Guyventures: Whitewater Rafting West Virginia's 'Beast Of The East' Gauley River

Why Learning To Raft On The 'Beast Of The East' Is The Best Worst Idea

October 5, 2018

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A Guyventure is a story – one you can brag to your friends and family about, sure. But more importantly, it's an experience you can scribble in your bucket list and eventually stack on top of a mountain of incredible lifelong memories. Get a move on. There's a whole world to explore.

"Forward one!"

I’m floating towards my impending doom.

"Forward two!"

I'm being chased by thousands of gallons of water and the river is in a frenzy.

"Forward two!"

I better not fall out -- there’s work to be done.

GAULEY SEASON

Every year for six weekends running through September and October, the National Park Service cranks open the Summersville Dam like a faucet and unleashes water into West Virginia’s Gauley River. The exercise of opening the dam is meant to prevent flooding, but there’s a bonus side-effect -- the Gauley River gets extra gnarly for whitewater rafting. During Gauley Season, the river transforms into the 'Beast of the East' and gets a bump up the list of best places for whitewater rafting in the States, if not the planet.

Related: Here's What It's Like To Watch An Active Volcano Spew Liquid Inferno

This year, West Virginia hosted the 2018 National Rafting Championships, the U.S. qualifier to the World Rafting Championships in Australia -- but I wasn’t there to compete. I was more keen on surviving, seeing as I’m a complete newbie.

ADVENTURE TIME

My overnight rafting excursion began at Adventures on the Gorge, an adventure resort that brands itself as the ‘anti-Hamptons experience’ and my host for the trip. I was outfitted with gear: a lifejacket (known these days as a PFD, personal flotation device), a Play-Doh blue helmet and an orange and blue paddle. “It looks like an orange, but it tastes like blood,” warned rafting guide Tri Mills, reminding us to keep a solid grip on the paddle at all times.

My rafting group got to the put-in alongside the Summersville Dam and I met the man who would be my captain over the two-day voyage, Mike Benevento. To be honest, I wasn’t so sure about him at first. Benevento's jokes while on shore fell flat and his soft-spoken demeanor had me concerned he was too timid to face the ferocious rapids I’d been warned about. But when we got into the water, Benevento oozed confidence.

The guy might as well have been hatched from a riverbed. Growing up in the rural Adirondack mountains of upstate New York, Benevento spent his childhood on the water and rafting grew into an obsession. Benevento now travels the world hunting for the best waves, spending two or three months in each place before his adrenaline itch starts to get scratchy.

If you needed a resume for rafting the Gauley, Benevento’s would go something like this:

• 26 years experience as a rafting guide
• 450+ trips down the Gauley
• 47 dislocated shoulders
• At least one concussion
• Scars to prove it (both from rafting injuries and from a knife-fight with members of a drug cartel in Southern Colombia)

I was in safe hands.

DON'T SWIM

“Whitewater rafting is an aggressive medium. It respects the aggressive and it whips the timid -- so go get this motherf*cker,” Benevento commanded. “Forward two!”

I obliged without thinking, my body turned and I hauled back water like my butt was on a swivel.

We approached Sweet's Falls, one of the Upper Gauley's 'Big 5' Class V rapids (Class Vs are defined by the Bureau of Land Management as "exceedingly difficult, long and violent," and people have died attempting them). In all, the Gauley River has over 100 rapids and they range from the mildly serious Class III all the way up to Class V – any more difficult and you'd be flying down Niagara Falls.

The rapids got fierce, quick. Remembering my orders of attack, I imagined the wave was Tyson, a bully from elementary school, and I proceeded to go after it, each stroke propelling us towards an undercut rock that’ll kill you, a whirlpool that’ll trap you, or 'Dildo Rock,' which will, well, f*ck you.

The raft took a sudden dip and I found myself gulping down water like I was sitting beneath a waterfall. I looked into the ginger ale-green water, contemplating -- and strangely salivating -- over my own demise. Falling in wouldn't be that bad, would it? 

But before I could accept my fate, a sudden jolt and a flick of Benevento’s paddle sent me upright again, still in the boat. No swimming this time. 

THE BEST RESTAURANT IN WEST VIRGINIA IS BESIDE THE GAULEY RIVER

Feeling accomplished for not falling in -- and soaking wet -- I helped the group park the raft for the night across from a gorgeous line of open-faced cliffs. I was exhausted and in no mood to set up camp. Fortunately, I was in for some glamping. 

There to greet us -- well, perhaps greet isn't the best word -- was badass chef Mary Brent Galyean, a Chopped chef who specializes in haute cuisine in the middle of the wilderness. There'd be no hot-dogs on a stick tonight.

As soon as we approached the forest kitchen, Galyean laid down the law.

"The #1 rule is stay out of my f*cking kitchen," she said.

Yes, ma'am. 

First came the apps: Elk-stuffed mushroom caps with blueberry balsamic reduction, maple candied pecan brie dip and seared ahi apple pincho with pickled watermelon chutney and warm feta drizzle. I had to pinch myself, 'I'm camping remember?' 

For the main course, we had a selection of herbes de provence-crusted coulée steaks, seared catfish bites atop a warm coleslaw, roasted corn orzo, a strawberry and cucumber salad as well as Galyean's specialty: a sweet potato bleu cheese au gratin. Need I go into the chai cheesecake dessert and truffle fried egg duck confit burrito for breakfast or do you get the point?

HELL HOLE

The next morning we moved out to tackle the Lower Gauley with perhaps an unhealthy dose of overconfidence. Benevento warned us not to get cocky as we approached the Class V ahead, 'Pure Screaming Hell,' featuring a helluva drop, 'Hell Hole': “Those boats up there are small, so you’re bound to see one get eaten by 'Hell Hole' – but don’t spectate. Spectating turns into a group swim and that isn’t as fun as it sounds."

Here we go.

"Forward two!"

I attacked the wave as ordered, sometimes paddling air when the raft was sent backward.

"Down!"

We slipped inside the boat as 'Hell Hole' approached, popping back up as soon as we could -- I had to get back to work paddling.

Unfortunately for my own masochistic tendencies, my urge to get ejected from the raft was left unrequited. Benevento must have liked us too much (he once flipped a group of Baptists who disliked his foul language).

I soon found myself on smooth water, relaxing beneath the blue skies and glowing green trees, dreaming of what it must be like to swim for my life past an undercut rock. Guess I'll have to come back again, won't I?

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