Paddling the North Fork of the Kentucky River: 35 Miles of Wild Beauty, History, and Coyotes
By Dedra Brandenburg – April 26, 2025
This is a trip I’ve been thinking about of for a long time.
After years of hearing stories about the North Fork of the Kentucky River—from tales of Devil’s Backbone to a mysterious block tower near Log Shoal—I finally got the chance to explore it for myself. Even better, I was joined by two incredible paddlers from the Crazy Kayaking Club in Ohio, Sandra Steel and Shannon Hill. Together, we tackled 35 miles of river over three days, from Vancleve in Breathitt County to Beattyville in Lee County.
Our goal wasn’t just adventure (though we got plenty of that). This trip was also about mapping and documenting the river to support an exciting project that Beattyville Main Street and Lee County Tourism had been made aware of. The Kentucky River Area Development District (KRADD), in collaboration with the National Park Service, is working to establish the North Fork as a designated Blueway Water Trail. That means this remote stretch of river could one day become a recognized destination for paddlers across the country.
Launching Into the Wild
We kicked off under the Martha Lane Collins Bridge in Vancleve. The water level was flowing at 1,100 cfps, which Sandra had researched ahead of time. “The river needs additional gages for paddlers to plan trips using more accurate levels,” she said. “A friend who has fished this river said 500 cfps would be dangerous. We did it flowing at 1,100 cfps and it was awesome!”
After organizing our gear (including tents, food, water filters, and even a JetBoil stove), we set off. The first day took us 12 miles downriver, passing through swift bends of Cedar Creek and Rose Bend. Around mile 7, the cliffs and boulders started to grow more dramatic, reminding us of the Red River Gorge—wild untamed beauty.
We camped that night near Spencer Bend on a sandy island. With a bar of service, I messaged Teresa Mays and her dad Ralph Coomer that we had stopped for the night. Ralph identified the photo I had sent as “Crooked Shoal”. A pair of nesting geese startled us as we walked up to the bank, honking loudly and sending us scrambling back. We found a more peaceful spot down the sandy island and set up camp. Shannon filtered river water for drinking, Sandra fired up the JetBoil, and we shared dehydrated meals (Mountain House) by campfire light. We even build a fire with island driftwood and used some makeshift fire starters I’d prepped in cat food cans with paraffin wax and wood chips.
Turns out, I’d also forgotten my cooler. “I felt so horrible we had to share food and water because I was so excited when I loaded up that morning I accidentally left my cooler behind with all my snacks. Anyone who has ever kayaked with me knows I love to float and snack on these trips!” I admitted. Thankfully, Sandra and Shannon had brought enough to share.
One thing I didn’t expect was just how fast our phone batteries would drain while using the Avenza app to track our route. Even with all the other data turned off, the app was a power hog. We had packed battery bars to recharge overnight, which worked fine the first night, but by day two, they were completely dead.
Luckily, Sandra had thought ahead and brought a solar charger. We strapped it to the top of my kayak and let the sun do the work while we paddled. With temperatures hitting 84 degrees and not a cloud in sight, it soaked up enough energy to get our devices powered up again. It was a good reminder that even small bits of planning—like bringing a solar charger—can make a big difference on a backcountry trip like this.
From Scenic Cliffs to Sunken Jeeps
Day two brought even more beauty—towering cliffs, cascading tiny waterfalls from tributaries, and clear cool water. One stretch, just beyond Wide Creek, held a surprise: a fully submerged red Jeep Cherokee, its roof the only part visible above water. Once we had signal, we let local Search and Rescue know. We learned that they had searched it and confirmed that it had been there for around 2 years.
We couldn’t help but have a little fun, taking turns making up wild stories about how the Jeep might’ve gotten there. Maybe it had flooded down from Jackson in the flood. Maybe it was stolen and connected to a crime. Maybe a drunk guy wrecked it in the river and just abandoned it in embarrassment.
Nearby, we also spotted old concrete bridge piers at Fraley Creek, cliff swallow birds, kingfishers, turtles, blue herons, and even a bald eagle and a golden eagle soaring overhead.
That afternoon, we reached one of my favorite sights of the whole trip—Devil’s Backbone. This long, narrow rock was in the middle of a swift section of the river. I’d seen a photo of my dad standing on it back in the 1990s when he had went with John Parrish on a fishing trip. Ralph Coomer had talked about this rock also, as he used to take this trip from Breathitt County to Beattyville every year. In the early 1900s, loggers once had to navigate around it to keep logs moving downstream. This rock was also known for crashing log rafts. Sandra and Shannon were equally fascinated by the river’s history.
Just a mile upstream from the Airdale Bridge, across from Log Shoal Creek, the kayakers spotted an unusual structure on the north bank of the river—a block tower rising about 25 feet tall. It resembled a rook from a chess set, complete with a narrow staircase and a viewing window at the top. I had first seen the tower during a fall boat trip with Ralph Coomer, who recalled climbing it in his youth. Interestingly, the structure doesn’t appear on any Kentucky River Authority maps or in official historical records. The best explanation anyone could offer is that it may have once served as a flood watch or signaling tower, possibly used by logging companies to monitor spring floods that would carry timber downriver to Beattyville.
We had planned to stop earlier, but the water was flowing well and we were feeling good, so we pushed on and reached Airdale Bridge just before dark. Day two ended up as a 17 mile journey.
Coyotes and Campfire Pizza
That night, we joked about wishing we had some beer and pizza. I called my dad, Randy Brandenburg, half-laughing about it. To our surprise, 40 minutes later, he pulled up with both—plus donuts. We built a fire and spent the evening reflecting on the day and soaking in the stars. But around 2:00 a.m., the mood changed.
“I woke up at 2:00 a.m. to something walking around our tents and making strange noises,” Shannon said. Coyotes had surrounded us. Whether they were on their usual path or smelled our leftover pizza and donuts, we weren’t sure—but the were making eerie fake hooting sounds all around us. Before turning in for the night, we had burned the pizza box so the only smelly evidence was the donuts in my tent.
Shannon was military. Sandra’s backcountry tough. I’m pretty outdoorsy. But all we had for defense was a few camp knives and a tiny pink keychain pepper spray canister that my thoughtful friend Teresa Mays insisted I bring. Thankfully, we had cell service. I called Dad again. He showed up in a reflective hunting vest, shotgun in hand. Taking no chances, we left our kayaks and gear behind and went home to sleep indoors.
Sandra joked about it the next morning, “I was super impressed your stubbornness to not give up those donuts to the coyotes.”
The Final Stretch
We returned the next morning, launched from Airdale, and finished the last six miles. We passed the remains of the L&N Railroad bridge piers at Walkers Creek, two beautiful cabins, the Middle Fork River convergence, and the Maloney Railroad Bridge. We floated past Sharp Rock Ramp and by early afternoon, we landed at the Beattyville Boat Ramp.
It was 35 miles total—an unforgettable adventure through one of the most untamed, majestic river corridors in Kentucky.
“The river is beautiful! Wild and scenic similar to the Red River in many sections. We didn’t encounter the crowds or tourist on the river here. In the Red you have to pay launching fees, shuttle fees, and campground parking fees to experience the river. North Fork had public access ramps. Only down side is you have to paddle 28 miles before there is a access point to get out.” Sandra Steel said.
“Paddling beneath towering beautiful rock cliffs, spotting bald eagle overhead, and chasing a blue heron down river was peaceful. Unfortunately there was a lot of debris on the banks from recent flooding. The paddle was still beautiful.” Shannon Hill reflected.
We submitted our maps, notes, and photos to KRADD to support the Blueway Trail effort. As Shannon put it: “I want to do this again next year. Now that we know we can do it and know the safe levels of the river, we could bring more friends.”
This river has stories to tell, and now, thanks to this trip, it has a chance to tell them to even more people.
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