1966 - Running The Rapids

Our scouting trip to the boundry waters in Canada was packed with new adventures or awsome scenery every day. The water was ice cold as it came from somewhere way north but it was crystal clear and visability was, easily, 50-feet. Days were warm...nights were freezing.

1966 – Running The Rapids

We turned the corner and a good sized lake appeared off the bow. Our paddles slapped the water as we motivated across the lake. Our shirts were off and our life-vests were lying in the bottom of the canoe as we enjoyed a beautiful and warm, but humid, day. On the chart there was a vague line across the width of the lake, which we had discussed and come to no conclusion. It seemed to split the lake in half so, we conjectured, perhaps it was a property designation. What could this unevenly dotted line mean? We were 4-days into our Explorer-Scout “Canadian Canoe Trip.”

The lake was about a mile across with the width being about half that. As we proceeded across the lake an actual vague dark line appeared and came closer and closer until we were upon it. The little dots on the chart had signified a series of boulders that walked a straight line across the lake. In between each outcropping was a short waterfall emptying in our direction. The water dropped only a couple of feet and was not turbulent at all. We could paddle right up to the lower edge of the waterfall and reach out to touch the flow of water being careful not to dip the bow of the canoe into the falling water. Dave and Bill climbed up on one of the rock outcroppings and, grabbing the bow of the canoe, easily lifted the craft up the waterfall noticing that the bow stayed floating on the surface of the rushing water. As soon as more than half of the canoe had climbed the tiny cataract the rear end of the canoe shot up, hanging over the edge and easily pushed forward onto the top end of the lake. As Hardy and Terry climbed onto the outcropping Mike said to me, “I bet we could just punch through that with a little speed.”

We backed off around 20’ and put paddle to water stroking as hard as we could. As the bow hit the down rushing water it dipped upwards trying to climb the liquid with its well designed buoyancy. As forward momentum overcame buoyancy the bow of the canoe dipped slightly as though it was about to dive under the slight waterfall. I was amidships and leaned back from the inflow of water, putting my weight as far towards the stern as possible. The bow popped up with barely a gallon of water actually spilling into the craft. We pulled hard with the paddles and smoothly sailed right up the falls to the exceedingly calm water immediately above the falls. We paddled back to the rock outcropping and held on as we urged our scout-mates on.

As this was the 3rd day out we had not before had a significant issue with the current as it was so slow and easy to paddle against. When our trek began we had accidentally selected to paddle into the current instead of with it by innocently selecting the wrong river as we moved from our starting point. It now became clear what reversing our direction of travel had done on some rare occasions like this one. We had missed out on the opportunity to just ride the current through little attractions like this. Mike and I sat back a few feet and with unanimous agreement between the two of us ran the waterfall 3-more times until Ron’s dad reminded us we still had a couple of miles to go until camp and it was getting to be mid-afternoon. We wrapped up our impromptu game of ride-the-falls and proceeded to camp without further incident.

We arose the next morning to find our socks, hanging over our heads inside our tents to dry overnight, stiff with ice. A couple of us collected deadfall and stoked the campfire while others prepared powered eggs and fresh bass for breakfast. Before breakfast we all beat our socks against the hot rocks to break the ice off and to warm them enough to wear…they were not dry and, upon pulling them on, our feet chilled quickly but warmed again when our body temperature managed to warm our toes. The day was warming as we got underway.

We had only been traveling for a few hours when the sound of rushing water again assaulted our ears. Earlier, only an hour into our day, we’d had to portage around a 15’-high falls so we were prepared for another trek around. It was a steep but short climb around. We contemplated the size of the expected waterfall and discussed how much water had to be falling to make the noise we heard ahead of us but still out of sight. Before long we came around a bend in the river to glide over a medium-sized pond situated at the foot of what appeared to be a small rapid. As the trees came right up to the edge of the water on our right we disembarked on the right hand side of the pond. We immediately realized this would be more of a major hassle than the falls were this AM. The distance around would be substantially further than this morning’s route around. The rapids were only around 100' long but the way around included a steep cliff that looked almost inaccessable. It looked like there would be a steep walk to a steeper cliff and onto a flat topped area near the top of the rapid. Even that area appeared to be overgrown with brush. As we were portaging around what was normally a downhill ride we surmised there was no trail cut for the up-hill go-around. We would have to cut our own. We were of course headed uphill or against the current because we routed ourselves against the current upon our initial route planning.

Because most of the boys were trying to get out of their canoes all-at-once Mike and I held back, talking and awaiting our turn. Our impatience was showing as in some cases several trips would need to be made per canoe to trek all of the food, tents, sleeping bags as well as the pots and pans that we carried in our canoe along with our personal items. We had anchored ourselves by relaxing a foot each on the boulder that completed the downhill end of a rough line of rocks and boulders that cut the length of the rapids as we contemplated the water that spilled down the short hill before us. The line of boulders and rocks broke the rapids into two distinct channels: one wide and fast and one somewhat narrower but with wilder looking waves and troughs. As I held us fast Mike clambered out onto the bunch of boulders and rocks making up the bottom spot. He climbed over the boulder and called for me to throw him the rope that was fastened to the bow and join him on the other side. I was glad to do this as it looked like more of an adventure than sitting in a canoe waiting for our turn. The first of the portage party headed out for the trail up with more than a few grumbles.

As I climbed over the rocks in our little island of stone in a current of chaos I could see why Mike was excited. It appeared there was really no reason not to simply unload both of us and, skipping from rock-to-rock towing the lightened canoe behind, reach the top of the rapids and push off to the calm waters above the wild water. Mike, holding the rope, made the jump up-stream to the next boulder. I followed immediately behind pushing the canoe ahead as Mike reeled in the rope. The series of little rocky outcroppings were fairly easy to traverse as most of these “islands” were easily big enough to hold both of us without too much crowding. Although most of the jumps were easy there were a couple that were a bit challenging and once I dunked a boot in the stream to my ankle. That short exposure to the current tugged hard at my foot – the current was much stronger than it appeared. We had reached the final jump which Mike barely made, slipping on the wet rock and stretching just barely enough to make good purchase on the rough stone holding tightly and pressing a cheek against the rock until his balance was fully restored and he felt he was in no danger of going for a swim. The rock jutted up tall and narrow and separated from the rest of the group by a good sized gap. The jump was wide enough that Mike had to hold his full-length against the rock for a couple of seconds to assure a good solid hold. I eyed the gap.

I prepared for the jump chickening out at the last second. The gap simply looked too far for me and I had no confidence I would be able to come even close to the tiny little ledge I would need to reach to assure good footing. I prepared again but stopped a second time by the size of the gap and the wildness of the water filling that gap. After my second failed attempt Mike suggested I climb into the canoe. He would pull me the 3-4 feet required for me to get to a spot where I could climb out. Although the water was moving very fast the stream was less than a foot deep and we could easily see the bottom right through the water where it was calm enough not to foam. The water was so shallow that it appeared that as soon as I climbed into the stern the craft it would settle to the shallow bottom and I could climb the length of the canoe using it as a temporary bridge, and then climb back out and onto the rocks. It sounded like a good plan and Mike confirmed he would have no trouble holding the canoe against the current. I stepped.

As soon as my full weight was on my foot I could feel the canoe scrape against the bottom of the stream and slip sideways. It obviously was not settling to the bottom due to the high speed of the rushing water. At this point the torrent was just starting its downhill fall and there was plenty of energy trying very hard to get downstream. I started to step forward and the shifting current caused me to almost lose my balance and catch myself by falling heavily into the aft seat. “Stay there!” Mike shouted. “Let me pull it a couple of feet closer and you can climb out.” Sounded like a plan. I sat. Mike pulled. The canoe moved toward Mike with very little effort but as soon as I rose to my feet it bucked, trying to break loose. Mike dug in with his feet and pulled. I could see the nose of the canoe was dug in between two uneven slabs of rocks and as Mike pulled the nose the rear of the canoe rose up until it took about a 35-degree angling forward. It began slipping through the air sideways and Mike immediately dropped it back into the current. The front of the canoe was trying to wedge itself in between the two rocks. I put my weight on my rear foot to try and raise the front of the canoe but with Mike pulling hard on the bitter-end of the nose this caused the nose of the canoe to buck up and threw me toward the rushing water. In reaction I was thrown completely off-balance and I fell heavily forward toward the front seat landing on my hands and knees. I felt the canoe slip sideways to the current and felt it roll, unbalanced, to the left where it began to dip a rail towards the water.

The canoe gave a hard shimmy and feeling the power of the current I looked back down the canoe towards the stern noticing immediately that there was a hollow tube of water rushing into the bottom of the canoe and making a tube down the length of which I could look, however briefly. As time dilated I watched my sleeping bag spin around the walls of this watery tube, immediately followed by dad’s tackle box and Mike’s sleeping bag then the brown packs full of pots and pans. This was about the time I realized the whole world was turning around with the rushing water. I didn’t fully realize until I was submerged face-down in the water that this illusion had been caused by my irresistibly joining the rest of the canoe’s contents. I felt smooth rocks and stone glide by underneath my fingers but I was moving way too fast to get a hold on even one of them. I felt myself spinning around like an out-of-control water bug. I raised my head to see one of the boulders spin by only a few inches from my head. I distinctly remember getting a visual of a smashed watermelon with its red inside spilling all over with black and white seeds spilling everywhere and green rind split with multiple deep cracks and breaks. I desperately reached out time and time again to the rocks scrapping under my desperate grasping hands with no relief whatsoever. I picked my head up again and saw I had spun fairly close to the left-hand side of the stream and grabbed at a low hanging tree branch to have it jerked out of my hand while being physically and violently thrown back into the current. At that moment my foot caught on a sunken tree root and I threw my self toward that secure purchase. I held on for dear life drawing myself close enough to the bank to find a spot where the water was calm and enabled me to sit up in my 3-6 inches of water to get my breath back.

The journey had only taken a couple of seconds but seemed like all day as I could recall every spin and buffet I took while the current was abusing my body. I crawled onto the bank noticing a well worn path we had all missed. It continued gently uphill. It was well shielded by this season’s edge growth. Jack and Bill were there almost as soon as I came to rest yelling “Get in! We’ve got to retrieve the stuff!” I jumped in and we paddled off in pursuit of our still floating supplies. The pack, although full of pots and pans, had retained enough air to enable it to float low on the surface where we quickly retrieved it. We managed to recover everything except my dad’s tackle box which sank out of site just as I reached for it, dropping into the invisible depths when I was quite literally 12 inches away.

I spent an additional ½ hour trying to dive for dads gear using the mask and fins I had brought along but, as clear as the water normally was, the turbulent rapids had muddied the water until it was simply too murky to see clearly to the bottom which was an undetermined distance below.

To this day I have few regrets about Mike, Hardy’s and my and my decision to go in the direction we headed when we started. It is now all ancient history but so many of our adventures could have been a lot calmer and the trip a lot easier if our direction of travel had been reversed. In fact I could have been perfectly happy not to be able to relate this tale.

But here it is.