Day 70: Whanganui River Canoe Trip Part 5

I was the first to wake up, having taken up the middle mattress beneath the window, through which the early morning sun was now shining. I quietly crept out to the loo and back, stoked that I managed to do it with only Marie seeming to stir. After a while the guys began stirring as well and we all got up and went about our morning routines, namely breakfast and pack up.

Taylor and I were ready first (Marie and Eddie never seem in a hurry to get anywhere which I admire) and soon had all our gear packed into barrels and had carted these back down to the river. As we were pushing the canoe into the water a jet boat came from downstream and pulled in, and two men, after saying a brief good morning, headed up to the hut, presumably to carry out some maintenance work. Marie and Eddie were ferrying their gear down as Taylor and I set off, each pair calling out a cheerful "see you downstream!". I'm not sure when but at some point Taylor said he felt like Eddie was like our guardian angel, looking out for us on the river. We both agreed it was reassuring to have an experienced kayaker paddling down the river behind us and part of me wondered if Eddie and Marie weren't deliberately setting out after us now (whether or not they had been before) in case (expecting?) we would get into further trouble on the river. Already grateful, we little anticipated just how grateful we would be for their help before the day was out. While I cannot confidently recall the precise order in which some details of our days' adventure played out, I've tried my best to tell the story as accurately as possible.

Taylor was steering today, seemingly happy enough to let me be the power in the front (or lack there of). consequently we moseyed on down the river at a rather more sedate pace than on previous days. It became apparent that the rapids weren't as big as they had been upstream, several merely disturbance of the surface water as it sailed over patches of shallow rocky bottom, but it becomes apparent that the lower reaches of the river are much more susceptible to log jams than the steeper and faster flowing upper stretches. The really impressive ones are easily avoided, being a complex graveyard of chaotically deposited branches--sometimes entire trees--that scream "stay away" even from the uninitiated. But sometimes there is just a smattering of stumps protruding here and there from the water and it was in a semi-rapid section littered with such stumps that we came to grief.

Being in the front it was my job to spot the hazards and call them out to Taylor so he could choose how best to steer around them. On this particular section there were too many to call all of them out individually but there appeared to be a clear way down the center of the river, if one prominent stump in the center could be avoided. I left the decision to Taylor to choose whether he wanted to veer to the right or left of the stump...but as we approached in the accelerating current and we continued to aim directly for the stump. Growing a little concerned by this I think I quickly said something along the lines of "Taylor...? Pick a side Taylor....!". The boat did not turn. I stared in disbelief as we bore down on the log, saying in a voice that I remember rapidly rose in volume and pitch "Taylor...Taylor!....TAYLO--...[gurgle]". Seated at the front as I was I  had a clear view as almost as if in slow motion we hit the stump head on, bounced back a little, got caught by the current on either side, rapidly swung round 90 degrees, hit the log again side-on and were flooded, capsizing into the current that came rushing into the boat. It all happened in an instant. There was a moment's desperate floundering to grab the end of the canoe as I was swept past it, and in a few moments more I'd hauled myself up onto the strangely stationary canoe, wedged my paddle in amongst the mercifully double-strapped gear and sat on the up-turned edge of the canoe to take stock.

I quickly spotted Taylor who had been washed down to slower water and was now swimming for a large gravel bank on the left hand side of the river. Seeing he was alright I turned my attention to the canoe. It was standing on its side, 3/4 submerged in the water, perfectly balanced by the water rushing in and over it on either side, pinning it to the stump. I shuffled my seat to the end of the canoe and bounced up and down a couple of times in an attempt to get one side further into the water than the other in the hope the force of the water would tip the balanced and wash the canoe round one side of the stump to freedom. While it tilted slightly it didn't budge. One small branch protruding from the unfortunately non-rotted log had wedged under the rim of the canoe and was helping to hold it in place. I tried to snap the branch or maneuver the canoe off of it some how, but the shear weight of water pounding against it was impossible to counteract. After while checked to see that Taylor wasn't jumping in to try and help--what if he got swept away and drowned while I was occupied with the canoe. I can't remember if I motioned him to stay put on dry land or not, but I remembering thinking I should.

For what felt like half an hour I tried to free the wedged canoe. Standing precariously on one end and jumping up and down as much as I dared without breaking it succeeded in getting one end further into the water (and consequently the other further out). Unable to push down any further I alternated between trying to push down one end and lift the other. Turns out that right in from of the stump (upstream) was another large log that if I carefully lowered myself into the water I could use to deflect the worst of the current and brace myself against whilst trying to lift one end of the canoe, and or push the other enough to get it to give just a little...but not enough.

Eventually Taylor did jump in and wash/swim down and to help. By some miracle he made it and we both attempted to use our combined weight to tilt the continue sufficiently one way or the other. Taylor tried also to snap the branch pinning the rim of the canoe but to no avail. Meanwhile I had clambered out to either end to loose the tie ropes and tied them together. I had half an idea that the combined rope might be long enough to tie to one end of the canoe and hook (with a very good throw) around another stump in the river, from which we might be able to haul the canoe off the stump.  But I could not throw the loop of the rope far enough. I was onto my fifth or so attempt when we spotted Marie and Eddie come floating around the bend upstream. What they must have thought on seeing Taylor and I marooned mid-current on our near-submerged canoe!

We watched as they skillfully negotiated the rapid until just past our position, turned their boat 180 degrees and paddled back up in the lee of our stump to where we caught hold of the nose of their canoe. Understandably they did not want to tie up to the stump unless our efforts to free the stranded canoe should cause a collision with their's if it were to come free, so Marie held on to the log to keep their canoe in place while Eddie assessed the situation.  He and Taylor were soon able to snap the branch wedged under the rim of the canoe but the canoe still would not budge. After a few more failed efforts to force the canoe to wash one way or another Eddie made the call that we should try to rescue our gear. By this time most of it must have already under the water for nearly an hour so this seemed like a good idea at the time, and was probably the wisest option...but in hindsight it was also the undoing of the canoe.

With Taylor and I on either side we were able to carefully loose each barrel one at a time, handing them off to Eddie who loaded them into his and Marie's canoe. I thought at least they would unload their own gear first but Eddie seemed to think they could manage, so within minutes there they were in a double-loaded canoe floating barely an inch or two above the water at the middle where it was piled high with all our gear: loose barrels, my pack (which though empty did not fit in a barrel), our paddles and even the bail. I thought all was lost when Eddie had to half jump into the back of the canoe and it listed terrifyingly to one side. I had a brief vision of our unstrapped gear being dispersed down hundreds of meters of river, not to mention Eddie and Marie having to flounder for shore, but in an instant he'd corrected for the motion and they paddled carefully round to face downstream and paddled across the current to put in on the gravel bank. Not for the first time I admired their significant skills!

They quickly unloaded all the gear, ours and theirs, and paddled out to the lee of the stump once again. Marie held their canoe steady while the three of us, occupying whichever bit of sure footing on the stump we could find tried to get the canoe to move...and it did...a little. It was then I noticed that something wasn't right with the canoe. It had developed a distinct bend in it, like a gymnast attempting to lean over backwards to drop their hands to the floor behind their feet. It had also sunk lower in the water so that both ends were now completely submerged. It was then I realised that the gear (specifically the air trapped inside rigid barrels) had been the only thing keeping the canoe both afloat and straight. Now, with this vital structural integrity removed it dropped down to become close to wedging between the stump and the submerged log, and only had it's light wooden skeleton to maintain it's shape. The thin wooden frames weren't up to the task and as our attempts to move the canoe renewed I felt a late splinter poking up from a large crack in the frame. Obviously the thing would never float again, but we felt almost honour-bound to free it if we could...and so for a little while we kept trying.

At some point during the entire operation I lost my footing and made a grab for the end of the canoe to keep from being washed away. There I was floating at the surface thanks to life jacket and current, but there was so much water bearing down on me as it washed over the edge of the canoe that it was all I could do to get the odd gasp of air in between what I soon realised were great mouthfuls of water. I was dimly aware of Taylor standing right beside me on the stump telling me to climb out again, but it was all I could do to hang on to the canoe with both hands to keep from being swept away. I wished nothing more than for him or Eddie to realise my predicament and grab me by the scruff of my life jacket and haul me up. But in the eon (second or two) I was there they were preoccupied with the canoe. I distinctly remember a sardonic voice in my head saying "well this is a good way to drown" and let go. I managed to grab the side of Marie's canoe as I washed past and haul myself back along and onto the stump and out of the water, spluttering. Taylor asked if I'd swallowed any water and when I said 'yes, a bit' I saw in his face the memory of the rotting goat carcass we'd floated past the day before. Banishing thoughts of potential future gastrointestinal problems I turned my attention back to the task at hand. We all assessed the situation. Despite near self-induced drowning I was otherwise okay, but I was tiring quickly. Beside me Taylor was shivering and said he thought he needed to get out of the water soon. This was despite the fact that hauling on a canoe on and off for over an hour is an ok way to keep warm, and the water itself wasn't that cold, so I guessed Taylor might have gone some kind of mild shock. Then again I'm much better insulated than him so maybe it was cold!

We all took stock and Eddie suggested one last method we might try to help free the canoe. He and Marie took their canoe upstream and paddled it down as fast as they could. As they winged us we threw them the tail end of the bow rope and they pulled with all their might to try and slide it round the stump. But the canoe didn't budge. They were gearing up for one final try when we heard the sound of an engine...

From around the upstream bend shot a jet boat--it was the guys who'd been doing maintenance at Downes Hut that morning. They spotted us and slowed to a stop. After a moment they drive down a second arm of the river (turns out that large gravel bank wasn't actually 'shore') then carefully came up into the lee of the stump. They took one look at the canoe, which was gradually succeeding in emulating a gymnast who can bend all the way round backwards to put her hands on the ground behind her feet, and said "that's had it. Climb aboard!" Magnum(?) and Mark (aka M&M), after determine that we'd (meaning Marie and Eddie) had already rescued our gear, effortlessly hauled Taylor and I onto the bow from where we clambered over the windscreen into the seats. They took us the short distance to shore to collect our gear and said they'd give us a lift down the river to their base. What luck!! Our alternatives would have been either to get our gear to the proper shore, somehow get it up the bank to the road and hitch, or push the 'non-emergency assistance required' button on the beacon Eddie carried...which would have involved Gavin back at the Yeti office chartering a jet boat to come and pick us up. But they we were by pure luck, already with a willing jet boat to help us!

We said a short-term farewell (and a massive thank you) to Marie and Eddie, who would continue their trip, stopping to collect Taylor's paddle and hat from the end of the sandbar as they past and dropping it off when they reached the boats base. Then Taylor and I loaded our gear and sat back to relax and enjoy an unanticipated jet boat ride down the Whanganui River. I was quite excited by the whole adventure but Taylor sat warming himself in the sunshine, eyes closed, with an expression that suggested he was trying to find a happy place.

At the base--Mark's house--we unloaded the gear, bid farewell to Magnum and gratefully accepted hot showers and hot cups of tea. Mark rang Yeti and explained the situation. They were most concerned that we were alright, and having ascertained that, said they would divert a couple of guys doing a canoe pick-up in Whanganui to come and get us. Meanwhile we emptied the barrels and laid our damp gear out on the lawn to dry in the sun. Mark's wife Claire and their adorable daughter came home and we all sat around their outside table chatting and reliving the morning's events. Presently Marie and Eddie arrived, added the last paddle to the collection of gear for Yeti, and joined us for a picnic lunch. By early afternoon they were on their way again, Mark had gone off to work and Claire got on with some errands (including finding their friendly wee dog that seemed to have gone walk-about sometime over lunch), leaving Taylor and I to wait for Yeti. We joked that the day's events had been the canoe's way of getting back at us for having the temerity to christen it the "Rotten Orange" (after its colour and state of repair, but further inspired by my having found precisely this inside my food parcel on the first day).

While we waited I rang the Yeti office to ask about paying the insurance excess on the canoe; this would be $500, so $250 each, and the woman on the end of the line promised to txt me the company's bank account details so that we might transfer them the money. She seemed a bit taken aback by my enquiry and willingness to pay up on our part...but then I'm sure if she'd actually laid eyes on the canoe she might have understood. At least it can be said of Taylor and I that when we do something we do it well...if only when it comes to totalling watercraft!

It turns out that Taylor and I have come out of the ordeal with polar opposite experiences and concluding points of view.While Taylor admitted to having gone into the trip with a high level of confidence, he now felt that the main thing he had learned was never to climb into a canoe again. I was sad to hear this, but not really surprised. I on the other hand had gone into the trip a bit nervous, but my confidence had grown as I made mental notes after each capsize, and I now felt that if I were to do the trip again I would have a much better chance of being able to negotiate the river without ending up in it. Next time I would however choose to go with someone with an approach to canoeing that is much more like my own (and I daresay Taylor would say the same...except of course he's resolved never to go canoeing again). Either way I am determined not to be self-peer-pressured into "just going for it" (and by 'self-peer-pressure' I mean not having the guts to metaphorically rock the boat in order to prevent literally doing so!).

In short (ironic given the length of this account) I feel like the Whanganui River and I have unfinished business and I have promised myself to return and complete the trip one day (though after reading this any potential canoeing partners will probably be put right off...but on the off chance, any takers?!).