CLOSE ONE ON THE UPPER DAN
By Tracy Turner
As a cold Christmas Eve Day dawned, I was awakened by the ringing of the phone. It wasn't an early call from Santa but rather a call from Ricky Blizzard. "The upper Dan's running today," he gleefully informed me. And so we were off on a run that we had been seeking to do for some time.
The Upper Dan is a section of the Dan seldom paddled (or seen). It lies between two impoundment reservoirs belonging to the City of Danville's power generation system. The system culminates in producing power at the Kibler power plant. The first of the two reservoirs releases water down through Sawtooth Gorge and collects in the second reservoir. From here water is collected and released through a six foot diameter wooden enclosed aqueduct that runs several miles down another valley (and literally through a mountain) terminating at the Kibler Valley power plant. Both dams and the aqueduct were constructed back in the 1930s. Even if you never paddle the Upper Dan, the trail up to the first dam from the Kibler Power Plant is a great hike!
This trip turned into one of those trips that you look back on and wonder if there was anything you did right! The temperature started at 35F and continued to drop. There were only two of us making this descent and we had left little notice of where we were headed. From previous scouting attempts, we knew that the gorge was extremely steep, making portage difficult and that the river was extremely swift and narrow. Further, we knew river wide strainers would be encountered. Finally, because of these factors, we had only been able to scout the first mile or so of this five-mile run.
While putting in the river, we discovered that we had only one throw rope between us. I secured that rope in my boat and off we went. The first mile or so was relatively uneventful, although necessitating several difficult portages. The Upper Dan is technically a Class II-III river. Its remoteness and the number of strainers present make it more of a survival run.
With the temperature continuing to drop, we became less anxious to portage and so began "boofing" some of the tree trunks, with a full head of steam, skirt across the top of the submerged log. The technique worked on the first attempt, though my Dancer seemed to have much greater difficulty than Ricky's shorter, higher riding Jetti. This should have told me something but, in the frigid morning air, I missed the warning.
The next "boof" attempt I realized my mistake. Ricky easily made the "boof" but, when I tried the same spot, my boat stuck solid on the submerged log. My boat balanced like a see-saw momentarily, then the bow rose slowly skyward. For a second, this was quite thrilling. Then I realized that the front was rising because the stern was being sucked under the log. Letting go of my paddle, I grabbed the log to try to stabilize. But, I realized that, in this position, my boat would soon "back ender" and be pinned directly beneath the log. I popped my skirt, shoved myself out of my boat just in time to see it ender and pin.
Ricky, who was downstream, could provide little help in extracting me while it teetered on the log, but keeping his river wits about him, immediately corralled my paddle to prevent a bad situation from becoming a dire one. He then moved for the shore and back up the bank to the scene of the pinned boat.
Remember that one rope? Well it was now secure inside my cockpit which was upside-down and pinned beneath the log. It took several minutes of feeling for the rope while standing chest-deep in swift, frigid water next to the submerged log. Once we had the rope, we attached it to a grab loop and freed the boat. The whole process took about ten minutes.
To maintain body heat, we immediately began paddling again. This time we took more time to portage questionable logs. After two more miles I had warmed up and chalked up my misfortune to bad luck rather then bad judgement. But, like Merrill Lynch, when the river gods speak, you'd better listen!
We approached another log situated across a small ledge that at one point allowed a channel of water a foot wide and an inch deep to flow across. We considered the situation and the route seemed relatively uncomplicated. Again, Ricky made the passage with caution, determined not to repeat my previous experience. Unfortunately, the very caution I used prevented my maintaining the necessary aggressive speed required. My bow hit the log and careened off. The water turned my boat and pushed it parallel against the log.
I wasn't pinned, technically, but I was in a very precarious predicament. I could use my paddle only on one side because the log and ledge prevented my paddling on the other. Obviously, I couldn't lean upstream. I hadn't previously observed that water above a partially submerged log dives under the log. Thus, a suction is created. Leaning downstream against the log actually allowed the current to grab my boat and try to tug it under the log. All I could do was to try to sit very still and wish I were somewhere else.
Again Ricky was downstream of me and was hastening to get to shore. I tried to use my paddle on the upstream side to gingerly paddle toward the shore. Immediately I found myself upside-down. I reached up, felt the log, pulled myself up and out of my boat. Climbing onto the log I again saw my boat tucked neatly beneath me.
Ricky fished my rope out of the boat. I was becoming quick-chilled, weak, and exasperated. We dislodged the boat, and gathered up my paddle, which Ricky had again corralled.
We paddled on. I was ready for this trip to end. My paddling comrade was taking care to portage any downed logs, assuming I would follow. He kept offering words of encouragement (like "I'm sure the take-out is just around the next bend.")
I was literally so cold that my mind wasn't working. I was more or less following Ricky automatically. We ran a 3-4 foot drop and, true to the day, I flipped at the bottom. With my brain and body already numb, I floundered about for my roll. Again, the nose of my friend's Jeti was immediately there for a bow rescue. Righting myself, my head throbbed from the submersion in the frigid water. But, paddling over the next drop, we immediately came upon the take-out.
Well, almost. To add insult to injury, we had to paddle a mile of lake to the actual take-out. There we discovered that our PFDs had iced over to such an extent that we had to sit in the van with the heater on before we could unzip them.
ANAYLSIS: What have I learned from the experience? You're never too experienced a paddler to ignore basic safety steps. First, for safety purposes, we should have had at least three paddlers on this trip. Second, we should have had a throw rope in every boat. Third, we should have more carefully considered the weather. (It was 35F and dropping when we put in). Fourth, this trip emphatically impressed this fact upon me: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A BENIGN STRAINER. The cumulative effects of the cold water need no introduction to experienced paddlers. And fifth, this trip reinforced a fact I already knew: There is no substitute for a paddling buddy you can trust and depend upon. Outside of your own judgement (or especially with the lack thereof) your paddling buddies are the greatest safety asset you can have on the river.
