West Virginia Public Broadcasting Story Archives - Page 7 of 11

The W.Va. Monster That Crept Into International Pop Culture

West Virginia folklore includes many alien and monster-like characters, such as Mothman, Big Foot and the Yeti. One such monster has made a big resurgence in the past few years, becoming a part of the state’s pop culture.

This story is part of a Halloween episode of Inside Appalachia, which features ghost tales and legends from across Appalachia.

The story of the Flatwoods Monster began September 12, 1952, in the small town of Flatwoods, West Virginia. It was 7 o’clock at night, and some schoolboys were playing football. They saw an object falling from the sky that looked to be on fire, said Andrew Smith, executive director of the Braxton County Visitors Center and founder of Flatwoods Monster Museum.

“Something, something bright, maybe a fireball, appeared to fly overhead and land on a nearby hilltop,” he said.

A copy of the original drawing of the Flatwoods Monster. An illustrator was hired to interpret what the mom and children described they saw September 12, 1952.

The boys and two adults hiked up the hill to check out this “fireball.” Apparently, there was an overwhelming rotten-egg smell in the air that burned their eyes.

“They see movement from their left coming from the woods,” Andrew said.

They shined a flashlight and saw a 10-foot tall monster hovering above the ground, spewing smoke and gas. Its head was red, and spade-shaped, with a distinct point at the top. It had glowing eyes, with spindly arms and claws. Its body was covered in what looked to be green armor.

“Even though it was floating quietly, it was emitting a shrieking sound,” Andrew said.

The group ran home and reported the incident to the police. Other than a lingering smell, there was not much evidence left behind.

That is the basic origin story of the Flatwoods Monster. It was 67 years ago, but the legend lives on.

The telling of the story has varied over the years. For example, some people think there was a government conspiracy involved. Other versions mention a dog that died from the gas that poured out of the monster. Even more, the actual look of the monster is constantly changing.

The Flatwoods Monster Museum has become an epicenter of all the different interpretations of the monster. It is in an old pharmacy building, in the small downtown of Sutton, West Virginia. The storefront windows advertise the museum in different languages, for that international appeal.

Andrew Smith is the executive director of the Braxton County Visitor’s Center. He founded the museum too, although he says originally the Flatwoods Monster collection could fit on one small shelf.

It was originally supposed to just be the Braxton County Visitor Center, but what started as one, small shelf of Flatwoods Monster paraphernalia turned into an entire museum.

“I would say easily, over 95 percent of our traffic is because we’re a Flatwoods Monster Museum, not because we’re a visitor’s center,” Andrew said.

A menacing interpretation of the monster on a T-shirt. Some of the monster have a friendlier look than others.

The museum is one large room. At the entrance, people are greeted by a life-sized Flatwoods Monster costume. The walls are lined with tall shelves displaying many interpretations of the monster, like drawings, figurines, lanterns, stickers, T-shirts and video games. Some look cute and inviting, while others have evil eyes and bulging muscles.

At the back of the room is another life-sized Flatwoods Monster, made from a green graduation gown, PVC pipe and a red, circular pizza pan. Another one sits on top of a shelf – it is just the head of the monster. Its menacing eyes peer down at guests. It has a bony, dark red face, hollowed out cheekbones and a grim reaper-like cloak.

“I have no idea where that came from,” Andrew said, accompanied with a nervous laugh.

Three different handmade interpretations of the monster in the museum. The one on the far left is made out of a graduation gown, PVC pipe and a red pizza pan.

He said that a lot of the collection has been donated by artists and collectors. The museum has also become a hub for all things spooky in West Virginia. It is a place for people to swap not just Flatwoods Monster knowledge, but ghost stories and UFO sightings.

Colby White, a Morgantown-based musician, has some merchandise from his band on display. Captain Catfeesh is a punk band with an Appalachian-folk music flare. A lot of their tunes are based on regional folklore, such as Bigfoot, the Yeti and of course, the Flatwoods Monster.

One of the Flatwoods Monster inspired songs is called ‘The Phantom of Flatwoods.’ It is a traditional West Virginian folk song written at the time of the sighting by a local named Don Lamb; however, Colby arranged the music to it.

A verse from the song reads, “Oh Phantom of Flatwoods from moon or from Mars, maybe from God, not from the stars. Please tell us why you fly over our trees – the end of the world or an omen of peace?”

phantomsong_mp3.mp3

Listen to the song here.

Colby has a tattoo of the monster on his forearm. Most people interpret the tale as scary or evil, but he sees it differently. He thinks the Flatwoods Monster was just taking in its surroundings, when a group of kids and their mom approached from behind.

Colby White’s Flatwood Monster tattoo. It is actually a tattoo of a lamp made to look like the monster – which can be found in the museum.

“Here comes a bunch of kids, a woman shining a flashlight in this dude’s eyes or this creature’s eyes,” Colby says. “Next thing he knows he’s getting blinded and freaks out and starts vibrating and basically throws up some weird oil on them. So, I think they startled him. That’s my theory, I think they startled the Flatwoods Monster.”

The monster surprisingly has a Japanese following that Andrew thinks began between the 60s and 80s. The character is featured in some older Japanese video games and was also made into figurines. They have an anime, cartoon look — with bright colors and a large, toothy mouth.

Andrew has used the Flatwoods Monster to try to boost tourism in the area. He even runs online ads in Japanese, which have proven to be fruitful. Andrew said a Japanese woman visited the museum last year after seeing the ad.

“She had seen this drawing her whole life, but she had no idea it was based in America or based in West Virginia. But learning that it was, she did this deep dive into West Virginia,” he said.

A Japanese interpretation of the Flatwoods Monster. Andrew says there is a large Japanese following of the monster.

There are also different names associated with the monster like, the Phantom of Flatwoods, Braxton County Monster and the Flatwoods Green Monster. Andrew said in a board game it is referred to as “Braxxie.”

“Braxxie has been a word for maybe three years and how often I hear people using it is amazing,” he said. “And they use it like it’s old.”

There are even handmade wooden chairs painted to look like the monster. All five were built by a local carpenter and are placed throughout Braxton County. They are 10 feet tall with built-in stairs to reach the seat – they look more like a throne.

Recently, Andrew also launched a social media campaign using the chairs.

“You’re actually preserving the history and memory of the Flatwoods Monster and taking these pictures and putting them on the internet,” Andrew said.

Andrew wearing part of the Flatwoods Monster costume. More than likely, he says if you see someone in the costume it is him.

Andrew said he believes the group saw something that September night in 1952. As to whether it was the Flatwoods Monster, Andrew said he will leave it up to the imagination.

And Colby, the musician, said a part of him would love to spot the monster in the wild, but he also likes the mystery of it all – the unknown. It gives him something to believe in.

This story is part of an upcoming Halloween episode of Inside Appalachia, which features ghost tales and legends across Appalachia.

This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.

Love And Tradition Passed Down Through A Guitar

Mill Point is a blink-and-you’ll miss it wide spot off the twisty mountain roads of Pocahontas County, West Virginia. It’s also the home of Bill Hefner, a luthier who isn’t just making guitars, he’s passing his tradition of meticulous craftmanship down to the next generation.

A Music Filled Life

Bill Hefner grew up in a house filled with music. His mother and aunt would harmonize to popular songs on the radio, and his Uncle “Dude” Irving played guitar, mandolin and banjo. Bill and his brother Richard both learned to play on Harmony Archtop guitars, delivered by Santa Claus in the late 1950’s. Richard said Bill was inspired by county music star Chet Atkins.

“He ordered a Chet Atkins book, and he’d play that guitar and study that book,” Richard said. “And he’d come down every now and then and ask Uncle Dude how Chet Atkins did this or how Chet Atkins did that or how he would do it, and he would show him. Billy would take the guitar and go back upstairs again.”

When Uncle Dude formed his band, he recruited Bill to play guitar and mandolin. Richard played the banjo. And with the addition of a couple of cousins, they formed the Black Mountain Bluegrass Boys, a group that still performs in Pocahontas County and surrounding areas.

Bill played with the band until Uncle Dude passed away in 1973. These days, Bill performs with his wife and daughters as The Hefner Family Band in church and at local festivals.

The Black Mountain Bluegrass Boys, circa 1972. Richard Hefner (sitting), Bill Hefner, Uncle Dude Irvine, Harley Carpenter, Dwight Diller

The Calling

Bill has played the guitar for most of his 76 years, but about 14 years ago, he decided playing the guitar wasn’t enough; he wanted to make the instrument. So, he prayed about it.

“I told the Lord, I feel like I’m supposed to be doing this,” he said. “I told the Lord if He’d get me in this business, I was going to dedicate it to him for the rest of my life.”

Bill quit his job at the rock quarry in Mill Point and started making guitars full time. His workshop is right next to his house. There are pieces of uncut wood everywhere and a few guitars under construction. Local sign maker Eric Warner taught Bill how to bend wood and cut semi-precious stone for the guitar inlays. Bill also learned some tips from luthier John Greven, who built guitars for musicians like Johnny Cash and Mary Chapin Carpenter.

“I used to call John when I first started, every week,” Bill said. “I called him up and asked him questions hundreds of times. And he was nice enough to explain everything and talk as long as I needed to.”

Bill said the most important component to guitar making is the wood. He used to import walnut from Oregon and Sitka Spruce from Alaska, but then about 10 years ago, he switched to woods native to Pocahontas and Greenbrier counties in West Virginia, because they were easier to acquire. Wood such as Black Walnut, Maple and Cherry.

He’s used Pocahontas Red Spruce in his guitars because John Greven told him it has a real high head room.

“It means that the harder you play it, the better is sounds,” Bill said. “And some of the other woods will start breaking up if you play them real hard, the notes won’t be clear. Red Spruce just gets louder and prettier.”

Happy Customers

Bill sold one of his Red Spruce guitars to old time musician Doug Stalnaker, who said he loved it for the sound and the ease of playing it.

“Just like playing with butter, it’s just so smooth,” said Doug. “And the fact that I got what I wanted: I got a West Virginia artist doing West Virginia woods!”

Retired naturalist Pat Parr purchased two guitars from Bill. She said she loves them not only for their deep sound, but for the intricate stone inlays she designed and Bill handcrafted. One is of a Swallowtail butterfly. The other is more complicated, with mountains, trees and a stream. She remembered the drawing she gave Bill.

Pat Parr with her 2nd Hefner guitar with the Mountain, trees and stream guitar head inlay

“When I showed Bill the picture, I said, ‘Can I get this inlay?’ I said, ‘that’s going to be hard to do, isn’t it?’ ‘Yeah’ [he said], but he did it, and it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

The Next Generation

The gamble to quit his day job paid off. Bill has been able to make a living, crafting guitars, for several years now. And he’s passing on what he knows about guitar building to his 24-year-old grandson Levi Hefner. Levi is mostly into rock music, and he builds and repairs electric guitars, but he and Bill are also building an acoustic guitar. Levi said the process has taught him a lot about patience.

“It’s a lot of fine finesse work and you’ve got to take your time with it and really slow down, that’s something I’ve never been great at so it’s really helped me out with that,” he said. “I’ve gotten to learn more about why a body is shaped this way and how different woods and different densities have a different sound to them and a different ring.”

Levi said the best part of making a guitar is imagining what a musician will do with it.

“Getting to see the progress of making something knowing that wherever it goes, someone else is going to make something else with it,” he said. “There’s always a unique sound to each guitar and each musician has their own unique sound so you can see how far it travels and how far things ca go with it.”

Bill said he’ll keep teaching Levi and his other grandson Ben what he’s learned to extend the craft as far as possible, even beyond his own lifetime.

“I’d like to teach them everything I can do, the tools and the woods and stuff,” he said. “There’s a lot I don’t know but I’d like to get them started and keep this thing going from now on and bring it on down to their kids later.”

Bill said passing on his skills is the best way to inspire his grandsons to create their own legacy.

This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the the Folklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council.

The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virignia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stores of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.

Students Adapt Old Time Appalachian Story Telling Technique

This summer in Morgantown, elementary school students had access to a special summer art camp series almost every week.

Last week, students learned a story telling art form rooted in Appalachian tradition called crankies. Crankies are also sometimes called moving panoramas, as they are a drawing or painting that can be manually moved and is portrayed within a box.

“It has paper wrapped around two scrolls and when you turn the cranks it moves forward and you can draw either different frames or one big picture that you scroll to see,” said 11-year-old Timmy Carlson. “And it moves and it’s like an old form of entertainment before TV.”

At the camp, Carlson is painting a crankie box bright orange.

Eddie Spaghetti helps Timmy Carlson complete the crankie. It is about the song ‘Looking Through a Window’ from the musical ‘Dear Evan Hansen.’

The crankie is thought to have originated in the United Kingdom in the 1800s. It made its way to Appalachia to tell stories and accompany music.

World-renowned storyteller Peter Stevenson is something of a crankie expert. He lives in Wales, but was in West Virginia this spring for an art exhibit which featured some of his handmade crankies.

Stevenson is especially interested in the historical connection of crankies to Appalachia.

“They would sing a song, and old mountain ballad, play music, tell a story, while the picture was moving,” he said. “If you think about it, it’s early animated film. It’s like animation special effects movies, but without electricity. It’s what they did up in the mountains before they had electric, they used these crankies.”

Local artist Eddie Spaghetti also specializes in making crankies. His work was part of the art exhibit, as well, and he is teaching the crankie class. He said they are similar to old timey YouTube videos.

“In a way this crankie idea connects to something that we’re very comfortable and familiar with in our modern age, but bringing back an old thing,” Spaghetti said.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ohwr1QhxQZ4

One of his students drew a story about Ned Flanders from The Simpson’s. Spaghetti helps interpret the story with a song and ukulele.

Each student illustrates their song on a 10-foot-long paper. They write the song lyrics on it and draw and paint images that represent the song for them.

Dashiel Harms and Zoey Gilliam work on an art project. At the end of the week there were 16 different completed crankies.

Carlo Arthurs chose ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen.

“Around the mid it says “Don’t stop me now.” So, I did the finger wag, a stop sign, and then me. So it’s “Don’t stop me now,”” Arthurs said.

Once the scrolls are finished, they have to be installed on the wooden spools in a box.

“They’ve been sawing, they’ve been clipping, they’ve been cutting, they’ve been painting,” Spaghetti said.

A completed crankie. Inside the boxes is a 10-foot-long scroll that can be turned with two wood spools.

He helps the kids use a drill to create holes in the box for the spools…so the scroll can be turned.

“Yeah, it’s nice they get to do a little carpentry work too,” Spaghetti said.

On the last day of the camp, the kids present their crankies. The room is filled with wooden boxes that are a little bigger than a piece of printer paper. They are painted in every color.

Zoey Gilliam chose the song ‘Something Just Like This’ by the Chainsmokers and Coldplay.

You can hear the distinct sound of wood turning while she sings…

Carlo Arthurs, the one who chose the Queen song, said learning to make a crankie has revealed his artistic side.

“I’m better than I thought I was at art, and I feel like art is something I will do more often and try to do more often,” he said.

A student presenting his crankie. Each student showed the class their crankie and either sang or read their song.

One Piece at a Time: Cleaning Trash from W.Va Waterways

It is a hot, muggy day along the Monongahela river. Zoma Archambault is standing on a small, sandy beach about 10 minutes from Morgantown. It is one of the few along the river, as much of it is covered in thick brush and mud.

The beach used to be an informal camp spot. Zoma found it abandoned, with trash covering the ground in every direction. It is almost all picked up now, aside from some muddy clothes, a couple hypodermic needles and roof shingles.

The nearby stream flowing into the river erodes the dirt, exposing some of this older trash.

“Yeah there’s still trash, it’ll be eroding out for years,” Zoma says.

Toxic to Aquatic Life

In Morgantown abandoned campsites along the rivers, like the one described, are common. Over time the left-behind trash can break down and contaminate river ecosystems, which is something that concerns Zoma. He has volunteered the past year and a half cleaning these trash sites.

Trash at one of the abandoned campsites before Zoma began cleaning. He has cleaned 100, 33- and 55-gallon bags worth of trash this year.

“I strongly don’t believe in, of course, micro plastics in the ocean – we have a tremendous problem in the world because of it,” he says.

Microplastics are the size of a sesame seed and nearly impossible to clean, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), and they are toxic to aquatic life and birds. Microplastics can form from littered plastic products, like a grocery bag, that overtime break down into smaller and smaller pieces, eventually getting washed into our waterways.

“Yeah, that stuff does not belong in our rivers,” Zoma says.

The sites Zoma cleans are usually hidden from the bike path, so they can go unnoticed. To get to this particular site Zoma bikes about 10 minutes from Morgantown on a paved trail, but the last stretch he points his bike down a narrow, veiled path leading into dense, green bushes.

Zoma

Zoma is unassuming. He is lanky and tall – he stands almost 6 and a half feet. He has a gray goatee and a head full of salt and pepper hair. He typically wears a pair of jeans cut off at the knees, with a loose cotton T-shirt.

Zoma is always observing. While he is cleaning up abandoned camps, he often thinks about who the people were, why they had the things they did.

“The human memories and such. There’s some reason people carried that object with them,” he says.

But it is also personal for him. In the past 10 years Zoma says he has lost 25 friends to drugs and suicide, and so cleaning these sites, where people were likely suffering from addiction, is a healing process.

“So to help I think erase that so it’s not out here is also a huge reason. Just try to clear it up. And I like these places,” Zoma says. “West Virginia is a beautiful place and it doesn’t deserve to be trashed this way.”

Zoma grew up on the West Coast, but he settled in Morgantown 21 years ago.

More Needles

Zoma has seen the city grow, and in the past couple of years he has noticed more trash, and a different kind of trash.

“These sites used to be full of beer bottles, and the transition is now to needles,” Zoma says.

Hypodermic needles Zoma found along the Monongahela River. Zoma says he has noticed more needles at abandoned campsites in recent years.

And this is a trend other organizations have noticed too, Jonathan Suite operations manager for Friends of Deckers Creek, says. Deckers Creek is an almost 25-mile-long tributary of the Monongahela River that flows through Morgantown.

“We come in with tongs and a sharps container and get rid of them. They are definitely common and it’s really unfortunate,” Jonathon says.

Friends of Deckers Creek dedicates a lot of time to cleaning up trash along the waterway. Just a couple weeks ago Jonathan cleaned up a site with a mattress pad, clothing and blankets. He says the trash is a river ecosystem hazard.

“It’s bad for all the aquatic life in the creek. And when you have a clean area I feel like people are less likely to dump there, as opposed to if it’s already a really nasty, trash-filled area,” he says.

And that is Zoma’s thinking too. The first site he cleaned was in Morgantown at Whitmore Park last year. There were over 300 hypodermic needles, three tents, several futons and other trash completely covering the grass.

“I remember returning like two weeks later just hoping somebody else had cleaned this up and nobody had,” Zoma says.

The Clean-up Process

Zoma attached a small trailer to his bike – which he calls ‘Big Red’ – and loaded up shovels, rakes, garbage bags and a machete for the thick brush. He began cleaning Whitemore Park a year and a half ago.

Zoma’s bike ‘Big Red.’ He attaches a trailer to Big Red to bring supplies to and from trash cleanup sites.

“We had to load stuff up on tarps to drag it out, like all the bedding. We couldn’t put that in bags, and we just made giant mounds of clothes. Mounds of clothes. It was amazing,” he says.

A lot of the sites Zoma cleans alone, but friends occasionally come and help haul the trash bags away.

Zoma uses 33- and 55-gallon size trash bags. Just this year he has filled 100.

He likes to document the sites, taking before and after photos and videos and posting them to Facebook.

Barbies, Teddy Bears, Chocolate Milk Bottles

Zoma especially likes to document sites when there is an excessive amount of trash or unique items left behind, which was the case with his most recent clean-up site.

It is still on the Monongahela River, and it is roughly the size of half a football field, with overgrown trees creating almost a roof.

“Well this place is not perfect yet, but I tell you one thing is missing and that’s 25 bags of trash,” Zoma says.

There is still some work to do. But Zoma has gathered all the remaining trash into piles.

Some trash left behind at an abandoned campsite along the Monongahela River. At this site, Zoma found 40 teddy bears.

There is a Disney princess backpack, a Barbie with blonde hair, a chocolate milk bottle, Haines underwear and a moldy, medium-sized, brown teddy bear.

“I’ll remove it sooner than later, or later than sooner. Not too sure,” he says.

There were 40 teddy bears that Zoma already threw out.

Originally he had only found two hypodermic needles at this site, but as he is talking Zoma uses a stick to rustle around in the dead leaves. Ultimately he finds 18 needles within one square foot.

Some of the teddy bears Zoma found. He says he likes to imagine why people had these things at one point in time.

“Well, so much for that,” he says.

Zoma uses the chocolate milk bottle to carry the needles out.

Cleaning in the Water

Primarily Zoma picks up trash on the banks of the rivers, but he does do some trash clean up in the water. He has focused mostly on Decker’s Creek.

“It amazes me just how shredded the plastic bags will be. It’s already working its way to be microplastic and it hasn’t even hit the major rivers yet,” Zoma says.

He has found bicycles, grocery carts, parts of bridges, furniture, old railroad ties and a lot of old coal slag.

Zoma uses a four-prong hook to pull out larger trash. The hook is about the size of a tennis ball.

“It’s a grappling hook. It’s what I use to pull grocery carts out of the river,” he says.

But for smaller, magnetic trash, he uses a powerful magnet that is about the size of a grapefruit.

He walks along the banks of Decker’s Creek with the magnet. A big thunder head is rolling in.

The magnet is attached to a long rope, which allows him to throw it in the river and reel it back in. Kind of like fishing.

“This is 65 feet of rope – I can throw the whole thing,” Zoma says.

Zoma tosses his magnet into Deckers Creek. He has pulled grocery carts, bikes, old railroad ties and coal slag out of the creek.

The water is dark, and Zoma has cleaned up this location before. He does not expect to catch anything.

“There’s something on there. It’s a steel ring of some sort,” Zoma says.

He puts the little bit of slag and metal he finds in a yellow bucket. He’ll throw it out later.

There are hundreds of miles of waterways just in Monongalia County. Trash could potentially be everywhere. Even the spots Zoma has cleaned, eventually get re-trashed — he says it is almost expected.

But, standing back on the banks of the Monongahela River, at one of his cleanup sites, Zoma smiles, looking at a beach that was once covered in trash. He is proud of the work he has done.

This story is part of an Inside Appalachia episode exploring some of Appalachia’s most unique destinations, on the water and beneath the water. Click here to listen.

The Evolving Culture of W.Va. River Guides

Just about any search on Google for “best white water rafting” includes West Virginia. Around 150,000 people commercially raft a West Virginia river each year, mostly on the New River and Gauley River, which are near Fayetteville, West Virginia. At one point there were just less than 30 rafting companies in the area. Today, they have consolidated into six adventure businesses.

Taking many of the people down the river is a raft guide – someone who is professionally trained to know water, but also to know people. The concept of a river guide in West Virginia started to form in the late 1960s, creating an entire guiding community culture. It is one that has been passed down for decades and is developing more each year.

Every guided raft trip provides guests with a taste of the culture. Especially with experienced guides like Ray Ray, a senior river guide for Adventures on the Gorge – a river guiding outfit in Fayetteville.

It Is In Your Blood, Or It Is Not

On this day, Ray Ray guides eight guests down the lower New River. The water is warm. The canyon surrounding them is tall and covered in thick green trees. Birds are chirping, there is a slight rain drizzle. The arch of the New River Gorge Bridge glimmers in the distance.

Ray Ray paddles a raft down the lower New River. He has been guiding since 1992.

“It’s the best job in the world. I actually have two college degrees I’ve never used a day in my life,” Ray Ray says.

Roger Wilson, CEO of Adventures on the Gorge, says all the guides have a deep love for the outdoors.

“There’s something that happens when that first wave hits you. White Water rafting is either in your blood or it’s not. And when that first wave hit me, I was addicted,” Roger says.

He says guiding is not for everyone, as there is a large social aspect. One must be able to read people just as well as one reads the water.

Dave Bassage, who has been guiding since 1984, says there is a close, mutual respect between him and the customer.

“I really love the dynamic of having a crew of different people every day and introducing them to what I think of as the dance with moving water,” Dave says. “We’re just one of its partners, and we’ve got all these other partners in the raft.”

Roger Wilson (left) and Dave Bassage in front of the main Adventures on the Gorge building. Roger started guiding in 1975 and he took Dave on his first raft trip – Dave later started guiding in 1984.

Being a river guide can be a nomadic lifestyle, as the season goes from March until October. Jay Young, media manager for Adventures on the Gorge, says many of the river guides work at ski resorts in the winter or they continue guiding in South America.

“Those people everything they own fits in the back of their truck or car and they’re off to the next destination to whatever’s in season,” Jay says.

“Ya’ll Ready?”

The guide leading the boat on this day has made a career out of the industry. Ray Ray has guided in West Virginia since 1992, and he has worked on dozens of other rivers across the world.

On this trip, there are four other rafts with guides in the group, but Ray Ray is the trip leader. He consistently checks in with the other guides.

“Ya’ll ready? You ready Caveman?” he asks.

All the river guides have nicknames. One man with shoulder length blonde hair goes by ‘Caveman.’ He got the name because of where he lived for about eight months — the span of a full rafting season.

“I was looking around through the woods one day and found this cool little rock house overhang and just made it into a house,” Caveman says. “I actually had an endangered species of salamander living with me – it was pretty neat.”

And Ray Ray’s nickname is a bit of a mystery, but Jay has a theory.

“Ray Ray is Ray Ray, because he’s twice the fun,” Jay says.

Ray Ray gives the raft paddling commands.

“Forward and back, forward and back, don’t use your arms,” he says.

Rafts floating down the lower New River. Today, guides are in almost every commercial raft; however, in the 60s, 70s and 80s that was not as common.

There are long stretches of calm, scenic floating. Ray Ray explains the history of the area, and he tells stories, like how different rapids and obstacles in the river got their names. There is Greyhound, Flea Flicker, Meat Grinder, Old Nasty and Miller’s Foley.

“A kayaker named Miller got stuffed up underneath that rock over there. He was trying to run a real gnarly line, but he swam out alive, which was a million to one shot,” Ray Ray says. “He needed to go buy himself a lottery ticket.”

Ray Ray’s skin seems to be permanently tan. The fine lines on his face are of a person who has worked outside all of their life. When he sits on the back of the raft, paddle in hand, he is in his element.

Mostly he jokes in a playful voice with the guests…

“Remember I told you if I don’t bring you back they’re gonna dock my pay. So, you better make your swim,” he says.

But in serious moments, Ray Ray exudes confidence. His voice booms, his commands are clear.

Danger Lurks

In the rapid sections of the river, the raft pushes itself through the raging white water. Everyone gets soaked, but Ray Ray guides the entire time.

“Forward go – go! Keep going guys,” he says.

Some of the guests scream from a mix of fear and excitement.

After the rapids, Ray Ray pauses to check on the other rafts in the group.

We’re approaching an obstacle called ‘Meat Grinder.’

“It’s a collection of undercut rocks where water goes under and through it,” Ray Ray says. “We say water goes through and bodies do not.”

Some people are thrown out of their raft in the rapid above Meat Grinder. They are not part of Ray Ray’s group, but he immediately springs into action. The possibility of something catastrophic happening is low, but ‘Meat Grinder’ is one of the more dangerous areas on the river.

The guides react quickly, and Ray Ray shouts to the people bobbing in the white water, trying to save their raft.

“Leave the boat. Swim – swim!”

Everybody is fine, but it is because Ray Ray and the other guides on the trip are experts on reading the water and reading each other. Something Jay Young, the media manager for Adventures on the Gorge, says is just part of being a professional guide.

“If you were to hang out at the guide camp or even a bar on a Saturday night, you wouldn’t think these guys are the professionals that they are,” Jay says. “But when the poo hits the fan on a river, there’s nobody else I’d want out with me, because they rush into action; they all know exactly what to do, and it gets done fast.”

Passing the Paddle Down

Guides have always had their own language, whether it is hand signals on the river, or talking about water depth or names of rapids. Ray Ray says it has evolved over time.

“We’re gonna be running one down here called ‘Flea Flicker’ that a lot of old timers used to call ‘Last Kick in the Pants,’” he says. “For the most part over time, it’s evolved and it’s just a way for us to communicate, it’s our language. It’s like speaking river guide or speaking hippy.”

Guests that were a part of Ray Ray’s group. There are typically eight people to a raft.

And it is the senior guides, like Ray Ray, that teach this new language to the up and coming guides. People who might not have prior rafting experience but are brought together through their love of the outdoors.

Claire Hemme, a former Inside Appalachia intern, is a first year river guide. She took the job, because she wanted to be paid to work outside.

“It’s just this wonderful eclectic mix of everyone from everywhere who just want to be outside,” she says.

The Glory Days

River guides have always been adventure seeking people, says Roger Wilson, the Adventures on the Gorge CEO. He started guiding in 1975, and he says the concept of the commercial rafting industry was still new.

“Every rock wasn’t named, every route wasn’t ran. There was still that point of discovery,” Roger says. “We were developing an industry – developing something new that no one had ever done before.”

Today, safety is a top priority. Before getting on the river, everyone signs a waiver, and guides ask each person about specific health issues.

But that was not always the case. Charlie Walbridge guided on the Cheat River in northern West Virginia from the late 1970s until the early 1980s. He says there was not a guide in every raft, people did not sign a waiver and guests were often treated like friends rather than a paying customer.

“If somebody fell out of the boat, we’d certainly go help them, but we’d laugh at them,” Charlie says. “There were all kinds of slang. When I first started the guests were turkeys, and then carp and then geeks.”

Charlie Walbridge with his kayak at his home in Bruecton Mills, WV. After trying out for the U.S. whitewater rafting team in 1975, Charlie started guiding on the Cheat River.

These days, guides are almost always in every raft, and there is more respect between the guide and customer. Roger says guiding has become a way to share the love of the sport.

“It evolves to watching these new guests hit these rapids for the first time and watching the smile on their face,” Roger says.

Don’t Watch Life Go By

Back on the New River, in the raft with Ray Ray, the trip is almost over.

For most of the guests in the boat, it is their first time down the rapids, but Ray Ray has done it thousands of times. He will be out again the next day, likely guiding more guests down the same rapids, but he still has a big grin and excitement for the river.

Guests on the bus after four hours of rafting. Buses transport guides and guests to and from the river.

“Thanks ya’ll very much,” he says. “Ya’ll played super hard today. I told you that was going to be a fun ride today – that was a rowdy ride.”

On shore, all the rafts are deflated and loaded on a trailer.

All 32 people in the group load up on a bus, where cold beer and soft drinks are waiting. Ray Ray has one last message.

“Guys, keep getting off your coach and living your life. Don’t watch this go by.”

This story is part of an Inside Appalachia episode exploring some of Appalachia’s most unique destinations, on the water and beneath the water. Click here to listen.

How Did Coopers Rock Get its Name?

Some of the names of places in Appalachia have a long history, dating back to the 1600s. The history and story behind a name can get lost over time – leading us to question how a place got its name.

One such place is Coopers Rock state forest, located outside of Morgantown. Who was Cooper? Was he a real person? Did he live there?

At the far end of the forest there is a giant rock overlook. It is the spot best known at Coopers Rock.

The rock is about the size of a large living room. Standing atop it, one can see for miles. It overlooks the Cheat River and basin, and in every direction are the Appalachian Mountains covered in lush green trees.

Jan Dzierzak, Coopers Rock State Park superintendent, describes what is to the left from the overlook.

“Not a lot of lights not a lot of houses, not a lot of stuff going on that direction,” he said.

To the right is more development.

“We’re looking at Morgantown,” Jan said. “You can see the Morgantown airport, the water tower, and the long straight line you can see the [West Virginia University] Coliseum.”

Jan Dzierzak, Coopers Rock Park superintendent, at the park. He says the rock is named after a profession, not necessarily a person named ‘Cooper.’

Standing on the furthest corner of the rock one can see the lush forest below, with the Cheat River snaking its way through the valley. About 300,000 people come each year to see this view, and one of their main questions is, “Who is this man named Cooper?”

“Everyone thinks Coopers Rock is a rock named after someone named Cooper,” Jan said. “They say, ‘I want to see Cooper’s Rock.’”

It turns out he does not exist. There is no Cooper.

“It’s actually named after a profession – a cooper – someone who builds barrels,” he said.

Coopers often build barrels used for aging bourbon.

The legend is that a fugitive cooper lived in this forest near Coopers Rock in the early 1800s. He likely spent time on the overlook as the forest eventually became known as Coopers Rock.

“The legend states that there was an outlaw that lived in the forest and he would steal the lumber and would build barrels,” Jan said. “Back in that day there was a lot of commerce in the area — they were using timber to fuel the iron furnaces and early trade. So, he would make a living selling barrels while living here on the forest illegally.”

There is very little record on this outlaw. But it is not hard for Jan to imagine what he might have looked like.

“I always picture him as your typical woodsman running around the woods probably bearded, probably a bit dirty,” Jan said. “There’s a few caves in the park — I predict he was probably in there. Someone you don’t want to mess with, but also a good sense of humor — you have to have one to live out here and do what he did.”

Is there a name of a place in Appalachia that you’ve always been curious about? Let us know at Insideappalachia@wvpublic.org.

This story is a part of this week’s Inside Appalachia episode focusing on the beer and spirits industry and culture in Appalachia.