Tom at camp - October '98 - Nicolet Nat'l Forest - still allive and grinning!
[excerpted from a letter]
> and you will be able to get out and do some much deserved canoeing.
WELLLLLL - Dave Z called me at Schroeder this morning and we talked over the computer problems a little further - he was just too worn out to attack them today, so I'm going to meet him early tomorrow morning up in Sheboygan. With THAT schedule gone, and it being a beautiful spring day in Grafton, I decided to call friend Tom to see if he'd like to join me in a little recreational canoeing.
We met down in Thiensville at 1:00, left the truck there, and drove his car back up to Lime Kiln Park where I'd left the canoe and the kayak that he likes to paddle. The river was just a'cookin' - highest I've seen in a lonnnnngggg time, but after we'd gotten through the 'Grafton Dells' it'd be pretty smooth, though fast going from there all the way back down to Thiensville... or, such was the plan.
Tom and I have paddled lots of water over the years - Superior, the Mink River in Door County, Lake Michigan in semi-gale winds, this very stretch of the Milwaukee River several times and, even though the water was higher and faster than we'd seen before, we didn't anticipate any great problems. As it always happens, when I get near fast water, I start pumping adrenaline like crazy - my first sight of the river when I dropped off the boats had me shaking all the time I was driving down to meet Tom - but that's not too unusual for me - just old River Excitement.
On the drive back up to the boats, I spent the time by going over the basic whitewater tactics that I figured Tom might need to be reminded about since it'd been awhile since he'd been in fast water.
NEVER EVER lean upstream.
If you run into something, GRAB IT and pull yourself into it.
Stay on the INSIDE of curves in the river where the water is slower.
Stay out of the CENTER of the river where the current is fast and rough.
DON'T GO FASTER than the current - back paddle and USE the current.
I got lots of those "yeah, yeah"s and several of Tom's deep chuckles as we neared the park. He was figuring I was trying to scare him. I'd seen the river.
Rather than the usual launch into the current that we do there, we were able to launch in a wonderful eddy of quiet water - where the bottom half of the parking lot usually is! I have ALWAYS launched Tom first (and anyone else I'm with), then brought up the rear to keep an eye on things. I made sure to get into the water first this time as I figured that if Tom launched first I wouldn't see him again until miles down the river and I was SO pumped up today, I just wanted to make sure that I was close to any action - if there was a tree down in the river or some other legitimate hazard I wanted to be able to point out the track to take to avoid it. Before we paddled out into the current, I told Tom to aim diagonally across the river to catch the inside of the first bend leaving the park - that's the entrance to the 'Dells' there and the sides of the river are vertical cliffs of limestone - the current could easily push you into them on the outside of the curve and swamp you in a hurry with no easy way out of the river through that section.
We weren't halfway to that curve before Tom ran into the first problem - there was SO much current that the water was backing up over itself in the center - standing waves - so you were pushed downstream one moment, then bucked upstream a couple of feet further along. The length of Tom's boat was working against him - with 17 feet of hull in the water, if he didn't keep the boat parallel with all the changing currents, it would make turning control very difficult. The water pushed his bow back upstream while the main current continued to push the rest of the boat downstream. Tom was being turned backwards and was having a lot of trouble holding his ground.
I hollered for him to break to the shoreline and get control and I eddied out a little further downstream to keep an eye on him. He got things worked out and pushed back out into the river. I watched him as he went on past me, thinking he was probably too far out to the center of the river to make the first turn easily, so paddled hard along the edge of the water to keep up with him. My water was MUCH slower than his, and he shot around the curve nicely - avoiding what I felt was the most difficult part of the beginning of the trek.
Just beyond the Dells (and it WAS beautiful ... though it didn't last long at the speed we were going and there wasn't any opportunity for rubber-necking as we shot through!) there's an island in the center of the river. We have always taken the main channel previously, but for some reason, by time I got through the Dells and could see Tom again, he was heading for the side channel. I hollered to him not to go that way, but by then, the current was pushing him in that direction and there wasn't anyway he could back out of it.
This was a worrisome situation. The water was high, the current as strong as any I had paddled previously (including the Peshtigo in flood and the "Flume" that we paddled often in the U.P. where Dave took an unexpected winter swim a few years ago), and we were heading into an unknown stretch of river. My first consideration was to follow the route I knew in the main channel, but raising up in the boat, I could see a 'horizon line' downstream - perhaps a tree that'd blocked the flow of the river from side to side?? I couldn't really tell, but felt, then, that perhaps the side channel may be the best route after all. I followed in after Tom.
Tom was out of sight again, around another curve. As I pulled to the inside and came around it, all I could see up ahead was TWO trees, one from each bank, fallen into the river and meeting in the center - No way around them at all... and right plug in the middle, Tom was heading for them, unable to slow down enough to have good control or to do much at all to avoid them.
The bow of the kayak caught a branch, the current pushed the boat sideways to the current, Tom instinctively leaned away from the obstruction - UPRIVER - and the boat filled in seconds and went under.
No boat. No Tom. No gear.
VERY fortunately, and in what may have been only a second or two, in retrospect, Tom came flailing to the surface, scrambling toward the shore. He yelled for me, he looked totally disoriented, and wasn't aware that I was anywhere near him - which, by that time, I was probably no more than 25 feet away from him. I hollered to him to GET TO SHORE, as I passed him, and the last view I had of him was his trying to stand in the water and move toward the island. I was able to pass through the obstruction by hitting the top branches where they met in the middle and, pretty much, crash through what was there.
The River Gods are a fickle bunch, and a sacrifice to them from time to time isn't unusual. I had, I figured, one shot to grab at some of the gear that came up on the other side of the trees. The choices I could readily see downstream of the trees were Tom's priceless Mud Creek hat, the kayak paddle, or the kayak itself. I passed by the easy ones and went after the boat.
Now, a kayak filled with water weighs in at just about a ton. Semi-submerged, it's nearly weightless and keeps moving along with the river current, but it's virtually unstoppable. Because of the way kayaks are constructed, with an opening in the center, there's virtually no way to empty it while you're trying to maintain control of another boat and, at the same time, not get too far away from the guy you presume has made it safely to an island. Picture yourself tied to a 17 foot long log going downstream and what you'd do to control it.
I was able to drag it a bit across the current and get it aimed at another downfall that was out in the current where it got hung up and I was able to get along side of it while maintaining some control. This was a juggling act! Keep MY boat from getting sucked back out into the river while trying to raise one end of the kayak enough to get some of the water to drain out of it. Unless I could get it to float on TOP of the water, there was no way I'd be able to get it out of the river at all. All the time I was thus occupied, I kept looking across the channel of the river we were in, to the island, where I expected to see Tom pop up eventually to assure me that he was okay. It took me about 45 minutes to slide the kayak, a little bit at a time over the top of my canoe, allowing the water to drain out enough to get it floatable.
No sign of Tom.
In the best of circumstances, you can only get half the water out of a kayak that way. When you drain one end, because the opening is in the center, the other end remains full. At that level, it will float upright, though it's a tremendous weight to drag, that way, behind the canoe. Especially when my only option from where I was, was to paddle with the kayak in tow, against the current, upstream. That new canoe of mine IS a treat, and I was able to make the short haul to a spot where I could drag the kayak onto a bit of open shoreline and get it emptied completely. Now I could easily tow it, and tied to the back of the canoe, I headed back across the current to the island to see if I could find Tom, who still hadn't appeared.
Ferrying two boats across a raging current like that was a skill that Spencer had taught me decades ago... and I'll be forever grateful for it. I was able to pick a spot on the island shore and get there without incident; both boats in one piece and the only critical gear gone was good friend Tom. I scrambled up on the shore, pulled the boats up to a safe level and struck back up along the shoreline to where I'd last seen Tom. I yelled for him every couple of steps but didn't hear any response.
I got to the point that I'd last seen him in the water and there was no sign of him at all. No tracks in the mud, no broken brush where he would have bulled his way through - nothing at all. I was seriously concerned. I continued up along the shore until I got back to the point of the island furthest upstream, where the current split. Still no sign of Tom and no response to my continued hollering. I wandered back down the opposite shore in the event that he'd tried to see if that was a way to get off the island. I did realize, at the point we were, he had no idea if I was still in the area, or several miles downstream by now. I couldn't imagine what he would be thinking. Would he have tried to wade the river to the opposite shoreline and hike back to his car at the put-in? Why hadn't he tried to find where I was with the boats? I'd never done a river rescue before where the guy on shore didn't show up quickly to help with whatever the guys on the river needed him to do. Mighty strange, this one. I went back to the spot I'd last seen him.
Again, I searched carefully to see if I'd missed any sign the first time I'd been there. I could see MY tracks in the mud around the sight from my first pass through the area - but no sign of Tom anywhere. I looked carefully around the blow-downs that'd trapped him, wondering if he had, indeed, made it out of the river. I went over that last sight of him many times. Had I missed seeing him slip back into the river after I'd passed him, heading for the kayak? Did he try to wade the current in the intervening time figuring that was his only option? I started watching the river intently - fully expecting to see a floating arm or leg, thinking through the order of events that would follow: call 911, answer all the questions from them; find the body or not; making the call to his parents. Every year at this time a couple of folks don't make it off the river and we're both well aware of that... I was getting pretty afraid this might be the first one of the season
I walked the island again, continuing to holler for Tom at short intervals as loud as I could yell. Back up to the upstream point, down the other side again, back to where I'd pulled the boats up, well below the place I'd last seen him. It's one of those tough calls, at that point. Do you keep looking? It'd been something over an hour since I'd last seen him... if he did go under, there was surely no rush to do anything in haste. It'd be well beyond that point.
Out of the woods, downstream of where I had the boats, pops up Tom. He'd heard me breaking brush - never heard me calling. In retrospect, the noise of the water on both sides of the island would pretty much drown out anything. Maybe those rescue whistles are a good idea, after all! He looked pretty bedraggled, but Tom usually looks that way. He'd lost his glasses when he dumped and WAS very disoriented as he's nearly blind without his spectacles. Damned good to see him!
It took us another couple of hours to get the boats and Tom back to a real shore where we could get the help of some fine folks to get us a ride back to the place we'd put in. When we came up on the people that helped us out, I asked if they could help us, as I "had one that's half drowned and we need to get back to his car." The lady just stared at me like I was from another planet. Finally the gentleman said, "Sure!", he'd be happy to help us out. Tom and the guy drove back to get his car, I hauled the boats up some long hills to get them to a place we could reach them with my truck. When I stopped to rest a bit after the long carries, I had a chance to talk to the lady of the house. She apologized for her reaction to me, saying, "For all the years we've lived here, I've NEVER seen anyone come up to us from the river. Not many people paddle that stretch and you really took us by surprise." Very nice folks.
So, that's the story of the day. The beer we had after it was over was particularly sweet. Tom looked DAMN good, even if he was still dripping around the edges of the bar stool.
I should have just stayed at the office.