As a contented solo traveller, I can be hesitant with social interactions when roaming abroad, valuing the freedoms and pleasures that come with exploring alone. But in the red-bricked, iron-wrought Virginian capital of Richmond, on the banks of the James River which thunders through downtown, I made a friend. Through a series of unspoken assents, I ended up exploring the city’s compelling watercourse in the genial company of a Richmonder named Conner. I was grateful for his particular companionship that day; his quiet positivity and warmth, and how, after many hours walking together on that humid evening, we parted as simply as we had met.
This serendipitous encounter had another upside: I befriended a representative of the very demographic I was most interested in, someone for whom the James River means a great deal. Richmond and its river are an uncommon pairing that I find fascinating: for a downtown watercourse, the James remains remarkably untamed. For reasons of industry, irrigation and transportation, cities are frequently positioned on the banks of rivers, and, like many people visiting such cities, I find myself naturally gravitating towards the water to offset the urban experience. I have happy memories wandering Vienna’s Danube, Paris’s Seine, and Rome’s Tiber, yet in most cases, the impositions of high embankments and rigid channelling have been favoured over rugged whitewater.
In central Richmond, the view atop the commercial and residential high-rises is not of a clear line causeway, but of foaming rocks, scattered islets, and shoreline scrub; of birch and willow thickets, heron nests, and the dens of river otter and muskrat. This is the only U.S. city with Class IV whitewater rapids running through downtown; residents of the ‘river city’ live at the unlikely crosshairs of domesticity and wilderness.
Conner was one of a scattered handful spending a sunny, free afternoon at the water’s edge, on the narrow sandbank beneath a railway overpass. A young couple on a beach towel; three men fishing waist-deep; a father and son throwing a ball; and Conner, reclining on the sand in the shade of the freight line. Lured by the striking sight of American blue herons wading in the current, I’d dropped down from the riverwalk to get a closer look. Conner, sat nearby, volunteered that they were more numerous this year than any he could remember. He’d lived in Richmond for almost two decades, moving from California as a child, and came here whenever he had a day off – or another of the James’ several secluded beaches. “I’ve never seen so many as today,” he said, and I sat down beside him.
The blue heron is a huge bird with a blue tint to its wing feathers and a pterodactyllian disposition in flight. Its image was made iconic in one of John James Audubon’s 19th century watercolours, which was my only previous reference point as I watched them fish the shallows. It was an odd feeling to observe the birds so near, with the roar of traffic at my back and a rumbling freight train overhead. The large heron colony – or ‘rookery’ – situated here on a small island in the James, is one of the defining characteristics of Richmond’s wild yet accessible nature.
Richmond is the third largest city in the state of Virginia, located just two hours from D.C. Among its historic hallmarks are Patrick Henry’s revolutionary “Give me liberty or give me death” speech, the childhood home of Edgar Allan Poe, America’s first electric streetcar, and the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. The former capital of the Confederate States, Richmond made international news in 2020 following the killing of George Floyd. Protesters toppled the statue of Jefferson Davis, triggering the removal of numerous other confederate-related memorials from the city’s Monument Avenue. More recently, it has gained a reputation as one of the most affordable American cities to live in, with a growing cultural scene bolstered by a prominent liberal arts university.
While Richmond busied the history books with industry, war, and reconstruction, the James River rolled consistently through its centre, a curious confluence of metropolis and wilderness. You see this best when traversing the city’s Pipeline Walkway, a stormwater sewer pipe accessed by an iron staircase. It meanders through groves of sassafras and sycamore, over mud marsh and glossy boulders, and onto sandy shores. From there, you can duck below birch boughs and slip past the water-beaten footings of overhead bridges old and new: footbridges, vehicle bridges and railway bridges; bridges burned and broken, rebuilt or semi-submerged, their pile stacks puncturing the surface. Nothing of Richmond’s historic infrastructure is hidden, but is left for nature to steadily erode and reclaim.
My plan for the afternoon had been to follow the river course to Belle Isle, a large island in the middle of the James. Talking with Conner, watching the darkening horizon, he offered to join me. We crossed back along the pipeline together and stopped at the ‘T. Pott Bridge’ for the evening views out across the wide water. Conner reflected on his experiences swimming in the river as a teenager, remembering the dragging current. He mentioned a student he’d known who had tragically fallen from the bridge, and of finding quietude at the river, a place of retirement and rejuvenation.
Belle Isle’s 54 acres of smooth riverstone, tall grass, woods, and natural pools recount the area’s post-colonial history. It was explored by John Smith in 1607 as the first permanent English settlement in America was established, later becoming an early site of industrial ironwork. In the 20th century, ironwork on the island gave way to hydroelectricity generation, guiding Richmond towards a progressively ‘green’ future. Belle Isle remains an important feature of the city, and is host to a range of recreational activities, from hiking and biking, kayaking and climbing, to simply escaping into nature.
Walking the towpath loop, I discovered that a local community group had created labels for some of the older trees – river birch, tulip tree, white oak, and alder. The label of one mature trunk had been left blank, and written below: ‘If you know what this tree is, let us know’. Further along, bonfires illuminated the growing darkness and the silhouettes of social gatherings. On our left, friends and couples strolled by, and squirrels rustled in the leaf litter. There are deer and foxes on the island too, I later read, and even coyotes. I imagine Belle Isle, with its mystique and turtle-tramped marsh, is an adventurous teenager’s dream.
Completing the island loop, we returned to the footbridge in darkness, the city lights reflected in the smooth current below. Conner pointed out the glass wedge of the Canal Place skyscraper and outside Hollywood Cemetery, we said goodbye. Walking back through the city alone, feeling the nighttime warmth of the pavements and a light river breeze, it occurred to me that I had not experienced an afternoon of such ease in a long while; to have given in to the dual currents of conversation and river-course, and drifted unconstrained by time. The river in Richmond runs a naturally ragged route, and in facilitating close contact with this untamed water, the city itself siphons a little of its spirit.
Words and photography by Matt Collins.
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