Tunneling for Gold - Kayaking the Etowah

We love all our adventures, but some are particularly memorable – like our recent trip down the Etowah River in Georgia. We've tried to run this stunning stretch a few times, but Mother Nature frequently has different plans. Weather, water levels, and timing have often conspired against us. The river gauge read 3.9 feet – apparently six inches below ideal – but hey, what's a few inches between friends? I mean, I’ve dealt with tidal swings before and only stranded myself once (sorry, sis). Little did I know that on this river, six inches is the difference between a pleasant paddle and a grueling hike.

While the Etowah is generally considered a Class I river and marketed as a great place for beginners, the upper section is definitely not what they are referring to. This is where you'll find the beautiful Etowah Falls. A stunning 10-foot drop over a few hundred yards, complete with snags and sweepers just waiting to add extra excitement to your day. Definitely not something a rookie like me can handle. Beyond the falls, the river keeps things interesting with a bunch of Class I rapids and the occasional Class II just to make sure you’re paying attention. And let’s not forget the countless shoals that stretch across the entire width of the river, leaving little room for any fancy maneuvering. 

We slipped our yaks into the upper portion of the river, already several miles downstream from my ideal starting point above Etowah Falls. This was in thanks to the lack of water flow and the realization this section was slightly beyond my skill level. The river water level was perfect just two days before, but like a fickle date, it changed its mind. We hit our first rapid 500 yards in, and let me tell you, all my whitewater research did squat to prepare me for what was in store. Although, I didn’t dump, I might as well have. Going down backward was not part of the plan.

Soon, the real adventure kicked off: shoal after shoal, we were stuck more times than a toddler in a candy aisle. There was barely enough water to float the boat—forget about with me in it. Surprisingly, RJ was cruising along without much drama. Now, I know what you're thinking: "Well, duh!" There's about a 100-pound difference between us. (Go ahead, guess who’s carrying that extra load of pure awesomeness... Spoiler alert: it’s me.) But I’m convinced that’s not the only reason for my struggles.

You see, our boats were the same brand, same length, same material, but there was a crucial difference—mine was a sit-inside, while his was a sit-on-top. I am at the disadvantage because mine is intended to sit lower in the water. If the water had been deeper, I would’ve been the graceful kayaking princess that I am, but in this ankle-deep stream of a river, RJ was gliding along like a swan, while I floundered like... well, me. [insert dramatic eye-roll here]. Another reason why the vessel you use matters!

So there I was, hiking down the river, kayak on a leash, and it’s trying to race ahead like an overly excited puppy that just spotted a squirrel!

The river bottom was a minefield of rocks and random rock shelves, making my progress slower than a snail on a salt lick. At one point, I was so exhausted from slipping and repeatedly twisting my ankle that I just plopped down in the water and scooted along. Not my finest moment. Turns out, there wasn’t even enough water to float my overly buoyant booty, and the fast-flowing water was determined to push me over every rock in its path. This graceful maneuver resulted in scrapes and bruises from my knees to my elbows, and a rather sizable hole in my shorts. Our adventures are not always filled with sunshine and rainbows, we often have to work hard for the fun stuff.

After about three miles of this grueling paddle-slash-hike, I was so exhausted and hot that I seriously started questioning my life choices. But then, miraculously, the river deepened, and we could actually paddle again.

This brought us to our first waypoint: a ¼ mile tunnel leftover from the gold rush in the late 1800s. This tunnel was meant to divert the river so the miners could mine the bend right after it for gold. It’s easy to see why they would have thought they’d struck it rich – the river bottom sparkles with shimmery gold rocks, and the banks look like someone went crazy with a glitter bomb. Sadly, it is all pyrite, aka "fool's gold." It's worthless but dazzling nonetheless.

The gold rush may have ended in disappointment for the miners, but not before they blasted a path through the mountain, creating one heck of a cool paddling experience. Sure, they didn't bother with any bracing or reinforcement efforts, so structural failure is a possibility but, that’s just part of the adventure, right? Not only might it collapse on you, but the tunnel also goes pitch black with only a sliver of light at the end to guide you, and smack dab in the middle, hidden in the darkness, is a Class II (or sometimes III) rapid. Sure, you could follow the river’s original, safe path winding around the bend and skip the tunnel completely. But come on, I didn’t just drag my kayak all the way here to mosey gingerly (and safely) around the bend. I’m taking the tunnel!

I sent RJ in first, because I love him dearly and wanted to make sure he made it out okay... not because he was my sacrificial lamb in the lion's den. Definitely not that. I watched as he entered the tunnel, his silhouette visible for a while until suddenly I could only see the tip of his head. He made it through the middle drop – he did it, so obviously, I could too (at least that’s what I kept telling myself). So, I turned my headlamp on and headed into the tunnel.

I made my way to the entrance, where the water immediately began to pick up and crash against the rocky bottom of the tunnel. Soon, the darkness engulfed me, and I felt like I was being swallowed by a whale. I couldn’t see the bow of my boat, even with my headlamp on. I could see the tunnel walls, which were uncomfortably close, with just enough room to dip my paddles in for minor directional changes. The crashing of the water from the middle rapid grew deafeningly loud and worryingly close, adding to the sense that I might actually be inside a washing machine set to "epic spin cycle."

As I clung to my paddle for dear life, my boat resembled a chaotic bundle of interconnected gear, like some bizarre waterborne junkyard. Every item lashed together, ensuring that if fate whisked them away, they'd at least stay a family. As I plunged into the descent, I had only the river's whims to guide me, my navigation reduced to a wild dance of shifting my weight and hoping for the best. Surrendering to the water's power, I abandoned any futile efforts of control, my sole focus fixed on remaining upright and avoiding a spectacular collision with the tunnel walls.

It was amazing at how the water turned as smooth as butter, and the light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter and wider, bringing about a sad feeling that the adventure was almost over. But wait, the tunnel wasn't finished with its surprises yet! Just as the sunlight started to dazzle my eyes again, the tunnel spat me out through another rollercoaster of a rapid. This one, they say, catches even the best by surprise. It was small but cunning, a place where bravado meets reality. Many a paddler flips here, too busy celebrating their near escape to notice the sneaky rock that tips them just off-kilter to the right. If you weren’t familiar with your yak's secondary stability before now, you will be! Luckily, I emerged from the chaos unscathed, a testament to luck and maybe a tad bit of skill.

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The exit of the tunnel was swift but you are quickly met with a calm eddy that flows over a small shoal before rejoining the main river. On our exit we met a group that had braved the tunnel just before us and were now bailing out their boats. Ever the helpful soul, I offered my trusty bilge pump to aid in their rescue mission. Turns out, these adventurers were seasoned locals, having braved the tunnel's watery twists and turns before. We exchanged tales of triumph and mishap, bonding over the universal struggle of keeping afloat in the face of aquatic surprises. The group reassured us that the paddling ahead of us was much calmer than what we had just experienced.

After a quick rest and a swim, we paddled on. Then, like a dramatic plot twist in a B-grade movie, ominous clouds gathered, cueing a thunderstorm. We optimistically hoped to be sipping hot cocoa on dry land by this time, but thanks to our leisurely pace down the river's first half, we were about as on schedule as a procrastinating sloth. We braved the final three miles of this trail, paddling like champions through the relentless cold rain. It was nothing short of GLORIOUS. There's this inexplicable magic about navigating a river in the rain, even with those heart-stopping moments when I eyed the overhanging trees swaying precariously above us in the fierce wind. Sure, getting taken out by a tree wouldn't be the worst exit strategy for the game of life, but let's be real—that's not what I envisioned being scribed on my epitaph!

So there we were, finally making it to the exit, dripping wet and contemplating life as we waited for the rain to throw in the towel. After all, afternoon showers in the Southeast are about as predictable as your uncle's BBQ skills—brief, but memorable. Low and behold, the heavens parted, cue the choir of angels and spotlight on the sun! Within minutes, it felt like we were stuck in a sauna with the humidity cranked to Florida Swamp (a setting that appears on Mother Nature’s thermostat, for sure).

We had one more challenge for this adventure, and that was getting us, the yaks, and our gear up the steep bank of our take out spot. Which was now a Slip 'N Slide of Georgia's finest red clay, turning our hike into a mud wrestling match with gravity (I lost, several times). Yet, despite our newfound mud bath workout, getting back to camp felt like an Olympic victory lap. We collapsed in our chairs, utterly spent but grinning like children, already dreaming of our next adventure.

The Etowah River offers breathtaking beauty and sounds, well worth the trip to North Georgia. Navigating through the heat, low water levels, and the afternoon rain shower added an element of unpredictability to this adventure, making it a true Unscripted Adventure. The highlight of the tunnel, that blended history, nature and adrenaline was just an added bonus.  The Etowah River Trail, renowned for its Class 1 rating, offers both beginners and seasoned paddlers a gentle yet exhilarating experience, perfect for soaking in Georgia's scenic landscapes while uncovering hidden gems along the way. Just be prepared for a workout – and maybe bring a sense of humor.

UPDATE:

At the date and time of this posting the south east, from Florida to North Carolina and parts of Tennessee are one week post Hurricane Helene. Some areas have experienced unprecidented flooding, landslides and unspeakable losses. Years of recovery are ahead of them. Please be aware of entering or adventuring in or around these areas.

Waterlevels can change quickly on the Etowah River. Over a course of a few hours the river rose to over 12 feet. At this level the tunnel would be nearly, if not completely, submerged, creating a dangerous situation for a paddler of any skill. This surge of water most likely carried a lot of debris into the tunnel making the trek through increasingly dangerous.

We at UA strongly urge you to consult with local outfitters and river guides before attempting this section of the river. Our priority is to keep everyone safe, and with emergency services already stretched thin, it's essential that we, as adventurers, take responsibility for ensuring our activities do not place additional strain on these vital resources.