Recent kayaking mishap

[josko]

Here's a note from a Woods Hole friend, an excellent paddler. There are lesons here for all of us:

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

3/1/2921 0700 Green House Addition. light rain, 40 degrees, water 35 degrees. 

 

Hmmm, lets see Dear Reader, where were we?  Oh yeah, I was full of octogenerian energy, and had decided to take a delightful morning kayak out through the gutter, around Penzance Point, across to Hadley's Harbor, around Nonamessett and back to the boat house. 

 

The first step was getting through the gutter.  I tried the right side of the channel, but immediately realized the current was already flooding too strongly, so did a basic maneuver to cross the stream, and work my way up the eddy on the other side. This meant going between rocks, something I’ve done many times before, just a matter of coordinating rudder and paddle and boat and water.

 

The eddy helps, the returning water accelerates you into the flowing stream, and I made it past the first big rock on the left.  Grandkids leap from this rock out into the current to ride it down into the Gyre. Now I had to steer a little left, to leave the next rock on the right, and then quickly correct to miss the last rock on the left. No problem.

 

The music by this time is quite real, it's a rushing roaring exciting noise made by water flowing at speed over and onto rocks. Fishing at night, you can hear the rocks better than you can see them.

 

I applied pressure to my left foot, which directed the boat a little left. As I did that, my right foot slipped off the control pedal.

 

The boat immediately veered far left, the entire kayak turned sideways , banged into the rock we had just passed, and without any purchase for my foot, I missed a brace on the right side, and was immediately under water. Still in the boat, of course.

 

I tried a roll, and I think we hit the first rock about then, tried once more, then decided to bail. That means finding and pulling the strap at the front of the spray skirt, which lets you perform a wet exit to get up to the air again. Trying to find the spray skirt strap, I remembered I had on the nice thick mittens.  Oh yeah.  Dropped the paddle, pulled off the right hand mitten, grabbed the strap, and completed the wet exit, Felt like about 45 seconds.  

 

So now I’m in the water. That’s the minus side of the equation. Also, where’s the paddle?  Also, I remember, quite clearly, meaning to put another breakdown paddle in the boat, but not doing it. On the plus side, I still have the boat, upside down, and the mitten. And I’m only yards away from a perfectly good island, and about that far from Penzance Point.

Oh, another minus…there’s nobody else around.  Only a fool or an expert would go kayaking in winter.  

 

There's a saying attributed to Sir Wm Osler; ‘the doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient’.  I’m sure there is some bon mot to cover my situation.  But that wasn'ton my mind just at that moment, yesterday morning.

 

Another minus is arriving inside my dry suit. Cold water.  What i had considered a minor leak is becoming major.

 

OK, I look around for the paddle, and there it is. Only a few feet away, and I dont want to let go of the boat, so I try to lunge at it and miss and it goes on by. So no paddle.

 

Look, I’m still in the current, but if i swim east, with the boat, I should be able to swim into the part of the current that is going to go between Ram and Devils Foot, and get to land on Ram.  Then I can figure out what to do next.

 

So I start swimming. I’m bouyant, thanks to the PFD, and so I keep one arm on the kayak, and start kicking in the direction of Ram island, across not against the current.  

 

I am not worried. Yes my unmittened hand is cold, yes the cold water is still coming in, but it’s only about 100 yards, the length of the swimming event I used to cover in under a minute. And it looks like i am getting closer.

 

And

the Gyre is more of a factor than I had thought, We are maybe 150 yards from Devils Foot, but now looking at the rocks along the shore, I realize that we are no longer heading East. We are going South, and definitely faster than I can swim the boat. 

The gyre is an extended eddy*, generated by the flooding northward current racing in between Devils Food and Penzance,  There isn’t room for all the water coming in, so some of it is circling around to get back into the current. A whirlpool is a tight gyre.  My own Charibdis here isn’t so obviously dangerous, and in summer, in a bathing suit, I could easily swim out of it. But in the moment, if I can’t swim myself and the boat out of it, I will just keep circling around.  Oh no. (*Real oceanographers reserve the term ‘gyre’ for the 5 really global ones).

 

I am regretting I didn’t immediately try to turn the kayak over and get back into it, pump it out and hand paddle. But now my right hand isn’t working well, and i don’t think I have the strength to turn the kayak over and try to get in. Better keep on trying to swim. The land is right there. I wrap the bow line of the kayak around my right wrist, and strat trying to swim with my left hand as well as kicking with both feet.

 

The gyre pulls us, gently but firmly, back towards the main current ,  And so, gently but firmly, we complete a circuit, and are once again washing north towards Ram island. 

 

It occurs to me this is the equivalent of dying while wandering in circles in a snowstorm. I haven’t been thinking much about anything except not wanting to die. Its’ ridiculous to be in the middle of winter literally circling death. I have to get out of this.

 

OK, so now I swim east again, across the current, and this time I use both arms and legs and maybe I can get far enough to end up o Devils Foot Island. Breathing is getting strangely congested, and I feel the first wash of …something. I really am not ready to leave this life. So its really time to get all fours moving.

 

This is like a movie.  Where in the process of frog kicking and arm thrashing is the brain?  Well, it’s not part of panic, that’s something. Fear, more likely. I really do believe I have to get out of this myself. Knowing the reality of winter here, I can’t expect any help.  Maybe the ‘something’ is just cold. The suit is full of water now. My right hand isn't hurting anymore, but it’s not moving either. Thrash, thrash, thrash, thrash.  Just keep doing it.

 

No, no, I’m starting to be pulled back out to the current again. NO!  I JUST HAVE TO SWIM HARDER!!  

 

And, finally, I’m close enough to let my legs dangle and YES, its sand and grass and I can take staggery waterty steps towards Devils Foot, pulling the kayak behind.

 

If the kayak had filled with water, I am pretty sure I wouldnt be writing this.

 

So, I am slogging through the last few feet to the sandy shore of Devils Foot Island. I don't know whether I managed to shout or just speak, but what I chose was “I DID IT!”  Many times, with gasps in between. It is exactly the spot where we arrive as a family by boat, several times each summer. Its sunny and hot, and the kids leap into the current, waltz through the gyre, and have a wonderful time.

 

I feel with absolute certainty that my legs are too heavy to stand or walk. And it’s true. The water that leaked into the dry suit is now pooling in the legs of the suit.  The rubber lining around my feet is all puffed out, like a clown.  OK, can’t walk; lets crawl.  I crawl up the beach, untangle the line to the boat and pull it up on the sand beside me. Time to rest for a moment. Figure out what to do next. 

 

The current will be running for hours. I don’t want to go back in the water. My suit is full and cold.  Maybe I should try to get out of the PFD? No, I’ll just get colder. At least there is no wind. The water is really calm. Peaceful.

 

A memory jostles its way through my treacherous feeling of calm, my rapid breathing (after the swim, I kept on breathing at about 35 per minute…not sure why). Around the island, about 50 yards away, there are a bunch of 2x4 boards that someone left for making a fire. I could use one of them as a paddle.  If I could walk I could go get one.  So, I have a knife, I can cut a hole in the rubber lining around my feet. One of my booties is gone anyway, if I pull hard I can get the other bootie off, and now get the knife.

 

The knife is in a special sheath on the PDF, and has a quick release feature. At first I think I have to use a thumb finger grip to release the knife, and I can’t do that. Then I remember there's a button, and I use my knuckle, primate basic maneuver, and the knife is available. Somehow, I can grip it with both hands and slash a hole in both swollen rubber foot covers. The water spurts and starts draining.

 

OK, but I need to get the boat turned over. And here’s the first of the miracles. Somehow, turning the boat over isn’t too hard, and the boat is not full of water…good construction.  So now, all I need is a 2x4. 

 

I stand up and immediately fall down. Try more carefully, waver, fall down. I am getting used to this new body as fast as I can, but more systems seem to be going. My vision is getting wierd, around the edges it’s kind of blurry.

 

My third time up, I am able to stagger without falling, and so we go along the tideline, where Fuji the little dog was running just a few months ago after we rowed over one morning. I’m just as glad she isn't here.

 

I’ve staggered and then was able to actually walk slowly along the tideline, found the boards, and selected a suitable one, about 6 feet long. Now I can use it as a walking stick too, so going back is better. 

 

The best way I can describe my mental state is ineffectual.  I issue commands, and sometimes the body follows them. And or course, protected by layers of evolution, the core business of living is going on. As long as I can keep on issuing orders, maybe my body will keep on trying to obey.

 

But Whitman and Proust were right..there is no mind/body duality. Homeostasis is narrowing of process, and that takes body body and mind to greatly limit my previous abilities. Well, if I can pronounce Proust I must be OK. So I try…and actually fail. I can think it but can’t seem to make the saying work. 

 

I must be getting colder. I must get moving right now, while I can.  Plenty of times I’ve tipped over just getting into the kayak. And out on the water. This time, no mistakes.  Just get in the kayak, use the 2x4 to push off from the sand, and start paddling down the current, then across it, then around two piers and you’ll be back at the boathouse.

 

And somehow, I do all that. And am able to hold the 2x4 and balance, and paddle across the current and under two wharfs and to the boathouse. Coming home with real paddle, it usually takes me 5 minutes to do this distance. I have no idea how long it took yesterday. Because by then, my sense of time was very similar to what happens with hallucinogens. Warped.  Well, cold does it too. Good thing to remember.  

 

At the boathouse I usually climb up a ladder; that definitely won’t work. Or I could try to get out of the kayak onto some stairs next to the boathouse. Great ldea, but I havent got the strength to push out and stand up.  OK, so grab the stairs, tip the boat on it’s side, and then scrabble legs,  pull out and then get onto all fours and maybe pull up on the railing.  Yes, I am thinking, but it’s very much a kind of dumb conversation between brain and skeletal musculature. Not the usual automatic obeying. 

 

Pulling, hauling, leaving the kayak overturned in the water, I get up the stairs, and stumble along the wood and metal planking, thank goodness with a railing to lean on, and make it to the boathouse, Inside, I know, Nancy and John have placed a 48,000 PTU propane patio heater. If I can get to it, reach up and complete the two handed process of lighting it. I will be close to 50,000 BTUs better off than I am now.

 

And yes, without a working pincher grip, I can still push and turn the knob, hear the rush of gas, and then push the igniter with the other still mittened  hand. WHOOSH!!  Almost immediately the metal grating starts to glow red, and the first waves of heat arrive.

 

There's a passage in 1984 where an epsilon minus who runs the elevator gets to the roof.  “Roof’, he says, and overcome with emotion but without further words, he repeats it again; “roof, roof, oh, roof!”  Well, that's how the heat felt. A saurian kind of ecstacy. Heat! Heat!  O heat!

 

After a few minutes, the shivering starts.  Now with all this loud pulsing tinnitus in my ears, and the visually fluid situation of the boathouse, breathing becomes more difficult somehow, and visually things get a bit dim. This might be the time a heart attack arrives.

 

From then on, however, it’s all healthy shivering and teeth chattering when I try to talk. I unzip the failed dry suit, using the large fob attached to the zipper, and my fingers still look weird but seem to be working. The heat comes streaming down. Hooray.  I fumble with my cell phone (the plastic bag didnt leak!!) and the phone decides to call the last person I talked to, Karen in Olympia WA.  I can talk, but not very well.  Luckily, she immediately accepts my new (hopefully temporary) reality, and once she’s sure I don't need an ambulance, we arrange a backup plan in case I can’t call Sala.  And I can. And soon, the main shivering has stopped and Fuji walks in through the door of the boathouse wearing her warm red sweater and smiling.

And that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

 

So, fraility.  I don’t know how things would have gone with only slightly different weather. Wind, waves, temperature, more current, more gyre. How did I manage to do all that stuff? Well, having read about Polar expeditions, what I went through seems to fit with their daily lives. Still, I am pretty sure if I hadn’t used all the strength and cunning I had I would have slowly gyred into a state where I didnt much care,  I was there once. Years ago, kayaking a river, got into a ‘keeper’ hole, being held down and thrashed, and gave up in an amazingly short time..maybe little more than a minute. Stopped trying, and almost immediately was able to slide out of the boat, and the river spit both of us out. But this time, I don’t think stopping would have helped. 

 

Here’s what Greg wrote, following his account of tidal currents on a trip with a friend. “Both he and I do not like to use our rudders and we will go to great length to avoid dropping them.  It makes for sore shoulders sometimes as we concentrate on using corrective strokes to stay on line.”   He’s right. If I had taken my rudder out before trying the current, I wouldn't have lost control when my foot slipped. 

 

What else? Don’t go outside the harbor in winter. Replace worn gear. Always keep a spare paddle in the kayak. Always use a paddle leash. Get non slip bootees. Remember to tell friends you love them.

 

Thirty hours later, I still feel different. Very fortunate.

 

Alan

 

[Inverseyourself]

Man, I am glad he is ok!
 

I found the area on Google for better visualization. Is he really in his 80s? Great story of survival. I bet for an uninitiated observer on land it wouldn’t have looked all that bad!

Again, very glad that Alan is all right.

Found this on YouTube:

 

Edited March 7, 2021 by Inverseyourself

[Jim Snyder]

Couldn't stop reading this. When he landed I knew how much trouble he was still in and had to keep reminding myself that he wrote the account. 

[prudenceb]

Alan left out one recommendation: paddle with friends...especially in the winter.  Especially if you don't have a pretty bombproof self rescue, especially if it's not a straightforward calm day...although stuff can happen even then.

 

Edited March 9, 2021 by prudenceb

[josko]

Safest thing is to not paddle at all... especially in winter.

But people should be allowed to set their own risk thresholds. 

 

Edited March 8, 2021 by josko

[JohnHuth]

Well, that's scary.   It reminds me of the Jack London story To Light a Fire, except he made it out to tell the tale. 

[rylevine]

We have an upcoming opportunity to discuss winter paddling.

NSPN Cold Water Workshop - Trips / NSPN Events - NSPN Message Board

Bob

[Joseph Berkovitz]

This cautionary tale definitely hits home. A simple mishap that could happen to any of us in a boat, after which reasonable backup plans were either foreclosed (spare paddle, maybe VHF) or weren’t used (swim test drysuit before launching, self-Rescue immediately to get out of the cold water). Consequences rapidly spun out of control. I have made many of the same kinds of mistakes and each of these stories is an opportunity to re examine my practice. I’m so glad Alan is ok! He is a good writer too and he really captured the event beautifully.

Some folks will say that some aspects of the situation were inherently too dangerous and simply should have been avoided (winter, solitude, winter current, winter solitude, all three in combination). But there’s a big difference between choosing experiences that carry risk, and unintentionally assuming risks that come from our own decisions. I think it’s the latter risks that we should focus on here: what can make a situation safer without compromising the experience we’re looking for in the first place? And solitude on the water is very much an experience that some people desire, as much as being on the water itself. Solitude in nature is special. I really need it sometimes, like a vitamin or something.

So, paddling is unsafe. As Josko said, do we stay at home? No, because we want to paddle and accept some risk, and so try to do it as safely as possible.

Also, paddling in the winter is unsafe. Do we put the boat away for 5 months? Some of us do and it’s a perfectly reasonable decision. Those of us who keep on through the winter accept extra risk, and try to do it as safely as possible.

Also also, paddling alone is unsafe. Do we always need a friend to paddle with? Some of us elect not to paddle alone and that’s reasonable. Those who do... you can fill in the rest of this paragraph.

 

 

 

[eneumeier]

Alan's description of the gyre reminds me so much of my misadventure in Glacier Bay many years ago, except we were caught amongst icebergs also. His ability to keep focused while that hypothermic is impressive. Liz

[josko]

FWIW, I took an unplanned dunk at almost the same spot yesterday (3/30). Things worked, and boat was moving again in less than a minute, but my monitor recorded an amazing heart rate jump during the event. 

Edited March 31, 2021 by josko

[NeXterior]

Good to know Alan is okay. I agree that a simple mishap could happen to any of us in a boat.