go through the second and third coffee mugs of the morning. The sky is bright, but all local streams are swollen with brown water. A lunch in Subway, and we are in Kentucky. Sun is starting to give out some serious heat. The little streams and big rivers are now dry. Why are we going away from the water?! I go through my first coffee mug of the afternoon. Did I take the spray skirt?

Okay, we didn't get lost. We took a scenic shortcut. Judging by the speed limit and the curves, It was definitely scenic. I'll never know for sure because it was dark.

When you don't know at which campground you're supposed to meet someone, use the elimination method. That is, find all campgrounds where we you are not supposed to stay. The people that you are looking for will be in the last campground that you check.

The night is quiet. Stars are out. We drive around peaceful Tennessee countryside, checking campgrounds as we go. I feel a strange craving for a bowl of chili. At the third campground we hit a jackpot! Must be beginner's luck. Jackpot takes form of John Kobak's RV. I finish my last coffee mug of the evening, and we drop into the back of the truck.

The morning light is cruel. It's cold, and it's damp. Where do I get coffee? Then, like wings of a butterfly, John's RV's doors unfold, bringing loads of buckwheat pancakes. And coffee! These are my kind of people.

We run the Ocoee. The water is a bit low, but still fun. Then I get the feeling that something is missing. As we go from playspot to playspot, the nagging feeling grows stronger. This is not the Ocoee that I learned to love. Something is very different. There are no rafts! And no lines! By Ocoee standards, anyway. On this river, if your wait for a surf less than half an hour, you have the whole river to yourself. And we do! Surf, play, and jump from eddy to eddy. I try a mystery move in Flipper and get spanked.

On the put-in, I run into a group from RSCK (Row Strength and Courage Kayakers, Ann Arbor kayaking club that endures me from the beginning of my paddling career). Rick, Mitch, Paul, Theresa, and some guy in open canoe they've picked up along the way - don't know his name, he's swimming anyway. I shake hands, brag about the new paddle, curse the new pogies. We part ways somewhere around Doublesuck. They head back for a ten-hour drive back to Michigan, while my trip has barely started.

Ocoee - Hell Hole

It's evening. Stu's truck is headed towards Clayton. It rides visibly lower under a heavy load of fine Mexican food in our bellies. The Talulah Gorge campground is definitely upscale. There are showers and a laundry room. After heart-stopping scrutiny, the attendant finally decides that we meet the standards. Just barely. We park our many cars next to the playground.

A couple of hours later, Dave shows up. His 250,000 Chevy entered the line of sight of a local sheriff. It didn't meet the standards. Not even close. So the sheriff decided to make an acquaintance. As he opened the door to search the vehicle, a beer bottle smashed into the sidewalk and on his uniform. A closed beer bottle, mind you. I do not know what life was like for Dave for the next hour. I just know that the officer had to cut losses and let him go.

As we sleep in the truck, the rain picks up. We'll have water tomorrow!

The morning is cool and misty. After we run shuttle, I turn to put on my splash jacket. It turns out to be harder than expected, because the jacket is still at the base camp. Whoops. I go around begging for clothes. "Anything you could spare, ma'am… I haven't eaten since breakfast…" Finally, Ron takes pity in me. I get a huge fleece jacket and a top. We're back in business!

Misty morning on Chatooga Section IV put-in

I'm screwing on the face guard on my helmet. See, one day I'll immortalize my name in kayaking with a new maneuver, a face brace. I'm still working out the details, but the face guard is bound to be an essential component. Just wait for the headlines.

A few more minutes and the first drop of the day comes into view. Bull Sluice is a ledge with a narrow upstream "V" cutting into it on the far right. A hole on the left of the "V" has bad reputation, and the wall on the right seems undercut (it is). Adding to the fun, the water folds along the top of the "V". As I'm trying to figure out how to stay close enough to the right wall without getting intimate with it, Ron makes his run. He punches the eddy line, leans on an easy brace, and lets momentum carry him along the right part of the drop, just above the fold. It's a nice, smooth glide. Hey, this is easy! When my turn comes, I paddle over the eddy line, set up a left brace, smile for the cameras, and wait for the water to carry me around the fold.

Well, the water has other plans. Smoothly and effortlessly I glide right into the middle of the fold. The view along the bow of my boat is somewhat similar to what you see in the toilet, just before the "whoomp" sound. Tuck! Now, should I roll right now or wait until I'm through the drop? I wait. The drop is taking its time though. I remember it being much closer! After about forty minutes of waiting (underwater time), I try to roll. The paddle ends up in a bottom-brace. Hey, I'm still in the hole above the drop! I almost come up, but the hole flips me again. Tuck! Finally, I feel the boat go over the drop. Okay, up we go!

Behind the roar of water flowing from my nose and ears, I can barely hear Elliot dropping into the eddy. As I was making friends with local fish and having flash-backs and Zen moments in the hole, he had to literally stop in mid-run.

Running Bull Sluice

On Woodal Shoals, we look into the maw of the hydrolic. It doesn't even have a decent boil-line - just that sickening rotation, like a huge whirpool.

On Corkscrew, a swimmer can end up in the very dangerous Crack in the Rock. Ron runs the rapid first and, after a close encounter with the undercut rock in the center, sets up a throw rope on the bottom. One by one, we run the drop. Then river gods decide that they need a sacrifice. First, I see the bow of Bob Nickelson's boat is in the hole, pointing skyward. Then the boat does several 360-s, cartwheels, and does at least one split. Finally, the hole releases its victim. Ron is not screaming, but his voice echoes from the canyon walls: "YOU HAVE TO CATCH THIS ROPE!" A perfect throw, and Bob is out of the water.

The rain keeps on through the evening. I empty the wet gear bag into the campground drier, and in an hour all of it is nice and dry. Did I mentioned that my booties are nice and dry too? Sorry about the smell… In the morning, our shuttle caravan heads back to Tennessee.

Running Chatooga Section IV

The rain did its job too well. At 800 cfs, Tellico looks swollen. As we drive along the river, the bigger and bigger drops come into view. We stop by Baby falls and take pictures. Soon, we are in the boats, jumping from ledge to ledge. As the drops become higher, we fell into a rhythm. And finally, Baby falls are upon us.

Water level went down in the evening

Keelhaulers initiation

Running the Sinks

Running the Elbow