Some say she’s the mother of all rivers.
As tributaries go, the New is far from the longest or widest or fastest flowing.
But if you happen to be looking for nuances, the New’ssubtle spectrum of rough beauties approaches the spectacular.
And there’s little wonder, then, that this turbulent paradise finally is gaining attention as a scenic American attraction. More than a million visitors stop annually at the northern Canyon Rim Visitor’s Center near the New River Gorge Bridge on U.S. 19 at Fayetteville.
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Spanning a near 900-foot canyon 3,000 feet wide, the New River Gorge Bridge transformed 44,000 tons of steel and concrete into structural art. Opened in 1977, it replaced a deep-valley crossing and winding thoroughfare that once took nearly one hour to complete along the winding, torturous mountain thoroughfare. Now it can be traversed in less than an Interstate minute.
On Bridge Day each October you can walk across the New River Gorge Bridge—or jump off. Hundreds of parachutists make the 876-foot leap on the one day it’s legal.
The ancient boulder-strewn river serves as a repository of folklore and culture: lifelong residents of West Virginia’s hills and hollows, as well as the urban refugees who fell in love with the waterway when they came to visit—all see natural beauty worth preserving and take pride in their heritage along the banks of America’s oldest river.
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“The New River is at home from start to finish in Appalachia, its northward course running from the gentle to the wild,” a National Geographic writer once related of his encounter with the majestic mistress of the hills.
After a jolt on the thunderous rapids near Fayetteville, the writer adds: “Our eight helmeted heads ducked together as the rubber raft slammed between two mountainous whitecaps. When I reopened my eyes, were missing a stockbroker, a banker, and an aeronautical engineer.
“As we drifted out of danger, they bobbed up in the foam and scrambled over the side, eyes rolling with relief and exhilaration.”
What’s the rapid’s name?
“Bloody nose,” the paddle-wielding river guide replied.
“What else would you expect from a bare-knuckle stretch of water running north through the heart of Appalachia?”
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New River’s whole 330-mile length, from the hickory ridges high in the mountains of North Carolina to West Virginia’s coalfields where it joins the Gauley River to create the Kanawha, is a testament to the raw power, contrariness, and endurance of the river’s charm.
Far from being “new,” the New River is the oldest watercourse on the eastern seaboard. Its dates are estimated from 10 million to 360 million years old.
Most technical folk merely say it’s ancient.
In all its lazy, looping miles from Hinton to Fayette Station, the New is a repository of local history, tradition, and culture.
Mighty whitewater and breathtaking natural scenery are matched in splendor by world class hotels and cozy bed and breakfasts and inns.
There are incredible state parks, adventures awaiting on the mild or wild whitewater of the region and hiking and biking on designated rails-to-trails and on the forested back roads.
The ancient mountains and deep gorge tell the tales of Native American lore; of natural springs which brought early visitors; of colonial settlement and Civil War skirmishes; of the timber, the coal and the railroads which fueled turn-of-the-century prosperity.
Voluminous and ravishing to early pioneers who migrated across the Alleghenies in the 18th century, the New River allegedly was the first unknown tributary that settlers crossed on their way westward.
For centuries, the froth of her white-capped features lured woodsmen to her rocky shores.
Many, failing to heed her cries, have fallen victim to her fury.
Ancient explorers aptly called the winding, boulder-strewn waterway the “river of death.”
Why the oldest river in America is called the New is a paradox.
Legend has it that an old map maker inked the title “New River” on a chart before the river’s true appellation existed in English.
There’s dispute, as well, about the river’s age. Some geologists estimate the waterway dates back one-half billion years.
Walled by sandstone bluffs and steep banks that curve to the sky, the river spills through forest gorges, meadow lands, and primitive wilderness, winding past hollows swathed in ferns and hung with slender waterfalls.
Often the river deepens to emerald pools before sweeping out past broad gravel and rocky bars and shoals that challenged rugged river men of the past.
The river struts and frets her way northward, one of the few waters in North America that flows that way, seemingly defying all geographical propriety.
Some species of plants that commonly grow in low-lying southern valleys are found in the New River Gorge but nowhere else in the Mountain State.
Imagine the lush vegetation and the rich mineral deposits discovered by the early migrants as they ventured into the land around the New, where the surge over countless millennia cut through uplifting sandstone and shale to form a gorge as much as 1,400 feet deep.
This tremendous cut exposed seams of coal, which brought mining and railroads to the valley in the 19thcentury.
For decades, the industrial zone choked on a thick pall of coal dust and smoke.
Towns sprang up around the mines like mushrooms.
Some 30,000 inhabited the valley, eating, sleeping, and laboring along the bustling river towns.
All that came to an end, however, as the coal seams worked out about midcentury.
Mines shut down in the 1960s. Towns died. Woods reclaimed the scarred walls of the gorge.
Times, meanwhile, were changing on the river, which just kept on flowing. It is along the final 14 miles, from Thurmond to the New River Gorge Bridge, that the river’s persona is unmasked.
For in this stretch of whitewater, the New River drops 240 feet in 23 rapids. It is here that the public comes—for thrills, for adventure, for scenery.
As one writer crafted recently, “Many oar-strung rafts sweep downstream…with their helmeted occupants screaming as they plunge into the foam like fraternity parties put to see in bathtubs.”
Cliffs rise in stratified layers above the river. Turkey vultures and red-tailed hawks soar. Thick stands of rhododendron thrive among the oaks and pines. The forest provides a haven for wild turkeys, white-tailed deer, black bears, bobcats, and gray squirrels.
Geologists stress the importance of the New River, since it is one of the oldest rivers in North America, and some say it is the second oldest in the world.
Some of its oldest exposed rocks and boulders are at least 345 million years old.
The broad valleys from Hinton to Sandstone Falls are premier fishing holes. As a smallmouth stream, the New is touted as one of the best on the planet.
And there’s evidence the New River Gorge once provided other services, such as rock shelters for American Indians some 15,000 years ago.
Millennia later the New River channeled a different energy, as thousands of workers scrambled for a living on the steep, muddy slopes of the New River Gorge, toiling in the coal mines, cutting timber, stoking the coke ovens beside railroad tracks newly laid to carry these riches to the outside world.
The heroes of the New River were engineers who ran their trains on time, union organizers, moonshiners, and bluegrass banjo pickers. Men like John Henry, the legendary black steel-driving man who challenged the steam drill to a duel—and won—near Hinton in the early 1870s.
The new River has enough history and folklore that last year it was listed among 14 American heritage rivers, and it has enough grandeur and devotion that in 1976 the secretary of the interior named a stretch of it a national wild and scenic river, averting an effort to dam it for hydroelectricity.
Today, the river is best known for its spectacular whitewater rafting and kayaking. But it also welcomes the less adventurous with gentle family float trips, canoeing on its upper reaches, tour boat cruising, interpretive history walks and excellent fishing.
“Our New River definitely has it all,” a national park official remarked recently. “People are beginning to look at us. The New River is drawing people to her from all over the world.”
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Top o’ the morning!
