



The police brought a trash bag of everything they had removed from him before I saw him. In the bag were his belongings, including a helmet, a dry top, a life jacket, dry pants, a few layers of shirts and long johns, his shoes, and a spray skirt. Hours later, I would take these items and hang them on our outside line to dry, like I had done dozens of times before. They would bake in the sun, and then be thrown into a gear tote, just like the many times before.





Lifeless and cold, he still looked perfect. Not a hair out of place. I could no longer stand so I just laid over him, stroking his hair, holding his hands. I kissed his eyes, his cheeks and his lips, I grabbed his face and pulled it close to mine. My hands we're so cold from touching him, and I just kept pressing them to my cheeks afterward on my way home. I wanted the coldness to seep into my bones and stay with me forever.





I've had this reoccurring dream for over 4 years now where I find out that John never really died, but instead he just went somewhere else. He has a different family, a different job (one time he was a mail man), a completely different life. I can never make it to him in this dream, someone always just informs me with photos and video footage. It's always a good friend in the dream that approaches me with, "Erin, we've been meaning to tell you something.." In one dream I remember screaming at John on the phone about how friends and family had completed a river clean up for years in his honor, yet this whole time he was alive somewhere else, how selfish can he be! In the dream I always feel confused, irritated, even panicked. What is real? Is he in some other parallel universe living a different life? For years I would dream about his death, my dreams would manifest into many different scenarios of what could have possibly happened to him that day. I would wake up drenched in sweat, unable to breathe, panicked. I rehashed his death with friends for years. What happened, why did it happen, how could it have happened, this was John we're talking about. He had more endurance and athleticism than most people I've met. He had a stoicism to him that seemed to always stay consistent, even when shitty things happened. He showed no reaction to physical pain. Many other's always felt safe and confident with him.





John and Harrison, Z-Drag Rescue, Top Yough, 2012





John, 20 Footer, Blackwater, Broken Nose, Spring 2013





A few hours later, and still smiling.





John was frugal to a fault at times. If he could fix it, or make it himself, he would always do that before spending money. I actually loved this about him and always found it to be such an attractive quality. For years, when we lived in Richmond, John's "dry top" consisted of a cheap splash top, and his version of a neck gasket was a trash bag wrapped around his neck with duct tape. He created a throw bag out of a potato sack. John would purchase cheap, beat up paddles for $20, and then try and fix them with epoxy. These paddles would always end up snapping. I got John a brand new Kokatat dry top when we lived in Virginia, I couldn't bare the trash bag anymore. I bought him a rescue vest when we moved to Oregon. His dad bought him a nice paddle meant for creek boating. John never purchased these things for himself, he'd just try and fix what he had. The one thing that I never did purchase for him was a spray skirt. John always wore a black mountain surf skirt that he had when I met him back in 2008. He bought this skirt back in 2004 when he started kayaking. I remember seeing him in our garage in Oregon over the winter placing aqua seal over the holes that had appeared on this skirt from years and years of use. By the beginning of 2014, this skirt had been in use by John on powerful rivers and water falls for almost 10 years.





I found out a few days ago that John died because of a simple piece of gear completely failing him. 4 1/2 years later. His spray skirt imploded after attempting to punch a large hole, leaving him with no choice but to swim on a river where swimming simply was not an option that day. I always thought that if this day came for me, where I would finally know the truth, that somehow I would feel better. I would receive some kind of closure and understanding that would put me at ease. I would no longer have to live my entire life wrestling with every possible outcome. This phone call, this new piece of information in the puzzle of March 9th 2014 really didn't do any of those things. Instead, it just pushed me into a downward spiral of emotions and stress that I haven't had to visit in years. It's the kind of news that takes you right back to that moment where everything shifted, where life would be different forever. That stupid saying, "The truth will set you free." Will it? I felt like this truth suddenly imprisoned me. I found myself back in our Oregon home, laying on my back paralyzed, staring at John in the door way, stuck in his gear, confused and sad all over again. I felt enraged, and my rage spiraled towards him.





Living in the New River Gorge, I am surrounded by incredible athletes. People that live here are passionate about what they do whether its kayaking, rafting, river surfing, mountain biking, rock climbing, trail running. All of these sports require you to trust your gear. A rock climber that goes out to climb with a faulty rope or harness could easily fall to their death. You can't put on the lower new at 10 feet with a shitty spray skirt or a helmet that doesn't stay on your head. Without these things working the way they are supposed to, not only are we putting ourselves at major risk, we put others at risk too.





Invest in your gear, and talk to your friends if you notice they are wearing gear that is just not safe. Don't donate shitty gear for someone else to purchase that is brand new to a sport. If you don't have full confidence in the gear that allows you to do what you love, than buy new gear or don't go.





Had John been wearing a newer skirt meant for creek boating, things would probably have turned out quite differently that day. But he didn't, he had a 10 year old bungee skirt on that was way too loose, worn out over years and years of use, old holes patched more than once. This was a piece of gear that was just not capable of doing what he needed it to do that day.





Tristan and I have John's skirt now hung up in our own gear closet, never for anyone to use, but as a reminder of what happened to him and how easily that can happen to us and those we care about if we don't take accountability. I can only hope that by sharing his story, other's will do the same. 9 out of 10 times, maybe it will be OK. For John, it was OK for years, until it wasn't.

I did not want to write about this, or go back in time, but I have to. I think John needs me to, and I need to for myself for if it makes someone think twice about that crappy helmet they've had for years, or the skirt with holes in it, or the rope that has worn with use, I'm good with that.





James River, VA, 2008, same skirt





James River, VA, 2009, same skirt





John, Upper Gauley, WV, 2010, same skirt





John, James High Water, VA, 2011, same skirt





John, "Grace Under Pressure," Class 5, Great Falls, VA, 2012, same skirt









North Fork Smith, California, 2013, same skirt





John, Chetco Wildnerness, Oregon, Class 5, February 2014, same skirt. John died 10 days later.





Don't be another 9 out of 10 story. Think about not only yourself, but your family, your close friends. Don't let them come visit you in a morgue because you were too stubborn to finally cave and buy what you needed to. Check everything, and then double check it again, and then triple check it. Be safe out there and watch out for each other.







