
Cottonwoods along the Yellowstone River
I’m not kidding. On August 31, I came pretty close to shuffling off to Buffalo. They say close only counts in horseshoes, but weeks later I still think about it at night. I still look at the clothes I was wearing that day and imagine them as the clothes of a dead man. It’s the only time in my life where I really thought it was over.
The long version: Near the end of the float, my brother Ed and I encountered a bit of rough water. As a result of some miscommunication on the paddling, the canoe turned sideways in some standing waves and swamped. At the moment, I wasn’t that worried about it. I’ve tipped over canoes quite a few times, and the worst that happened was that my wallet got wet.
But the Yellowstone was running pretty high and fast for the end of August. The water was a lot colder than you’d think. We grabbed the boat and started kicking for shore, but the current was as strong as a freight train under full throttle. We got nowhere but quite a ways downstream, where a big triangular rock caught the canoe amidships. We clung to the boat for a minute, horizontal in the current, and decided it was time to abandon ship. Ed struck out for nearer bank. I grabbed the lifejacket I should have been wearing and tried to do the same.

Ed and the ill-fated canoe.
I wasn’t afraid of death, exactly. I was just greatly disappointed that this was the moment, and profoundly embarrassed that this was the means. In some corner of my mind, I had already begun to compose the three-paragraph news brief that would appear the next day in the Billings Gazette. The one with the tiny headline “Florida man drowns” and the last line “He was not wearing a lifejacket.” In Montana in summertime, there is no more banal way to die, unless it’s falling asleep at the wheel and veering into an oncoming Frito-Lay truck.
Fear of embarrassment: It’s probably kept me from many rich life experiences, so I suppose it’s only fair that it kept me alive for awhile longer. I couldn’t die this way; it was too cliched. Also, Ed would be pretty bummed out to have lost a brother on a routine float trip. The next time I surfaced I rolled on my back and forced my leaden legs to move. I tried to kick toward shore, which was rushing by as far away and as fast as ever. Downstream, a tangle of dead cottonwoods jutted out into the river. If I lasted that long, I figured that’s where the river would finish the job.
A couple of guys were running along the bank. They could see I was failing and shouted advice. I followed some of it. I couldn’t breathe, but I moved my arms in a pathetic pantomime of a back-stroke. I kicked harder, fully aware that it was the very last chance to do so. Then somehow I was free of the worst of the current. The guys on shore waded out and hauled me in like a dying carp.
I don’t remember what they said. I lay spreadeagled on the rocky shore trying to breathe and coughing up river water. I couldn’t sit up. I couldn’t move. I watched the high cumulus clouds drift by under a severe blue Montana sky. Ed ran up and asked if I was OK; he was none the worse for the wear. Thank God for that. I could say only one word between gasps. It was the F-word.
You come that close to dying, it should yield an epiphany of some sort. You should resolve to be a better person, to treasure each day as though it were your last, at the very least to get in better shape for the next time you attempt to cheat death. I had none of that. I went through a few days of gloom and the odd sense that I really had died, or would soon.
Gradually the shadow lifted, though. If an epiphany came I suppose it’s just this: If you want to make a statement or a difference in life, now would be a good time to start. Because death sneaks up on all of us, and is generally uninterested in eloquent goodbyes. Also, if you want to take a canoe down the Yellowstone, you should go ahead on put on the damned life jacket.

The little camera that could
Then, just to see what would happen, I put it all together again and turned it on. It worked. It still works. Every photo I took on the river was still there. This is a camera that is not billed as waterproof, or water resistant or even capable of standing up to a high wind. And yet somehow it survived maybe 20 minutes of full immersion, strapped to my body while I tumbled downstream. I think I should write Olympus a gushing letter. But I don’t think they’d believe me.
I’m very glad you made it, Dave. And this is some damn good writing.
As for epiphanies, maybe it’s just that real-life ones are like that. Your life jacket one is not so different from the “tell people where you’re going” one from “127 hours” that you described a while back.
Thanks John. These little precautions seem so obvious in retrospect. As ordeals go, I’ll take mine over the “127 Hours” guy.
Wow, David,
Take a breather, if you like.
Hehe. Still contemplating the big picture as we speak.
Glad to have you back, Dave. BTW, and FWIW, the “mundane-ness” of death coming upon us hapless humans is the only reason I like to watch the “Final Destination” movies. They make me laugh, ruefully, and then be more mindful of my surroundings. I made it through Hurricane Hugo (on St. Croix, where I lived), before it became the story in the US mainland and where it parked for a day and sent a palm tree through a couple of windows in the middle of a “hurricane party.” Party ended right quick, and I thought, OK, this could be it…
Yeah, a tree through the window would be a definite buzz kill. Doesn’t nature know we like it?
It seemed wrong to laugh so hard throughout the recounting of your near demise. But this is hysterical. And what better way to go than to look at the grim reaper and simply let out a big guffaw. Life. You can’t make this stuff up.
Well, you could. But it just wouldn’t be as interesting.
Wow, Dave. What a story. So glad you didn’t shuffle off to Buffalo. And I can’t believe Deanna laughed. 🙂
Thanks, Nancy. The upside: I’ll be exaggerating the hell out of this story for the remainder of my days. I almost feel sorry for my granddaughter June: “The river was angry that day …”
Good Lord, Dave! I don’t check your blog for a few days, and come to find out that you damn near checked out! What a story! If I ever have a near death experience, I hope I can write about it in a way that is so moving and so hilarious. I’m glad you made it. Be safe.
Safety is the word of the day!