Adventure on West Virginia’s New River

The noise downriver begins as a low and gentle rumble, before it amplifies to a pulsing roar and finally ends like a thunderstorm on a sheet-metal roof.

“OK, everybody, helmets on,” asserts Class VI-Mountain River raft guide Graham Story.

The force of the current on West Virginia’s New River swiftly pulls our boat of eight downstream. But for a moment in the slack water above one of several imposing rapids, the raft hangs suspended. Then it quickly enters the sleek, sharply tapered tongue — a sliver of smooth, green silk unfurled before the churning white water. The seconds seem like hours as we plunge toward the mighty abyss.

Those of us onboard are plastered by the wall of colossal foam as we paddle forward in unison at the urging of Story, who barks his orders with urgency to keep us from being washed into the rocky depths.

We endure the intense pounding unscathed, only to find ourselves begging for more.

Adventure galore

It takes about two and a half hours to get to Fayetteville from Roanoke, a splendid drive that showcases these two states’ picturesque countrysides.

In addition to racing white water, the area surrounding Fayetteville offers outdoor enthusiasts one high-octane thrill ride after another, from tree-top canopy tours to cat-walking beneath the New River Gorge Bridge, 850 feet above the rapids, to ATV excursions over mountain trails with stunning vistas.

If you’re hungry, the Secret Sandwich Society has a selection of delicious, unique grinders, like “the Polk” (roasted chicken breast, served with the restaurant’s signature bacon jam and aioli) or “the Coolidge” (roasted pork loin, topped with homemade pimento cheese spread, oven dried tomatoes and onion).

‘Good family fun’

Our day began a little after 10 a.m. with an introductory session aboard Adventures On The Gorge’s roughly 20-minute bus ride to the launching point in Thurmond. It’s about 10 miles from Fayetteville, which sits on the precipice of the New River Gorge, a 500-meter-deep trench carved out by the raging New River through the Appalachian mountains .

Our trip leader, Brian “Squirrel” Hager, who’s been rafting this white water wonderland for more than 30 years, spoke to the fidgety crowd, trying to calm nerves and elicit a few laughs.

He exposed us to the possible dangers, noting that heavy rainfall has made the water level high — eight feet above normal to be exact.

“There are going to be massive waves today,” Squirrel said. “And if for some reason I’ve scared you to death, that is not my intent. This is good family fun. It might not sound like it with me up here talking. But on any river trip you do — any place, any time, anywhere — there’s always potential for injury, serious injury or even death. There’s no way to sugarcoat that.”

After arriving at the put-in, enthusiastic hoots and hollers echoed through the valley on the riverbank while our outfitter’s crew readied the gear and a half-dozen boats .

We donned our helmets and life jackets and picked up our oars. The weather was perfect: Skies were crystal-clear, with temperatures hovering in the mid-70s.

Once all the rafts were in the water, there was a brief rehearsal. We spent a few moments discussing the techniques Squirrel explained to us on the bus: “high-siding,” when you jump to the downstream side of the boat to prevent flipping, and pulling a “long swimmer,” a person who has fallen overboard, up to safety.

At this point, there was no turning back.

“Let’s go forward-five,” shouted Story, as he steered the boat from behind and through the gushing insanity. “Now three more. And three more. And go, go, go.”

The first surge hit the raft with a strong uppercut, then lifted us just above the waterline and danced the boat over a train of consecutive waves at a rapid appropriately named Surprise. Water flooded our peripheral vision. The boat tossed and turned, until we were spit back out into the calm.

“Whoa, that was awesome,” declared Kent Belan, who made the trip to West Virginia from Georgia with his daughters, Kelsie and Lynsie. “Oh, man.”

Disappearing act

Along a sandy stretch of the riverbank our group geared up for an afternoon of ripping swells after our guides fed us a superb meal — included in the price of the trip.

“I’m so excited,” Lynsie Belan said. “I want to get thrown out of the boat.”

There still were plenty of rapids left to tackle, like the Middle and Lower Keeney, Double Z, Greyhound Bus Stopper and Miller’s Folly.

Hair-raising action, constant motion and a bit of risky business summed up the second-half of our trip, but the group, all of us grinning from ear to ear, immediately started talking about the next time.

“The rapids, like the third one before the end, where we got smashed, and [Kelsie] knocked into me, that wave just slammed us, boom,” said Cody Jetton, a North Carolinian who also braved the waters of the explosive Toro River on a recent trip to Costa Rica. “That didn’t happen there. This had some harder waves. It was like, bam! I’d do it again. We might make it an annual affair here.”

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