Justin Black grew up on the James River and didn’t realize some people thought it was “disgusting,” including two friends he met at the University of Virginia. Years later, the three paddled 250 miles down the James—and made a documentary.
Black, Will Gemma, and Dietrich Teschner had never made a film before. What they had done was paddle parts of the James with two other friends. The five decided to embark in three camera-laden canoes from the headwaters in the Blue Ridge Mountains where the Cowpasture and Jackson rivers converge.
In the course of the 13-day journey to Richmond, they were threatened with a gun, lost a boat, and endured soaking rain. And they saw the best—and the worst—of the James River.
The result is Headwaters Down with three co-directors. Black, a musician, did the soundtrack, Gemma, who studied poetry at UVA, narrates, and Teschner, an actor, is the film’s editor.
“We had no budget,” says Black. “We had our own cameras. We had boats. Everybody paid their own way.”
Local documentarian Paul Wagner will moderate the November 6 Headwaters screening panel. “What struck me and I found so pleasurable is when you get to the credits and you realize the guys who are in it filmed it, edited it, did the sound,” he says. “I just love this idea of adventuring down the river and into documentary filmmaking.”
“We didn’t know it was going to be a feature film,” says Black. “We did a ton of research, but we didn’t know things were going to happen.”
In hindsight, the encounter with the possibly drug-crazed gun-toting guy who didn’t want to share camping space on an island was a gift, says Black. “We had a climax in Act 1.”
The James River was once considered one of the most polluted waterways in America. Its health has improved, but it still faces peril, from Dominion Energy power plants, excessive damming that makes 25 miles of the river unnavigable, and both industrial and agricultural runoff. As recently as July 2022, the Virginia Department of Health issued a recreational water advisory to refrain from swimming, wading, tubing, and whitewater kayaking after a ruptured pipe allowed 300,000 gallons of raw, undiluted sewage to reach parts of the James.
The crew started in the crystal-clear water of the Cowpasture River—until it converged with the Jackson River and turned black. A paper mill on the Jackson is allowed to discharge certain dyes, says Black. “But it’s really jarring to see the change and 12 miles of blackish-brown water.”
Tires have been tossed into the James apparently for as long as the rubber has hit the road. The James River Association has removed thousands, says Black, but they still litter a section of the upper river.
Yet there’s also the great blue heron, the catch-of-a-lifetime musky, the historic Kanawha Canal and the beauty of floating down a river. “What comes through thematically is their joy in navigating the river and how important it is to preserve it,” says Wagner.
The screening at Culbreth Theatre is a “full circle moment” for the three friends to return to UVA 11 years after their graduation, he says. “We’re guest lecturing on the power of storytelling and the environment.”
And they’re planning a sequel and traveled from Richmond to the Chesapeake Bay in June to complete the entire 348 miles of the James.
“A big part of this is to encourage people to take their own adventures in their own backyards,” says Black.