Accident On The Haw River: A Near Death Experience 

by Paul Ferguson 

I paddle my canoe into the bank just above the dam. I have trouble >getting the bow beached. I make a couple of more attempts but fail to >realize the stern is swinging slightly with the current. Pete is >already on the bank scouting the road to use as a portage path. He >sees my trouble and runs down the hill. Suddenly there is a moment of >horror as I realize that the stern has reached the fast water at the >lip of the 15-foot dam. It is a sheer vertical drop with little water >and many boulders below. I take quick forward strokes, but I am >overpowered. I look straight at Pete and he looks intensely at me. >I'm out of his reach and in the grasp of the current. Nothing can be >done. There is no time for even a word. I am descending backwards to >probable death. > >It is September 29, 2004. Pete Peterson and I decide to take >advantage of the recent heavy rain and paddle some river sections we >have never seen. I had previously paddled all of the Haw River >downstream from the NC 87 bridge at Altamahaw. In the past year, the >state established Haw River State Park. One of their primary areas >of interest is land along the Haw near its headwaters. This part of >the river is not run frequently and is likely to contain downed >trees. High water will help us maneuver around trees and make the >journey easier. This watershed includes the headwaters of the Haw >River, Troublesome, and Little Troublesome Creeks. It drains less >than 200 square miles, and there are no gauges. Reedy Fork and >Buffalo Creek empty into the Haw downstream of where we will paddle >today. My guess is we have about 700 cubic feet per second of flow at >our put-in. > >We meet at 9 a.m. and decide to run from the NC 150 bridge, in >Rockingham County seven miles southeast of Reidsville, to the NC 87 >bridge at Altamahaw, a 12-mile trip. I am not sure we can make this >distance since we have no recent reports of paddling conditions. We >decide to divide our day into two runs. The first leg is from the NC >150 bridge to Troxler Mill Road (Guilford County 2711) bridge. If >time is available, the shuttle will be reset and the second leg will >be from Troxler Mill Road to NC 87. > >We are paddling canoes. I am in a 16-foot Mad River Explorer, my >preferred flatwater boat. Pete paddles a 15-foot Dagger Legend. The >water is up, but not out of its banks. It is about 50 feet wide, and >I cannot touch the bottom of the riverbed with my paddle. Current is >generally less than two miles per hour. I am just where I want to be >- exploring a new stream in beautiful weather and good company. There >are many river birch and sycamore trees hanging over the river. At >times the banks rise to 40 feet and have mountain laurel. We are >making good time as we slide over many downed trees that will require >portage when water is lower. Just upstream of Troxler Mill Road >bridge, there is on old broken rock dam creating a Class 1+ rapid. >Near Brooks Bridge Road is a small but very dangerous dam. The drop >is about three feet, and the river is less than 75 feet wide. A >powerful hydraulic extends for six feet in front of the dam. We >easily avoid it by landing on the left bank and carrying around the >dam to put-in below. The hydraulic today will capture anything it >touches. We reset the shuttle by dropping my van at the NC 87 bridge >and get back on the water at 1:30 p.m. > >Near the end of our trip, a horizon line marks the 15-foot Glen Raven >Mills Dam, a few hundred feet upstream of the NC 87 bridge. We pass >the sluice taking water left toward the active mill. At the right >bank, we beach our boats 100 feet before reaching the dam. We start >scouting by slogging through a swampy area, and then go uphill to the >right side of the dam. It seems that someone's yard is to the right. >Barbed wire fencing is strung across the path, but there is enough >room to get a canoe under it. Below the dam, we would have to >descend down to the river and then go back uphill to reach my van at >the bridge. This right side could be portaged, but we think there >may be an easier path on the left side of the dam. > >The bank on the left side above the dam does not go straight to the >dam. About 10-15 feet before reaching the dam, the bank cuts inward >for maybe 30-40 feet. Pete goes first and paddles carefully into the >narrow channel leading to left bank. I follow with an uneasy feeling >about how close this path is taking me to the edge of the dam. There >is little flow affecting my boat as I paddle past the upstream side >of the land in the narrow channel. Everything is going well. >Paddling to beach my boat near Pete's canoe, I cannot make my bow >stick to ground. I take another shot and try to power into the low >bank, but again I get no purchase on the ground. Pete is scouting >the road on the left side of the bank, and I see him returning. I >make another attempt to land my boat and think the bow sticks. I get >up to walk forward in a crouch, but the effort sends my boat back >from the bank. I paddle again but do not immediately notice a slight >current catching my stern and swinging it toward the dam. I paddle >harder and harder as Pete runs down the bank because he sees that I >am getting into trouble. Suddenly there is a moment of horror. I >realize the current at the lip of the dam is rapidly accelerating my >stern. I am 10 feet away from Pete. We lock eyes and each knows >that nothing can be done. There seems to be a bright light >illuminating the scene. I'm sure the bright light was in my mind from >the focus of all my mental faculties on dire consequences of the >situation. > >A 15-foot drop these days is commonly run by very skilled paddlers >under excellent conditions. Excellent conditions require a deep pool >of water, a lack of rocks, and no hydraulics. There were no such >places along this dam today, but the left side was especially low and >rocky. No paddler would attempt this run. > >I am being swept backwards over the dam. It all happens in just a >few seconds. I feel the canoe surge and start to drop. I feel my >body hitting something as I am thrown out of the canoe and go >underwater. I do not know what or how I hit. My body is thrashed as >violent forces play themselves out. I come up from underwater next >to my canoe and grab a gunnel while standing on the bottom in about >four feet of water. The canoe is about 10 feet out from the dam and >partially pinned by a large rock. A rocky peninsula is just on the >other side of the canoe. Water flows out to the right to the main >channel downstream. I try to walk but something is wrong. There >seems to be a log between my legs preventing them from moving. Using >my hand, I push down to free it. The log is my left leg, broken >somewhere above and the knee, and now dangling in the current. Pete >is scrambling down the bank. He is relived to see me alive after >expecting to be on a body recovery mission. He quickly stabilizes >the boat from the downstream side, and tells me to try to make it to >his side. I manage to use my good leg and the gunnels to work my way >around the canoe, close to Pete. He takes me by the shoulders and >slowly pulls me up on the small rocky peninsula. I am laying face up >at a 45-degree angle, looking straight at the dam where I just came >over. > >Pete formulates a plan to get me out by paddling the few hundred feet >to the bridge. I tell him I am injured too badly to assist in my >rescue. My leg is swelling, the pain is coursing through me, and I >know I have injured my neck because of pain when I move it. I tell >Pete to call for rescue and give him instructions on where my cell >phone is stowed. He takes the phone and goes uphill to place the >call. When he is gone, I realize my cell phone has a security code, >preventing its use until entered. I expect to see him return for the >code, but he finds a store near the bridge and calls the rescue >squad. He leaves instructions at the store on how to find me and >comes running back. I am still lying on my back staring at the dam. >My camera in its waterproof case is still strapped to my chest. I >raise it to take a picture of the scene in front of me, but I can see >nothing through the viewfinder. The camera case is wet, and the spray >from the dam is keeping it wet. I have nothing to dry it, so I give >up on photography. > >The rescue squads seem to arrive within minutes. My leg is swelling >and pain is increasing. It must be about 75 degrees and sunny, but I >am wet and losing body heat. I shiver uncontrollably. The rescue >squad guys try to start an IV into my arms, but they are having >trouble hitting a vein. They shoot me with some morphine to ease the >pain and tell me that Duke Hospital is sending a helicopter. It is >only minutes later that I see a helicopter pass over the river. They >put me on a stretcher. The medics from the Duke helicopter team >arrive and assist getting me up the hill to the road. They place me >in a truck and drive a short distance to a field where the helicopter >has landed. They transfer me to the helicopter and tell me it is >only a 12-minute flight to Duke. > >We are landing on the pad at the hospital, and I am being wheeled >into the emergency room and given over to the trauma team. The X- >rays, CAT scans, and MRIs begin. The neurosurgeons find that I have >cracked two vertebrae in my neck (C2 and C7). They say the forces I >experienced could have easily snapped my neck and severed my spinal >cord. Why it did not was just a matter of luck. To stabilize my >neck and allow the cracks to heal, they install a halo. The halo >fits around the forehead and locks to my head with four screws that >penetrate the skull slightly. The halo has bars extending down my >back and chest. The bars are strapped to vest fitted tightly to my >chest. It must remain in place at least two months. > >All the testing for neurological damage delays repair of my leg. >After two days, my leg operation is scheduled. This operation >involves a long incision to insert a plate over the break in the >femur. The plate is screwed to the bones, and a cable is placed >around the assembly to help strengthen it. My orders are not to put >any weight on the left leg until bone growth starts. This could be >approximately a month after the operation, but only X-rays will tell. > In the meantime, I am able to use a walker to get myself around by >using my arms and my right leg, with just a touch and go for my left >leg. There are some exercises to keep my leg limber, but really >nothing substantial can be done until there is some bone mending. >After a week in the hospital, I am ready to go home to start my >recovery. > >After my accident, when I was whisked away in the helicopter, Pete >transported my canoe, gear, and van to his home. Only a sponge and >hat were lost, and my canoe suffered just a minor dent. Pete called >Len Felton, my friend for more than half of my life. Len notified my >son and mother, and came to the hospital that night to see what he >could do for me. I owe much to Len and Pete for their assistance >during my hospital stay and afterwards. Pete took a room near the >hospital and stayed with me from early morning until night. Pete and >Len took me home, and Pete stayed a couple of days at my house until >my son and mother arrived to start the family nursing care. > >It would be a lot easier on my mind if I could point to some external >cause of the accident - equipment failure, a lightning strike, a >squall. There was none of that. I was simply working too close to >the dam. Why was I doing it? I can only guess that good judgment was >overcome by overconfidence. In hindsight the risk was enormous - >loss of life. The reward almost nonexistent - a few extra minutes >crossing farther upstream and perhaps some muddy shoes. I have been >paddling about 35 years. I have paddled hundreds of rivers, run >thousands of rapids, and portaged countless dams. I know my memory >is not perfect, but I cannot remember in these years ever running a >rapid I did not intend to run or being the least bit out of control >near a dam. Sure I have had my share of messing up rapids, but that >is part of the sport - a calculated risk. Part of this memory must >be somewhat an illusion. There must have been times when I was too >close. That little discomfort I felt when I approached the narrow >channel above Glen Raven Mills Dam was the warning I failed to heed. >I did not put the risk in perspective. > >My prospects for recovery are good. I have been given a second >chance at life by narrowly avoiding spinal damage. In a couple of >months, I hope to have the halo removed and be able to put all my >weight on my left leg. Perhaps I will be back in my canoe by early >next year. As I paddle again, I know there will always be a part of >me still in that moment of horror, being swept over the dam. I plan >to use this recurring memory to never come close. > >When I am able, I want to repeat the trip with Pete. I will give the >dam wide berth, sit on the rocks below the dam where I lay, stare at >the dam, and empty my mind. > >Thanks to all my friends for the cards, notes, and calls wishing me >well. It has meant a lot to me to know you care. > >Paul@PaulFerguson.us