Engscope

Can I just say, that this has got to be one of the greatest inventions of our times? I mean wow… The simplicity, the ingenuity. There’s almost something poetic about it. I’ll let the picture of the invention speak for itself. Gary is a genius.

People on JHU’s OP, you guys should get one of these.

So I knew something was awry when we arrived at the Shenandoah put-in and all the trees were flooded…

I’ve always thought to myself, “Self, you gotta do something crazy before you’re 25, because otherwise, you’re never going to do something crazy.” Well, it just so happens that Liz, Kevin Pearl and myself did something bordering on insanity this weekend. I will try to recount the day to the best of my abilities.

I have kayaked the Harper’s Ferry section of the Shenandoah several times, so when Liz called me up on Wednesday for a prospective trip that weekend, I agreed without hesitation. She checked the river gauge on Friday and it read an agreeable 5.5 feet. At this level the river would be perfect. When we finally arrived at the river, it was hard to assess the size of the turbulence from the cliffs surrounding the takeout. To the best of my judgment it seemed just like the other rivers that I have ridden.

I put on my wet gear as usual. My winter gear consists of a shorty 2 mm wetsuit (legs uncovered), and a splash jacket. Needless to say, this is more like summer gear than something you’d wear at 45 degrees, with the water hover around the high 30’s. I have gone down the Shenandoah at suggested levels, and it has always been a relatively tame river. I was not particularly excited when Liz mentioned Harper’s ferry, because I was expecting a slow and casual ride. For this reason, I never even bothered putting on more protection.

We ran the shuttle to the put-in, and we could see that the river was high. It was brimming to its extremities, as the level has risen to the point that the surrounding trees have become submerged. The parking lot was half flooded as well. However, nobody suspected any real danger since the put-in was a long stretch of flat water. Everything seemed rather calm. The water was a gorgeous, thick muddy brown, but it too should have triggered a sense of caution in each of us. There was debris everywhere; broken pieces of wood, dirt, and other unfortunate objects. We disregarded all the signs, as Liz and I showed off some flat water tricks and Kevin practice the first rolls he has done in over a year. As we gradually plummeted to towards the eminent disaster, we didn’t have the slightest clue of what was ahead.

I knew that I was rusty after surfing at Bull Falls. I caught the edge in a wrong way, and went under. Not that going under is a sign of weakness, but I noticed that my reaction times and feel for the water were a far cry from the robust shape that I was in at the end of the 2006 season. My roll was pretty bad too, as it took me two attempts to get upright. When I got out of the water, I felt a slight burn, both to my abs, and to my ego. I thought to myself, this is one heck of a way to start a season…

As we went down Staircase, it has become evident that the river was much bigger than we had anticipated: a swim would be catastrophic. The flow rate was so big that by the time a swimmer got to shore, he or she would be a good distance from the location of the wet exit. The waves were large and dynamic. Some of them were in excess of 7 feet. Liz and Kevin would periodically “disappear” and “reappear” behind the giant walls of water. But these are not the standing waves that you find at surf spots. They were erratic and random, and a huge wave might pop up out of nowhere. We had noticed by then that there was a group of kayaker running the same section behind us, but didn’t pay much attention. It was at this moment that I began to feel somewhat nervous. The adrenalin started shooting, and I could feel my heart beat faster. I had come to the sad realization that the river might be too much for the three of us to undertake. Not long after, the first chink in the armor…

At the end of Staircase, there was a group of ledges. I knew I had to hit them with speed in order to avoid the holes. Normally these holes would be rocks sitting in the middle of the river, but the level has risen to the point where low pressure systems had formed on their behalf. On the second to last hole, I didn’t land properly and started getting sucked upriver. I wanted to avoid the hole so I paddled feverishly. I was able to avoid the first hole and tried to pick up speed for the second, but it was too late. The maneuvering had cost me the acceleration needed to avoid the turbulence; I was going over the second ledge with no speed. I knew that I was in trouble even before I plummeted into the river’s gaping maw. Despite several attempts to roll, it was of no avail, and I had to pull a wet exit. It was not so bad, but the water was very cold. Kevin and Liz had all avoided the hazard, and were able to fetch my gear. I struggled and toiled and experienced a laryngospasm from the cold water. My throat closed up and made it impossible to breath. At that moment I thought I had gotten some water into my lungs. Either way, I knew I was in trouble. While I struggled to breath, I noticed that my PFD did little to help my head stay out of the water. Gradually, I flowed out of the hole, into a calm section of the river. The breathing became easier. I kicked and thrashed the water, as Liz and Kevin came to my rescue. Despite being in the water for about only 10 minutes, I had lost feeling in my legs, and my core temperature was drastically lower. When I pulled myself to shore, my legs were red. The blood had been pulled from my extremities to keep the core warm. I thought to myself, “this is interesting…”

I’ve been kayaking for a couple of years now, and it has been a while since I’ve been truly scared. The last time I got a fright was when I was still learning to roll, and took on the lower Youghiogheny. At the time, when I swam for the 3rd or 4th time, I felt a sense of total fear and despair: the anticipation that what is to come is going to be of comparable, or more pain, than the ordeal just experienced. I had seldom felt that way, but this was definitely one of those moments.

I got back into my boat, and we headed towards the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac. Needless to say, my ego was shattered, and the Potomac looked like it was raging. This was not the greatest of combinations. As we headed down, we decided that we should either take the center of the left side. It should be mentioned that the Potomac is about a mile wide, which would make for an interesting swim, should one be unfortunate enough to be forced out of his or her kayak at the river’s center.

We knew from experience that the right side had huge rocks that would surely create some terrifying holes. Little did we know that the center chute would hold the same fate…

We directed our attack to river left, but as we went down the river, all three of us drifted towards the center. The waves were bigger than the section of the Staircase that we just experienced, and it was a struggled just to stay upright. We could see in the distance that whole trees were being thrown around like pieces of broccoli in a Chinese stir-fry. That’s when I felt the fear again.

In my already weakened state, I was just trying to survive. But as we headed towards the Harper’s Ferry Bridge, we could see that there was a horizon line coming up. “This is kind of strange.” I thought to myself, then realizing the gravity of the situation. It was a frightfully chilling moment. We all knew we were in for a nasty spank. I went down the gigantic pour over first, with as much speed as I can muster, and landed perfectly. I must have cleared the hole by a good 6 feet. However, as I started to paddle, I noticed that I was going backwards. At this moment, Kevin had also gone over the ledge. I took a glance at him while wrestling to get out of the low pressure system. Kevin landed upright as well, but he did not clear the hole as far as me. The last thing I saw before he got sucked, was the silhouette of someone furiously paddling, screaming “Oh God, oh God!” As I too became the victim of the hungry river, for the first time in my life, I truly though I was going to die.

We all got sucked into the same hole.

Liz was able to perform an underwater maneuver, and saved herself from a swim. Kevin and I were not so fortunate. I was trapped in hole for a good 20 second. Kevin was flushed out in just a few. When Liz got to Kevin, I was still being thrashed around in the hole. Luckily, since I newly just had a swim, the shock of the water was not that traumatic. I was able to locate my kayak, and held on for dear life. There were several smaller waves, but not much else in terms of hazards. As the situation calmed, I took a good look around myself, and realized the mistake of taking center chute on such a big river. I looked to my left, and then to my right: I was in dead center of a mile wide river. The desolation that I felt is hard to put into words.

Luckily, the kayakers behind us (who knew what they were doing, and consequently took river far left), saw us in distress and came to help. All I can remember was yelling help. As the fellow kayakers came, we performed an on-river rescue (getting into the kayak from a swim). By this time, I was in the water for about 20 minutes, and I could not feel any of my extremities. At one point, the water around my legs actually felt warm. Still, on the second try, I got into the kayak, and started paddle to shore.

I cannot express the gratitude that I feel towards the kayakers that came to help us. If it was not for them, we would have drifted off for a few miles before all three of us could get to shore (if we got to shore at all). When I finally got to shore, this time, my legs were purple. I thought to myself, “this is interesting…”

They don’t tell you this in bio class, but when you’re bordering on hypothermia, you don’t shiver since none of the muscles have any blood flowing to them. As I gradually warmed up, and as my circulatory system began its reboot, I started to shake uncontrollably. My hands were so stiff that they were merely claws, but I knew I had gone through the worst of it. A passing runner offered some peanut butter and trail mix. I gobbled it down with an unsavory series of quavers.

Later, the three of us had a good laugh about it. As Liz would later quote, “Do not taunt with nature, because you will soon realize that you are small, insignificant, and biodegradable.” Aye… we are indeed biodegradable. and we sure did underestimate the river that day.

In retrospect, it was quite humorous seeing Kevin paddling for his life while yelling “Oh God, oh God!” But it was not quite as funny at the time. When we got back to Baltimore, and checked the gauge on AmericanWhitewater, the Shenandoah was at a staggering 10. The Potomac was at an unbelievable 18 (6.8 is rated as “safe”). The river level had flash-flooded overnight.

There are three things I learned that day.

Always check the river on the day of the trip.

Always assume you’ll swim (and consequently wear appropriate gear).

Don’t go down a river at flood level.

Yeah I know… They seem so painfully obvious don’t they?