9/11 and the Day the River Made Sense

Former professional freestyle kayaker and kayak instructor Brad Burden looks back on the days following September 11, 2001, when the Gauley River became a gathering place for paddlers from around the world seeking solace, clarity, and the simple strength of being together on the water.

Tuesday, September 11th, the world and whitewater kayaking changed forever. Perhaps it was the attacks, the lives so tragically ended, the wars that followed, or the technology revolution, but it all changed that day… only we didn’t realize it; we just wanted to go kayaking.

September in the east for kayakers meant one thing and one place: the Gauley River. I had been camping at the put-in for a week and knew the river would not run for the next two days, so I decided to go visit my family. I left Monday night and drove the 5 hours to my dad’s house in Louisville, KY.

The next morning, I awoke with a phone call to turn on the TV. I turned it on just to see the second plane hit the towers. I was scared. I was confused. By Wednesday, I was exhausted from watching the terror unfold on television. I knew there was only one place that could make sense—one place I could find peace and people who thought like me: the River.

We were hearing rumors that dams were potential targets, and many rivers were shut down. Summersville Lake was still high, and we found out the Gauley would run, just with no commercial traffic. I woke up on September 12th and drove back east. I was struck by the emptiness of the roads, by the American flags flying from nearly every house and overpass. The town of Gauley Bridge looked like a 4th of July parade. People were scared, but they were kind, even to strangers.

When I arrived at the campground I realized I was not alone. Many kayakers had the same thought: I need an escape from the chaos, I need it to make sense, I need the river and my community.

And then something unexpected appeared: an entire group of international paddlers. The Ocoee River had been closed and the slalom World Championships there were canceled. Flights were grounded, communication with home was uncertain, and no one knew when—or even how—they would get back to their families. The next races, their careers, their plans all suddenly didn’t matter. For that week, all that mattered was being on the river.

Waking up on Thursday the 13th to a full parking lot at the put-in made me smile for the first time in days. Pro freestyle paddlers, slalom racers from around the world, local guides and video boaters—we all put on together. Many wore their U.S. Team gear. One paddler loaned me their old USA PFD, which I wore with pride. We stormed down the river in a mass of colorful plastic playboats and sleek slalom boats.

The thing missing that made the day surreal was the normally huge flotilla of rafts and commercial trips. Not a raft in sight, no crowds, no lines at play spots—just this international group of world-class paddlers. I heard different languages echoing off the canyon walls. I met people for the first time that day who I never saw again, but in those hours, we were all the same. Confused, scared, uncertain, but together.

We laughed, we cried, we hugged. None of us knew what tomorrow would bring. We had a sense the world had changed forever, but not quite how. We didn’t realize that our sport was changing too.

We just knew that for this day, on this river, it all made sense. For this day, all seemed okay. Each wave we surfed felt a little sweeter, each boof a little bigger, a few more ends thrown on each ride, every line a little more pure.

As we began the hike out, none of us knew what lay ahead. None of us knew how long it would take to rebuild in New York or Washington. None of us knew the decades of war that would follow, or that it would be weeks before we could fly again—shoes off, security tighter, freedom changed. None of us knew our sport would change too; that in the years to follow, boat sales would decline, sponsorships would dry up, and tours would stop. Had we known, maybe we would have surfed just one more wave, thrown just one more end, in the futile hope of holding onto the fleeting peace we found together on the river that day.

Words: Brad Burden | Photography: Dave Hughes & Chris Port

L’article 9/11 and the Day the River Made Sense est apparu en premier sur Kayak Session Magazine.