From Le Seuer to Shakopee
A trip nearly ending tragically.
A trip nearly ending tragically.
AN EASTER WEEKEND ESCAPE
My last paddling adventure is a story about survival.
Beneath my kayak I feel the rushing floodwaters picking up speed and strength. I am being pushed downstream sideways, and am no longer I in control of my direction. I know any second my kayak will catch a tree and I will be tossed into the fast flowing and chilly Minnesota River.
I scan the flooded woods just ahead and notice the distance between me and the debris field is quickly closing. I must avoid this entangled collection of fallen trees and limbs from the forest floor and what the river has sent from miles upstream.
A sense of panic and helplessness begins to creep in. I think to myself, “You can’t get caught underneath this because you won’t make it out."
My last paddling adventure is a story about survival.
Beneath my kayak I feel the rushing floodwaters picking up speed and strength. I am being pushed downstream sideways, and am no longer I in control of my direction. I know any second my kayak will catch a tree and I will be tossed into the fast flowing and chilly Minnesota River.
I scan the flooded woods just ahead and notice the distance between me and the debris field is quickly closing. I must avoid this entangled collection of fallen trees and limbs from the forest floor and what the river has sent from miles upstream.
A sense of panic and helplessness begins to creep in. I think to myself, “You can’t get caught underneath this because you won’t make it out."
It is the day before Easter and I have planned a 50 mile day trip from Le Sueur to Shakopee.
The temperature breaks 80º today, making it the warmest day of the year by far.
With a clear blue sky and aid of a fast flowing river, the conditions are ideal for a record setting pace today.
The temperature breaks 80º today, making it the warmest day of the year by far.
With a clear blue sky and aid of a fast flowing river, the conditions are ideal for a record setting pace today.
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As I prepare to launch onto the Minnesota River from the small park just north of Highway 93 in Le Sueur, I visit with another family about to launch their flat-bottom fishing boat. We swap tales about past adventures and discuss the challenges of the river today.
Looking at the bridge behind us, we talk about how high the water is. The father warns me about the Henderson bridge about ten miles ahead. He thinks the gap between the bridge and water may be even less than here a Le Sueur and possibly impassable. He promises to tell me about the river conditions at the Henderson bridge when our paths cross again on the river. |
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As I pack my kayak with food, water, extra clothing, and other gear, I can’t help but keep a watchful eye on the swift turbulent waters beneath and on this side of the bridge.
I remember not too long ago telling Michon about how nervous I get when I pass under narrow river spans, especially on major rivers just like this. I particularly dislike passing through St. Paul where the mighty Mississippi passes under several bridges near Raspberry Island, just before it makes its sharp turn south toward Hastings. Ugh! It is 11AM and time to launch when I overhear the conversation of the other family. Per the urging of their daughter, they agree it’s just too risky today and decide not to fish this area of the river. They leave and so goes my pre-warning of possible dangers ahead at the Henderson bridge. Before pushing off, I thank my youngest daughter, Elizabeth, for the ride. Optimistic about today’s adventure I tell her I will see her later tonight. With my full concentration on the swift and turbulent river I am unable to look back and wave good bye. |
A short distance down the river where the floodwaters breach the riverbank, the river’s speed remains surprisingly fast. I think to myself, "This is all good as it will help me with my speed and I will have plenty of time to make it back home, unpack, then go out and play tonight."
This time of the year it is always a bit of a challenge to decide what to wear because you have to prepare for the unlikely event you spill, while at the same time be careful not to overdress and suffer under the hot searing sun. On this trip I am wearing neoprene pants and shoes, moisture wicking long sleeve shirt, lightweight hat with a sun shield to protect the back of my neck, and gloves to keep my hands dry and avoid their blistering from this season’s first all day long paddle. I lost my kayak’s 3.0 ml winter spray skirt earlier this season so I am wearing my lightweight backup. It’s not my my favorite, but I like how fast it will come off during the unlikely event of a spill. Two seasons ago while paddling during high floodwater warnings on the St. Croix River in October, I took a nighttime spill shortly after passing underthe Soo Line High Bridge six miles north of Stillwater. Because of the tight hold of my winter spray skirt, it took several attempts and about 30 seconds to escape. I wish to never repeat that. |
It is a beautiful Saturday and a near perfect day for a paddle.
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I take advantage of the flooded river and paddle off course to take in views of distant farm fields and barns, and areas I would otherwise not see. I am enjoying this early season and off course adventure.
It isn’t long before I find myself so far off course I have to pull up a GPS reading to discover where the main river is. To get back I paddle through woods, jump floating logs, tree limbs, and other natural debris. Along the way I pause to take a pictures of several carefully placed tree stands within arms reach above. |
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When I reenter the Minnesota River I see ahead what must be the Henderson bridge.
Remembering what the fisherman said earlier, I steer to the right where the gap between the bridge and river is at its greatest. As I approach, I look to check out the amount of light between the underside of the bridge and river to judge the size of the gap. Although a little tight, there appears to be plenty of distance. Not worried, I return toward the middle of the river.
As I pull out my phone to take photos of the bridge I feel the river flowing much faster and quickly picking up pace. It’s much quicker than I expected. To concentrate on my stroke I promptly put my camera back in the left pocket of my life jacket. I don’t have time to put my right hand glove back on.
The river is so fast here I struggle to keep right of the center bridge span. Looking ahead, I can see that the gap between the bottom of the bridge and top of the river is less than I thought. I don’t think I will make it. I’m certain there is no way. I try back paddling, but the current is too swift. I work harder, to no avail. I try paddling to my right toward the riverbank, but the current is just too strong. All I can do now is try to avoid hitting the middle span, then duck down in hopes of not hitting my head on the underside of Highway 19.
I am rapidly approaching and being pulled under the Henderson bridge toward its center span. At the last moment I bend forward to reduce my height. It is an untime reminder of how inflexible I am; an indication of my age, many accidents, and sports injuries.
I narrowly escape hitting the front of the bridge.
There is no time to celebrate as I am about to hit the middle span and must work to avoid hitting the underside of the highway anywhere along the entire width of its four lanes.
To my surprise, when I hit the middle span, instead of a hard crash and sudden spill, it’s a gentle bounce, then another as the swift current pushes me alongside this imposing structure. With my paddle along my right side, my body bent slightly forward and to the right, I’m in a precarious position as I bob up and down above the water. I try peeking forward to see what’s ahead, but I must be careful. If I pick up my head too far I am certain to hit the underside of the bridge.
My bobbing above the water must somehow be occurring only between its ribbed underside. With the lowest point of the bridge being its exterior walls I do know I am benefiting from additional height in the center. How much more? I don’t know.
With the outer lip of the bridge fast approaching, I pray that any wave action doesn’t push me up as anything more than an inch will undoubtedly result in certain disaster. With precise timing, I bend forward, look down, hold my breath and whisper, “please God.”
Phew. WOW. Ahhh… Somehow I miraculously escape and make it to the open water ahead.
Remembering what the fisherman said earlier, I steer to the right where the gap between the bridge and river is at its greatest. As I approach, I look to check out the amount of light between the underside of the bridge and river to judge the size of the gap. Although a little tight, there appears to be plenty of distance. Not worried, I return toward the middle of the river.
As I pull out my phone to take photos of the bridge I feel the river flowing much faster and quickly picking up pace. It’s much quicker than I expected. To concentrate on my stroke I promptly put my camera back in the left pocket of my life jacket. I don’t have time to put my right hand glove back on.
The river is so fast here I struggle to keep right of the center bridge span. Looking ahead, I can see that the gap between the bottom of the bridge and top of the river is less than I thought. I don’t think I will make it. I’m certain there is no way. I try back paddling, but the current is too swift. I work harder, to no avail. I try paddling to my right toward the riverbank, but the current is just too strong. All I can do now is try to avoid hitting the middle span, then duck down in hopes of not hitting my head on the underside of Highway 19.
I am rapidly approaching and being pulled under the Henderson bridge toward its center span. At the last moment I bend forward to reduce my height. It is an untime reminder of how inflexible I am; an indication of my age, many accidents, and sports injuries.
I narrowly escape hitting the front of the bridge.
There is no time to celebrate as I am about to hit the middle span and must work to avoid hitting the underside of the highway anywhere along the entire width of its four lanes.
To my surprise, when I hit the middle span, instead of a hard crash and sudden spill, it’s a gentle bounce, then another as the swift current pushes me alongside this imposing structure. With my paddle along my right side, my body bent slightly forward and to the right, I’m in a precarious position as I bob up and down above the water. I try peeking forward to see what’s ahead, but I must be careful. If I pick up my head too far I am certain to hit the underside of the bridge.
My bobbing above the water must somehow be occurring only between its ribbed underside. With the lowest point of the bridge being its exterior walls I do know I am benefiting from additional height in the center. How much more? I don’t know.
With the outer lip of the bridge fast approaching, I pray that any wave action doesn’t push me up as anything more than an inch will undoubtedly result in certain disaster. With precise timing, I bend forward, look down, hold my breath and whisper, “please God.”
Phew. WOW. Ahhh… Somehow I miraculously escape and make it to the open water ahead.
With passing what is certainly the most dangerous part of today’s trip, I pause to enjoy a float down the river and regain a sense of calm.
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On this beautiful, cloudless, and warmest day of the year, I regret having left my suntan lotion back home on my kitchen table. I am certain to have an amazing sunburn.
The views of the Minnesota River floodplain is making for a great start of a season full of grand adventure. During the off season I have been hitting the gym, cross training, and conditioning for my late summer goal of solo paddling across Lake Michigan again. Unlike 2016, my first crossing of Lake Michigan, it is my plan this year to be the first to complete a round trip. With over 2,700 miles under my belt, enough to paddle in any one direction well into either the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans, 50 miles a day and 100-mile weekends are now routine. I am confident of my chances — weather permitting. |
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I head to the west side of the floodplain to explore the distant hillside and lining farms. It is a scenic and pleasant change from my many prior trips down this section of the river. Not too far ahead I see a gradual sloping grass landing where I stop for lunch. It’s time for a freshly made peanut butter jelly sandwich, a slightly green banana, protein bar, and bottled water. I take my time to walk around, stretch my back, and simply enjoy the moment.
So relaxed, I don’t give the recent near disaster another thought.
After repacking my kayak I push back into the shallow waters. About 100 yards ahead there is a break in the tree line. It appears there is an opening and new farmlands to discover.
Not too much later I come across a lovely farm. Like so many others, there are the remnants of the original farmstead and behind it and further up the hill are the more modern constructions of a tall silo and storage area. It’s tempting to paddle into an old worn single level structure, its original purpose I do not know, but out of respect I simply glide on by while taking pictures for keepsake.
So relaxed, I don’t give the recent near disaster another thought.
After repacking my kayak I push back into the shallow waters. About 100 yards ahead there is a break in the tree line. It appears there is an opening and new farmlands to discover.
Not too much later I come across a lovely farm. Like so many others, there are the remnants of the original farmstead and behind it and further up the hill are the more modern constructions of a tall silo and storage area. It’s tempting to paddle into an old worn single level structure, its original purpose I do not know, but out of respect I simply glide on by while taking pictures for keepsake.
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I decide to head east to make my way back to the main river, wherever it may be. As I make my way I enter another set of woods. As I progress the woods gets noticeably thicker and I am now regularly jumping floating logs and often getting stuck on top of small debris fields. I think to myself; "This area is much better suited for a four wheeler than a kayak designed for trekking long distances across great lakes, wide rivers, and on oceans."
This is no doubt is a popular for hunting area. I pass under several deer stands which I am sure have been the vantage point for the harvest of many generously sized corn fed bucks. I hear the sound of a road in the distance ahead. Indeed, I am making my way back to the Minnesota River and returning to yet another bridge. So confident that the Henderson bridge was the only risky underpass, I don’t give the recent near disaster another thought, nor do I learn from it. |
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Not sure where I am I pull up my GPS for another reading. It appears I will have to back track a little way, then complete an s-shaped turn to get where I am headed. To save time, or at least shave off a little distance, I decide to continue plowing through this dense and debris filled woods.
I rationalize this foolish decision as a time saving shortcut and this scenic path will undoubtedly be memorable.
I rationalize this foolish decision as a time saving shortcut and this scenic path will undoubtedly be memorable.
It’s not long before I begin second guessing the wisdom of my choice.
The gap between the trees is getting smaller. In my lengthy kayak I simply cannot make sharp turns and easily redirect. I think to myself, “Well, you’re in this deep. You may as well keep on going to see if you can make it through.”
I see an opening ahead. It must be the Minnesota River 50 to 100-yards away. Scanning the woods searching for a slight pathway through I spot what is a slim chance for success and commit.
The gap between the trees is getting smaller. In my lengthy kayak I simply cannot make sharp turns and easily redirect. I think to myself, “Well, you’re in this deep. You may as well keep on going to see if you can make it through.”
I see an opening ahead. It must be the Minnesota River 50 to 100-yards away. Scanning the woods searching for a slight pathway through I spot what is a slim chance for success and commit.
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Beneath my kayak I feel the speed of the river picking up. It pushes me slightly sideways and downstream; my planned path to the river has disappeared. With every stroke I find myself gently bouncing off yet another tree. I can’t help but notice the pace of the river rapidly collecting speed and strength.
Then I realize what's happening. The floodplain, over a half mile wide in this area, is converging here and racing through the narrow 100 yard passage under the bridge just ahead. |
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It's like emptying a bathtub, the water is calm further away from the drain. But, near the drain the water rapidly picks up speed and pulls everything with it. That's where I am and there is no escaping it.
No longer am I in control of my direction. Any second I know that either the front or back of my kayak will catch a tree and I will be tossed into the fast flowing and chilly Minnesota River. To my left, the distance between me and a large debris field is quickly closing. I must avoid this entangled collection of fallen trees, limbs and leaves from the forest floor below and what the river has sent from miles upstream.
I think to myself, “You can't get caught under this debris field as there will be no escape.”
No longer am I in control of my direction. Any second I know that either the front or back of my kayak will catch a tree and I will be tossed into the fast flowing and chilly Minnesota River. To my left, the distance between me and a large debris field is quickly closing. I must avoid this entangled collection of fallen trees, limbs and leaves from the forest floor below and what the river has sent from miles upstream.
I think to myself, “You can't get caught under this debris field as there will be no escape.”
Then, as expected, I watch the front of my kayak catch a tree. I know I am going under.
As my kayak begins to lean I decide to jump to hasten my return above water. Fully submerged, the frigid water nearly takes my breath away. All I can think of is that I must return above water as quickly as possible
My attempt to push off from the floor of the woods fails and I have lost a precious fraction of a second.
Kicking as hard I can to make my way back up, I throw both arms straight up when I break the river's surface and with my mouth wide open, I gasp to fill my emptied lungs. At that moment, with both arms straight in the air, I hit the floating debris field just under my armpits. Knowing the river wants to push me down and under, to remain upright I reach out across this collection of entangled trees and limbs with both arms and continue kicking.
With my arms stretch across the debris field and facing downstream, while never stop kicking, I look back then reach out with my left arm to secure my paddle and kayak. I notice my kicking below water is becoming restricted and more difficult. I am no longer vertical and bing pulled under. I realize the cause. My spray skirt has fallen just above my knees. It’s an easy choice and I manage to wiggle it free to improve my kicking movement.
The situation is turning worse as I am pinned between my half filled kayak and debris field.
The river is pushing everything downstream and below the debris field. With my right arm outstretched above the debris field, I turn back again toward my upside down and water filled kayak. After several attempts I upright my kayak and my paddle is now inside the cockpit. But, the river is determined and continues to flip my kayak over and wants to spit out my paddle.
So jacked from the shock of what just happened, the cold water is not yet a problem and I have not yet tired from the battle against the river. Although, I know time is not on my side.
I take turns between having one or both arms above the debris field to remain upright while working to free my kayak. I must find a way to keep my kayak upright and above the water or I will have little chance of escaping from the woods. Another challenge I have is, because of a crushed knuckle on my left hand I can’t form a closed fist for an easy grip to work the kayak. To turn the kayak upright, I must place my left thumb under the lip of my kayak’s cockpit to flip it.
Luckily, with nearly every attempt I am able to easily find the lip and push my kayak upright. Unfortunately, because the river is so swift and my kayak half filled with water, it continues to flip over and pushes against my left shoulder.
The river is getting stronger while I am getting colder and more tired. The three-step dance for survival continues:
STEP 1: With both arms stretched across the debris, kick to remain upright, then rest.
STEP 2: Turn to my left, with left hand reach out to upright kayak and secure paddle in cockpit, continue kicking.
STEP 3: River flips kayak over with ease, pushes it against my left shoulder, and pins me between my kayak and debris field.
Repeat STEPS 1, 2 & 3.
Somehow, I don’t know how, my kayak remains upright with the paddle secured inside.
Now, I must break away from the entanglement of trees and branches and inch my way through the woods back to the main river. As I think ahead, I realize once I return to the main river, its swift current will push me toward the Belle Plaine highway about 100 yards away.
With my right arm above the the debris field and left arm working to free my kayak from the woods, it’s impossible to see what’s between me and the river. Every attempt to push my kayak toward the river is being blocked by either a tree or low hanging branch. I pull and push (while working to keep it upright) to free my kayak from whatever has it in its grasp.
Finally, I feel the tension break and I now have the freedom to move backward toward the river.
There remains quite a bit of distance between me and the main river. I don’t know how I will make it through this thick woods. It doesn’t matter, I just have to.
While I continue to kick to remain upright, with my back toward the river I move a few inches at a time by picking up and dropping my right shoulder on top the debris field, then pull my kayak along side me while working to make sure it remains upright. All the while, the rushing river is picking up speed and strength, pushing me sideways, downward and in a direction I don’t want to go.
As I inch my way toward the river the trees begin to thin out. But, as I near the end of the debris field I can feel that it is no longer as thick and secure. Any moment I will have to take that leap in faith, push off and pray that I can free myself and escape the woods.
With every passing minute I am getting more tired, cold, and worried.
It’s time. I pull my kayak behind me as far as possible, push off from the debris field, then kick as hard as I can while working myself down the end of my kayak and trying to remain upright. I don’t know how I didn’t get caught up in another one, two, or even several trees, all the while the rushing river is separate me from my kayak.
Somehow and miraculously, I find myself free of the woods and floating down the Minnesota River.
As my kayak begins to lean I decide to jump to hasten my return above water. Fully submerged, the frigid water nearly takes my breath away. All I can think of is that I must return above water as quickly as possible
My attempt to push off from the floor of the woods fails and I have lost a precious fraction of a second.
Kicking as hard I can to make my way back up, I throw both arms straight up when I break the river's surface and with my mouth wide open, I gasp to fill my emptied lungs. At that moment, with both arms straight in the air, I hit the floating debris field just under my armpits. Knowing the river wants to push me down and under, to remain upright I reach out across this collection of entangled trees and limbs with both arms and continue kicking.
With my arms stretch across the debris field and facing downstream, while never stop kicking, I look back then reach out with my left arm to secure my paddle and kayak. I notice my kicking below water is becoming restricted and more difficult. I am no longer vertical and bing pulled under. I realize the cause. My spray skirt has fallen just above my knees. It’s an easy choice and I manage to wiggle it free to improve my kicking movement.
The situation is turning worse as I am pinned between my half filled kayak and debris field.
The river is pushing everything downstream and below the debris field. With my right arm outstretched above the debris field, I turn back again toward my upside down and water filled kayak. After several attempts I upright my kayak and my paddle is now inside the cockpit. But, the river is determined and continues to flip my kayak over and wants to spit out my paddle.
So jacked from the shock of what just happened, the cold water is not yet a problem and I have not yet tired from the battle against the river. Although, I know time is not on my side.
I take turns between having one or both arms above the debris field to remain upright while working to free my kayak. I must find a way to keep my kayak upright and above the water or I will have little chance of escaping from the woods. Another challenge I have is, because of a crushed knuckle on my left hand I can’t form a closed fist for an easy grip to work the kayak. To turn the kayak upright, I must place my left thumb under the lip of my kayak’s cockpit to flip it.
Luckily, with nearly every attempt I am able to easily find the lip and push my kayak upright. Unfortunately, because the river is so swift and my kayak half filled with water, it continues to flip over and pushes against my left shoulder.
The river is getting stronger while I am getting colder and more tired. The three-step dance for survival continues:
STEP 1: With both arms stretched across the debris, kick to remain upright, then rest.
STEP 2: Turn to my left, with left hand reach out to upright kayak and secure paddle in cockpit, continue kicking.
STEP 3: River flips kayak over with ease, pushes it against my left shoulder, and pins me between my kayak and debris field.
Repeat STEPS 1, 2 & 3.
Somehow, I don’t know how, my kayak remains upright with the paddle secured inside.
Now, I must break away from the entanglement of trees and branches and inch my way through the woods back to the main river. As I think ahead, I realize once I return to the main river, its swift current will push me toward the Belle Plaine highway about 100 yards away.
With my right arm above the the debris field and left arm working to free my kayak from the woods, it’s impossible to see what’s between me and the river. Every attempt to push my kayak toward the river is being blocked by either a tree or low hanging branch. I pull and push (while working to keep it upright) to free my kayak from whatever has it in its grasp.
Finally, I feel the tension break and I now have the freedom to move backward toward the river.
There remains quite a bit of distance between me and the main river. I don’t know how I will make it through this thick woods. It doesn’t matter, I just have to.
While I continue to kick to remain upright, with my back toward the river I move a few inches at a time by picking up and dropping my right shoulder on top the debris field, then pull my kayak along side me while working to make sure it remains upright. All the while, the rushing river is picking up speed and strength, pushing me sideways, downward and in a direction I don’t want to go.
As I inch my way toward the river the trees begin to thin out. But, as I near the end of the debris field I can feel that it is no longer as thick and secure. Any moment I will have to take that leap in faith, push off and pray that I can free myself and escape the woods.
With every passing minute I am getting more tired, cold, and worried.
It’s time. I pull my kayak behind me as far as possible, push off from the debris field, then kick as hard as I can while working myself down the end of my kayak and trying to remain upright. I don’t know how I didn’t get caught up in another one, two, or even several trees, all the while the rushing river is separate me from my kayak.
Somehow and miraculously, I find myself free of the woods and floating down the Minnesota River.
The rapid current with all its fury from the winter run-off, is pushing toward Highway 25 at Bell Blaine. There is no escaping its purposeful direction.
All I can do is hang on and see where the river takes me.
As I approach the bridge, unlike at the Highway 19 bridge in Henderson, I am more toward the middle of the river and making my way through between two supporting spans. This time I am not worried about hitting he bridge head-on or bouncing off along a supporting spans. As I pass underneath, under the cast of a midday shadow, the turbulent river with its choppy waves tries again to separate me from my kayak.
Floating downriver in the chilly Minnesota River just past the bridge, I begin to plan my reentry. The water here is much faster than what I remember at Le Seuer and Henderson. It doesn’t matter, I simply must make my way back into my kayak. I now regret not having taken the time to practice cold water immersion and self rescue this year. Well, at least I benefit from four consecutive Polar Plunges as it has well prepared me for the sudden shock of an unplanned plunge into what remains of this year’s winter runoff.
I look up behind me to see if anyone driving over the bridge has noticed the lone kayaker floating down the river outside and next to their bright red and white kayak. Thankfully not… but, somewhat wishing so.
I turn my focus back on my kayak to prepare for my reentry. I look at my left wrist and notice the clasp on my watch is loose. This watch is a Christmas gift from Michon. I think have jokingly, "My God, if I were to lost this in the river Michon would kill me."
With a sudden kick I lift myself atop the rear deck. It was surprisingly easy. But, I’m too far back and my kayak too unsteady in this fast flowing river. As I inch my way up toward the cockpit I’m not feeling hopeful. As I expected, I not so gracefully spill back into the cold dark river.
Looking back to the top of the bridge, I see that a car has stopped and two people are watching from the shoulder of the bridge. I must be quite the sight.
All I can do is hang on and see where the river takes me.
As I approach the bridge, unlike at the Highway 19 bridge in Henderson, I am more toward the middle of the river and making my way through between two supporting spans. This time I am not worried about hitting he bridge head-on or bouncing off along a supporting spans. As I pass underneath, under the cast of a midday shadow, the turbulent river with its choppy waves tries again to separate me from my kayak.
Floating downriver in the chilly Minnesota River just past the bridge, I begin to plan my reentry. The water here is much faster than what I remember at Le Seuer and Henderson. It doesn’t matter, I simply must make my way back into my kayak. I now regret not having taken the time to practice cold water immersion and self rescue this year. Well, at least I benefit from four consecutive Polar Plunges as it has well prepared me for the sudden shock of an unplanned plunge into what remains of this year’s winter runoff.
I look up behind me to see if anyone driving over the bridge has noticed the lone kayaker floating down the river outside and next to their bright red and white kayak. Thankfully not… but, somewhat wishing so.
I turn my focus back on my kayak to prepare for my reentry. I look at my left wrist and notice the clasp on my watch is loose. This watch is a Christmas gift from Michon. I think have jokingly, "My God, if I were to lost this in the river Michon would kill me."
With a sudden kick I lift myself atop the rear deck. It was surprisingly easy. But, I’m too far back and my kayak too unsteady in this fast flowing river. As I inch my way up toward the cockpit I’m not feeling hopeful. As I expected, I not so gracefully spill back into the cold dark river.
Looking back to the top of the bridge, I see that a car has stopped and two people are watching from the shoulder of the bridge. I must be quite the sight.
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They shout out, “Are you OK?”
I respond, “I”m fine.” But, I’m thinking, not really. |
They shout out again, “Do you need any help?”
I respond. “No, I’m OK!? But, I’m really thinking, a little help would be nice. |
They don’t seem too sure and ask again.
I respond with my arm high in the air and a thumbs up. |
To show them my command of the situation I attempt another reentry. This time I propel myself up nearer the center and closer to the cockpit. Another surprisingly easy attempt to get up and my kayak is much more stable now. Rather than risk another failed entry, I pause to to rest and collect my thoughts as I float down river.
Looking back to the bridge again, more cars have stopped now, traffic is slowing, and a small group of people have gathered on the shoulder. I hear them shout out the same set of questions. I respond with the same false bravado, but now with a greater uncertainty and sense of desperation.
Apparently I have convinced no one. In the distance I hear the sirens of emergency vehicles making their way from Belle Plaine.
Looking back to the bridge again, more cars have stopped now, traffic is slowing, and a small group of people have gathered on the shoulder. I hear them shout out the same set of questions. I respond with the same false bravado, but now with a greater uncertainty and sense of desperation.
Apparently I have convinced no one. In the distance I hear the sirens of emergency vehicles making their way from Belle Plaine.
They don’t seem too sure and ask again.
I respond with my arm high in the air and a thumbs up.
To show them my command of the situation I attempt another reentry. This time I propel myself up nearer the center and closer to the cockpit. Another surprisingly easy attempt to get up and my kayak is much more stable now. Rather than risk another failed entry, I pause to to rest and collect my thoughts as I float down river.
Looking back to the bridge again, more cars have stopped now, traffic is slowing, and a small group of people have gathered on the shoulder. I hear them shout out the same set of questions. I respond with the same false bravado, but now with a greater uncertainty and sense of desperation.
Apparently I have convinced no one. In the distance I hear the sirens of emergency vehicles making their way from Belle Plaine.
I respond with my arm high in the air and a thumbs up.
To show them my command of the situation I attempt another reentry. This time I propel myself up nearer the center and closer to the cockpit. Another surprisingly easy attempt to get up and my kayak is much more stable now. Rather than risk another failed entry, I pause to to rest and collect my thoughts as I float down river.
Looking back to the bridge again, more cars have stopped now, traffic is slowing, and a small group of people have gathered on the shoulder. I hear them shout out the same set of questions. I respond with the same false bravado, but now with a greater uncertainty and sense of desperation.
Apparently I have convinced no one. In the distance I hear the sirens of emergency vehicles making their way from Belle Plaine.
If I am going to be rescued I would rather it be with me sitting in my kayak. I slide up toward the cockpit of my unsteady kayak. With similar grace and growing hopelessness, I plunge back into the chilly Minnesota River.
I am tired, cold, and feeling more a little desperate.
Thankfully, I am wearing neoprene pants, booties, and gloves just for this purpose, an unlikely spill in the cold Minnesota River. But, my long sleeve cotton shirt is made for whisking sweat away from my body on hot days, not for protecting me from frigid cold water.
I don’t know how long I have been in the water, but my energy is rapidly depleting. I begin to wonder how much longer can I last. I can’t go there and block out any creeping thoughts of doubt or uncertainty. I think of the extra set of warm clothes packed in the hull of my kayak, particularly my lightweight down jacket. A change of dry clothes would feel real good right now.
Several emergency vehicles have now replaced the passenger cars on the bridge. Any minute I suspect the water rescue unit will launch from the boat ramp on the west side of the river and be on the their way.
Looking downstream I see where the Minnesota River takes a sharp turn to the left. It is about three quarters of a mile from where I first fell into the river. If I’m lucky I will find a riverbank or couple of trees here where I can brace my kayak and safely reenter.
Looking back upstream I see water rescue team is on the water now, but they have quite a bit of distance to close.
Where the river takes its turn, there is a large fallen tree partially submerged. It is sun bleached and stripped of all its bark, indicating it has been here for several years. If I’m lucky, I will be able to stop here, secure and reenter my kayak. The river is cooperating and pushing me straight toward the tree slightly on my left now. My approach is at a speed much faster than I would like and I begin to worry about what may be in front of this tree just below the river’s surface. Well, I am about to find out.
Preparing for impact I pull my kayak behind me and to the left as far as possible. Turning sideways, with my feet in front like I’m sledding downhill, I catch the fork in the tree with both feet.
With the help of the river’s swift current and two quick steps I find myself standing upright. My neoprene shoes with its slip proof tread keeps me from sliding off the tree’s smooth slippery surface. Without any thought or pause, I flip around, reposition my feet and brace myself against the rushing river, all the while working to keep my kayak upright and at arms length to keep it from pushing me back into the river.
I make the perfect landing! If I attempted this 100 more times, I wouldn’t be able to repeat it again.
The water rescue team is fast approaching and not far away. I count three and each is wearing a drysuit. While the sun is high and the temperature in the 80s, I find myself freezing and my strength rapidly depleting. I try concentrating on all that’s around me, but all I can take in is what’s just below my feet and the rescue team in front of me.
To prepare in the event of a fall back into the water I scan the flooded river behind me. There is a small cove-like opening where the Minnesota River makes its sharp left turn. With the river so swift, there would be no way of my paddling out to the main flow of the river. On the backside, at the edge of the woods, there is a wide entanglement of large trees and limbs. This debris field is much taller than before and appears impassable. I don’t see any way through here, but I don’t need to worry about that now. I just need to focus and prepare for my rescue.
The water rescue team has stopped about twenty yards away in front of me.
As I watch them, I think about how lucky I am that someone driving over the Belle Plaine bridge decided to check out the flooded river and spotted me, stopped, didn’t believe what I was telling them and against my advice called for help.
I wonder how long has it been since I first flipped into the water? I don’t know as I no longer have any sense of time.
I am wet, cold, and nearly exhausted. Standing upright atop this slippery tree I can feel my body temperature quickly dropping and there is little I can do. Every time I reposition my feet to improve my stance and work to keep my kayak from pushing up and over the tree, I move a little beyond center of the tree. There is no more room for correction so I lean forward against the river with my legs locked, then wait.
I watch the rescue team leader evaluate his options. He looks at me standing on the tree, checks the river’s speed and flow, and looks at the open area behind me.
I hear him shout out to me. He says something like, “The river is pretty swift today.” All I can think of saying is, “Yeah.” I am embarrassed, upset with myself, and know my mistake has put others in an unnecessary precarious position.
Standing near the front of the boat the team leader has a rescue throw bag in his hand. I’m too tired and too cold for another dip in the river. I hope he comes up with of another option, quickly
The team lead looks to the open area behind me and barks his command. They’re going to attempt a run behind me and pick me up on their way out. I like this plan, but I remember how messy this area is. It is full of entangled tall trees, limbs and all sorts of floating river debris, then there is the added factor of the river’s swift current.
It’s a go. With his arm in the air the team leads points to the direction of their path.
I am tired, cold, and feeling more a little desperate.
Thankfully, I am wearing neoprene pants, booties, and gloves just for this purpose, an unlikely spill in the cold Minnesota River. But, my long sleeve cotton shirt is made for whisking sweat away from my body on hot days, not for protecting me from frigid cold water.
I don’t know how long I have been in the water, but my energy is rapidly depleting. I begin to wonder how much longer can I last. I can’t go there and block out any creeping thoughts of doubt or uncertainty. I think of the extra set of warm clothes packed in the hull of my kayak, particularly my lightweight down jacket. A change of dry clothes would feel real good right now.
Several emergency vehicles have now replaced the passenger cars on the bridge. Any minute I suspect the water rescue unit will launch from the boat ramp on the west side of the river and be on the their way.
Looking downstream I see where the Minnesota River takes a sharp turn to the left. It is about three quarters of a mile from where I first fell into the river. If I’m lucky I will find a riverbank or couple of trees here where I can brace my kayak and safely reenter.
Looking back upstream I see water rescue team is on the water now, but they have quite a bit of distance to close.
Where the river takes its turn, there is a large fallen tree partially submerged. It is sun bleached and stripped of all its bark, indicating it has been here for several years. If I’m lucky, I will be able to stop here, secure and reenter my kayak. The river is cooperating and pushing me straight toward the tree slightly on my left now. My approach is at a speed much faster than I would like and I begin to worry about what may be in front of this tree just below the river’s surface. Well, I am about to find out.
Preparing for impact I pull my kayak behind me and to the left as far as possible. Turning sideways, with my feet in front like I’m sledding downhill, I catch the fork in the tree with both feet.
With the help of the river’s swift current and two quick steps I find myself standing upright. My neoprene shoes with its slip proof tread keeps me from sliding off the tree’s smooth slippery surface. Without any thought or pause, I flip around, reposition my feet and brace myself against the rushing river, all the while working to keep my kayak upright and at arms length to keep it from pushing me back into the river.
I make the perfect landing! If I attempted this 100 more times, I wouldn’t be able to repeat it again.
The water rescue team is fast approaching and not far away. I count three and each is wearing a drysuit. While the sun is high and the temperature in the 80s, I find myself freezing and my strength rapidly depleting. I try concentrating on all that’s around me, but all I can take in is what’s just below my feet and the rescue team in front of me.
To prepare in the event of a fall back into the water I scan the flooded river behind me. There is a small cove-like opening where the Minnesota River makes its sharp left turn. With the river so swift, there would be no way of my paddling out to the main flow of the river. On the backside, at the edge of the woods, there is a wide entanglement of large trees and limbs. This debris field is much taller than before and appears impassable. I don’t see any way through here, but I don’t need to worry about that now. I just need to focus and prepare for my rescue.
The water rescue team has stopped about twenty yards away in front of me.
As I watch them, I think about how lucky I am that someone driving over the Belle Plaine bridge decided to check out the flooded river and spotted me, stopped, didn’t believe what I was telling them and against my advice called for help.
I wonder how long has it been since I first flipped into the water? I don’t know as I no longer have any sense of time.
I am wet, cold, and nearly exhausted. Standing upright atop this slippery tree I can feel my body temperature quickly dropping and there is little I can do. Every time I reposition my feet to improve my stance and work to keep my kayak from pushing up and over the tree, I move a little beyond center of the tree. There is no more room for correction so I lean forward against the river with my legs locked, then wait.
I watch the rescue team leader evaluate his options. He looks at me standing on the tree, checks the river’s speed and flow, and looks at the open area behind me.
I hear him shout out to me. He says something like, “The river is pretty swift today.” All I can think of saying is, “Yeah.” I am embarrassed, upset with myself, and know my mistake has put others in an unnecessary precarious position.
Standing near the front of the boat the team leader has a rescue throw bag in his hand. I’m too tired and too cold for another dip in the river. I hope he comes up with of another option, quickly
The team lead looks to the open area behind me and barks his command. They’re going to attempt a run behind me and pick me up on their way out. I like this plan, but I remember how messy this area is. It is full of entangled tall trees, limbs and all sorts of floating river debris, then there is the added factor of the river’s swift current.
It’s a go. With his arm in the air the team leads points to the direction of their path.
Having been in the water too long, soaked, and standing still on top this log in the open, I can feel my body shaking and my strength escaping. The river is pushing my kayak higher on the fallen tree and I am struggling to keep it from being pushed back into the river.
My focus now is to simply remain upright and wait for my rescue. Off to my left I sense the team challenged with their approach. It seems as if they’re navigating the river with their motor in reverse as the current is so strong. Then they disappear behind me and with the load roar of the boat’s engine, its impossible to hear what they’re saying.
Then I hear the undeniable whine of an engine struggling to maintain thrust. I wonder, is it a problem with the motor or are they caught in debris?
With the repeating whining of a struggling boat motor and relentless Minnesota River, I worry about the rescue team. I turn my head to the left to take a peak of their progress. They're pointed upstream in my direction and not too far behind. As they work the engine as hard as they can, a rescue team member notices that they’ve snagged a log. With the engine whining even louder now, they expertly navigate the powerful current and are within arm’s reach.
The command is given, “Grab my arm and jump!”
I lean to my left, feel the firm grasp of an outreached arm, then jump. I land inside on my side and feel a great sense of relief and gratitude.
As we leave the area I point back and ask about my kayak. The team lead says, “You can come back another time to get it.” We look back and see the kayak has remained upright lodged against the same tree. With another command, they lighten up on the throttle and let the river guide us back.
With my kayak now inside the boat we begin our way back.
After a little work the branch that was caught between the boat and engine has released its grip and we’re racing back at full speed.
The team lead asks, “How are you doing?
“I’m fine,” I say half lying.
“How long have you been in the river?” is his next question.
“Twenty minutes,” I say. Although I have no idea and sense it has been much longer.
I point to my two bottles of water still secured onto my kayak and ask, “Can I have some water?”
After the team lead hands me a bottle he calls in to announce their successful rescue. I remember their saying something like, “We got him. He’s fine and coherent. He has asked for water.” They could not have known, nor did I, how much longer I could have battled alone against Minnesota’s cold flooded waters.
About the same time the team lead complains about how hot he is in his dry suit. How ironic as I am freezing and shaking.
My focus now is to simply remain upright and wait for my rescue. Off to my left I sense the team challenged with their approach. It seems as if they’re navigating the river with their motor in reverse as the current is so strong. Then they disappear behind me and with the load roar of the boat’s engine, its impossible to hear what they’re saying.
Then I hear the undeniable whine of an engine struggling to maintain thrust. I wonder, is it a problem with the motor or are they caught in debris?
With the repeating whining of a struggling boat motor and relentless Minnesota River, I worry about the rescue team. I turn my head to the left to take a peak of their progress. They're pointed upstream in my direction and not too far behind. As they work the engine as hard as they can, a rescue team member notices that they’ve snagged a log. With the engine whining even louder now, they expertly navigate the powerful current and are within arm’s reach.
The command is given, “Grab my arm and jump!”
I lean to my left, feel the firm grasp of an outreached arm, then jump. I land inside on my side and feel a great sense of relief and gratitude.
As we leave the area I point back and ask about my kayak. The team lead says, “You can come back another time to get it.” We look back and see the kayak has remained upright lodged against the same tree. With another command, they lighten up on the throttle and let the river guide us back.
With my kayak now inside the boat we begin our way back.
After a little work the branch that was caught between the boat and engine has released its grip and we’re racing back at full speed.
The team lead asks, “How are you doing?
“I’m fine,” I say half lying.
“How long have you been in the river?” is his next question.
“Twenty minutes,” I say. Although I have no idea and sense it has been much longer.
I point to my two bottles of water still secured onto my kayak and ask, “Can I have some water?”
After the team lead hands me a bottle he calls in to announce their successful rescue. I remember their saying something like, “We got him. He’s fine and coherent. He has asked for water.” They could not have known, nor did I, how much longer I could have battled alone against Minnesota’s cold flooded waters.
About the same time the team lead complains about how hot he is in his dry suit. How ironic as I am freezing and shaking.
We’re racing back upstream to where the first responders are awaiting. The chilling headwind is taking its toll and my shaking picks up. I struggle to speak and know I need to get off this river soon and out of this soaked long sleeved shirt.
Looking up stream I see that the emergency vehicles that were once on top of the bridge have left. I suspect they have repositioned and are waiting at the boat ramp prepared to give care.
Just before the Belle Plaine bridge we take a sharp right turn to the boat ramp. I try taking in the entire scene, but I struggle to make sense of all that’s around me. I’m just too cold, embarrassed and overwhelmed by all the activity in front of me now. With some help, I jump out of the boat and am happy to be standing solid ground and that this adventure is about over.
No longer nearly fully submerged in the cold river or facing the strong headwind on our race back here, I can feel the full heat from the sun directly above. I had forgotten how warm it was today. I take off my cold soaked full sleeved shirt then begin working my upper body to increase my body’s temperature.
I am immediately greeted by the Scott County Sheriff and Belle Plaine Police departments. The first asks how I am doing, then for my name and address and where I was headed. Maybe more, I don’t remember. I’m then passed off to the next department and asked the same set of questions. Before being escorted to the back of the ambulance for a mandatory medical review, someone asks if I need help getting to my car in Shakopee (about 20 miles away)?
While very grateful for the rescue and all the expert attention, you must understand, I am cold, wet, exhausted, embarrassed and angry at myself. I need to bite my tongue before saying something inappropriate and unnecessary. I say, “I do need help and I appreciate it. That would be great, thanks.”
Looking up stream I see that the emergency vehicles that were once on top of the bridge have left. I suspect they have repositioned and are waiting at the boat ramp prepared to give care.
Just before the Belle Plaine bridge we take a sharp right turn to the boat ramp. I try taking in the entire scene, but I struggle to make sense of all that’s around me. I’m just too cold, embarrassed and overwhelmed by all the activity in front of me now. With some help, I jump out of the boat and am happy to be standing solid ground and that this adventure is about over.
No longer nearly fully submerged in the cold river or facing the strong headwind on our race back here, I can feel the full heat from the sun directly above. I had forgotten how warm it was today. I take off my cold soaked full sleeved shirt then begin working my upper body to increase my body’s temperature.
I am immediately greeted by the Scott County Sheriff and Belle Plaine Police departments. The first asks how I am doing, then for my name and address and where I was headed. Maybe more, I don’t remember. I’m then passed off to the next department and asked the same set of questions. Before being escorted to the back of the ambulance for a mandatory medical review, someone asks if I need help getting to my car in Shakopee (about 20 miles away)?
While very grateful for the rescue and all the expert attention, you must understand, I am cold, wet, exhausted, embarrassed and angry at myself. I need to bite my tongue before saying something inappropriate and unnecessary. I say, “I do need help and I appreciate it. That would be great, thanks.”
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I look inside the dimly lit ambulance with its two rear doors wide open and see what appears to be a hard plastic bench. It looks cold. I’m guessing the two paramedics are in their late 50s or 60s. They're eager to help and very pleasant.
While they’re busy preparing their equipment and me for diagnostics, the one near me is working to remove the adhesive strips from the back of the 3M red dot monitoring electrodes. |
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He begins asking me the same set of questions. To assist, I pull out my driver’s license and hand it to them.
He then asks me, “What’s today’s date?”
I’m stumped and surprised that I can’t think of it.
Then I remember and tell him, “It’s the day before Easter and then think about how I almost missed it.”
Apparently my answer is adequate and he follows up with another question.
“Who’s our President?”
I’m surprised by the obvious question, but I guess if someone were hypothermic or in near shock they may struggle with such question.
I am more surprised that momentarily I can’t think of our President’s name.
The conversation then slightly shifts toward President Trump. I just smile and avoid talking about his likability and politics right now.
Sitting on the hard plastic bench inside the ambulance I am shaded from the bright hot sun. While they’re struggling to get the equipment working I can feel my temperature dropping and my body begin to shake again. I tell them how cold it is and they assure me everything is about ready.
Not much later I tell them again how cold I am. It is then the paramedic notices my hands and arms shaking. I know I have to get into the warming sun and out of this meat locker they call an ambulance. I ask again if I can get outside. They tell me everything is nearly ready, the heater is on and it will soon be warm.
Seconds later, as I begin to stand I tell them with a little more conviction that I have to get out to warm up.
Now outside and to the right of the ambulance I can’t soak up the sun fast enough. I begin rotating me head, shrugging my shoulders, and twisting my body side-to-side. My body temperature isn’t responding as quickly as I would like so I begin my jumping jacks.
Looking around and up the hill I see everyone preparing to leave. The County Sheriff is half way up the hill and I wonder if he’s forgotten that he’s my ride back to my car. I can’t let him slip away. So I press my index finger to my thumb and bring my left hand to my mouth. With my makeshift whistle I get everyone’s attention and shout out to the Sheriff to ask if he can give me a ride back to Shakopee.
With my temperature returning to near normal, I am directed to return to the rear of the ambulance to complete my medical review. As they reposition their equipment to allow me to remain outside under the bright sun, their laptop falls off the hard plastic bench and crashes to the ground.
I feel terrible about their computer. The paramedic notices and says something to the effect, “Don’t worry. These thing are made for battle.”
With the four electrodes taped to my body, two on my wrist and the other two at my waist, we are all eager to complete the testing as now it is just a formality. I don’t know if all the medical equipment was ever fully operational or if the monitor tracking my vitals gave warning that there was anything to worry about. All I know it is time to go home and any invitation to visit the hospital will be kindly rejected, and was.
After a couple of handshakes and heartfelt thanks, I wish each a Happy Easter and say good bye. As a departing gift, they offer me a cotton blanket to wrap around my shoulders on my to my car in Shakopee. I gladly accept.
He then asks me, “What’s today’s date?”
I’m stumped and surprised that I can’t think of it.
Then I remember and tell him, “It’s the day before Easter and then think about how I almost missed it.”
Apparently my answer is adequate and he follows up with another question.
“Who’s our President?”
I’m surprised by the obvious question, but I guess if someone were hypothermic or in near shock they may struggle with such question.
I am more surprised that momentarily I can’t think of our President’s name.
The conversation then slightly shifts toward President Trump. I just smile and avoid talking about his likability and politics right now.
Sitting on the hard plastic bench inside the ambulance I am shaded from the bright hot sun. While they’re struggling to get the equipment working I can feel my temperature dropping and my body begin to shake again. I tell them how cold it is and they assure me everything is about ready.
Not much later I tell them again how cold I am. It is then the paramedic notices my hands and arms shaking. I know I have to get into the warming sun and out of this meat locker they call an ambulance. I ask again if I can get outside. They tell me everything is nearly ready, the heater is on and it will soon be warm.
Seconds later, as I begin to stand I tell them with a little more conviction that I have to get out to warm up.
Now outside and to the right of the ambulance I can’t soak up the sun fast enough. I begin rotating me head, shrugging my shoulders, and twisting my body side-to-side. My body temperature isn’t responding as quickly as I would like so I begin my jumping jacks.
Looking around and up the hill I see everyone preparing to leave. The County Sheriff is half way up the hill and I wonder if he’s forgotten that he’s my ride back to my car. I can’t let him slip away. So I press my index finger to my thumb and bring my left hand to my mouth. With my makeshift whistle I get everyone’s attention and shout out to the Sheriff to ask if he can give me a ride back to Shakopee.
With my temperature returning to near normal, I am directed to return to the rear of the ambulance to complete my medical review. As they reposition their equipment to allow me to remain outside under the bright sun, their laptop falls off the hard plastic bench and crashes to the ground.
I feel terrible about their computer. The paramedic notices and says something to the effect, “Don’t worry. These thing are made for battle.”
With the four electrodes taped to my body, two on my wrist and the other two at my waist, we are all eager to complete the testing as now it is just a formality. I don’t know if all the medical equipment was ever fully operational or if the monitor tracking my vitals gave warning that there was anything to worry about. All I know it is time to go home and any invitation to visit the hospital will be kindly rejected, and was.
After a couple of handshakes and heartfelt thanks, I wish each a Happy Easter and say good bye. As a departing gift, they offer me a cotton blanket to wrap around my shoulders on my to my car in Shakopee. I gladly accept.
When the Sheriff opens the back door of his patrol car I notice the hard plastic bench. I think to myself, “I can’t wait to find something more comfortable to sit on. Well, in about 20 minutes I will be sitting in my car, enjoying the comfort of my soft leather seat with the heat cranked all the way up.
Heading north on Highway 169 at a rapid speed, I am reminded that today’s temperature has broken the 80 degree mark for the the first time this yer. With it being the hottest day of the year everyone else is nearly breaking a sweat. In the meantime, I’m still struggling to get my temperature back up at to a satisfactory and sustainable level. I wait as long as possible, but I feel my body begin to shake again.
I knock on the back of the plexiglass separating me and the sheriff, then ask if he can crank up the heat back here.
As we turn north on highway 101, about to cross the Minnesota River, I am overcome with emotion and think about:
Heading north on Highway 169 at a rapid speed, I am reminded that today’s temperature has broken the 80 degree mark for the the first time this yer. With it being the hottest day of the year everyone else is nearly breaking a sweat. In the meantime, I’m still struggling to get my temperature back up at to a satisfactory and sustainable level. I wait as long as possible, but I feel my body begin to shake again.
I knock on the back of the plexiglass separating me and the sheriff, then ask if he can crank up the heat back here.
As we turn north on highway 101, about to cross the Minnesota River, I am overcome with emotion and think about:
- My foolishness for putting myself in danger’s way.
- The debris field that nearly took my life just two hours earlier.
- The person who called in for my rescue. If they hadn’t, who knows.
- The water rescue team for their training, passion and expert rescue.
- All the first responders for their quick action and all that they do.
- My having to tell Michon and my daughters about what I did and what almost happened.
- What if and when would it have been known to others that something has terribly gone wrong.
- What would they think, what would they do, how would they feel?
- Easter. Thank God.
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The next day is Easter Sunday.
I meet up with my oldest daughter Olivia, and her four year old daughter, at their home Easter morning. I drive up and see them searching for Easter eggs at their neighborhood park. Lola sees me. She looks and turns toward me and from a distance and shouts, “Grampa.” God, how I love how she lights up when she sees me and how she calls me Grampa. And to think, I came so very close to never experiencing that again. |
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After playing in the park and pridefully piecing a kite together and having it catch flight on a mild windy day, we head to Bonfire for our annual visit for photos with the Easter bunny. Elizabeth, my youngest daughter, arrives just as we do.
There was a moment where I watched them altogether with the Easter bunny near the fireplace, when I had my Jimmy Stewart, “It’s A Wonderful Life” moment. As I watched them together, I began to wonder about ‘what if’ and ‘what nearly was.’ Even now as I write, I struggle and have now failed to hold back my tears. I hope you all had a wonderful Easter. I most certainly did. |
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