Jeff West
(Originally published in Polk County News, December 14, 2005)
Bean Mountain will crumble before Steve McNair scrimmages at Davis Field or John Smoltz flings a split-finger fastball at Copper Basin High. But any day on the Ocoee you’re likely to see Joe Jacobi, Eric Jackson, Marc Lyle, or eleventy-odd other world-class athletes; whitewater pros who are here because this is where the game is, and what’s more, this is where the players can make a living.
So why does it seem like they’re the only ones doing so? It’s not like there’s a lack of opportunity along the 64 corridor. I’m sitting with one such pro—Jeff West, owner of Ace Ocoee Funyaks—at his cabin on Old Federal Road, and we’re talking about Polk County’s weird duality; the gulf between the “locals” and the “river hippies.” In short, about why a Polk County teenager, if given the choice between a paddle and a spatula, will likely be flipping burgers inside of a week.
Jeff, like me, grew up kayaking the Ocoee and he’s as puzzled by this as I am. He contrasts our situation with West Virginia’s Gauley River...a big brawling run with rapids like “Hungry Mother” and “Pure Screaming Hell.”
“Most of the raft guides [there] are big old local boys. Full-on local guys. The rafting community was really integrated into the local community, and they were much more rural than Polk County, Tennessee. And they were so proud of that river. Here...out of twenty-four companies, only one or two are owned by true local families.”
“I don’t think there’s any river that has, as far as location, proximity to your market, and everything else...I couldn’t think of a more ideal place to own a business. There’s just no place as good as the Ocoee.”
Jeff knows whereof he speaks; he grew up in Dahlonega and since graduating from Georgia Southern in 1994 he’s paddled all over the world. He explains the limits of rivers: access, remoteness, scant rainfall, water release constraints. The Ocoee suffers from none of these problems; making it his first choice.
He’s run Ace Ocoee Funyaks for nine years now, offering personalized whitewater instruction to paddlers of all skill levels. Maybe it’s someone who’s been on a few raft trips and wants to push the envelope a little by running the Ocoee in an inflatable open boat, AKA a “funyak,” or maybe it’s a moderately-skilled kayaker who wants to run the hairy stuff and needs a little preparation.
Whatever his customers’ skill level, Jeff’s love of the sport shines through when he tells me about their reactions. “I deal with about five hundred people a year. For the most part, my customers walk away going ‘That was the greatest thing I did this year.’ There’s somebody sitting around right now probably going ‘Gosh, I had so much fun at the Ocoee that day.’ Every day that I’m on the river, I see somebody out there who’s kayaking, and they’re kayaking well, and they’re somebody that either I’ve taught how to paddle or did a funyak trip or they came to me as an intermediate boater and I made them better.”
“And I guess the most rewarding thing is I’ve actually got folks, where, they did a funyak trip because it looked like something fun to do. And then they learned how to kayak, and they became avid kayakers, then they became great kayakers, and then they moved to this area and they kayak all the time. They still have professional jobs, but they bought homes in the area and they go paddling all the time.”
When’s the last time you heard the lettuce-washer at a fast food joint talk about his job in those terms? Not to run down people’s choice of occupation, but whitewater is magnetic, a “hungry mother” that gets hold of you and doesn’t let go. Jeff, who can’t imagine a career in any other setting, tries to sum it up. “Kayaking is wonderful...it’s so rewarding, fulfilling. And of course there’s fear involved, and the chance of danger and getting injured...but it’s still a wonderful experience. It improves people’s lives. That’s my whole gig. That’s what I facilitate.”
He starts telling me about the Faithful, as it were, and their potential to Polk County. “There’s thirty thousand private boaters that use this area every year—thirty thousand private boaters—and almost all of ‘em want to camp out. You could have a restaurant that...had some type of atmosphere that would draw the private boater. They all drive really nice SUVs, they all make a lot of money, they’re all single, they all come up here and they spend money, and nobody’s really capitalizing on that.” He goes on to describe the successes of two local lodging establishments, and how he plans to build cabins on his own property.
The opportunities feed on each other. Most of Jeff’s customers stay over for a couple of days; he sends them to Rock/Creek Outfitters, to area grocery stores and restaurants, to local cabins. They burn washtubs of gas getting here in those SUVs. They buy parking permits and guidebooks. And as he’s mentioned, some of them decide to stay.
I joke with Jeff that I’m going to entitle this column “Liquid Crack.”
“My biggest fear,” he says, “is all of a sudden I’m selling them, not just on improving their skill and becoming a better boater, but on the lifestyle, too. I feel bad, because then this person has to go back to their...well, when they first came to me, they were just looking for some fun, and then they leave going ‘Gosh, maybe my choices haven’t been...’”
Jeff breaks into embarrassed laughter, imagining the poor yuppie pining away for river life, but it’s as concise a statement of his passion as I’ve heard him make. The difference between him and that yuppie is that he’s got the confidence of his conviction that he’s in the right place. Most of the Ocoee pros will tell you the same thing. And so will I.
Bean Mountain will crumble before Steve McNair scrimmages at Davis Field or John Smoltz flings a split-finger fastball at Copper Basin High. But any day on the Ocoee you’re likely to see Joe Jacobi, Eric Jackson, Marc Lyle, or eleventy-odd other world-class athletes; whitewater pros who are here because this is where the game is, and what’s more, this is where the players can make a living.
So why does it seem like they’re the only ones doing so? It’s not like there’s a lack of opportunity along the 64 corridor. I’m sitting with one such pro—Jeff West, owner of Ace Ocoee Funyaks—at his cabin on Old Federal Road, and we’re talking about Polk County’s weird duality; the gulf between the “locals” and the “river hippies.” In short, about why a Polk County teenager, if given the choice between a paddle and a spatula, will likely be flipping burgers inside of a week.
Jeff, like me, grew up kayaking the Ocoee and he’s as puzzled by this as I am. He contrasts our situation with West Virginia’s Gauley River...a big brawling run with rapids like “Hungry Mother” and “Pure Screaming Hell.”
“Most of the raft guides [there] are big old local boys. Full-on local guys. The rafting community was really integrated into the local community, and they were much more rural than Polk County, Tennessee. And they were so proud of that river. Here...out of twenty-four companies, only one or two are owned by true local families.”
“I don’t think there’s any river that has, as far as location, proximity to your market, and everything else...I couldn’t think of a more ideal place to own a business. There’s just no place as good as the Ocoee.”
Jeff knows whereof he speaks; he grew up in Dahlonega and since graduating from Georgia Southern in 1994 he’s paddled all over the world. He explains the limits of rivers: access, remoteness, scant rainfall, water release constraints. The Ocoee suffers from none of these problems; making it his first choice.
He’s run Ace Ocoee Funyaks for nine years now, offering personalized whitewater instruction to paddlers of all skill levels. Maybe it’s someone who’s been on a few raft trips and wants to push the envelope a little by running the Ocoee in an inflatable open boat, AKA a “funyak,” or maybe it’s a moderately-skilled kayaker who wants to run the hairy stuff and needs a little preparation.
Whatever his customers’ skill level, Jeff’s love of the sport shines through when he tells me about their reactions. “I deal with about five hundred people a year. For the most part, my customers walk away going ‘That was the greatest thing I did this year.’ There’s somebody sitting around right now probably going ‘Gosh, I had so much fun at the Ocoee that day.’ Every day that I’m on the river, I see somebody out there who’s kayaking, and they’re kayaking well, and they’re somebody that either I’ve taught how to paddle or did a funyak trip or they came to me as an intermediate boater and I made them better.”
“And I guess the most rewarding thing is I’ve actually got folks, where, they did a funyak trip because it looked like something fun to do. And then they learned how to kayak, and they became avid kayakers, then they became great kayakers, and then they moved to this area and they kayak all the time. They still have professional jobs, but they bought homes in the area and they go paddling all the time.”
When’s the last time you heard the lettuce-washer at a fast food joint talk about his job in those terms? Not to run down people’s choice of occupation, but whitewater is magnetic, a “hungry mother” that gets hold of you and doesn’t let go. Jeff, who can’t imagine a career in any other setting, tries to sum it up. “Kayaking is wonderful...it’s so rewarding, fulfilling. And of course there’s fear involved, and the chance of danger and getting injured...but it’s still a wonderful experience. It improves people’s lives. That’s my whole gig. That’s what I facilitate.”
He starts telling me about the Faithful, as it were, and their potential to Polk County. “There’s thirty thousand private boaters that use this area every year—thirty thousand private boaters—and almost all of ‘em want to camp out. You could have a restaurant that...had some type of atmosphere that would draw the private boater. They all drive really nice SUVs, they all make a lot of money, they’re all single, they all come up here and they spend money, and nobody’s really capitalizing on that.” He goes on to describe the successes of two local lodging establishments, and how he plans to build cabins on his own property.
The opportunities feed on each other. Most of Jeff’s customers stay over for a couple of days; he sends them to Rock/Creek Outfitters, to area grocery stores and restaurants, to local cabins. They burn washtubs of gas getting here in those SUVs. They buy parking permits and guidebooks. And as he’s mentioned, some of them decide to stay.
I joke with Jeff that I’m going to entitle this column “Liquid Crack.”
“My biggest fear,” he says, “is all of a sudden I’m selling them, not just on improving their skill and becoming a better boater, but on the lifestyle, too. I feel bad, because then this person has to go back to their...well, when they first came to me, they were just looking for some fun, and then they leave going ‘Gosh, maybe my choices haven’t been...’”
Jeff breaks into embarrassed laughter, imagining the poor yuppie pining away for river life, but it’s as concise a statement of his passion as I’ve heard him make. The difference between him and that yuppie is that he’s got the confidence of his conviction that he’s in the right place. Most of the Ocoee pros will tell you the same thing. And so will I.
posted by GratefulEd | 3:53 PM
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