Baptized By Water

Baptized By Water

An Introduction

For a large chunk of my life, I lived in a small, rural county in Central Virginia called Greene County. Located north of Charlottesville, Greene is Virginia’s second smallest county. It’s bounded on the west by the Swift Run Gap and the Skyline Drive. The eastern side of the county is dominated by rolling hills and contained by Albemarle and Orange counties.

For much of its modern existence, Greene has been a sleepy, farming county; however, there have been events that have shaken the community to its core. In 1716, Governor Spotswood rode to Swift Run Gap, surveyed the expanse before him, mountain ridge and valley after mountain ridge and valley, and declared that it was all good. From that point, westward expansion crossed the mountainous divide. Remnants of the first land grants are still visible in the nifty “Octonia Stone” which marked a corner of huge tracts of land granted by Spotswood to some of his loyal troopers. The stone marks the corner of one of the eight massive land grants.

Later Greene was visited by General George Custer in the locally famous “Battle of Stanardsville” during the Civil War. Stanardsville was just about the last stage stop before you crossed Swift Run Gap and slipped into the valley. The “battle” was an attempt by Custer to disrupt supply lines. So it was an important strategic place during the war.

When the federal government decided to create the Shenandoah National Park in the late 1920’s, the end result for Greene was that close to 60 families-mountain-top farmers with rich Appalachian family histories were forcibly displaced to camp communities. One of such community, Haneytown can still be visited.

In June of 1995, much of the mountain way of life in Greene was erased by a terrible flood. A small thunderstorm sat motionless over the northern part of the county for 12 hours and dumped a torrent of rain (23 inches in the mountain community of Fletcher). Mountains liquefied and washed away the past and the present.

My story takes place not far from the site of the flood two years before that unforgettable event.

Outsiders

Anyone who has ever entered an isolated, rural community knows that if you weren’t born and raised there, you ain’t from there. In fact, if your mother and father weren’t from there, you’re still looked on with a quiet suspicion by some.

I began teaching elementary school in Greene in 1982. By 1993, I was known in the community and people were generally friendly to me, but I was still an outsider. That began to change after one event in the late summer of that year.

The Group

I was hanging out at school one afternoon shooting the breeze with my fellow third grade teacher, Tom E. and the school’s custodian, Cris L. Tom was a transplant from Upstate New York. He fancied himself as a self-sufficient man. In fact he and his wife lived in a teepee as they built their own log home from scratch on land they bought in Greene. Over the years teaching together, Tom and I forged an interesting friendship. He developed a love for local lore and music; plus, being seven years older than me, felt the need to share his wisdom with me. Tom was an accomplished banjo player and spent many hours out on the grassy bank beside his log cabin playing tunes with his local musical friends. Sometimes, I’d be invited to sit on the bank and listen to them play as the music bounced across the hollow (holler). Tom and I also liked to take Saturday morning hikes all around the area, especially in the nearby Shenandoah National Park.

Cris was a maverick. To understand him, you had to know his father. Hilton Ridge was Cris’ dad. He actually was one of Greene County’s most famous and eccentric citizens. Back in the late 80’s Hilton won the National Hog Calling contest. Ridge, as we called him, appeared on the Johnny Carson and David Letterman shows sue-weeeee-ing his phantom pigs. Ridge was a polite man with a twinkle of mischief in his eye who would do anything for you, and his son Cris was a chip off the old block.

The Challenge

One afternoon, in a “portable classroom” outside our school, Tom and I were talking about hiking in the park. Cris, listening quietly, joined the conversation by telling us that he knew a place-not far from Ridge’s house- that was like no other place we’d ever seen. Cris then told us about the secret path to the popular South River Falls. Tom and I had hiked down to South River Falls from the Skyline Drive many times, but Cris assured us that this trail and this place on the falls was like no other. He said we needed to take that hike, and he offered his services as a guide. He told us to be at his father’s house the following Saturday morning an hour before sunrise with something to swim in.

The Hike

Ridge lived on the side of a mountain, Lewis Mountain, I think. He had a small ranch house literally stuck on the side of the steep mountain. Some days, Ridge would tell us, he’d sit out on his front porch and watch the military jets practice low-level bombing runs on his house. They’d fly straight at him as he sat rocking, then pull straight up as they got almost to his deck. He could see the pilots clearly in the cockpits, because they came that close.

Tom and I both met Cris before dawn that morning. We were joined by a seventh grader named Alan L. In some kind of twisted family tree, Alan was related to Ridge and Cris, and he was anxious to go with us along the secret path.

Alan led the way in the pitch darkness through the woods. We had a single flashlight but I managed to trip on just about every root on the “trail.” It was sweaty work. In fact the path was rather over-grown (a polite way of saying that I could never even see any trail). So we hacked our way silently for an hour along the side of that mountain, and as the sun began to light the hollow from above, we rounded a corner and found ourselves at the bottom of the falls. South River Falls have the longest drop of any falls in the national park. They are a popular tourist destination, but most people don’t venture to the bottom. I’d been there before, however, and so had Tom; so neither one of us could figure out why Cris and Alan had brought us to this spot.

“Cris, I don’t get it. Is this the place that’s so special? I mean I’ve been swimming in the water hole at the bottom of the falls before.”

Alan grinned. He never said much.

Cris smiled and said, “This ain’t exactly where we’re going. We got to go up there,” pointing about halfway up the falls. “Let’s go.”

So with better judgment left at the bottom, Tom and I followed Cris and Alan up a goat path along the side of the falls. If I thought there was no trail before in the dark, I saw even less trail now on the steep edge of the falls. One misstep by any of us meant certain death in a tumble over boulders to the bottom. This was not to be our only brush with death that morning, merely the first.

The ground became increasingly saturated. Footing became an issue as we tried not to slide off the broken pieces of shale as we climbed higher and higher. Eventually, we were pretty much climbing on our hands and knees. Finally, about forty feet above the base of the falls, we got to a level spot. There, dead center in the falls was a narrow ledge, probably jutting about ten feet out from the face of the falls. This was the place Cris had meant to take us.

Carefully we treaded over the mossy rocks onto the ledge. The water was tumbling down a rather impressive, but narrow chute above us and hitting the ledge. I guess over the eons, the water had hit this ledge. During that time it had bored a dark hole in the ledge straight down through the rock. Since the falls came through a narrow chute above, the hole was relatively narrow, too. It was about as wide as the width between a large man’s shoulders. The water would hit the ledge and that hole, then bubble over the ledge and finish another forty foot fall to the bottom. We stood on the dry part of this ledge with the falls tumbling above and below us, and all of us felt an awe. The sun began to sneak through the trees and the light warmed the insects as they awakened from their night. This was about as independent as I’d ever been in my life, despite being with three others. I felt completely small in the universe. Somewhere about now, Cris broke the reverent silence and filled us in on this place. He said as far as he knew only locals knew of this place on the falls. He told us that if the ranger came by, we would be arrested, but he assured us that the ranger didn’t make his first round usually until a couple hours after sunrise. Cris and Alan had one more surprise for us.

The Baptism

Manhood. Cris and Alan were about to baptize Tom and me into the mountain manhood community. I remember Cris looking over at Alan and saying, “You ready bud?”

“Yup,” Alan replied.

Then like a monkey, Cris began scaling the falls above us. He used worn hand holds in the natural rock to hoist himself further along and up the cliff edge beside the falls. After climbing about twenty feet, he stopped with his back to the deadly 60 feet plunge to the bottom and his face kissing the moss-covered slime rocks. Tom and I watched with horror.

I remember saying, “Cris do you think you ought to be doing this?”

His reply was muffled but serious, “This is how you prove that you’re a real man around here.”

With nimbleness, belying the fact that he was a trim man about 6’3”, Cris planted his right foot on a sure hold, let go of the face of the cliff with his left hand and foot, and did a backwards pivot. He spun 180 degrees so that he was now facing the plunge. His left hand and foot found holds as he now was straddling the water chute, arms outstretched and legs spread wide as if he was modeling for Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” sketch. His face was an ear to ear grin. Then with little more than a “Watch this,” Cris let go. He folded his arms across his chest and allowed gravity to propel himself down the chute toward our ledge below. With predictable speed, he hit the hole on the ledge and disappeared inside the bowels of the falls. I still have no idea how he fit in that tiny round opening. Seconds passed like eternity. Alan looked unconcerned. Tom stared at the hole in shock. I was dumbfounded. Bubbles made their way to the surface of the hole...finally we saw movement and Cris popped back to the surface of that tiny hole. His head came up and he let out a rebel yell with his fist pumping the air as soon as it came free from the hole. He wedged himself out of the hole and onto the ledge at our feet.

The first intelligible thing he managed to say was, “Who’s next?”

I shook my head as if saying, “I’m not quite ready yet.”

Tom, however, being braver than me, stepped up and told Cris that he’d go next. Over the next few minutes, Cris coached Tom through the whole process. He told him exactly where to find each hand and foot hold. He explained the pirouette move to straddle the falls and how to avoid moss covered rocks. So bravely, Tom, a forty-three year old, began to climb the cliff, not yet a man but ready to be tested. Tom followed Cris’ direction to the letter and plunged into the hole. He, too, eventually popped to the surface with relief etched on his face.

Now the stares shifted to me. After watching two go before, I was ready. Cris coached me up, and I began to climb. The rocks were so slimy. I was worried that if I didn’t get a sure grip, I’d slide off and drop onto the hard ledge then roll over and fall another forty feet to a rocky death. Death. I was facing death as I scaled that cliff. I had a wife. I had two young children. What the heck was I doing? Why was I doing this ridiculous thing? Who really cares if you’re not accepted into some perverted “Deliverance” man club? All of these thoughts flew through my frantic mind. I tried to calm myself, however. I made it to the launch point. With a rush of bravery, I performed the maneuver to straddle the chute. Then with encouragement below, I launched myself into the abyss. The ride down was surprisingly smooth, rocks worn by generations of water history. With my arms folded on my chest, the hole rose up and grabbed me, but not before refusing to get into my line of sight until the last second. I thought for a split second that I would over-shoot the hole and be sent another 40 feet to sure messy death. My body entered the hole, and I remember glancing up to see light disappear. I sank and sank, confined to that tube of darkness. Slowly my descent was abated, and I began to slowly rise. My lungs began to ache. The only thoughts I had were instinctive survival thoughts...air...breathe...trapped...lost. Then the miracle happened. I began to see light above me. I bobbed to the surface with a rush of adrenaline. Like those who preceded me from the Spotswood days until that moment, I was baptized by water into manhood.

We slogged home. It was decided by the group that Alan had already attained manhood and since we were running the risk of being spotted by rangers, we decided to leave that spot, heading back to Ridge’s house and then home to our families. From that moment on, Cris, Ridge, Alan, and others from that community up near Mutton Hollow regarded me differently. While still not a native, I was no longer a bumbling outsider.

http://www.greene-news.com/extras/greeneguide/county_history.htm