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For a real PANIC, nothing beats a pair of deaf kayakers (brother Jim and me) hurtling down a flood-filled Delaware River toward the invisible Lambertville (NJ) dam . . ..
Jim was ahead, blithely paddling FAST... toward what I could see was a straight line across the miles-wide river (there are no natural straight lines in Nature). Screaming at him did no good, and it was ridiculous to be paddling furiously in a full flood, trying to head him toward shore when we were both rushing headlong to our certain deaths against the house-sized boulders in the wash-out area just beyond the dam. I saw Jim's gleeful expression change to something more concerned just before we hurtled over the cataract and fought to keep the kayaks upright in the torrent.
Would you believe, we both kept upright! We were laughing as we navigated the foaming whitewater that extends far below the Lambertville dam, and discussed this thrilling adventure ashore over a quick cuppa tea and soup . . . It seems the flood was so high that there was hardly any "drop" (probably only a few feet of turbulence) at the lip of the dam. At normal river level, the dam is several feet high, with a v-shaped canoers' trough near the Pennsylvania side to permit safe passage. NO sign of that, this time. Jim loved it so much, we did it again, the following week. This time, though, the water level had dropped several feet and the cataract was rushing over the "drop" and foaming between great boulders with such hydraulic force the two kayaks immediately capsized and we were swimming for our lives, swept between rocks that would've pulverized us if we had not held our kayaks ahead of us to take the battering while we slithered behind.
Far downstream in the whitewater, we looked around, saw we were still alive, and both began side-stroking ourselves and the heavy kayaks (each filled with about 300+ pounds of water) toward the NJ shore. Jim more quickly than me, got the trick of yanking his water-logged kayak and using the momentum against the rushing current to side-stroke closer to shore with each stroke and occasional yank. He washed ashore long before me. When I finally got the kayak ashore, I quickly flipped the water out of it and paddled back to find Jim, who was running downstream looking for me. We were shivering - this was COLD water, early Spring whitewater time - and I had to use every bit of my experience to get damp wood flaming up for warmth and a good hot cuppa soup. I could not persuade Jim to jump back into the canoes and paddle like hell for a few miles to warm up from the inside-out, which is what I do when alone in similar situations. It took a LONG while to warm up from outside-in - a roaring fire only warms the nearest skin while the rest continues to freeze - including the icy clothing. When we packed the kayaks on the car, we drove by and stopped at a kayak store near the dam. The owner answered our questions about the dam and what local kayakers do. He could not believe we had survived the tremendous hydraulics - and I realized from looking at his face, that HE should know. In some similar experience, his forehead had hit a rock and was deeply indented . . . In all the hullaballoo of this experience, there was NO time to PANIC. It's nice to be alive and "yarning" about this adventure....
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