Some Stories from my First Few Weeks in West Virginia; June 2023
***Originally Published June 12th, 2023, remastered March 7th, 2024
“I caught my breath.
I had to keep going down.”
My right hand clutched a decent small hold that was facing sideways, so I had to pull on it to the left rather than downwards to keep my body on the wall.
My right foot smeared (smushing as much surface area as possible of my shoe onto the wall) on a hold the size of a potato chip about 4 feet below my hand, and my left foot reached out wide with the side of it clinging on some downward sloping rock.
My left hand stretched up high on the only good hold I could see.
I was trying to climb down the rock face; with wet shoes, no chalk, tired arms,
And 50 feet above the water.
I needed to shift my weight fully on top of my right foot so I could pick up my left and step down to a foothold.
The problem was my left leg was out wide and my right hand was pulling in sideways, so if I shifted my weight to the right the left side of my body would swing out from the wall.
Think of it like a clamp, with my right hand and left leg trying to pull towards each other to tighten me against the rock face. So if one lets go everything would get pulled over to the other side.
To shift my weight over I needed a good left hand to pull on, but I was stretched far and couldn’t find anything closer.
I could feel the water in my left shoe squishing against the rubber as it slowly lost traction.
I fumbled along the wall with my left hand hoping to find something to grab before my foot gave.
But I couldn’t.
My foot popped off and the entire left side of my body went with it swinging over to the right–I immediately panicked slapping my left hand against the wall hoping to find something as I felt myself falling out and down towards the water below.
It landed on something and I squeezed as hard as I could and somehow stuck. My left foot had swung all the way almost touching the wall to my right, and my right hand was barely clinging on: another moment and I wouldn’t have been able to hold on with it anymore.
I caught my breath.
I had to keep going down.
Okay, so that happened only 15ft above the water.
But the wall did go up to 50 (sorry mom)!
And it was on a 5.7, one of the easiest climbing grades you can find.
It hasn’t been too crazy here most of the time.
Here’s a few snapshots of what my life’s been like these past few weeks in Wild and Wonderful West Virginia.
“The first campground I pitched a tent at was Cunard, a small area with 5 spots down by the New River”
There’s no BLM land in the East, and the only other options around charge $10-20/night to pitch a tent on their field.
I did spend one night in my car and while it wasn’t awful—I laid down a comforter, packed down the space between the edge of the lowered backseat and drivers seat with a yoga mat and sweatshirts, and crunched up a foot shorter than I was—the tent truly feels like living in luxury.
I’m literally sleeping better and dreaming more than I ever have.
The first campground I pitched a tent at was Cunard, a small area with 5 spots down by the New River, each with a picnic table, and a communal dumpster and porta-potty.
A tall tree canopy graces the sites with shade for when the sun would peek out above the gorge around 9 in the morning. The river ran just 30 yards below slowly inching by as though there was nothing else in the world to do.
From where we were the river was 120 yards across winding through the tall ridges of the gorge.
After a rain (and when it rains here it fucking pours) a fog settles over the top of the ridges.
Laying in the river under those clouds felt like laying on a big blue python carving its way through the amazon jungle.
At Cunard the weekdays were a little quiet.
Solitude taught me some lessons.
But on weekends the campsites are full and lively with friendly people of all different sorts.
My first night there I met a couple of guys who were on the tail end of a 2.5 month National Park road trip spanning from Miami to California.
Michael had just finished his undergraduate degree and was on a summer break before starting a Masters in particle physics.
Luca was a year younger and never went to college. Instead, he had found luck in crypto, and was now the co-founder of a craft brewery based in Colombia.
We chatted about philosophy, nature, physics, girls, business, marketing, and just living life. We went hiking, swimming in the New, and I took them up their first V0 boulder: a slab climb with small and tricky feet.
The next week I befriended a couple from Hamburg, Germany.
David was 26 working as a route setter at a commercial gym, and Ava was 23 working on her PhD at a lab studying microplastics.
They were in the US on vacation. They’d just spent a week with Ava’s parents in Boston before coming to the New to spend another week bouldering.
It was awesome to have friends to boulder with here during the week.
Ya see, most climbers who visit come for the trad or sport climbing (tall walls with ropes), and ignore the bouldering. There’s more of the rope climbing here, and it’s easier to access and more tightly concentrated.
But I love doing hard moves on 10-15 ft rocks hidden in the middle of the woods—and so did David!
They tasked me with bringing the German variety of s'mores to the American people: stockbrot.
Or stick break, stab bread, ember biscuit, lumber loaf, any other fun names.
It’s exactly what it sounds like.
You make some pizza dough, let it rise a bit, then rip off a thick strip to wrap around a stick.
It’s cooked just above the embers. After all the wood burns you get a hot oven-like space right above the coals.
Hold it about half a foot above the embers and rotate slowly for 5-10 minutes.
You want to let it cook slow at the start and wait for the dough to puff up. It’ll grow in size and pull apart, cracking the cooked outside.
Once it's done puffing up, move it closer for the last couple minutes to add color and crust.
Goes great with garlic butter. Let me tell ya.
I also met a firefighter from Cincinnati; a couple from Clintonville (where I worked in Columbus!); an older river rafting guide from North Carolina who wrote a book about cults, God, and politics traveling with a bunch of younger guys doing the rafting (one of em told a story about shitsickles, what would happen with outhouses in places cold enough to freeze anything immediately, I think you can make sense of the name yourself); and a few other families from WV and other tourists I didn’t get a chance to talk to.
“I asked one man how his morning was after a friendly greeting, and he came right over and sat down at my table to spend an hour telling me about it.”
Oak Hill was the first civilization driving out of Cunard.
It’s a small, poor town of 8,000. Everybody there seemed to know each other and the owners of all the businesses. It’s significantly less built out than Fayetteville, which has more specialty shops and places to eat.
In the two weeks I lived nearby I visited a local bakery, ice cream shop, diner, coffee shop, and laundromat.
I spent more than a couple days working and writing at Pistos Coffee—a new non-profit café with WONDERFUL home-baked goods.
It has a beautiful wide interior, friendly and generous owners, fresh bread, cheesecakes, treats, and decent coffee.
Everyone who works there is a volunteer too. I think it’s a similar situation to Coffee Underground in Columbus where the church funds it as a community space.
One Saturday, walking from my car I was offered a free meal of spaghetti with meat sauce and bread by someone at a nearby community center next door.
I gratefully accepted, and ate in Pistos with some other folks who were also there for the food.
I asked one man how his morning was after a friendly greeting, and he came right over and sat down at my table to spend an hour telling me about it.
He was an older black preacher who sold fruit in town for a living, and had been doing some reflecting on himself. He had briefly tasted death in the hospital a couple years ago and it had changed his relationship with his family and strangers.
I forget exactly what his condition was–something to do with his heart–but he had to get a helicopter from the local hospital out somewhere bigger to treat it.
It took five doctors before they figured out what was wrong with him and found something that worked. He had been legally dead and put on ice but somehow saved.
I loved this touch he put at the end.
The first time he awoke after many surgeries and hours under, the doctors asked him what he wanted that might get his body to work again.
He asked for grape juice without thinking.
“What did Jesus turn water into?” He asked me.
“Wine.”
“And what’s wine made from?”
“Grape Juice.”
“You see what I mean? Isn’t that incredible! Revived by grape juice hahaha!”
His laugh was high and a little wheezing, and as he laughed he’d lean back a bit cracking himself up before reaching a hand out for a high-five so I’d loosen up and laugh with him.
He always wanted me to laugh with him.
He never had to pay a cent for any of the treatments (refused to sign any documents), and theorizes he got so much attention because he was just an experiment the doctors could play with ‘cause he was “old and black and basically dead anyways.”
I’ve never had an easier time making conversation and new friends with people than I have here. Might be that I’m more relaxed being outside, or that the people here are too; whatever it is I’m lovin’ it.
“There was a lot of solitude and doubt and fear early on.”
I’ve been feeling a lot less like Eustice Conway and more like the average digital nomad.
Because while I “moved to the woods,” it’s not like I’m backpacking or out in the wilderness.
I just sleep in a tent instead of a wood box.
The hardest part is getting used to living out of a car-shaped closet–but after a little bit it’s not bad. I have to keep playing tetris and find a good balance between efficient storage and ease of access.
There was a lot of solitude and doubt and fear early on.
But I knew I was going to get used to it eventually.
West Virginia has incredible climbing, hiking, swimming, beautiful natural landscapes, wildlife, and some real beautiful fellers.
Stoked to tell more stories. I want to do justice to the people living here.
-Andy
