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Picture taken three days later of what was nearly my tombstone
We were soaking wet in the middle of nowhere with virtually nothing and daylight was fading. I pulled the waterproof map from my pocket for us to form a self-rescue plan. It was doubtful another paddler would be foolish enough to come by this late in the day.
According to the map, if we were where we thought we were, the Blair Creek River Trail should be not far above us. It parallelled the river and, if we got to it and turned north, it would take us to Blue Heron where we might find help.
If we found the trail before dark, we hoped it was obvious enough that we could follow it in the night. Terrain such as this was too steep and tough to be bushwhacked in the dark. Using our canoe paddles as hiking poles, we scrambled up the steep incline. As we did, I recalled a sign in the park restroom listing medical centers that stocked antivenom serum for snakebites. I yelled to Trevor, “Watch out for snakes.”
Along the way, Trevor dropped his canoe paddle and it slid down the slope out of sight. We both wore Keen sandals; having served us well in the water, they were now doing the same on steep and uneven ground.
Our hike up was strenuous and our hearts raced. We came to a hard stop when we reached a vertical rock bluff. We skirted north for a distance hoping to find a gap with no joy. Where was the trail? Maybe what we thought was ‘Big Shoals’ was not, there was no sign. Maybe we had not passed ‘Bear Creek,’ there was no sign. Being a past NPS ranger, I knew signs diminish the wilderness experience and the NPS makes sparse use of them.
Again we studied the map. We now deduced we were in the section before ‘Slaven Branch Loop Trail’ comes down to the river. With dimming daylight, we decided to return to the river bank where we would reluctantly spend the night. Giving up ground we had worked so hard to earn was faster and less strenuous; kind of like money.
Once back to the river, we searched for a level spot where we could watch in case someone paddled by that we might hail. As we did, I remembered a survival article that I had read. It taught that when lost in the wilderness, found litter and debris can be valuable. As these thoughts crossed my mind, I spotted a tattered green tarp hanging from a tree, apparently caught there during a previous flood. We were able to get it down and it was dry.
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Clif later took this picture of their "cherished" tarp.
Finding a suitable sandy spot, we laid the tarp and then roughed the compressed sand beneath it to make a soft bed – yeah right. Our exercise had warmed us and our synthetic clothes were now only damp. We pulled our hoodies over our bald heads, laid on the tarp, used our PFDs as pillows, spooned for warmth, and then covered ourselves with the tattered tarp. It reminded me of a burrito.
The tarp was not big enough to cover both of us without a gap. Whoever was exposed to the gap would get cold. As uncomfortable as we would get laying on our side, spooning proved the only way to thwart hypothermia. We slept little and often turned from side to side. When the person exposed to the gap began to shiver, we would switch.
Without expressing it, we both seemed to recognize that self-pity would serve us no good, but gratefulness would. In my discomfort, I was grateful to be alive, that there were no mosquitoes, and that it did not rain.
A situation like this makes for a lot of thinking. I remembered when Trevor was a small boy and I had taken the boys on a cross-country ski which turned out longer than anticipated. Trevor, tired and cold, began to cry. To counter it, we all began singing ‘She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes.” We sang it over and over again. And with it, Trevor regained his resolve.
On this night we did not sing or complain. Here we would lay for nine hours. Trevor said I snored a bit before midnight, and I heard him do the same toward daybreak. Lying awake, we quietly pondered our next self-rescue option for when daylight returned.
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Picture later taken of the place where we spent our most uncomfortable night.
Having suffered the most uncomfortable night of our life, it was odd we were both hesitant to leave what little heat the tarp held when daybreak came at 6:30 am. I rolled up our now cherished tarp and carried it while Trevor used the remaining canoe paddle as a hiking pole. We had not eaten since 1:00 pm the previous day but didn’t feel hungry, although we would have benefited from the energy food would have provided. We had not drunk anything since around 6:00 pm and were thirsty, but not yet enough to risk drinking unfiltered river water.
We had decided to, as best we could skirt the river edge downstream, now thinking it would take us to Bear Creek. It was 6:45 am when Trevor began leading the way.
Less than an hour into it, obstacles forced us up the slope. There I spotted what appeared to be the downside of a trail berm. I scrambled to it and was elated to be right. It was at an elbow in the trail, which had just come down the slope and turned to parallel the river downstream. Our spirits were instantly infused. We rechecked the map and now deduced we were at the bend in the ‘Slaven Branch Loop.’ We would later learn we were wrong. As we walked, Trevor’s improvised hiking stick, a canoe paddle, clicked every time it struck the crushed stone.
Within thirty minutes we heard voices. When the trail turned right, across the stream, we could see people running up a hill. Were we hallucinating? Our pace quickened to the trail bridge which we thought crossed Bear Creek; wrong it was Laurel Creek. The people wore running clothes and numbered tags. Our paths had crossed that of the Yamacraw Trail Run.
Our disheveled appearance (wearing PFDs, carrying a paddle and a tattered tarp) drew the attention of a middle-aged runner named Tim DePoynt (sp). We told him our dilemma and he gave us his water bottle and an energy bar. He pointed down the trail, saying that within two miles we would find refreshments at the aid station located at Blue Heron. “Thank you, Tim,” and with that, he ran off. Things were continuing to get better.
The trail leads us across the finish line for the race and the crowd’s stares were telling. I’m sure we appeared as a homeless couple who lived in the woods. They offered us food and water which we graciously accepted. As we made our way through the people, we saw a man in an NPS uniform.
We approached the man in the NPS uniform as he was ending a conversation with a race official. The man was Jeremy Capps, Zone Safety Officer for five NPS units, and was there checking on the race. He listened empathetically to our story and advised he would radio a protection ranger to respond. We waited at a picnic table by Trevor’s truck, for which we had no keys, as we consumed fluids and nourishment, compliments of the Yamacraw Trail race.
Within thirty minutes, Ranger Gary Shreffler arrived. Without apparent judgment, he listened to our story. We told him the last we saw our canoe was earlier this morning. It was upside down, with gear hopefully still strapped or tethered inside, and pinned against a rock in the middle of the river. He then had us show him on the map where we thought that was.
Ranger Shreffler then skillfully asked what landmarks we remembered. I told him I had seen a water gauge on river right. He said there was only one gauge between Station Camp and Blue Heron and it was downstream from Bear Creek. We told him why we didn’t think we had passed Bear Creek as we had not seen its canoe launch. It said it was rarely used and hard to notice if you didn’t know what you were looking for. He then began asking times. He then concluded we had not capsized where we thought and pointed out on the map where he thought our canoe was. In my 38 years of law enforcement, I have conducted uncountable victim interviews, none more skillful than Ranger Shreffler’s.
Ranger Shreffler arranged for Jermy Capps to give us a ride back to where my van was parked at Station Camp. While I had no keys, it was a Ford with an exterior combination unlock touchpad. If I could just remember the code, we could get inside where I had other keys stowed, along with my iPhone and billfold.
Before we left, Ranger Shreffler advised later today he hoped to get eyes on the canoe from shore to confirm its location. I told him once we got our van, we would return to our campsite at Blue Heron.
That afternoon he stopped by, showing me a picture of our pinned canoe. It was where he thought it would be. Now being Sunday, Ranger Shreffler advised he would attempt a recovery on Wednesday, allowing the river flow to subside and he to recruit an additional ranger to assist. Trevor and I volunteered to help and he made arrangements for us to sign on as VIPs (Volunteer In Park).
Trevor arranged to extend his vacation and for his other keys to be overnighted to park headquarters. They arrived Tuesday at 4:00 pm. Everything having fallen apart, was now starting to come back together.
On Wednesday morning, Trevor and I met with Ranger Gary Shreffler and Ranger Chandler Shepherd. We launched two rafts at Bear Creek, upstream from our pinned canoe.
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The river seemed much calmer than when we had paddled it Saturday. It was, the river flow being down from 1140 CFS to 600 CFS.
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Picture taken by Ranger Shreffler day after capsizing, Note upside down canoe in middle of boulder.
In time, we came to the canoe, pinned against the boulder that nearly became my tombstone. What gear remained was soaked. We deflated the canoe and loaded it and the recovered gear onto the two rafts. The black nylon shoulder bag that contained a billfold, iPhone, car keys, and pistol was nowhere to be found – presumably claimed by the river.
Having crashed into and then rubbed against the boulder for three days, the Sea Eagle TC16 canoe revealed three scuff marks on the bow and remained seaworthy - impressive. We then continued our float to the Blue Heron pull-out where our vehicles waited.
To get there, the rangers must maneuver through a significant obstacle – Devil's Jump. The challenge was that the boulder field created narrow chutes that the rafts might not fit through. To make it, they would have to thread the needle.
We beached the boats river right, just shy of Devil's Jump so they could scout their route. It was decided that Trevor and I would wait on a rock near the final narrow chute where they might toss us a line to help pull them through. To quote a past ranger I worked with, “It was an opportunity to excel,” and these two rangers did just that.
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While not enjoyable at the time, it is enthralling to adapt, improvise, and overcome such a situation. Having nearly died, we had truly lived. For us, it had been more than an adventure, it had been a CRUCIBLE - a severe test or trial or an extremely challenging experience.
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