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On a recent road trip with my father, he asked me, “What are the different levels, or types of paddlers?” My answer was simple: whitewater, touring, recreational, and enthusiasts. These are all pretty self explanatory, except for the last one. Enthusiasts, as in any activity, are those that just enjoy their time in that sport, in this case paddling. It doesn’t matter if their running class 5 whitewater, or if their paddling across the local lake, they are at home and in harmony on the water.

I am one of these “enthusiasts.” I have paddled all my life, or at least been exposed to canoes and kayaks that whole time. I’ve paddled in all sorts of water, from Canada to the Caribbean and had experiences on the water that few get to enjoy. But my “enthusiast” title was tested this fall, as I was invited, maybe challenged is a better word, to run the biggest whitewater of my life; the Gauley River.

Now to some, the Gauley is no big thing. Whitewater kayakers that paddle often see it as a “fun and enjoyable run, with few consequences if your skill is in line.” Rafters, in their 4 to 8 person boats, plus a guide, see it as an adrenaline rush in Mother Nature’s back yard, but have little real fear of the class 5 water. But for me, it was a pivotal point in my paddling career.

Let’s me explain the foundations behind this apprehension. I have no worries over my skill. I have a solid roll (flipping a kayak over and rolling back up without coming out of the boat), and have been in big water before. But being in a kayak that has only as much volume, if not less, than your average fish tank, is a little different than your high volume rafts you usually think of on a whitewater river. On top of this, running our own seasonal business only allows so much time in a boat, and with two young children, I had not had the chance to paddle in a whitewater kayak in over a year and a half. These things combined, along with the thought of rapids like “Pure Screaming Hell,” “Lost Paddle,” “Iron Ring” and “Heaven Help You,” I definitely gave thought to what excuses could get me out of this trip.

But none of those excuses worked. Work was slow, so time off was easy. A babysitter was available the whole weekend. I didn’t even have to drive or make accommodation arrangements. No way out of it! So with my paddling gear, some antiquated, some new, packed up, my three paddling buddies loaded up in the well used Mercury Sable, and a swarm of butterflies dancing around my insides, I headed off for what was hoped to not be the last trip of my life.

When you are sitting on the edge, waiting for your turn to push off into the chocolate milk colored water, that is rushing past you at almost 3,000 cfs, that is equivalent to 3,000 basketballs rushing past you every second, it’s safe to say you are filled with anxiety. I thought of the last times I had rafted this river; taking a swim after our raft guide couldn’t turn our raft from a rock; being launched from the front to the back of the raft, ending up in the guides lap after hitting a hole; watching my father and best friend get washed under the raft while surfing “Hungry Mother.” But with one lean forward, I launched off the 6 foot rock, knocked out a couple of practice rolls, and then paddled off into the rushing torrent downstream.

Paddling is such an experience. It takes physical skill and fortitude, but as a high school coach once told me, 90 percent of anything is mental. The mental part of the experience is enthralling. While keeping your focus on the lines you need to take and the holes you need to miss, you are also surrounded by the best of what God has created. All your senses are utilized as you feel, hear, see and smell everything in this world that is good. All other daily worries, fears and hopes leave your mind as you are absorbed by the experience.

I don’t need to paddle Class 5 water all the time to enjoy paddling. I can lose myself in the beauty and simplicity of the paddle stroke while canoeing on the Elkhorn Creek in Peaks Mill. I can take in the city skyline from a kayak while paddling quietly under the Singing Bridge here in Frankfort. Paddling can revive and restore me from the daily beatings that we all take in our normal lives. I don’t need whitewater, but as an “enthusiast,” I think I do.