OT--Drama in Real Life (longish)
Dr. Smartass
own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was because of
some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this way at all.
Saturday, August 16, 2003
Blackwater River State Park
This was my first time on the Blackwater River in more than 20 years. The
last time, I was in the Scouts. Stuff like canoe trips were the only thing
I enjoyed about Scouting. Too bad that there was only one in the few years
I was in.
I was joined by Jim, whom I've known for 17 years or so. He'd been jonesing
for a tubing trip down the river for several years--and this time our
schedules lined up.
Getting to the river from the Interstate took us down long two-lane rural
highways and roads. Pines, magnolias, oaks, plenty of trees, a land
developer's wet dream. I hope the developers never get the chance to do
their work here, though. People should be able to take scenic routes like
this, just so they can pull off the road and listen to the silence or the
birds.
We turned left from Highway 90 onto Deaton Bridge Road, which took us deep
into mostly-pristine woodlands. A scattering of small houses is all I can
remember seeing.
After a short stop for directions at one of the canoe-rental places, we
decided to take the 11-mile trip, since the 5-mile run only lasts about 90
minutes.
We planned on leaving his car at the downriver end, since I was toting my
kayak on the roof of mine. We're sensible like that. It took a few minutes
to get his inner tubes into the car, and then we were off.
We kept following Deaton Bridge Road for several miles before turning right
on Bob Pitts Road. You just have to love the street names--they're so much
more interesting than the antiseptic regularities of the land developers'
ever-encroaching subdivisions. Plenty of trees, the westering sun shining
merrily.
We turned again some miles along, this time onto Bryant Bridge Road. A
short distance, then, over a bridge, and into a secluded parking area.
Another few minutes unloading the car and putting things together, and we
were coasting with the current.
This tea-brown river runs at about normal walking pace (just under 2.5
mph), which put our 11-mile ride at around 4.5 hours.
We tethered the second tube to the stern of the kayak, which was acting as
storage for soft drinks and Jim's shirt (too bad wrapping it in a bag did
no good).
I quickly discovered that there was no going back, unless I wanted to walk.
Paddling as hard as I could would only hold me stationary relative to the
shore. There was no way Jim would be able to do even that much; he was
slouched in a big truck innertube with his legs, head and arms hanging out.
We floated for a few minutes, reveling in the quiet and the cool water.
Then it started to drizzle.
Then it was raining full-force.
I found myself thinking a little later on how silly we humans get once
we're all grown up. It starts raining and people go scurrying into their
little buildings like they're going to melt or something. My mother had a
fit over me riding my bicycle home in the rain from college classes. I
still don't see the big deal--I had my books wrapped in plastic, my shoes
and socks in another bag, and my pants legs rolled up. I remember going out
of my way to crash through any puddle I could find--the bigger the better!
Mom insisted that I should have called her, because I was going to get
pneumonia.
Sheesh. It's only rain. People have been getting rained on for as long as
there have been people.
Sitting there in my kayak, the only thing I was concerned about getting wet
was my camera.
The rain gave everything the feel of an old Humphrey Bogart movie; the only
thing of color was the bright yellow kayak. Everything else was washed
silver-gray by the curtains of falling water. It must have rained for most
of an hour, but time simply didn't matter. I spent a lot of time just
looking and listening. I saw the first magnolia tree I can remember having
seen in almost 20 years. I watched little sparkles of water droplets that
floated on the water. I listened to raptors and frogs, the quiet gurgle of
the river.
Wendy's fries were waterlogged; the burger was fine; I threw some fries
downstream, most of them upstream, and a few at Jim when he made a remark
about me attracting things that could bite him on the ass.
In some places, haze or light fog wreathed the tops of the trees.
We learned to cut toward the inside of bends and start steering away from
things like branches and underwater obstacles way before we reached them,
though I was brought to a halt at one point by a sunken limb as big around
as my arm. Jim was poked in the tail a few times; I'll have to tell his
fiancée how much he enjoyed that.
At some point, I got bored with sitting and paddling. I pulled up on a
sandbar and hopped onto the spare innertube. Shortly after that, after
trying to paddle the stupid thing around with my arms, I decided I'd rather
be in the kayak. I'm _very_ out of shape. I wore myself out within a couple
of bends, just from trying to drag myself, the tube, and the kayak through
turns. After a few minutes of that, Jim took over the kayak and I took his
tube. He hadn't driven a kayak in quite some time, and he ended up
thrashing around with the paddles to the point where I thought he was going
to capsize. I was mostly concerned about the camera, which was only loosely
wrapped in a couple of grocery bags.
Then there's the kayak. It's only got a couple of very small foam blocks
for flotation--but they'd do little good in a moving river with a boatload
of water. One of these days I might fill it with water just to see how many
gallons it'll hold--but just think of how heavy it would be.
Things can always get worse, right?
Indeed, they can--and they did.
A pine tree had fallen across the river at about the 5-mile mark. The
faster current was on the left bank, and that's where several thousand
pounds of logs, branches and rubbish had collected, locked in place by that
damn tree. It was maybe 18 inches in diameter; it had been stripped of
bark, and it was slippery. I had been riding an innertube for several
minutes, trailing just behind Jim, when we hit that snag. He was able to
hump my kayak up and over the tree easily enough, but I was jammed up
against it and had enough to do just holding my head up out of the water. I
knew that if I slipped, I would likely be pulled under the snag--and that
would be it.
It's a person's normal tendency when writing about himself to make himself
seem smarter or better in other ways; I won't do that, here. I wasn't the
cool, clear-minded Clint Eastwood type, sizing up the situation before
jumping to explosive action. I wasn't feeling heroic at all. I was
wondering if I was going to lose my grip. I was wondering how long it would
be before someone came looking.
I was wondering who would feed my rats.
I didn't have a "life-flashing-before-my-eyes" moment. What I had was a
desire to empty my bladder, and a desire for the life jacket I'd left in my
car.
After some scrabbling around (and some OH SHIT! Moments of slipping) I
managed to find a hand-hold on the tree; I swung myself up so I could
straddle it, then turned so my legs were downstream. The entire tree was
bouncing up and down just beneath the surface, but I was too busy
hyperventilating to have fun with that. I know that moving water has
incredible power and authority...but feeling it first-hand as you're pinned
to a log-jam is very different from watching it on The Weather Channel.
I sat there for several minutes. There's no way I could have done more than
that.
Jim had managed to wedge the kayak paddle in the logjam to hold himself
still. I considered walking across the top of the logs and junk, but as I
watched, Jim nudged one of the timbers and it jostled the whole raft.
No way I was walking across that.
I looked to my right. The tree didn't quite reach the far bank, and its
bouncing was much more pronounced. There were still branches at that end,
but nothing substantial enough to support me. There was no jumping from it
to shore, either, because the tree trunk was slippery.
I looked down.
I couldn't even see my feet in the dark, dark water, let alone see the
river bottom. The current was running at its strongest and fastest right
where I was sitting. If I jumped in right here, there would be nothing to
keep the water from dragging me into or under all that stuff. As out-of-
shape as I am, I knew I'd never be able to swim away from it, let alone
hold my breath for very long should I get pulled under.
The water seemed much slower to my right. I started edging that way,
scooting on my rump, balancing with my hands. Once I found a spot where it
didn't look like the current would carry me straight past the rest of the
snag, I took a few breaths and let myself drop in.
I couldn't feel the bottom. As the river closed over my head, I felt it
exploring my nose (dammit! I forgot to pinch my nose closed!) and pushing
me along. I kicked and stroked with legs and arms, broke the surface--
--and the tree trunk was 20 feet away, receding quickly. I got myself
turned around, thrashed the water for a few yards, and grabbed the
innertube from Jim as I passed by. This would have been a hell of a good
time to have that life jacket.
Fucking idiot, I am.
No, no, don't disagree.
Mind you, we were both idiots. Jim had left his cell phone in his car
because he didn't think he'd need it.
I held on to the tube. That's about all I could manage other than coughing,
blowing water out of my nose, and just plain breathing. I managed to get
around the next bend, but I didn't really have the energy to keep it up.
Jim passed me by--and I latched onto the spare tube and kicked to take some
of the load off of him.
We ended up switching again; I'm a bit heavier than he is, and it's a lot
easier to paddle a kayak than it is to paddle a tube.
We floated along for what seemed like a lot of hours, but was really only
two. Four-thirty came and went; then five, then six, and we were still not
seeing any sign of the end of the line. At one point just after five, we
passed a small ramp and boardwalk, and we speculated that it was the
halfway point. It was the only trail we'd seen since we started. Then we
started seeing features that looked a lot like things we'd already seen.
There was also the rumble of thunder, the occasional spectacular display of
lightning, the constant threat of more rain, and the ever-encroaching
darkness. Jim started wondering if that ramp had been the halfway point
after all--"At this rate, we'll be here long after dark, man.".
A little past six, we passed the only other human we'd seen since we'd put
in. He was camping out, all alone. There was a small campfire, but his
"tent" was little more than a blanket draped along a length of rope. He
told us that the bridge (our stopping point) was maybe 30 minutes ahead.
True to his word. I came around a final bend and there was our bridge, a
lovely sight. We passed under it and hit the shore on our left. Most of my
stuff was soaked, even the things I'd bagged. Jim's shirt was drenched: it
had been wrapped in a bag, but that bag was under several inches of water--
most of which had to have come from Jim's thrashing around while he was
driving the boat. Funny how that worked out.
Things I learned:
1. BRING the damn life jackets. Both of them. If there's a snag or
something that puts one of us in the water, it'll help that person keep his
head up long enough for the other to help. I can't swim worth shit.
2. Bring the damn cell phone. According to my map, there wasn't a road
within a mile of us once we got away from the start point. We saw no one
until we passed the camper.
3. Leave a "float plan" at home so the police will know where to look if
you don't come back on time.
4. Need an extra towel as a seat cushion.
5. More bags with no holes. Cameras don't float.
6. Bug spray. There's a lot of marshland out there--and tons of mosquitoes,
horseflies, and other blood-suckers around.
7. Maps. We went the entire trip without knowing where the hell we were.
See #3, above. No one else knew, either.
8. Weather. Thunderstorms are lovely, but better when they're miles away.
As long as we do these things, the second time will be more fun and much
safer and comfortable. I called around the next morning to leave warning
about that trapped tree. The folks at one of the tour shops had already
removed it by then.
--
Dr. Smartass
BAAWA Knight of Heckling -- a.a. #1939
"And the knowledge that they fear
Is a weapon to be used against them."
--Rush, "The Weapon"
stoney
<gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com>, Message ID:
<Xns93DBB9588A15...@65.82.44.187> wrote in alt.atheism;
>Maybe I ought to send this to Reader's Digest; this past Saturday, I had my
>own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was because of
>some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this way at all.
>
>
>Saturday, August 16, 2003
>Blackwater River State Park
(snip hairy situation)
Glad you both made it, and you're right, you both were very lucky.
Funny thing is, things can get VERY hairy even when you do everything
right.
I think with some fleshing out of your prose Reader's Digest, Outdoor
Life, etc., would find it of interest.
Stoney
"Designated Rascal and Rapscallion
and
SCAMPERMEISTER!"
When in doubt, SCAMPER about!
When things are fair, SCAMPER everywhere!
When things are rough, can't SCAMPER enough!
/end humour alert
alt.atheism military veteran #11
{so much for the 'no atheists in foxholes' rubbish}
Liz
<Xns93DBB9588A15...@65.82.44.187> wrote:
>Maybe I ought to send this to Reader's Digest; this past Saturday, I had my
>own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was because of
>some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this way at all.
<snip story> I just love the rugged outdoorsy types. :)
>3. Leave a "float plan" at home so the police will know where to look if
>you don't come back on time.
Also, you were at a State Park. They have rangers. I do a lot of
hiking by myself. When I'm alone, I always stop in at a Ranger
Station, give them my ID and the description and license tag number of
my car and the trailhead at which it will be parked. I tell them
precisely what trail I will be hiking and give them an "overdue" time.
That way if they see my car still at the trailhead after I'm overdue,
they'll know where to look for me.
Überwench #658 Now a *real* atheist!
Dame Liz the Undaunted BAAWA
Charter Member of SMASH
and Queen of the known universe
Dr. Smartass
news:2322dc02ce27e327...@news.teranews.com:
> On Mon, 18 Aug 2003 23:05:02 GMT, "Dr. Smartass"
> <gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com>, Message ID:
> <Xns93DBB9588A15...@65.82.44.187> wrote in alt.atheism;
>
>>Maybe I ought to send this to Reader's Digest; this past Saturday, I
>>had my own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was
>>because of some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this
>>way at all.
>>
>>
>>Saturday, August 16, 2003
>>Blackwater River State Park
>
> (snip hairy situation)
>
> Glad you both made it, and you're right, you both were very lucky.
Figures the ONE DAY I didn't have the life jacket on board was the ONE DAY
I needed it. It was in my car.
> Funny thing is, things can get VERY hairy even when you do everything
> right.
Hell, yeah! Especially when you're out in the middle of nowhere. Not a
single person around until about 30 minutes before the end of the trip.
> I think with some fleshing out of your prose Reader's Digest, Outdoor
> Life, etc., would find it of interest.
Hmm. I'll look into it.
Dr. Smartass
news:ukt7kvs6hc31f5p8k...@4ax.com:
> On Mon, 18 Aug 2003 23:05:02 GMT, "Dr. Smartass"
> <gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com> in news message
> <Xns93DBB9588A15...@65.82.44.187> wrote:
>
>>Maybe I ought to send this to Reader's Digest; this past Saturday, I
>>had my own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was
>>because of some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this
>>way at all.
>
> <snip story> I just love the rugged outdoorsy types. :)
I didn't feel so rugged that day *g*
Heh...I can flame up a storm, but I can't swim worth a damn. Maybe I should
get some of those little "water wings" *bahahaha*
>
>>3. Leave a "float plan" at home so the police will know where to look
>>if you don't come back on time.
>
> Also, you were at a State Park. They have rangers. I do a lot of
> hiking by myself. When I'm alone, I always stop in at a Ranger
> Station, give them my ID and the description and license tag number of
> my car and the trailhead at which it will be parked. I tell them
> precisely what trail I will be hiking and give them an "overdue" time.
> That way if they see my car still at the trailhead after I'm overdue,
> they'll know where to look for me.
We never saw so much as a Ranger station. Not even a directory to show
where it might be :/ At least at Fort Pickens, everything is clearly
marked.
stoney
<gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com>, Message ID:
<Xns93DDC95EE2CB...@65.82.44.187> wrote in alt.atheism;
>stoney <sto...@the.net> wrote in
>news:2322dc02ce27e327...@news.teranews.com:
>
>> On Mon, 18 Aug 2003 23:05:02 GMT, "Dr. Smartass"
>> <gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com>, Message ID:
>> <Xns93DBB9588A15...@65.82.44.187> wrote in alt.atheism;
>>
>>>Maybe I ought to send this to Reader's Digest; this past Saturday, I
>>>had my own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was
>>>because of some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this
>>>way at all.
>>>
>>>
>>>Saturday, August 16, 2003
>>>Blackwater River State Park
>>
>> (snip hairy situation)
>>
>> Glad you both made it, and you're right, you both were very lucky.
>
>Figures the ONE DAY I didn't have the life jacket on board was the ONE DAY
>I needed it. It was in my car.
Usual item, imo.
>> Funny thing is, things can get VERY hairy even when you do everything
>> right.
>
>Hell, yeah! Especially when you're out in the middle of nowhere. Not a
>single person around until about 30 minutes before the end of the trip.
'Middle of nowhere' is what I consider an amplifier....
>> I think with some fleshing out of your prose Reader's Digest, Outdoor
>> Life, etc., would find it of interest.
>
>Hmm. I'll look into it.
Write it for yourself, if nothing else.
stoney
<gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com>, Message ID:
<Xns93DDCA86CB19...@65.82.44.187> wrote in alt.atheism;
/baaaaaad visual
Every sign says "You are here" and indicates your between a rock and a
hard place...............
stillsunny
> Maybe I ought to send this to Reader's Digest; this past Saturday, I had my
> own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was because of
> some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this way at all.
>
>
> Saturday, August 16, 2003
> Blackwater River State Park
>
> This was my first time on the Blackwater River in more than 20 years. The
> last time, I was in the Scouts. Stuff like canoe trips were the only thing
> I enjoyed about Scouting. Too bad that there was only one in the few years
> I was in.
> I was joined by Jim, whom I've known for 17 years or so. He'd been jonesing
> for a tubing trip down the river for several years--and this time our
> schedules lined up.
I'm glad you're okay.
I enjoyed the descriptions of the scenery. Your writing, as always, was evocative.
If you were my son, I'd slap the snot out of you, and then hug you.
Sunny
who has children she can envision in just such a scenario
Dr. Smartass
news:4e81e7301fb7b083...@news.teranews.com:
> On Thu, 21 Aug 2003 00:33:35 GMT, "Dr. Smartass"
> <gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com>, Message ID:
> <Xns93DDC95EE2CB...@65.82.44.187> wrote in alt.atheism;
>>Figures the ONE DAY I didn't have the life jacket on board was the ONE
>>DAY I needed it. It was in my car.
>
> Usual item, imo.
Every _other_ paddle-trip I've taken (even on the inflatable) included a
vest, even though I don't usually _wear_ it (it's usually tethered to my
ankle so that if I come out, it comes with me) unless I'm in hairy water.
Coldwater Creek is nice and smooth, and clear enough that you can see stuff
in the water a good distance away--and apparently there is a regular
obstacle-removal effort there, as opposed to the Blackwater River. The
river's so cloudy that you can't see more than maybe 6 inches down.
It helps that the creek is shallow enough where you can sit in a tube and
still touch bottom if you want to. The river is a good bit deeper than it
should be for tube safety. It also helps that the creek has frequent trips,
so if you get in trouble someone will be along at SOME point.
SO...we're not likely to go back down the river. It's more work than
pleasure.
Dr. Smartass
news:2fb48fe30db56ebb...@news.teranews.com:
> On Thu, 21 Aug 2003 00:40:41 GMT, "Dr. Smartass"
> <gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com>, Message ID:
> <Xns93DDCA86CB19...@65.82.44.187> wrote in alt.atheism;
>>We never saw so much as a Ranger station. Not even a directory to show
>>where it might be :/ At least at Fort Pickens, everything is clearly
>>marked.
>
> /baaaaaad visual
>
> Every sign says "You are here" and indicates your between a rock and a
> hard place...............
Or a blank white sign labeled NOWHERE, with a tiny red dot in the middle of
it.
Dr. Smartass
news:c472f5b5.03082...@posting.google.com:
> "Dr. Smartass" <gekiski...@astroboyskivviesmail.com> wrote in
> message news:<Xns93DBB9588A15...@65.82.44.187>...
>> Maybe I ought to send this to Reader's Digest; this past Saturday, I
>> had my own "Drama in Real Life" moment. I made it through--but it was
>> because of some pretty stupid, basic mistakes that it happened this
>> way at all.
>>
>>
>> Saturday, August 16, 2003
>> Blackwater River State Park
>>
>> This was my first time on the Blackwater River in more than 20 years.
>> The last time, I was in the Scouts. Stuff like canoe trips were the
>> only thing I enjoyed about Scouting. Too bad that there was only one
>> in the few years I was in.
>> I was joined by Jim, whom I've known for 17 years or so. He'd been
>> jonesing for a tubing trip down the river for several years--and this
>> time our schedules lined up.
>
> I'm glad you're okay.
Thanks. The rats will still get food ;)
> I enjoyed the descriptions of the scenery. Your writing, as always,
> was evocative. If you were my son, I'd slap the snot out of you, and
> then hug you.
This is why I didn't tell my mother about it *g*
I'm hoping to get things together so I can join the local canoe club. No
sense in getting in trouble alone when I can do it it a big group ;)
--
Dr. Smartass, gettin' right back on that horse that throwed him