Prequel to Near-Death

 Prequel to Near-Death

This is the prequel to previous blog.

The question came up from one reader, “How did you get stuck out there in the first place?”

Excellent question.

Simple answer; “overconfidence”.  

Overconfidence and the lack of ego inventory.  Every time, or often enough, I allow myself to think, “I’m all that and a meatball sandwich” I get burned.  

It had been a couple of weeks on dry land and I was feeling the pull of the Chesapeake Bay.  I gotta be out on the water!  I need that feeling of floating, paddling across a river.  Looking down from a bridge at a river is so much different than being on the water and looking up at that same bridge.  Thinking, “Anybody could get out on the bridge and look down at the water.  But, me, I am down here on the water looking for an adventure.”

I know I can paddle in big waves, in the rain, even while it is snowing.  I’ve done it.  I’ve crossed the Rappahannock (close to three miles) hundreds of times.  Across and back against three footers and a 15 mph headwind.  Wait!  I was only 60 years old when I was doing that!!?  I’ve been playing it safe for nearly 15 years.  

What?  What happened?  Where did it go?  What happened to that “I can push and/or pull through anything?”  I forgot to do the ego inventory.  I used to run charity races and occasionally broke the top five in my age category.  Now I have to hold on to the bannister to get up and down stairs.  I refuse to climb ladders cause in the back of head I know, “That’s a real bad idea for you.”

I have set out for a salt marsh I know really well.  I know every crook and turn.  Where every downed tree lay.  I know where the channels are and where what is passable at low tide.  I know which channels are high tide only.  I know from the surface ripples where the shallows are.  It turns out that that particular Monday was a rescheduled Labor Day holiday.  Slipped right past my thinking.

When I get to that public put-in, the parking lot is full to overflowing.  Dozens of pickups with massive long boat trailers hooked up.  Cars packed into every slot and alongside the access road for nearly a mile.  “Well, this isn’t going to work.”  I’ve brought my long boat, which was a mistake to begin with.  Why?  I dunno, I just did.  I was heading into the marsh mazes, why didn’t I bring my shorter lightweight boat?  Dunno, just didn’t.

So, I’m up two dumb moves already.  Wrong place.  Wrong boat.  “I know.  I’ll go to the Pumunkey put-in.  Good maze channels there and if you don’t know where it is, you’ll never find it.  The several times I made that longer trip, I was the only car in the parking area all day.

The idea of checking the “Tide Tables” did not cross my mind.  Third dumb move.  Always know the tide before setting out into the tide marshes.  

Ego; “I can take on any tide.”  Truth; “Not on the Chesapeake.”  The tides on the Chesapeake Watershed are big tides.  Two to five feet on the vertical.  Literally.  Entire channels just disappear beneath you on the out tide.  It is possible to not know it is happening, while it is happening.  Or, the channel you came in on is not there when you turn around.  Ego inventory.  “Do your fucking homework!”

What I did was hero my way down a couple miles I thought I knew, to what appeared to be a good dry stand of trees.  To like have lunch, take a break before making the return trip.  I got to the trees.  Ate a bit, drank a bunch of water.  When I got back to my long boat, there wasn’t enough depth to turn the boat around.  It’s 18 feet of thick plastic.  Unloaded it weighs nearly 80 lbs.  I’ve got at least 20 lbs of gear in it. Sharp point bow and narrow rudderless stern. The tall grass will NOT allow this behemoth to turn, at least not while my 170 lbs is inside it.

Fourth mistake; “get out of the boat and lift it to make the turn.”  Uh, no.  Rule 1 in the marsh mazes; “Never get out of the fucking boat!”  Like x-country skiing in New Hampshire; stay on the trail and never take off your skis.  You can find yourself up to your armpits in freezing snow and no way to get your skis back on.  

Break some rules and you’re screwed.

So naturally I got out of the boat, sank up to my armpits with my feet to my knees in sucking muck.  Two steps and my water shoes are gone forever.  It’s funny that I do not recall any sense of panic while this is happening.  I have thirty years of paddling experience in all kinds of tricky situations.  “I know what I’m doing.”  Nope.  Just one dumb move after the other.  

Ego inventory; “Maybe this is a new one.  ?  “The main thing is to find a channel that will float the damn boat.  Accept the fact that you are an old dude.  You are not going to muscle your way out of this one.  Time to turn on the humble part of the brain, admit that you fucked up and think.

Wrong place.  Fundamentally wrong boat.  Lack of forethought and homework.  There was a poster on the wall of many of the many classrooms in which I taught for over thirty years.

“Do the best you can, with what you’ve got, where you are.”

So, I did that.