Dog Days on the Ocoee
| River: | Ocoee |
| Skill: | Intermediate |
| Trip Date: | 09/24/2011 |
I have always had a soft spot for dogs. As a kid I always attempted to rescue the “camp dog” at campgrounds. I own two rescue dogs. But I get ahead of myself…
I didn’t know who I’d be paddling with for Ocoee Drawdown, also known as “Week of Ocoee” (WoO). Only Fast Fred would be up all week. I had a couple of people decide last minute that they couldn’t make it. When I left work on Friday, I knew only that I was paddling with Wayne Jones on Saturday, with everything else was up in the air. Steve Strohmeyer and Conrad Bortz were going to try to meet up with me at some point on Saturday.
I ran into Spencer Muse at a gas station on the drive up Friday night (by trying to figure out who had the canoe on top of their car), but he was Nantahala-bound, so there was a paddling partner missed! I pulled into Thunder Rock at about 12:30 am, found Wayne’s campsite, and set up camp. The next morning WoO began!
After a relatively uneventful trip down, Wayne decided that it had been a long run, and he needed a break. He shuttled me back up to the top, where we ran into Dana Lapple and Brian McPherson, who had camped the previous night near Wilson Creek, hoping the creek would rise. To their detriment (and my benefit!), it had not, and they’d wandered to the Ocoee. Steve and Conrad pulled up as they were unloaded, and we had a crew!
That run had its moments of excitement. Conrad was amazing. I think he flipped everywhere you could flip, and some places I didn’t think you could, but he kept making the rolls—I’m not even going to try to list them all. As but one example, Conrad flipped going over the first drop in Broken Nose, rolled back up, flipped back over on the bottom drop, banged and then pinned against a rock, and then rolled back up. It was incredible. By the end he was just showing off.
Sunday morning Conrad decided that he’d overexerted himself the day before, and chose to park and play at Slice ‘N Dice. He helped set shuttle, and drove back up for more focused day of roll practice. Brian, Dana, Steve, and I had an uneventful trip, with the exception that we hears a lone dog barking above the river left slope as we came out of Dixie Drive above Western Flyer. Strange. Was that there yesterday?
Steve and I made a second run that day, and again heard barking in the same place. That’s a steep cliff, just downstream of the landslide that took out the flume the year before. How in the world would a dog even get up there? That (Sunday) evening everyone else headed back to their respective homes and I returned to Thunder Rock, wondering what the next day might bring.
Monday morning I rolled out of the tent and, lo and behold, Larry Ausley and Amy Rae Fox were walking by on their way to check with David Lunestra. Excellent! Another wonderful run down the river (well, except that Larry cracked his boat somewhere along the way, leaving him bailing for all he was worth).
One way to know a run down the Ocoee is going to be interesting is when it’s starting to rain, you’re standing at the top of the ramp at Entrance by yourself (I mean really, all by yourself–Drawdown is a great quiet time on the Ocoee), and three people wander up dragging Duckies to ask, “So can you tell us the lines?” I made a slow start and got to talking with them. Given that any company is better than none, I asked if they minded if I join them? The three high-spirited raft guides from the Nantahala had decided to give the Ocoee a try on their day off. It was a mildly carnage-filled afternoon, but they took it all in stride!
On both runs I heard the dog on the cliff (somewhere) barking. So, waving goodbye to my newfound raft guide friends, I pulled out below Western Flyer to figure out what was going on. Under moderately heavy rain, and within 50 yards of mildly upward climbing, I hit vertical rock face, slick from the rain. I couldn’t find a ready way up that wouldn’t in all likelihood result in my imminent demise. No one knowing where I was, and having watched 127 Hours, I abandoned the attempt. At the takeout I again ran into the raft guides. They had finished up with a great run!
The rain from Monday had everyone speculating Tuesday morning on the probability of a Tellico run. John McDonald had arrived the night before and was camped nearby. With the jury still out, and much messaging back and forth, John and Amy optimistically headed to the Tellico. David and his group decided to remain on the Ocoee. I had other plans.
I pulled out a couple hundred yards downstream of Dixie Drive. Instead of approaching the dog from the bottom, I had decided to arrive from above. I hiked (or climbed) straight up to the flume. Working upstream along the flume line (moderately challenging, do not try at home), the ground dropped away to sheer rock face. But from that point I was REALLY close. The dog, somewhere below, could certainly see me. He was barking his head off, but I couldn’t see him, nor could I see any way to get to him from above. How in the world?!? So I headed back down.
When I finally pulled off the river that day, I mentioned the dog to a ranger at the takeout. He found my story interesting, but clearly had no interest in doing anything. I jokingly suggested that one way I could effect a rescue was to get myself stuck up there, so the dog could get rescued when they rescued me. He agreed that would probably work, but pointed out a lack of a high ropes rescue team. He’d only be able to stand on the highway and signal the hours until the rescue team arrived. Undeterred, I called the local paper to see if I could create a “human” interest story. No dice there either.
At dinner that evening I caught up with Fast Fred and Josh (a rafting guide Fred has brought over to the dark side). Josh pointed out that the dog had been up there since Saturday, at least four days. I realized I didn’t know exactly how long he’d been up there, and that it could have been much longer.
That evening I’d decided I was going to do something, still uncertain as to what. In discussion with Amy and John, I decided I’d give it another try early the next morning. Amy and John would take a late start, and we’d meet up around noon. Amy cautioned not to get myself eaten, like a recent story of a man in India who had left his dogs in the house unfed for a long period of time. Greeatttt.
Thunder Rock was quiet that night, with Amy and I the only two in the campground. Amy pointed out later day that she could have murdered me in my sleep and no one would have known. Really, Amy is a cheery soul.
The sun had yet to break over the ridge when I started out the next morning. I packed up everything I could possibly need, and parked in a pullover spot between Dixie Drive and Accelerator. I waded across the Ocoee with my boat and paddling gear (planning ahead in case the water arrived before I returned), and then across again with my backpack and gear. I decided that climbing up below the dog was worth another shot now that it wasn’t raining. While unsuccessfully trying multiple paths up, the dog started barking again. Redoubling my resolve, I finally managed to climb high enough to see the dog! A hound dog, with his head stuck over a small ledge, barking for all he was worth. But from there I couldn’t find a way up that didn’t require scrabbling across at least 10-15 feet of cliff where any error would have … unfortunate consequences.
I backed off to work my way back up to the flume line on the downstream side. With a better idea of the dog’s location, I worked my way back below the flume. With some moderate scrabbling, I poked my head over a cliff edge to see the dog 20’ below me, barking madly. He at least looked friendly! I was probably not going to be eaten. Thanks Amy.
Now 20’ isn’t that far in the grand scheme of things, but when you’re perched on the side of a mountain, it sure feels a lot farther. But now I’m close, and not giving up. I lowered my pack over the cliff, tied myself in, and climbed down a convenient tree. While not the initial exuberance to see me that one might hope after scaling down the side of a cliff to rescue him, some food overcame the dog’s reluctance, and I had a new friend.
What next? I learned from my “First Descent” clinic taught by Lisa Birkovich and John Zadrozny to never go anywhere you didn’t know how to either: get back to where you were, get back to shore, or know where you were going next. I was fairly sure I could get back up the tree, but not with the dog using the gear I had. That left, well, down.
I assessed the resources on hand. You can get three bars with Verizon up at the flume line. I rearranged gear to get to various things while hanging off the side of a mountain. I built a harness for the dog and tied the dog to me. I dropped a line and connected a prusik line (very handy, that CCC Swiftwater Rescue Course) from me to the rope, and lowered myself over the side. My new buddy at this point decided that I was not someone he wanted to know, as going over the cliff was clearly insane (something I was wondering myself actually). However, he didn’t have much choice as we were tied together; he was along for the ride willing or not! Once the two of us slid over the side, he decided that the best course of action was to stay very still (I suspect considering what his last moments would be like), wedged between me and the cliff. Perfect!
The next “hitch” was half way down when I hit a knot in my rope. Fortunately I carried a second prusik line (again the SWR course: always carry two), and I roped myself over the knot. A bit of excitement as I tried to change everything over with the pack on and the dog in hand with full strain on the rope mind you, but at least I was always roped in. I also then tied myself to the end of the rope, in case I lost track of where I was on the rope. That completed, I continued to work my way down.
The remaining problem? My rope wasn’t quite long enough. At full extension I still couldn’t get my feet under me. I’d known that starting down of course, but it was still one of those “hmm” moments. I started to wonder if I would get to talk with the park ranger after all! There was a ledge three feet below me and after that things started to level out (for moderately loose definitions of “level”). I dug out my Leatherman, carefully placed in my back pocket, and cut the line.
There are times when you wonder, “Should I do this?” often followed by “Why the heck did I do that!” Thankfully, a quick slide and grab at a passing tree and we were down. My buddy and I clambered the rest of the way to riverside. I undid his harness, loosely retied the dog (in case he broke free, I didn’t need him hung up somewhere else!), and we hiked back to my boat. Now about 10 am, I started to wonder when the water would show up. I quickly waded across to the other side with the dog, tied him to a tree, and scrambled back across for my boat. After carefully towing the boat back across (no desire to get wet after all of that!) I dragged the boat up to the car before climbing back down for my companion. He and I scrabbled up to roadside. It was then I learned something new.
A big 18-wheeler rig roared past and the dog spazzed out. Despite having done some crazy thing that stranded him on a ledge on the side of a mountain, he was terrified of traffic (not a bad thing all things considered). He almost pulled me off the side of the road, but I managed to resume control. Looking at his collar I discovered a name and phone number. I phoned the owner, with an answer of, “This voice mail box is not configured”. Figures. I decided to load the dog in my car and turn him over to one of the rangers.
While loading my boat, Fast Fred came driving by, and rapidly “beeped” in a show of support for the dog’s rescue. The dog, terrified of traffic, spazzed out again. I learned then that my decision to loosely tie the dog was not the best idea. He broke free and took off back towards the river bed! Ack! I took off after him as he dashed back across the river but in my haste, slipped and fell in! He disappeared, back from whence we came. There I stood in the river bed—soaking wet—the only witness to my success merrily driving away.
I called it a win regardless. I returned to Thunder Rock about 11 am with John and Amy nowhere in sight. They turned up about the time I got myself cleaned up and dried off. They’d both gotten stuck in a parking-lot-class traffic jam near the Whitewater Center.
The rest of the week finished uneventfully by comparison. Paddling that day with Amy and John, Amy ran Double Trouble backwards, starting a theme. After that Amy ran most everything backwards to increase the excitement. Thursday she added Hells Hole to her list. Amy on running Hells Hole backwards: “It’s like being slapped in the back of the head with a soft, wet pillow.”
Amy and John headed home late Thursday, so Friday I decided to hike up and reclaim the gear I’d left on the side of the mountain. I already had a mild case of poison ivy from the previous attempts, so that wasn’t a major concern any more. However, once I was up there, looking down over the side of the cliff, I decided that perhaps I didn’t care as much as I did when there was a dog involved. I aborted my attempt to rescue my gear and climbed back down. I reached the owner of the dog that evening; he told me the dog had wandered its way home. His response to my story? Dismissive. Oh well, I didn’t do it for the owner anyway.
I ran into Ian Watson at Thunder Rock Friday night. Saturday we finally disproved the theory that any time an Ian paddled with me he had to swim. By late Saturday I decided to take some time to catch up with family and headed home.
The poison ivy is mostly gone now. The scratches and rope burn have healed. The come-alongs have (mostly) been pulled off my clothes. The gear is washed and put away. But when I call that rapid, “Hound Dog, perhaps now you’ll know why.
