My first float down the river (or, How I almost died in 2ft. of water)

The South Fork of the Clearwater River

Looking Down River

Looking Up River

Well, I have had quite a few interesting adventures here at the Ranch this summer, and a week ago today I had yet another to add to the books. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not exactly into water sports. I am an excellent swimmer, but my crippling fear of sharks, sea monsters, fish, and other unknown creatures of the deep keeps me from going any further than knee deep into bodies of water that are not man made and chlorinated. I've also never been a big lover of boats.

HOWEVER, as of late I have embraced the life philosophy of 'trying things', which is why last Thursday, as Chuck, Lana, and I were setting up party central down by the river for Anderson's and my friends who were coming in on Friday, I offered unhesitatingly to man (woman?) the freshly inflated boat/raft thingy down the river from the barn (where it was currently living) to our party site right above the island. You can see the head of the island in the first picture above. I thought it would be fun to have the raft down at our party site so we could drag it out into the river, anchor it or something, and then lay out in it and get some sun. Wishful thinking, perhaps, on my part.

So, after Chuck got the raft inflated, he came down to the party site to get me, stating that "the Titanic was ready to sail." I maybe should have taken that as a bad omen, but let's remember, I am trying to think positively about everything. So we drove back over to the barn in the 4-wheeler, dragged the raft down to the river, and got ready to launch. I was thinking that Chuck and I were going to navigate the river together, but he assured me that I could do it solo, no problem. Bolstered by false confidence, I boarded the craft, and after brief instruction and reassurance that I could definitely keep my shoes on, Chuck shoved me out into the river.

Per Chuck's instruction, I was to make for the left side of the river, because there were fewer rocks and the landing site was on the left side. Seemed easy enough from the safety of the shore, but the river had different ideas. And as I was launched from the right side, attempting to traverse to the opposite shore became that much more difficult. My futile attempts to 'row' resulted in little more than spinning me in pathetic circles, and I quickly succumbed to the will of the current.

I basically traveled the worst possible course down the river. If there was a rock, I hit it. If there were rapids, I was in them. As soon as I cleared the rougher patches and reached the calmer waters before the island, I started rowing for shore like my life depended on it. Which in my mind, it pretty much did. I knew what came after the island (a narrow canyon with nothing but white water), and I knew that if I didn't get the raft to shore and soon, I was screwed.

Even though I was paddling with all I had, the forward motion of the swift current swept me right past my landing site. I waved to Lana who was standing helplessly on the shore, and shouted a resigned, "Well, I guess I'm going to Stites!" (the next town down the river). Chuck had made it back to our party site, and as I began to float down the left side of the island, about 10 feet from the shore, he yelled at me to get out and try to drag the boat to shore. I had just been wading in the river hours previously, and I knew the water was only about 2 feet deep here, so it seemed like a good idea. I swung my left leg out and tried to plant it on the river bottom. My hiking boot bumped and slipped along the rocky bottom, and barely even slowed the raft's progress down the river. Seeing I had no choice, I dragged my other foot out of the raft and tried to plant both feet on the river bottom. Holding on to the raft by a rope, I began to panic because while I was now fully out of the raft, we were still traveling down river at an alarming rate. I was wet up to my waist and still could not gain purchase on the slippery, algae-coated rocks lining the river bottom.

Then, the thing I had been dreading happened. I lost my footing completely, landing on my butt and dunking me up to my chin, and the unrelenting current continued to drag the raft and me down river. I knew I ought to give up at this point - let the raft go and worry about saving myself - but I am just stubborn (or stupid?) enough to get it in my head that I HAD to save the raft. I had already lost my paddle in my struggle to keep my feet - if I lost the raft too, I would never hear the end of it.

I dug my feet in for a last ditch attempt, somehow managed to regain my footing, and using all of my strength (aided by panic adrenaline) I flopped and floundered and dragged the raft (which felt like it weighed a ton as the current pulled on it) step by slogging step into shore. I flopped onto the rocky beach with all the drama of an old-timey sailor who has not seen land for months.

My legs were shaking from the effort, I could hardly walk, I was soaking wet and more than a little embarrassed, but I was alive and the raft was ashore. Chuck even managed to recover the lost paddle.

Once I got back up to the house and the adrenaline began to abate, I discovered that I was covered in emerging bruises from ankle to knee on both legs - souvenirs of my battle with the rocky river bottom.

As far as my 'trying new things' lifestyle goes, most of the time the result is positive. However, I think my first time floating the South Fork was also my last...well, at least for now :)