Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, May 9, 1994 TAG: 9405100029
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B-6 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By BILL COCHRAN OUTDOOR EDITOR
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
But there is a gentle side, too, and that was being displayed recently on the Roanoke River, where Byrd was trip chairman for the Roanoke Chapter of Float Fishermen of Virginia.
Twenty-two craft appeared at the Dixie Caverns Wayside for a float toward Salem, and Byrd was hovering about them like a wood duck fretting over a clutch.
This is no rip-roaring, white-knuckle ride, but the river here is alive with numerous riffles and modest rapids, some of them demanding water-reading skills and quick action. In fact, the FFV members were about to be pleasantly surprised over the quality of the ride on a river they often roll past while heading to more exotic spots-the New River Gorge, for example.
Byrd is a regular on the Roanoke and knows that a couple of pulls on a paddle will send a canoer or kayaker into a long, green cocoon of remoteness where solitude and scenery weave through a corridor zoned industrial.
``There are roads and railroads alongside, but you don't pay any attention to them,'' he said.
In fact, the hum of U.S. 460 and the rattle of trains across towering trestles is pretty well swallowed up by the sound of rushing water. The river this day is a tad high and discolored, fed fat and saucy by a recent rain. It is in a playful mood, but neither angry nor dangerous. It can be that, too, or it can be so docile that its rocks stick to the bottom of a canoe like cockleburs.
Byrd's instructions are to go down the left side of the first island. A tree has crashed across the right channel, forming a bridge that is just the right height for a head banging.
``Take the left side! The left side!'' Byrd's assistant, Russ Hurd, calls as the canoes approach the island.
Twenty boats do, but two go right, like mischievous kids, either by design or by the unexpected pull of the current. When Betty Green reaches the lower end of the island she looks back up the right side and calls, ``There's a body!''
One of the canoes has crashed and is penned by tons of water at the butt of the downed tree. Its occupant is bruised but OK, his ego crushed like his canoe. Hurd reassuringly gathers him into the bow of his own canoe and heads downstream.
Mike Robertson beaches his canoe and spends most of the day working a block and tackle, extracting the craft like a reluctant wisdom tooth.
``I've had some excitement on this stretch,'' Byrd says.
If you are observant when you drive southward on U.S. 460 out of Salem, you will notice that there is considerable gradient to the landscape, and that gives the river a rapid decent, which means white water. One of the paddlers, Roc Cooper, has ``white water'' abbreviated on his vehicle license plate. He pauses to tell about the woman who stopped him and asked if he was an investor.
The Float Fishermen of Virginia has about 400 members across the state, 65 of them in the Roanoke chapter. To them, white water is, indeed, an investment-in pleasure, in the environment, in the quality of life.
Russ and Betty Hurd have been paddlers for 20 years, and when they moved to the Roanoke Valley from New Jersey in 1989, the next call after getting the phone and electricity hooked up was an inquiry about the local canoe club.
``We said if they didn't have a good canoe club, we don't want to be here,'' said Betty Hurd, who is on the staff of the Hollins College library.
The Roanoke River cuts along several bluffs that rise rapidly toward a blue sky. The rocks are decorated with bright-red, bell-shaped columbines. Where there are marshy flats, shorebirds dart about with boundless energy.
Some of the limbs of the ancient, moisture-loving sycamore trees hold frayed ropes that serve as vertical diving boards for summertime swimmers.
There is a small wooden sign dangling from one tree that says ``Stop Spring Hollow,'' a reminder that the river never is as simple as it may appear on a canoe trip.
One of the paddlers is Barbara Duerk, whose kayak, small and agile, frolics skillfully in the rapids, looking like a nifty sports car among the sedan-like canoes.
During her unsuccessful bid for a seat on Roanoke City Council, Duerk handed out 4-by-5 inch fliers that pictured two scenes of the Roanoke River. One was a flood-stage shot, the other a pastoral view of a canoe passing by a trout angler. That pretty well sums up the Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde views people have of the river that runs through their community, she said.
But there is little preaching this day among the FFV members, who operate under the theory that a river's challenge and charm speaks elegantly enough for itself when given half a chance.
``Once you are here, you go from one point to another,'' said Betty Hurd, talking to her canoe partner about how a river trip can burn away stress like the sun evaporates the morning mist that hovers over a stream. When you deal with current, and the rocks that lurk beneath it and those that climb above it in bluffs to hold the river like a cupped hand, then you are living, not merely surviving. ``You might as well sit back and enjoy it.''
For a big part of the day, the FFV gang does just that, and the drive home is a short one.
by CNB