We were in a tent, wearing whatever dry clothes we could muster, wrapped in warm liners, and our feet towards a fire. Matt Jordan and I were on an island surrounded by the swift and icy French Broad River. Our frozen clothes were strung out across the branches with the sleeping bags and blankets. There was nothing to do but to wait because warming up was the most important action to take at the moment.
We ended up in this situation because Matt and I planned to paddle the French Broad River from Rosman, NC, 76 miles through Transylvania, Brevard, Hendersonville, and Asheville, to Woodfin, NC. Dates for a trip like this have to be set whenever the team is available and when the cold weather showed on the news, it was already too late to cancel plans.
Matt and I met the day after Christmas and threw our stuff together. Here’s how we packed:
1 backpack each carrying sleeping bags, 1 change of clothes and extra layers, blankets, 1st aid kits, water purifiers, jet boils, bowls, spoons, and toiletries. A cooler was packed for dry food (pop tarts, instant grits, coffee, hot chocolate, cheese, crackers, jerky) and a cooler was packed with dinners on ice. Dinners were pre cooked and only needed to be heated on the trip. We packed some dry firewood, MRE meals, 5 gallons of water, cast iron skillet, life jackets, spot light, lantern, dry bag for tent and a dry bags for wallets, keys, and phones.
As I stated in the Chattooga River article, it is an exciting feeling to be packing for a trip that will test you and we were on our way for a journey to remember. We have never before paddled 76 miles in one trip and the cold added another bundle of trials. We left Dillon on Tuesday morning, dropped my car off in Woodfin, NC, and reached Rosman NC at 4pm.
Headwater Outfitters is a fishing/canoeing store at the headwaters of the French Broad and the lady at the store wisely convinced us to buy a map. I didn’t think that we would need it because the river flows one way. Most of the land along the river is private property and in an effort to open the river to through paddlers, the French Broad Paddle Trail formed to buy land for campsites along the river. The map gives us a way to keep up with our mileage and the ability to plan where we would stay each night. The first campsite was 9 miles down river and we had to get started before dark.
We loaded the boat on the North Fork and were in a hurry so gear was stacked all over the boat. We took a quick picture and pushed off from land at 4:33PM. I felt the canoe being swept into the swift current and were immediately greeted by 4 Class 2 rapids which showed us how unstably the boat was packed. We were tilting to the right side and we had to use our paddles as stabilizers to keep from flipping. I was worried because we would face more rapids in the bigger water as we moved down stream. We were in a race with the sun with nine miles to paddle and one hour of light. Matt prayed that we wouldn’t come across any rapids after dark. There were still rocks to dodge and riffled water but the dangerous rapids seemed to be behind us. We didn’t dare celebrate because there could be a rapid around any bend. We pulled over to strap on our headlamps and situate the boat for night traveling. We were tempted to flip the boat and sleep under it but we both wanted to push on. Neither one of us considered making a complaint because it would have been bad for morale. We paddled on in the dark with the moon overhead and could hear the moving water when a rock was near.
A noise rustled in the bushes and I clicked the spotlight to see a bobcat on the hill. We saw plenty of beavers swimming and even passed some working on land. We reached the designated campsite and pulled the canoe ashore. I could tell that it was cold because everything was frozen, but Matt and I felt like we were at room temperature either because of having so many layers or paddling so hard. We pitched the tent and started a fire. Matt opened up the cooler and put filet mingon in a skillet over the fire. We heated chicken and dinner rolls and ate it all together. I heated water for hot chocolate and we watched the fire until our cups were empty.
The tent was an unexpected luxury and we named it the Ritz. The base was lined with 2 fleece blankets under our sleeping bags with two blankets above them too. We slept as if we were home but the morning came and it was hard to face the cold again. Ice fell when we opened the tent and we wasted no time in breaking camp. The boat was loaded more carefully today and the center of gravity was lower. We used our fire logs as ballast, stuffing them in the sides by the coolers to balance the boat. Pop Tarts and coffee were on the menu for breakfast and we ate while we paddled through Transylvania.
There were plenty of ducks on the river and I wished that I had brought my shotgun. There were no swamps like there are on the Little Pee Dee and the ducks were all on the river. Mallards and wood ducks jumped in front of our boat. While portaging around a tree, Matt noticed a boot print in the mud and we eventually came across some hunters who were jump shooting with several ducks in the boat. We heated MRE meals while they helped us to get a bearing of how far we had come. We would not dare skip a lunch no matter how good we felt. Paddling like we were, skipping meals to make time would hurt in the long run. The next landmark ahead was the confluence with the Davidson River which made the prettiest sight of all the trip. We also passed the confluence of the Little River. We made 27 miles and the French Broad has grown noticeably larger after taking on these rivers but is still a scrape compared to what the river will be in Asheville.
We reached our campsite for day two and pulled the canoe up the embankment. Matt blazed a path with a machete and we pitched our tent when we reached the top. We had ham biscuits for dinner and sour dough bread for breakfast. Freezing weather makes even the most simple actions a bigger deal. I picked up a ham biscuit and it was frozen to a rock which came up with it. Our water, contacts, and clothes had to be thawed before use.
Thursday was by far the coldest morning reading 19 degrees in Asheville. We launched the canoe and paddled down stream. The wind cut up from the North and we kept a face mask on to keep from getting chapped. Our toes were numb despite wearing layers of wool socks and waders and we focused on wiggling our toes while we paddled. The river was so clear that I could see our shadow on the river bed almost as if we were flying. The small Mills River joined the French Broad and the river almost tripled in width all of the sudden. Rocks were showing and the water was fast. I said to Matt, “This is what we came for!” We pulled over for lunch under a bridge near the Asheville Airport and had instant grits. The high was 37 degrees and the bridge blocked the wind. We paddled 18 miles in the morning and were way ahead of schedule. Confidence was high and we pushed off to keep paddling.
I could see I-26 and the familiar Biltmore Park shopping mall. An exit crosses the river and below the bridge was a little rapid. It was nothing more than what we did on Tuesday but in the shadow of the bridge was an unseen rock. The boat wedged atop the rock and we couldn’t move. Stepping onto the rock was not an option because Matt wouldn’t be able to paddle back to me. We shifted the boat off the rock and the canoe rolled to the side. It was what everyone warned us about and we thought we were better than to make this mistake. Our slogan for the trip was to treat the water like a loaded gun and now we had capsized. The backpacks were floating and I pushed them in the boat while Matt held it level. We pulled the boat to land and tossed our gear ashore as we moved beside the bank with the current. I saw the map, MRE’s, and logs drifting past us and we were amazed that the map was the only important thing we lost. When the boat was empty, we lifted and turned it upside down to dump the water. Both of us were standing in the water soaked and we were too busy to think about the cold. The boat was loaded and we only had an hour to paddle to reach our next camp. We reached the island, put on dry clothes, pitched the tent, and started a heater. Our feet were so cold that we couldn’t feel the ground or what we were stepping on.
We sat in the tent feet towards the fire and appreciated the dry warmth. For the first time, there was no rush and the goal was solely to be warm. Curious turkeys watched us from across the river. The peace did not last long because the sun was slipping behind a mountain and there was a lot to do at camp. We put our wet boots on and started organizing supplies. Our wet clothes were frozen like a plank and we cracked them to pack our bags. Sleeping bags were hung by the fire to dry before we went to sleep. Besides cooking supplies, everything was packed to leave immediately in the morning since we would be home tomorrow. Matt made chili for dinner and we turned to the tent. Our comfortable blankets were all wet and the ground was cold against our sleeping bags.
We wasted no time at camp Friday morning. The boat was in the water and we packed our bags for the last 18 mile leg of the trip. We had a new found respect for the river and went on our way. The rocks and fast water were more frequent here and I spotted whitewater below the I-26 bridge. Matt and I called out everything we saw around the rapids because I was his eyes and he was my steering. The nose dove into the rapid and water splashed into the boat but we made it through taking on little water but soaking my legs. We passed under the Blue Ridge Parkway Bridge and I soon saw a familiar structure ahead. I looked through my telescope and the Biltmore house was on top of the hill. It is exciting to see these familiar structures from the river and we paddled through the Biltmore property which went on for 8 miles.
The river is larger here than any that I have paddled and the wind was blowing straight against us almost cancelling out the current that pushed us. My legs were numb from the splashes and I couldn’t feel my paddle bumping on them. We pulled over to walk and warm our feet and asked a man for directions. He said we had 8 miles to get through Asheville to Woodfin. 8 miles is such a small number compared to what we had already done but it seemed like so far. I don’t know if it was the caution of rapids, the wind, or the very fact that we could be finished soon that made the last day so hard but we told ourselves to push on.
We paddled on through downtown Asheville and the city was a nice change in scenery. We ran up on a rock and the boat came to a halt. The water was rushing by and I carefully said, “Matt we’ve been here before!” We rolled off the rock more gracefully this time and continued our trip. We did not have the map and could not tell how much farther we would paddle. Each bend revealed more river and we treated each rapid like it could be our last.
At last, I saw the dam down stream and we knew that Woodfin Park was to our right. We were too tired to shout and celebrate. We arrived at the bank in silent relief and I could have kissed the ground when I saw my car in the lot.
I have always wanted to explore the French Broad River and this expedition was successful in accomplishing our distance goal. We passed several communities that were shaped by the river and had also shaped the river. This trip also taught us a lot about what to expect on a long distance canoe trip. This trip was logistically easy to plan, and presented challenges for both of us along the way. We have paddled for many weekend trips but never 76 miles at once. Paddling the French Broad was especially helpful in planning our next trip which will be 312 miles on the New River.