That’s all I needed. At these water levels, only expert boaters merit permits, and, alas, I’m not part of that class. I don’t roll anymore—lost it years ago. So it’s an awesome opportunity to run the river at this level, by going with guides who know what they’re doing—where both your safety and good time are paramount.

The James River is, after all, Virginia’s river with more than 10,000 square miles of watershed within state boundaries. Around Richmond, the river is usually a rock-and-boulder basin with average water levels around 5 feet, with the major name rapids such as “Hollywood” or “Pipeline” rated Class III - IV. It takes a big rain in the mountains or a gigantic deluge like we had last week to cause the river to rise, but when its does, the James roars. It’s massively different, broad and churning—an impressive monster.

We met at Riverside Outfitters around 2:00 Sunday afternoon. After getting our intense safety briefing and instructions from raft guide Charles Ware, we drove to Huguenot Flatwater and put the rafts down the deep muddy steps into the water around 3:00. By that time the sun had warmed the air temperature to a nice 70-plus degrees, but the water was still high 40s—wetsuit weather.

We were three rafts, and our guide was David—affable, thorough, with an assurance some of us needed when we saw just how fast we were headed downstream. Our first test was the cut through Williams Dam. No problem, a big clean drop, passing through waves carrying logs and floating debris. Then on to Pony Pasture, where absolutely nothing was recognizable. All hitherto known river markers were gone, underwater. Instead of going river-left at Powhite Bridge, we went right into “10 Boat Hole,” a nice upstream wave. This was an area of the river I’d seen by foot, never by boat, as it’s not navigable in summertime.

We did not run “First Break” or “Hollywood” over by Belle Isle—too dangerous. Rather, we paddled along the north shore through a break in the dam called “Sucker’s,” still a BIG drop into turbulent whitewater. “Paddle hard. Paddle hard!” yelled David. Angry-looking brown water, coming from every direction, but immensely fun! Looking up, I saw a couple of trees with cormorants for leaves, every inch of each limb completely covered with the dark, long-necked birds. Suddenly it dawned on me—the rocks were all covered, no place for bird sitters.