As background, I've been a commercial raft guide for 5 years - 4 on the South Fork American and one on the Middle Fork American. I am certified in Wilderness First Aid and Swift Water Rescue. Last year I began kayaking thanks to some encouragement from my friends who gifted me a broken boat with the stipulation that I fix it and learn to use it. Sunday's trip was my 30th time (yes, I keep a log) in a whitewater kayak, and having run "the T", the Lobin section of the Feather, E to P on the Yuba, and being confident in my combat roll, I felt comfortable on this stretch of river. I also ran this section three weeks earlier in a two person paddle cat at 700 cfs with great success. Ok, so now that I justified being on Chamby on the North Fork American, I'll say that I know I tend to kayak a little sloppy at times and had gotten into a couple sticky situations in the past, but made it out unscathed. My experience with rafting probably also gave me an inflated confidence in my kayaking ability. I probably should have spent more time on less consequential rivers to practice my precision and build more consistent habits. But I didn't. Now on to the story.
We put in at about 11am, the weather was an unbelievable 55 degrees and sunny, and the water was it's typical gorgeous emerald color flowing at 600cfs. The day was going smoothly and I was through Slaughter's Sluice and Chamberlain Falls before I knew it and was feeling great with my performance. We approached Tongue and Groove and I decided to scout the drop because it looked pretty chunky and I wanted to make sure I could make the move. I decided I could make it and sure enough, I did. Zig Zag and Achilles Heel went great as well and I was on a high. I felt that I could definitely handle this river at this flow and started thinking about the last couple big rapids coming up. I knew the next section was easy class 2 and flat water and my mind wandered.
Then I hear a group member holler, "death sieve, stay left" and proceed to make the necessary move. He was referring to a formation of one massive boulder that sits in the middle of the river with another massive boulder on river right leaning up against it with an ugly sieve in between. The move is to go left around the boulders. The current splits just upriver of the boulder with just over half the flow going left with the remainder leading directly into the sieve. The sieve is jumbled with logs, sticks, and whatever else was unfortunate enough to float into it (now including my kayak and possibly my paddle). Another member in my group said, "I'm going farther left than that," referring to the lead paddler and he hugged the left shore while I lazily paddled just behind and right of him. This was my grave mistake. Too far river right and too little momentum. I came up to a shallow rock shelf and expected to bump over it but quickly found myself sliding downriver like I was grinding a rail on a snowboard. I was then pushed back into a strong current and attempted a couple of frantic paddle strokes before being pushed sideways into the rocks above the sieve. The only thoughts going through my head in this moment were the phrases, "Uh Oh," and "Shit." I actually verbally yelled "Shit" and remember thinking that "Shit" was actually going to be my last word. Over dinner later I laughed over my regret that I wasted so much air in using that particular exclamatory word. I should quit swearing.
Enough about my poor vocabulary. I'm pinned against this rock above a sieve and almost immediately feel my boat begin to flip upstream. I ditched the paddle and reached for the logs that are jammed in the sieve as I go under. Everything goes silent. Out of habit, due to the fact I wear contact lenses, I close my eyes and my world goes black. I manage to pop the skirt using my knees - something I practiced several times while learning to roll - and feel my legs come free of the kayak. It then apparently fills with water and proceeds to move deep into the sieve, wedging itself firmly between the rock and my legs. Right now my head is about a foot under water, my oxygen is cut off...I'm stuck in a death sieve.
My fellow paddlers and I all have differing opinions about the exact time frame in which the following events took place. I feel that it was 25-30 seconds before my head broke the surface. One buddy, the first one on the scene, claims 30-40 while the 2nd to arrive claims 10-15. Whatever the exact time really was, it seemed like minutes.
"This is actually happening. I'm stuck in a sieve. I always joked that I wanted to die in a river, now I'm about to." These were my first thoughts after the situation stabilized. The overall feeling was disbelief. The water was rushing past me, all around me. It felt so heavy on my shoulders and back, pushing on me while I grasped onto the logs. I could hear a muffled gurgle of whitwater and, with my eyes closed still, saw only black. It was, in a surreal way, peaceful. (I realize that I have used and will continue to use some clichés, but damn, they are clichés for a good reason). The situation was hopeless. There was no way I could possibly flush through and nobody climbs out of a sieve. My friend on shore couldn't see any part of me to get a rope in my hands. In what felt like a minute of contemplating, I decided I was OK with my fate. "This is how I die and there is nothing I can do about it."
Then I thought of my friends, standing on shore staring at a log choked sieve, hoping that they see my head pop up. I thought of my family, my niece and nephew. I thought of my girlfriend and my friends. I thought that while I had no choice but to accept this situation, they might not have such an easy time doing so. It was the people in my life who gave me the realization that, although hopeless, I have to at least fight to escape this tomb. I could not go gently into that good night. (yeah, like I said, clichés)
So I didn't. I opened my eyes to see a beautiful sight. Water, turquoise and frothy white, rushing past me, through the pile of branches and logs on my right. I saw my kayak, that yellow and orange plastic smashed against the left half of my lower body, pinned against the logs. I was only wedged in just below my hips and I saw hope. I still had a death grip on the branches above me and I started to pull. While I pulled I wiggled my legs and my hips. One inch, maybe two or three, at a time I felt my legs come more free and I reached higher up, found a new handhold and pulled harder. All my experience as a rock climber paid off in one desperate moment. As I did this the kayak slipped deeper into the sieve keeping me constantly pinned. I was able to use this as leverage to continue climbing up and out of this mess. My mind was focused solely on escaping and I began to feel that I could make it. Too soon, however, I exhausted my air supply. I began to gasp and could feel my lungs strain in my chest. "Don't open your mouth," I told myself, immediately after which I did and inhaled a small amount of water before regaining my senses. I knew that my time was running out and pulled on those logs against the full force of 300 or so cfs as hard as I possibly could. And I made it. To my astonishment my head broke the surface of the water and I breathed in a desperate gasp of air. The water surged over my shoulders and around my head, threatening to push me back into the hole I just climbed out of. The thought of going back in, knowing a second attempt would be surely unsuccessful, was the most terrifying feeling of the entire experience, and possibly my entire life. I looked to my left and saw two of my friends standing on shore, one with a throw bag. Then a rope fell right in front of my face (nice throw buddy!).
Although my head was above water, a rope within reach, and oxygen was restored to my system, the puzzle was far from solved. Both legs were still pinned and my hands were frozen. That water is coooooold in February! I grabbed the rope with my left hand and looked to my saviors. The rope holder nodded yes and pointed to where he wanted to pull me. I shook my head no and grabbed back onto the logs. I couldn't grip the rope with my frozen claw hands, but it was inspiring to see it and hold it, although briefly. I knew my friends were there for me, they were using some sort of mental power to will me out of the sieve. I continued to wiggle and wiggle and finally my left leg broke free! I kicked around a bit and felt it land on something and realized that my foot was standing on the cockpit of my kayak. Immediately I stood as tall as possible pulling my upper body out of the water, onto the safety of a large log with bomber handholds, and freeing my right knee. My right foot remained pinned and my lower half, just below my rump, remained in the water. But I made it! I was safe, relatively at least. I felt solid on that log and was able to methodically try different angles to free my foot. It eventually shook loose and I climbed out of the water, onto the rock, and collapsed face down. My chest heaved, my frozen claw hands ached, my head hurt, I was completely and utterly exhausted, but I was alive. I had just climbed out of a sieve. "Oh my god. I'm alive. How did that just happen?" The nightmare was over.
The next 10-15 minutes involved me freeing the rope bag from the log jumble, collapsing on the rock in exhaustion multiple times and trying to convince myself that I can jump back into the water, on the other side of the rock, and swim to shore. I did manage to jump eventually and immediately my body failed me. That rope appeared again and my hands were defrosted enough this time to grab on while they swung me into an eddy where I was helped out of the water and there were hugs and silent, wide eyed stares of disbelief exchanged. They guys started to scramble to collect their gear while I laid on a rock to bake in the sun where I remained for an unknown length of time.
I learned later that both of my buddies who were standing on the shore had bailed so fast from their boats that they didn't dock them. Two kayaks and two paddles went floating downstream where the fourth member of our crew efficiently gathered and stowed all the equipment on shore. My boat and paddle, however, met a less fortunate fate. They never surfaced. They can't even be seen through the turbulent waters pounding through those rocks. After staring for a while at the backside of that death trap we concluded that they were lost to the river gods, a sacrifice I was more than willing to offer, and I began the long scramble along the rocky shore to take out. After a mile or so of scrambling and snapping a couple pics of my three heroes paddling through Staircase, I was noticeably struggling to walk. The adrenaline wore off and I discovered that my knee was likely sprained, as well as the middle finger of my right hand. There were, and still are, wood particles lodged under my fingernails. My neck and head ached terribly and I was completely drained. So my friend offered to hike while I paddled his boat the last mile or so of river, facing my foe - the daunting class 2 whitewater of the North Fork. And I'm glad I did, it was good to get back in a boat so soon and paddle some simple rapids. The float out was mostly silent with the occasional inquiry if anyone could see the hiking trail. We could not, by the way.
And that was it. A group behind us recovered my throw bag which floated free and returned it to me. But other than that my gear, boat and paddle are, as of now, sunk in a sieve. In case they pop out and someone wants to return them, they are a yellow/orange Pirahna Burn L and a Werner bent shaft paddle w/white fiberglass shaft and black carbon fiber blades. Thanks for lookin' out! We packed and left the river to eat at a Mexican place off the Foresthill exit. It was good. We had a few beers, talked about our individual experiences of the same situation, laughed and ate. When I got back into town I met up with my girlfriend and hugged and kissed her and told her the story. I've told it several times already and assume it will come up often over the years. It feels like this all happened so long ago, yet it is very vivid in my mind. I have no clue how I should feel now, I've never nearly died before. But I do know that despite some extreme soreness, pulled muscles, a sprained and bruised up knee, and a very sore rib cage, I feel absolutely great. I figured it would be best to end with a cliché. Oh, and the first pic below is me showing my contempt for that sieve. The other is a view from the scout rock above Tongue and Groove. The last is a close up of said intrapment hazard from the backside.
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