After our session on the Guiana Basin at the Canadian
Association of Geographers' annual meeting had ended, a few of us went for
drinks. These things are about networking after all, and as G said,
these are the people we want to network with. Not only did we have lots to talk
about but we realized we were interested in exploring 'nature' in the Vancouver area and as
a bonus we genuinely got along. So we skipped the last day of the conference
and six of us (five presenters + one guest) went on a day long hike up to the
top of Bowen Island, a twenty minute ferry ride away from the mainland. It was
brilliant, sunny, convivial, fun. The earth was soft, the cedars perfumed the
air, the path steep. A perfect outing. The next day the group was smaller
(three presenters + one guest, not the same person from the Island walk),
people had started returning home. We set out to ski the glacier at Whistler.
Laziness, soreness from the day before, a longer drive, a pricey outing led us
to change our minds in Squamish, where we had stopped for breakfast and picnic
supplies. At the local farmers' market T bought a lovely aqua coloured handmade
soap from one of the many artisanal soap vendors and we picked up some lovely,
lovely tasty looking baguettes.
At the
tourism station we decided to make it a lazy day by renting two canoes to float
down the river, picnic, and do a little paddling. After not reading but signing release forms (me, maybe the others did!),
the workers started packing the gear. At the last moment we decided that one
canoe could fit three people (our team consisted of two women, 164 cm, 176 cm
and two men 187 cm and 194 cm) and we would take a kayak instead of the other
canoe. The plan was that we would take turns in the kayak, to mix things up. Growing
up in southern Ontario, enjoying a bit of nature, canoeing for a couple of
hours is pretty tame, should be relatively fine, I'm no guide but capable.
Everyone said they'd done a bit before so I felt relaxed about plan. I also
planned to teach them
"The Canoe Song" that even the BC guys didn't
know. It would be beautiful to hear the Belge and Dutch singing one of my
favorite tunes while dip dipping and singing. Spirits were high when we arrived
at the river. I asked the tourism guy if he had a Ziploc bag for my phone. He
didn't. Nor did we have any other waterproof gear. He was confident that
splashes could be dealt with, I less so but oddly ambivilant. He did tell us the river was flowing at a sprint
pace at the edges. That means that at the centre itss faster than a sprint
(Usain Bolt sprints at 44 km/hour). He also said there were many tree hazards
in the water, to be on the lookout.
 |
| The river looking washed out and gentle. |
It was a hot day and I thought it would be nice to take a dip. As soon as
we arrived with our gear to the river I could see from the bright blue colour
that it was glacial fed and putting my hand in at the edge, I changed my mind about swimming. After a
couple photos, moisturizing, and drinks we were ready. G was the first to go
off in the kayak, I had him demonstrate how he planned to hold the paddle and
it was correct, so I felt confident he would be okay and the rest of us hopped
into the canoe and pulled off, low in the water. The water was fast, the view
tremendous, the company excellent. After about fifteen minutes of admiring the
mountains, clear sky, lush trees, fresh water, and making comments about Gs paddling,
we noticed that G was pumping water out of the kayak. It was comical to see the
force with which he was pumping the stream of water that never ended. He'd
pause, grin and start pumping again and we were cracking up. T was almost
hysterical which made A and I laugh even more. It was the never ending pumping and then, somehow, suddenly, G capsized. The
kayak was upturned, G went down and then came up again. The laughing ended. He
was at least twenty metres away, his paddle and his pump were floating down
stream and I knew that water was cold. It was imperative we get him out of the
water. He was yelling at us to get the paddle. We needed it to get that little
boat moving. I was in the bow, A (the 176 cm female) in the middle and at the T
(the 187 cm guy) back. I reached for his paddle with my paddle. It was too far
away. Then I'm not quite sure what happened, it was quick, and we capsized. I
went under.
The water
was colder than I expected. I thanked God when my head broke the surface, that
I was wearing my life vest. I marveled that the life vest worked and I gasped
for breath. That was the first time I fell out of a boat and the only thing I
knew I should do was hang on to the boat. Then I worried about my phone. And groaned internally,
"not another life threatening adventure, I thought I was done with
these." Then I heard a voice say, "don't panic, we're going to be
okay" (it wasn't God! it was G). "Get the back packs" I had one
and looped it on my arm, the left arm holding the boat. And we tried to swim
the gear to the upcoming shoal. The water was moving so quickly, the gear so
complicated, that it looked like we wouldn't make the gravel bank. The only person I
could see was G right in front of me holding onto the boat as well. A couple of
times someone said "let go of the boats" and "no, hold on."
When it looked like we were going to abandon ourselves to the river, to float
down to the next gravel bank, I came to my senses and knew that it was too dangerous
to do that. The water was too cold (6/7 C), too fast, we didn't know when the
next opportunity would come. I hollered "we can make it, kick" and I
started kicking toward the shore. Everyone was motivated and we started
moving more quickly than the river. At that point I started to feel comfortable
in the river. To feel warm. Then G (at 194 cm) said "I can feel the
bottom." I laughed, and said "I can't feel the bottom," then T
shouted "I feel the bottom" and pretty soon I too felt the river
pebbles under my sneakers. We tumbled ashore, pulled the gear out of the water
and fell into each other's arms, hugs all around, thankful to be together,
safe, out of the water. Alive.
The water
was about 6-7 C and it's difficult to say how long, we were in. We guess around 6-10 minutes. In water between
4.5-10 C wearing no protective clothing, loss of dexterity happens under 5
minutes, exhaustion sets in 30-60 minutes and best rate survival times are 1-3
hours. I started to feel warm before we left the river, which is dangerous. I
don't have a lot of body fat and I'm quite a bit smaller than the others so it
would make sense that I would react first. This site has a great description of
the physical response to and effects of cold water on people:
http://www.shipwrite.bc.ca/Chilling_truth.htm
After removing
some clothing (of all days to be wearing the rusty drawers with the lace that my toes can fit though!), emptying things of water, having some chocolates, lamenting
soggy bread, and tidying things up, we decided to press on. To take things
slowly, carefully. To go to the next gravel bank and reassess the situation. T
swapped with G and took the kayak. I was in the front, navigating, the two
behind me paddling. We were good. We three in the boat were worried about T
because at this point he was using a canoe paddle instead of the kayak one
(that had drifted away with one of G's flip flops) to navigate the tricky
currents. Tough work indeed. He landed at the spit like a boss. Full of
enthusiasm, proclaiming, "it's actually fun."
Mindful of the power of the river and the potential of danger the rest of the journey was
slow and careful. We ended our trip at the sand bank where the river split, the
spot that we had originally intended to have our artisanal picnic. It took us longer than
intended to get there. As was to be expected. We were in good spirits. A & T went looking for
someone to call the guy to come and get us, our phones had all drowned, while G
and I went looking for the flip flop or oar. Neither manifested. Meeting
up again with the guys from the tourism place they were relieved that we were
alive. Really relieved. He kept going on about this was the first (and surely
last) time they let a group down the river without a guide, and how we insisted
(first I heard of it) and that this had never happened.
Reflecting
on the purpose of this adventure, I have to see purpose in everything, was
difficult. Is difficult. It's probably the reason why it's taken me so long to
write this post. I could say it was about taking nature seriously, to not be so
cavalier. I know I didn't know what I was doing. BC's glacier rivers are not
like southern Ontario's runoff rivers. I misjudged. T would be off on some long
hiking trips in the coming weeks, perhaps it was a reminder to him. You can't come close to death and not come out
bonded to each other in some way -- even if we never see each other again we'll
always be friends. Perhaps that bond has some future purpose. Maybe it was
about non-attachment to material things (phones and their contents). Maybe it
was a reminder to regularly back up our data (this was the second loss of the year for me, the first was climbing Cotopaxi). Maybe it was to burn off some negative karma from a
past life. G suggested it was about ego -- that we couldn't let ourselves be
conquered. We cooperated beautifully -- no one panicked, no one decided to boss
the others around, no one was grumpy -- we made decisions together easily,
comfortably. I suspect it may be about decision making. Maybe even about
trusting or depending on people. At that point when it was becoming difficult and we wanted to
give up -- to let the boat go, to not try to get to the shoal, to take a risk to
reach another place -- but we decided not to. Melodramatic as I feel saying it,
we decided to survive. Maybe, the purpose is to learn to make decisions. Not to
take risks. To trust ourselves and to trust others. Or maybe, as my mother suggested, we were saved because we have some purpose to fulfill. Who knows? Speculation over!
