Accident on the Haw River: A Near Death Experience

Carolina Paddler brings you Paul’s story, originally printed in the News and Observer in 2004.

by Paul Ferguson

I paddle my canoe into the bank just above the dam.  I have trouble getting the bow beached.  I make a couple of more attempts but fail to realize the stern is swinging slightly with the current.  Pete is already on the bank scouting the road to use as a portage path.  He sees my trouble and runs down the hill.  Suddenly there is a moment of horror as I realize that the stern has reached the fast water at the lip of the 15-foot dam.  It is a sheer vertical drop with little water and many boulders below.  I take quick forward strokes but I am overpowered.  I look straight at Pete and he looks intensely at me.  I’m out of his reach and in the grasp of the current.  Nothing can be done.  There is no time for even a word.  I am descending backwards to probable death.

It is September 29, 2004.  Pete Peterson and I decide to take advantage of the recent heavy rain and paddle some river sections we have never seen.  I had previously paddled all of the Haw River downstream from the NC 87 bridge at Altamahaw. In the past year, the state established Haw River State Park.  One of their primary areas of interest is land along the Haw near its headwaters.  This part of the river is not run frequently and is likely to contain down trees.  High water will help us maneuver around trees and make the journey easier.  This watershed includes the headwaters of the Haw River, Troublesome and Little Troublesome Creeks. It drains less than 200 square miles, and there are no gauges. Reedy Fork and Buffalo Creek empty into the Haw downstream of where we will paddle today.  My guess is we have about 700 cubic feet per second of flow at our put-in.

Pete Peterson and I decide to run from the NC 150 bridge, in Rockingham County seven miles southeast of Reidsville, to the NC 87 bridge at Altamahaw, a 12-mile trip. I am not sure we can make this distance since we have no recent reports of paddling conditions. We decide to divide our day into two runs.  The first leg is from the NC 150 bridge to Troxler Mill Road (Guilford County 2711) bridge. If time is available, the shuttle will be reset, and the second leg will be from Troxler Mill Road to NC 87.

We are paddling canoes.  I am in a 16-foot Mad River Explorer, my preferred flatwater boat.  Pete paddles a 15-foot Dagger Legend.  The water is up, but not out of its banks.  It is about 50 feet wide, and I cannot touch the bottom of the riverbed with my paddle.  Current is generally less than two miles per hour. I am just where I want to be, exploring a new stream in beautiful weather and good company.  There are many river birch and sycamore trees hanging over the river.  At times the banks rise to 40 feet and have mountain laurel. We are making good time as we slide over many downed trees that will require portage when water is lower.  Just upstream of Troxler Mill Road bridge, there is an old broken rock dam creating a Class 1+ rapid.  Near Brooks Bridge Road is a small but very dangerous dam.  The drop is about three feet, and the river is less than 75 feet wide.  A powerful hydraulic extends for six feet in front of the dam.  We easily avoid it by landing on the left bank and carrying around the dam to put in below.  The hydraulic today will capture anything it touches.  We reset the shuttle by dropping my van at the NC 87 bridge and get back on the water at 1:30 p.m.

Near the end of our trip, a horizon line marks the 15-foot Glen Raven Mills Dam, a few hundred feet upstream of the NC 87 bridge. We pass the sluice taking water left toward the active mill. At the right bank, we beach our boats 100 feet before reaching the dam.  We start scouting by slogging through a swampy area, and then go uphill to the right side of the dam.  It seems that someone’s yard is to the right. Barbed wire fencing is strung across the path, but there is enough room to get a canoe under it.  Below the dam, we would have to descend to the river and then go back uphill to reach my van at the bridge.  This right side could be portaged, but we think there may be an easier path on the left side of the dam.

The bank on the left side above the dam does not go straight to the dam. About 10-15 feet before reaching the dam the bank cuts inward for maybe 30-40 feet. Pete goes first and paddles carefully into the narrow channel leading to left bank.  I follow with an uneasy feeling about how close this path is taking me to the edge of the dam. There is little flow affecting my boat as I paddle past the upstream side of the land in the narrow channel. Everything is going well.  Paddling to beach my boat near Pete’s canoe, I cannot make my bow stick to ground.  I take another shot and try to power into the low bank, but again I get no purchase on the ground.  Pete is scouting the road on the left side of the bank, and I see him returning.  I make another attempt to land my boat and think the bow sticks.  I get up to walk forward in a crouch, but the effort sends my boat back from the bank. I paddle again but don’t immediately notice a slight current catching my stern and swinging it toward the dam.  I paddle harder and harder as Pete runs down the bank because he sees that I am getting into trouble.  Suddenly there is a moment of horror. I realize the current at the lip of the dam is rapidly accelerating my stern.  I am 10 feet away from Pete. We lock eyes and each knows that nothing can be done.  There seems to be a bright light illuminating the scene.  I’m sure the bright light was in my mind from the focus of all my mental faculties on dire consequences of the situation.

A 15-foot drop these days is commonly run by very skilled paddlers under excellent conditions.  Excellent conditions require a deep pool of water, a lack of rocks and no hydraulics.  There were no such places along this dam today, but the left side was especially low and rocky.  No paddler would attempt this run.

I am being swept backwards over the dam.  It all happens in just a few seconds.  I feel the canoe surge and start to drop. I feel my body hitting something as I am thrown out of the canoe and go underwater.  I do not know what or how I hit.  My body is thrashed as violent forces play themselves out.  I come up from underwater next to my canoe and grasp a gunnel while standing on the bottom in about four feet of water.  The canoe is about 10 feet out from the dam and partially pinned by a large rock.  A rocky peninsula is just on the other side of the canoe.  Water flows out to the right to the main channel downstream.  I try to walk but something is wrong.  These seems to be a log between my legs preventing them from moving.  Using my hand, I push down to free it.  The log is my left leg. Broken somewhere above the knee, and now dangling in the current.  Pete is scrambling down the bank. He is relieved to see me alive after expecting to be on a body recovery mission.  He quickly stabilizes the boat from the downstream side. And tells me to try to make it to his side.  I manage to use my good leg and the gunnels to work my way around the canoe, close to Pete.  He takes me by the shoulders and slowly pulls me up on the small rocky peninsula.  I am laying face up at a 45-degree angle, looking straight at the dam where I just came over.

Pete formulates a plan to get me out by paddling the few hundred feet to the bridge.  I tell him I am injured too badly to assist in my rescue.  My leg is swelling, the pain is coursing through me, and I know I have injured my neck because of pain when I move it.  I tell Pete to call for rescue and give him instructions on where my cell phone is stowed.  He takes the phone and goes uphill to place the call.  When he is gone, I realize my cell phone has a security code, preventing its use until entered.  I expect to see him return for the code, but he finds a store near the bridge and calls the rescue squad.  He leaves instructions at the store on how to find me and comes running back.  I am still lying on my back staring at the dam.  My camera in its waterproof case is still strapped to my chest.  I raise it to take a picture of the scene in front of me, but I can see nothing through the viewfinder.  The camera case is wet, and the spray from the dam is keeping it wet.  I have nothing to dry it, so I give up on photography.

The rescue squad seems to arrive within minutes.  My leg is swelling, and pain is increasing.  It must be about 75 degrees and sunny, but I am wet and losing body heat. I shiver uncontrollably. The rescue squad guys try to start an IV into my arms, but they are having trouble hitting a vein. They shoot me with some morphine to ease the pain and tell me that Duke Hospital is sending a helicopter. It is only minutes later that I see a helicopter pass over the river. They put me on a stretcher. The medics from the Duke helicopter team arrive and assist getting me up the hill to the road. They place me in a truck and drive a short distance to a field where the helicopter has landed. They transfer me to the helicopter and tell me it is only a 12-minute flight to Duke.

We are landing on the pad at the hospital, and I am being wheeled into the emergency room and given over to the trauma team.  The X-rays, CAT scans and MRIs begin. The neurosurgeons find that I have cracked two vertebrae in my neck (C2 and C7.) They say the forces I experienced could have easily snapped my neck and severed my spinal cord. Why it did not was just a matter of luck.  To stabilize my neck and allow the cracks to heal, they install a halo. The halo fits around the forehead and locks to my head with four screws that penetrate the skull slightly. The halo has bars extending down my back and chest. The bars are strapped to a vest fitted tightly to my chest. It must remain in place at least two months.

All the testing for neurological damage delays repair of my leg. After two days, my leg operation is scheduled. This operation involves a long incision to insert a plate over the break in the femur. The plate is screwed to the bones and a cable is placed around the assembly to help strengthen it. My orders are not to put any weight on the left leg until bone growth starts. This could be approximately a month after the operation, but only X-rays will tell. In the meantime, I can use a walker to get myself around by using my arms and my right leg, with just a touch and go for my left leg.  There are some exercises to keep my leg limber, but really nothing substantial can be done until there is some bone mending. After a week in the hospital, I am ready to go home to start my recovery.

After my accident, when I was whisked away in the helicopter, Pete transported my canoe, gear and van to his house. Only a sponge and hat were lost, and my canoe suffered just a minor dent. Pete called Len Felton, my friend for more than half of my life. Len notified my son and mother and came to the hospital that night to see what he could do for me. I owe much to Len and Pete for their assistance during my hospital stay and afterwards. Pete and Len took me home, and Pete stayed a couple of days at my house until my son and mother arrived to start the family nursing care.

It would be a lot easier on my mind if I could point to some external cause of the accident-equipment failure, a lightning strike, a squall.  There was none of that. I was simply working too close to the dam.  Why was I doing it? I can only guess that good judgment was overcome by overconfidence. In hindsight the risk was enormous-a loss of life. The reward almost nonexistent-a few extra minutes crossing farther upstream and perhaps some muddy shoes. I have been paddling about 35 years. I have paddled hundreds of rivers, run thousands of rapids, and portaged countless dams.  I know my memory is not perfect, but I cannot remember in these years ever running a rapid I did not intend to run or being the least bit out of control near a dam. Sure, I have had my share of messing up rapids, but that is part of the sport-a calculated risk. Part of this memory must be somewhat an illusion. There must have been times when I was too close.  That little discomfort I felt when I approached the narrow channel above Glen Raven Mills Dam was the warning I failed to heed.  I did not put the risk in perspective.

My prospects for recovery are good.  I have been given a second chance at life by narrowly avoiding spinal damage. In a couple of months, I hope to have the halo removed and be able to put all my weight on my left leg. Perhaps I will be back in my canoe by early next year. As I paddle again, I know there will always be a part of me still in that moment of horror, being swept over the dam. I plan to use this recurring memory to never come close.

When I am able, I want to repeat the trip with Pete.  I will give the dam wide berth, sit on the rocks below the dam where I lay, stare at the dam, empty my mind.

Thanks to all my friends for the cards, notes, and calls wishing me well. It has meant a lot to know you care.

Paul