This Trip On the St. Croix Almost Ends Tragically
I'm not going down this way.
I'm not going down this way.
With my last push against the bottom of my kayak I free myself and find myself upside down in the swift cold St. Croix. I struggle to find the river’s surface where I gasp for air. A few seconds longer I know I would not be sharing this story.
For an end of season paddle I plan a 60 mile round trip from Stillwater to Taylors Falls. As I prepare to launch from Sunnyside Marina not too far from the new St. Croix River Bridge, I can’t help but notice the high water and how little boat traffic there is.
Due to heavy rains over the past two weeks, there are Very High River and No-Wake Speed Limit warnings in effect for this area. There are reasons to be cautious. The water and air temperature are about the same, in the mid-50s. It is forecasted to rain over the next couple of hours so I put on my neoprene two-piece wetsuit, boots, gloves, and cold water kayak skirt to keep dry and warm. Leaving around 12:30 PM I paddle the short distance upstream to Stillwater. The riverside park is barricaded to keep visitors away from the swift river which has overflown its banks. As I pass through, I reach up to touch the underside of the Stillwater Lift Bridge for good luck. |
On my way to Taylors Falls I plan to stop in Osceloa to catch the second half of the MSU and UofM football game. It begins at 7:30PM and I don’t want to miss it.
I make it to High Bridge and check out the time. It’s 3:30PM. It has taken me three hours to cover this seven-mile stretch. I am disappointed, but rationalize my slow pace due to my taking pictures along the way and the river’s strong current. I don’t give it another thought. With the river overflow, I decide to paddle the St. Croix Island Wildlife Area. This stretch is normally difficult to navigate so late in the season, even in my kayak. Having the river to myself today, I take my time exploring then work my way back to the main stream and over islands which most of the year you must paddle around. With my shoulders beginning to burn I pull over to the riverbank for a brief break. I check the time. It’s 6:30 PM and I’m six hours into my paddle before I pull up my location on GPS and cross reference my map. |
I think I am about 20 miles into my 30-mile trip upstream. To my dismay, over the last three hours, I have covered only four miles. After six hours of paddling I have traveled only 11 miles total. This is not good because further upstream where the river narrows the current will just be stronger and the paddling more difficult.
I call Michon to tell her about my poor progress. I have no choice but to turn back. The beautiful St. Croix has humbled me once again. |
With the water so swift it only takes me 45-minutes to get back to High Bridge. With the sun setting behind the steep cliffside to my right and the moon not yet visible, it’s suddenly very dark. I’m worried that I may not be visible to other boaters so, I need to get off the river to put my lights on.
I think about texting Michon to tell her about my rapid pace on my way back. But, because the river is so swift and I’m quickly making my way toward the river island just ahead, I know it’s not a wise choice…
But, I do it anyway. With my thick neoprene gloves I struggle to hastily key in the numbers on my cell phone. I work to remove my right glove and know I’m losing precious time and the river island is fast approaching.
But, I do it anyway. With my thick neoprene gloves I struggle to hastily key in the numbers on my cell phone. I work to remove my right glove and know I’m losing precious time and the river island is fast approaching.
I look up. It’s too late.
The cluster of trees and their overhanging limbs are only a few feet away. There is no avoiding them. Without hesitation, I toss my phone with the incomplete text in the water then throw up my arms up to protect my face. I hit the limbs hard. I am going down. The best I can do is take a quick gasp of air before my cold water immersion in the swift St. Croix. |
I’m upside down in the dark cold, swift-flowing St. Croix with my lungs half full. To escape, I pull the handle at the front of my cold-water skirt. It’s too tight and not releasing. I push my legs against the floor of my kayak, which is now immediately above me, but I’m unable to break away.
I am running out of breath, time, and options. Just before panic sets in, a sense of calm comes over me. For some reason I know I’m not going down this way. I know I have time for only one more attempt to escape. With the strongest possible push against the bottom of my kayak I successfully break away. Now out of breath I must make sense of where I am and make my way to the surface. For just a second I relax to let the buoyancy of my personal flotation device pull me toward the river’s surface and kick to get to the top even quicker. As I break the surface, I gasp for air to fill my empty lungs. After two or three quick deep breaths I know I have survived this near disaster on the scenic St. Croix. Just out of reach in front of me, I hurry to catch up and grab the side of my kayak and then search for my black carbon fiber paddle. To my luck, I spot my paddle behind me, just out of my reach and with the help of the swift current, my paddle finds me. |
My heart and mind are racing. I’m frightened, panicked, embarrassed, and upset. How could I let this happen? I know better and know how lucky I am.
I take inventory of my belongings. The only thing missing is my phone, which is now at the bottom of the St. Croix. Before I attempt to re-enter my kayak I take the time to settle down. I float downriver with one hand holding onto my deck rigging and the other on my paddle. I’m not letting go of either. There is no time to panic, and I thank God for pulling me to the river’s surface. I am thankful that on this trip I chose to wear all my cold weather gear. Other than my head, I am dry and quite warm. I am in a hurry to get back into my kayak and return to Stillwater about six miles away. Tired from the hard paddling over seven hours and with the swift current now pressing against me, I struggle to push my way back on top of my swamped kayak floating sideways downriver. After a few failed attempts I decide just to float down river until I recover my strength and collect my thoughts. After a long rest, I work my way to the front of my kayak and turn it upside down. With a strong scissor kick, I lift this heavy weight above my head and empty as much water as possible, then flip it back over upright. As I make my way to the back, I notice how much lighter my kayak is. I am encouraged about my chances of reentering. |
The current is too swift. I’m just too tired, and I fall back into the water again.
Not giving up, I take a more extended rest before trying again. As I float down river, I can’t help but think how lucky I am to have dressed for an emergency just like this. If I hadn’t, with the cold water and night-time temperatures, and my being in a remote area where the river is framed with a towering cliffside, the odds of survival are stacking up against me.
I try swimming to the nearby riverbank with my kayak in tow. The current is just too swift and it’s keeping me in the middle. I try again, but it does not want to let me free.
Without my phone and with no river traffic in sight, I begin to shout for help. With the tall cliff on my right and the Wisconsin side of the river so far away, I try anyway.
Hello…. Hello… Hello… Hello… Hello… Hello…
No doubt, I’m on my own. I wonder how long I will be floating down the center of the St. Croix? Will it be all the way to Stillwater where a boater will spot me or will someone in town hear me?
Not giving up, I take a more extended rest before trying again. As I float down river, I can’t help but think how lucky I am to have dressed for an emergency just like this. If I hadn’t, with the cold water and night-time temperatures, and my being in a remote area where the river is framed with a towering cliffside, the odds of survival are stacking up against me.
I try swimming to the nearby riverbank with my kayak in tow. The current is just too swift and it’s keeping me in the middle. I try again, but it does not want to let me free.
Without my phone and with no river traffic in sight, I begin to shout for help. With the tall cliff on my right and the Wisconsin side of the river so far away, I try anyway.
Hello…. Hello… Hello… Hello… Hello… Hello…
No doubt, I’m on my own. I wonder how long I will be floating down the center of the St. Croix? Will it be all the way to Stillwater where a boater will spot me or will someone in town hear me?
Looking downstream I see the stone supports from the old railroad river crossing. I know on the east side there is an island. I was there just two weeks ago. While it will be submerged, I know I will be able to stand and collect myself.
The St. Croix isn’t cooperating. I’m being pulled straight down the middle. I now swiftly float past the Wisconsin Central Bridge Ruins passing by the line of old stone supports. I wonder when and how this late night swim will end and how. Hello…. Hello… Hello… Hello… Hello… Hello… |
n the distance, on the Wisconsin side of the river, I hear a dog barking. I am sure its owner is inside comfortable and undoubtedly unaware of my yelling for help. Even if he could hear me, what would he do? Would he call fo help and send a rescue boat? Now that would be embarrassing, but certainly practical.
Looking downstream I sense the current is pushing me toward the Minnesota side of the river. There must be a bend in the St. Croix here. If I use the current to my advantage and with a strong kick, I should be able to propel myself to the nearby riverbank.
Yes. Finally! While I am unable to reach the shoreline, I can now stand. I flip over my kayak to empty all the water then position it alongside a fallen tree. With my paddle secured on top and braced against the tree for greater balance, I reenter.
Now in my kayak, I make my way downstream to my truck just beyond Stillwater.
Stillwater at night is a beautiful sight, but never more so than tonight. I pull my camera out of the waterproof bag to take a picture. Unfortunately, it seems after a while water will make its way through anything. Another camera has been lost.
As I pass by and think of those in town enjoying their dinner, drinks and dates, I thank God that I too will soon be returning to do the same.
Looking downstream I sense the current is pushing me toward the Minnesota side of the river. There must be a bend in the St. Croix here. If I use the current to my advantage and with a strong kick, I should be able to propel myself to the nearby riverbank.
Yes. Finally! While I am unable to reach the shoreline, I can now stand. I flip over my kayak to empty all the water then position it alongside a fallen tree. With my paddle secured on top and braced against the tree for greater balance, I reenter.
Now in my kayak, I make my way downstream to my truck just beyond Stillwater.
Stillwater at night is a beautiful sight, but never more so than tonight. I pull my camera out of the waterproof bag to take a picture. Unfortunately, it seems after a while water will make its way through anything. Another camera has been lost.
As I pass by and think of those in town enjoying their dinner, drinks and dates, I thank God that I too will soon be returning to do the same.