The Narrows

The Narrows of Section III of the Chattooga River is an important place for me, almost sacred to me in some ways. It is where I first learned how to swim in whitewater and where I spent many days having fun while developing that skill.

These rapids are on the upper part of section III, seldom used by rafters or boaters because, at most water levels, the river above and below here is shallow and slow, with few rapids and little excitement for the whitewater enthusiast. As a consequence, I spent many days here without seeing anyone other than whomever I hiked in with.

The Narrows themselves are a small canyon that the river drops into, with steep walls and deep, powerful currents. These walls and the boulders that litter the riverbed have, in some places, been severely undercut by the current over the millions of years it carved this sluice. Sometimes these undercuts trap tree-limbs and sometimes they narrow to small outlets through which only water can pass. In whitewater recreation, these undercuts and "strainers" are significant hazards, claiming the lives of many people.

I suppose it is somewhat ironic that part of my river education took place amidst these dangers, but it is because of these dangers that I was able to develop the knowledge and skills I did, how to safely maneuver among them and avoid the threats I would inevitably face. Still, it remained important to be cognizant of such hazards and to always treat the river with respect for its power and capriciousness. It was on one my very first visits to these rapids that this attitude was founded in my memory.

Ted and I had hiked in to enjoy one of the first warm days of that spring. We were swimming and sunning and bouldering as was common for us in those days when a decked canoe and a paddle floated by. Ted, being more experienced and a stronger swimmer at the time, swam out and retrieved the gear, bringing it in to shore for the owner to retrieve when he or she came looking. An hour or so later, a man did come. Ted asked if he were looking for a boat and the man replied that he was looking for a body.

He had been teaching his son to boat in the pool above these rapids when his son lost control and was washed into the very dangerous hydraulic that guards the Narrows. The boy capsized and his canoe washed out. The father never saw the boy surface.

Whitewater rescue, of course, was supposed to be our area of expertise, being professional guides and all, so we sprang into action. I, being a relative novice next to Ted, was given the role of runner and I sped up the trail to the road and our vehicle, then out to the nearest house, about two miles in all. There, I called the local USDA Forest Service office, the managing agency for the river, in hope that some kind of rescue was still possible.

Upon my return to the Narrows, I found Ted very carefully attempting to explore the undercut areas without endangering himself, but to no avail. The man (I cannot remember his name, nor that of his unfortunate son) was stunned with grief and sat impotent on the rocks while we searched for his son's body. Soon, the rangers arrived and joined us in trying to find the boy, whom we were all but certain was drowned.

The body was lodged in a small cave underwater, formed where a large boulder was perched upon several smaller ones creating an effective and deadly sieve. At low water, this was a fun place to swim up into, but at these water levels it was certainly deadly. I do not know whether the boy drowned in the large hydraulic that he first disappeared into or whether he was flushed and then entrapped in this sieve. Either way, the hazards of this beautiful and dangerous place overcame him.

The grappling hooks retrieved the body and I never heard anything about the incident or the bereaved man again, but the knowledge and experience I gained through this tragedy helped me when faced with similar hazards first-hand. It was the first time I had encountered death on the river. I'd like to think it helped me avoid my own in my many adventures since then.