My first visit to Fayetteville coincided with the initial Gauley River release weekend in September of 2008 with a boy named John. I was new to kayaking and had never experienced any rivers outside of the James in Virginia. I had a roll, I could catch eddies, and I loved being on the river. We camped at the Summersville Dam that night and I woke up to a community of kayakers throwing on gear, scarfing down oatmeal, shoving beer in their boats, and grinning from ear to ear. My first lower Gauley run had me completely hooked-hooked on white water and hooked on the handsome boy that showed me down the river.
John and Erin, First West Virginia Kayak Weekend, 2008
For the next 5 years, I followed John down the New, the Meadow, the Cranberry, The Elk, the Williams, the Cheat, the Cherry, and finally, the mighty Upper Gauley. I remember gearing up for our first marathon kayaking run together which included the Upper, Middle and Lower Gauley all in one day-24 miles of whitewater heaven. We put on the river with the sunrise and fog that next morning, fog so dense you could hear the sounds of the Insignificant rapid around the bend, but you could only see it once you were immersed in it. At the entrance of Pillow Rock, just before we dropped into the rapid, John looked at me and yelled, "Stay close and brace!" I found myself right behind him on what people call the Green Highway. I imagined it was like being in the eye of a storm. Everything around me was exploding, yet my line was completely smooth as I followed the back of his striped helmet. Finishing the last rapid Pure Screaming Hell was one of the most satisfying exhaustions I've ever felt. Dinner tasted glorious that night. That handsome boy became my husband, and eventually led us out to Southern Oregon for a new adventure.
These memories played back like a movie as I stood at Long Point in early summer of 2014. My heart was broken. Breathing felt exhausting. It had been three months since John lost his life in a kayaking accident in Northern California. I did not know that the body could feel such physical pain from the absence of someone else. I had lost weight, too much weight. I had dark circles under my eyes from no sleep. I became merely flesh and blood existing in the shell of what once was a happy woman. My person was gone, and I found myself drawn back to the New River Gorge to sit and think about what in the world I was going to do with this new and unwanted normal.
I decided to leave Oregon and move to Fayetteville 3 months after John's death. I simply wanted a place that was quiet, where things slowed down, and where I could disappear into the mountains. I figured I would stay for a year until I could get my life together again. After all, my assumptions told me Fayetteville was a place where jobs were scarce, the town died in the winter, and there weren't many locals. This would be temporary.
My first day in town, I was unpacking my kitchen when I turned around and Maura Kistler, a Fayetteville local and owner of Waterstone Outdoors, was sitting at my table with a big smile. She introduced herself, gave me a hug, and welcomed me to town. In that same week, I was introduced to the Arrowhead mountain biking trails, asked to go kayaking down the Lower New, shown the popular climbing and swimming spots at Whippoorwill at Summersville Lake, and introduced to the incredible hike at the Endless Wall Trail leading to Diamond Point, all by different locals that lived in town and heard I was moving there.
I started mountain biking a few times a week and went from 8-mile rides to 13 to 20. I slowly let some new kayaking friends help me get back in my boat and out on the rivers John and I used to love so much. My dog Jake and I discovered a different trail every weekend, whether it was seeing the rolling mountains from Babcock State Park or standing over the water falls at Glade Creek. I started trail running. I got rock shoes and a harness and learned to climb. I cross country skied, and even dabbled in standup paddle boarding at Summersville Lake. I started sleeping again, eating again, breathing again. I slowly came back to life.
The gorge became my haven, my place of solitude, my place of deep grief. If I could just run through my pain, ride through my homesickness for John, even cry as my boat would crash into each rapid, I felt just a little bit better. Whether it was on my mountain bike or in my kayak, the gorge seemed to take my pain away, even if it was for just a little while to let me breathe again. I learned to love myself and the woman I became after my husband's death.
It's been over three years since I took a leap of faith by moving to Fayetteville. I have made the most incredible friends in this small mountain town who share my admiration for the trails and rivers here. I built a house in the woods where I can ride my bike out of my backyard. I found a career that makes me happy and challenges my brain. I met a man who completely caught me by surprise and showed me what selfless love looks like. Life with him is a new and exciting adventure full of love which is something I never thought I'd find again. All of my assumptions about what Fayetteville really was when I chose to move here were wrong. I am hooked for life.
Erin and Tristan, Gauley River, 2017
I miss my husband John every day, and the pain from losing him is something I've continued learning to live with for the rest of my life. But I am so grateful to him for bringing me to this beautiful place all those years ago. He was leading me to where I was always supposed to end up, right here in the New River Gorge.
