Blast from the Past: Dangerous Waters on the Potomac
By Keith Edmondson
Editor's note: This article, published in the Cruiser in the 1990s, has lost none of its relevance.
Normally in the summertime, Old Anglers Inn is a very popular place, with boaters portaging their boats to and from the river and drivers jockeying their cars to make the smallest slot a parking space. But this day, it was almost empty. Two or three cars were in a parking lot built for 30, and none of those had canoe racks. They belonged to hikers or fishermen, not to boaters.
Kenn and I pulled up with our almost brand new aluminum canoe. It was 17 feet long with a lake keel, not built for paddling whitewater. But that was what we were here to do. Or rather that was what we were here to learn to do. Two weeks ago, we had decided to become contestants in the 14th Annual Middle States Whitewater Open Canoe Downriver Championships. This race would be held April 3. Two weeks ago we had never been in whitewater! Today was the 19th of March. We had a lot to learn.
The day began sunny and cool, perhaps 50 degrees, no more. We had been out the week before, but because of the snow melt in the mountains, the river had risen and the water we had easily paddled the week before was pushy this week. Both of us were wearing long pants, shirts, lightweight sweaters, windbreakers, and tennis shoes. In addition, we were each wearing an orange, horseshoe-type, kapok life vest. The water was a cold 50 degrees and in flood, but being beginners, we had no idea that we were embarking on a dangerously unfriendly river. We simply did not recognize it as such.
The week before, we had paddled up the river about 2 miles and had portaged around each of the rapids. Then we had turned and run the river downstream, running each of the rapids as we came to them. It was great fun, although we disagreed a lot about how to steer the boat.
This week we had decided to do the same thing. The river, however, had other ideas. First, we tried to paddle up the main river channel, but the current was too strong. Next, we tried an inside channel beside a large island. This time we made it. At the top, we portaged around a set of rapids and into the main river. As soon as we pushed off from shore, things began to get nasty. We were being pulled downstream at a fast rate toward a big, seething rapid with huge holes and big waves. It reminded me of a giant shark just waiting for dinner to happen on him—and we were it. Just in the nick of time we pulled up next to a large rock and jumped out to rest and figure out what to do next.
Since the current was too strong to go back upstream, we were committed to running the set of rapids that lay immediately downstream. After resting a bit, we climbed back into the canoe and pushed off. There were two big hydraulics in a row and we were going to hit them both. Our plan was to paddle as fast and hard as possible and to take in as little water as we could.
We didn't have a chance, nor were we prepared for what happened next. The first hole stopped us dead in the water and just sucked us straight down, boat and all. Then we came to the second hole, which spun us around like a washing machine for a while before spitting us out like a bad taste. The water was so cold that we went into a kind of shock, not even realizing that we were cold. The next few minutes went by in sort of a blurred motion. We both swam to the boat and got in. Under our weight, it was underwater about 3 feet. Kenn had saved his paddle and I grabbed the extra one. We began paddling, somehow still balancing the boat underneath us. It seemed like a lark. We were both facing each other and therefore paddling toward each other. We didn't realize that our minds were being affected by the cold. By this time we were sliding by the shore where we had earlier put in. Two fishermen waved at us. We waved back. It was becoming ludicrous.
Finally, we decided that enough was enough. It was time to make a self-rescue. But the current was still very strong and we no longer had the strength to swim both us and the boat to shore. We were quickly being swept into an unknown section of the river. We didn't know what dangers lay waiting for us downstream. We did know that a 60-foot length of rope was still with us, because it was all tangled up around my legs. After we got it untangled, Kenn took one end of it and swam toward shore with it. I had tied the other end to the center thwart. But the shore was much farther away than 60 feet. He got lucky and looped the middle of it around a rock. The boat, with me hanging on to it, swung like a giant pendulum toward another set of rocks. We crashed into them and I almost lost my grip. I finally worked my way up the boats gunwale until I could partially climb onto the rock.
By this time we had been in the water about 15 minutes. I was beginning to feel apathetic. Kenn jumped off his rock and onto another one farther downstream taking the rope with him. I pried the boat off the rock I was on and watched it pendulum into another larger rock. Kenn tied off the rope and slid down it to the boat. He began to work at getting the boat up on the rock and empty of water. I continued to sit crouched, half in, half out of the water, on my rock. All I could do was watch the world go by. I didn't care anymore. Hypothermia had me in its clutches. If I did not get rescued soon, the next phases would be unconsciousness and then death.
Suddenly, I saw another canoeist paddling toward us. He seemed to know that we were in trouble, but I didn't see how he could paddle up that powerful current to get to us in time. I stood up briefly and waved at him, then went back to my heat-saving crouched position. It seemed to take forever, but he finally got up to the rock where Kenn was and helped him aboard. Together they paddled over and helped me into the center of the boat, where I collapsed into the bottom.
We had spent approximately 40-50 minutes in the water and we were both suffering badly from hypothermia. Hypothermia, commonly called exposure, is the loss of bodily function—both movement and powers of thought—due to the cooling of the body's core temperature. The results may be as mild as intense shivering or as serious as loss of life.
When we got to shore, Kenn raced up the path with the car keys to get the heater going, while bystanders helped me out of the boat and up the path. By the time we got to the car, the heater was just beginning to put out warm air. Our rescuers stripped our wet clothes off and covered us with a lightweight emergency blanket. Then the park police arrived and added wool blankets and assurances that help was on the way. By the time the ambulance arrived, I was feeling almost normal. It was Kenn, who had put out all that tremendous energy trying to save us, who was now in jeopardy. While I was returning to normal, Kenn had gone from violent shivers to semiconsciousness.
It was touch and go during the ride to the hospital whether Kenn would slip away from us. While the ambulance attendant monitored his heart rate and body temperature, I piled more blankets on him. We had to keep him talking so that he would not lose consciousness totally. If he had, it would have been questionable whether we would have been able to bring him back or not. Fortunately for all of us, he was back to his usual self and giving the nurses a hard time soon after we were admitted to the hospital. We had been given another chance.
Since that day of peril 13 years ago, I have not only learned safe canoeing for myself but have taught many others to paddle safely as well. And as the Clubs Safety Chairman for more than two years, I was given the opportunity to encourage a stronger attitude of safety in others. To this day I have remembered the raw power of the river. The lesson I learned that day was to respect the river, it gives no quarter and not one whit of caring if you are not prepared. It is worth your life to learn safe attitudes and knowledgeable skills, and to buy the best equipment that you can afford; commensurate with the water that you paddle on. © 1990
Author's note, 2024: We were lucky in that when we were drifting down the river submerged in very cold water that Ken Fassler, who lived alone in the cabin on Offutt Island and who made the rescue, just happened to be looking out the window at the moment that Kenn Hill and I were passing the Old Anglers put-in. If he had been doing anything else—reading, napping, shopping for food off the island, or just about anything except looking out the window upstream at that particular moment in time—both Kenn Hill and I would not have survived. Ken Fassler, as it turned out, was very talented in many ways, teaching classical guitar in the Potomac, MD, community and many years later becoming the caretaker of Sycamore Island Canoe Club. He is nearly 90 now and living in WV.
After the accident, Kenn and I went back to see him a week later to thank him for saving us and to ask him if there anything we could do to thank him. He said simply, "Come back, learn how to do it right, teach others." So I did just that for many years.
Also of note, I checked with USGS many years later, and the water was 50.9 deg F, with a river level of 4.94 ft on the Little Falls gage.