|
Me on the Wading River, March 7, 2010. Horrible photo, but it was the only one that made it -- the other camera took a sink in the drink. |
Trip: Wading River Put-in: Hawkins Bridge
Take-out: Bodine Field
Gauge reading: 12.4' (Wading); 3.3' at 140+ cfs (Oswego)
Air temp: 50s (first warm weather since fall)
Trip time: 3:35
For the most part, this long, overdue paddle was filled with bright spots -- we spotted a pair of white-bodied hawks, spooked a flock of mallards, I even found a "beer buddy" drink holder in the mud banks that fit my boat perfectly.
"Could this day get any better?" I asked Chris.
And then moments later, things got real ugly.
We were well ahead of schedule -- probably had about less than an hour to the take-out at Bodine Field. We had been paddling just over two hours and were sort of taking it easy -- me scoping for birds, and Chris, um, checking his fingernails I guess ... and it's in this moment of hangnail discoveries that Chris finds himself pinched in the arch of an old, prickly gray cedar, water rushing into his boat. He was literally caught with his paddle down.
During a futile, few-second struggle, his boat quickly fills and he's flipped into the river. Sigh.
After a few laughs, I paddle toward him, several yards downstream. He's gasping from the shock of the cold water and the surprise flip. He's hanging onto a branch sprouting up from the river, a few feet from the bank, but the water's still over head. He assures me he's OK, and climbs up the mud.
Now, I'm in pursuit of his boat. I try to to push it to the river's edge repeatedly, but it quickly becomes like cattle roping on the river. His boat's filled with water. The river's pushing. It gets hung up in a strainer, so I take a few minutes to paddle back to Chris. He's soaked, but OK.
After a few more tired tries, I manage to get the boat to a bushy riverside area. I wrestle both boats up and over the bank. While his boat drains, I travel on land back up along the river to Chris. He's on the other side of a small feeder river to the Wading, so we're separated by about 15 feet of slow-moving water.
"You OK?" I ask.
"Yeah. Got the boat?" he responds.
"Yep. You got your paddle?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says.
"Great. Can I borrow it?" I say.
That's right, I must've dropped my paddle in the river while wrestling our boats up the bank. Sigh #2.
I manage to hand-paddle in my boat over to Chris. I get his paddle and head back to his boat. While lashing his boat to mine with my shoelace, I drop my camera in the water. Sigh #3.
Finally, we're both in our boats -- me paddling with Chris in tow. We find my paddle stuck in a strainer a bit downstream. It's sort of sketchy getting it without falling in, but I manage, and soon we're back on our planned course. Sigh (of relief) #4.
Battered, wet, stressed, but not beaten -- that's how this trip ended. But, all things considered, it could have been worse. Luckily, we were both wearing PFDs. Admittedly, if it had been summer we may not have had them on. Words to the wise: always wear your jackets and respect the river.
Otherwise, a few helpful checkpoints:
* With a good push, it's about a one-hour paddle to Wading Pines Campground.
* There's a gauge just past the campground on the right. It's like a six-foot, silver cylinder rising up from the riverside.
* The take-out at Bodine Field is Bennie-proof. There's a stop sign, a painted post, an orange road barrel, a naked lady. (Just kidding about that last one.)
