'An adventure?' You could say that

By Mac Arnold
RTWO Editor-In-Chief

There we were, both hugging a large V-tree trunk partially sunk sideways along the river, pinned from behind by the canoe with water sweeping downward to our backs and under us.

"I'm going under ... ," I heard my friend of nearly 45 years gasp.

Bill Brisebois of San Diego was in Michigan the weekend of July 11-12 to visit family and, of course, partake in our annual summer fishing challenge.

"Let's fish the river," he said that Saturday afternoon when I starting talking of our options, to include the pond behind my Monroe County, Michigan house. (Which was the one I was hinting at.)

In this scenario, we would take a lap around the pond along the trail on the 4-wheelers and then hit the bank at dusk for largemouths. It would be casual fun. And simple.

I can hear him now saying, "Yeah, blame me, it's all my fault."

But, no, really it was my fault.

River Raisin, after one of the wettest months of June on record along with big-time flooding in Dundee, which is where we put in, was too fast, too high and too muddy. I should have trusted my gut on this one.

But an hour later we were at the access site, the canoe loaded and being slid into the greenish brown foamy river.

I took a precursory glance around the usual surroundings and decided "good enough."

Unbelievably, we rolled the canoe while I was climbing in. Hardly the skill of two river veterans.

Maybe that was a sign of what was to come.

***

With Bill already slightly injured from hitting his knee and falling on his wrist awkwardly in this faux pas at the launch, we re-loaded the canoe, hopped in without a hitch and headed out.

After a couple of casts it was clear the water was much higher than I anticipated and slow spots and eddies off in backwaters in the world's most crooked were few and far in between. (Smallmouths will hang under flotsam and just off of the current for easy meals of bait fish.



We took a side route in
hopes of finding a fish
bonanza that was a
'fun' adventure but
alas no hits.

RTWO video by Mac Arnold

At one backwater spot Bill did actually get a hit. That would be the only action of the day. Um, fish action, I should say.

The swift water took us further than I usually go before fighting the current back to the Dundee launch site.

I had mentioned this so we tried to turn around but we were making little headway upriver.

"We could make an adventure out of this," Bill said, meaning we would go down hopefully as far as my house albeit I didn't know there were falls at the Ida-Maybee Road crossing that we would have had to portage had we tried this. That would have been a bear in the dark. (The trip we took ended up being between 8 to 12 miles on its own.)

It was clear we would go the "adventure" route.

More casts. More getting buzz baits snagged and unhooked out of limbs.

Then it happened.

A small innocuous twig jutting up from the river looked really like nothing more than a loose vine. No worries, I thought.

Wrong!

The first mistake is we were headed backward, which does happen from time to time when both canoeists are fiddling with their lines or phones or whatever. But you're asking for trouble if you continue that way for a great distance. I should have been more vigilant.

Another error was trying to turn at the twig, which was really a taut hickory or oak branch, because once we tried veering at it we were sideways to the current and bingo, it just forced us over.

We later both had to admit the water felt nice and cool but at that moment it wasn't exactly what we were thinking.

So as we were fighting to stay up and work our way over to the shore, it was then that Bill said he could no longer battle to stay above the branch and went under to "go after the bags," which I thought was a noble gesture. And a much appreciated one by me because if the wife's Trader Joe's insulated bag disappeared forever, I would have been in deep doo-doo.

I liked to say it was because our favorite Monster drinks were in there but truthfully the other bag had his phone in it. Now it all makes perfect sense.

Once he was out of view swimming in his blue life vest downstream, it was up to me to horse the canoe away from this large treetop and onto shore with the canoe nearly full of water. It was a tough overture. But I conjured a Super Mac moment and flung the one oar up on the bank but sadly watched as the second one was swept away. Along with my life jacket, which made me sadder for sentimental reasons more than anything else because I've had the green thing for practically 20 years. It would be recovered later.

There's something to be said for how strong a river's force can be and how hard it is to move a nearly topped off canoe. As a man in his early 50s, I can attribute much of how I managed in that situation to my diligent weight training in the Arnold gym.

I think the worst part of it all -- well nearly worst because losing three fishing poles was definitely No. 1 -- was the mosquito feeding frenzy that took place at that place of refuge on the bank while I took stock of what gear was left and tied a buzz bait back on the one remaining pole.

And yes, after about 10 minutes, the canoe was up on top of the water with me fishing again.

Miraculously, a call came in from Bill telling me of his whereabouts to the shore and I got him back in the canoe.

The miraculous part of the call is that his phone survived by being in a Ziplock bag. For some reason every time I've tried that gig it's meant an instant phone death when I've dumped in the river with the phone on me. And that's why now I have a waterproof phone holder I use when canoeing.

Another miraculous part was when we reached the livery I knew was some ways down the river, Bill was able to talk me into looking at re-figuring our whereabouts on the phone's GPS and "should we stop there and get help?"

It was dark. I commend Bill for the request.

Not only we were able to catch the owners in time to get us a ride back to the Jeep, but we also found out about the River Raisin Canoe Livery operation for future bass river gigs and camping.

A very miraculous ending all the way around, indeed.

***

One might wonder why after such an experience I would even suggest of returning to the rivers and streams in a canoe, or even question my sanity at that.

But I'm an outdoorsman. This is what I live to do.

And if anyone climbs into a canoe, or any vessel for that matter but most especially a canoe, and doesn't at least consider the possibility of it overturning, then really, they should not go.  

In fact, according to a website called canoeingbasics.com, taking a swim should be swapped with "the possibility of" and changed to "expect to."

"Every canoeist needs to know what to do what to do when you flip a canoe. If your sense of balance is pretty good, you will probably be able to stay upright most of the time you are canoeing. Give it enough time though and everybody will end up flipping their canoe eventually," the website continues, "in fact, every time you get in a canoe, you should plan as if you are going to flip (tie gear to the boat, wear clothes you don’t mind swimming in, etc.).

"When you do happen to flip your canoe, the way you handle it will depend on the water conditions you find yourself swimming in."

For us, those water conditions were a little more intense than what they had been our previous times out.

And I will say in thinking about the moment I was hugging that tree limb, with regard to the clothes you should wear, I had a tough time unhooking the loose shirt I had on from a nub on the bark. For future gigs, much tighter clothing will be in order.

Eventually, after a couple attempts, I was able to pull free and move to shore.

That could have been the difference between life and death.