Too Soon To Die: A Winter Flood On The Big Pigeon River

Too Soon To Die:

A Winter Flood On The Big Pigeon River

by Lincoln Price

Published: March 1998

It was too soon to die.

I felt the water starting to trickle down into my lungs as it began to force itself through my nostrils and thin set of stretched lips. The current wasn't right. It was too strong and coming from all directions...making it difficult to figure out exactly where I was going. Something was banging into the side of my boat, most likely a loose tree or piece of garbage. However, it all seemed pretty insignificant. I was floating upside-down in my kayak through Class V water. I had lost my paddle a few seconds earlier, and the only choice left was to pull my skirt and tear away from my boat. This meant having to swim...to take my chances in the water with nothing but my body and life jacket.

I felt my body burning steadily...my muscles were losing their strength because I was running out of air. Soon I would black out and it would be out of my hands. Still, I hesitated a moment to think it over; either I could pull the skirt or face the fatal consequence. Perhaps there shouldn't of even been a question of what to do, but you see, I hate to swim. Swimming means that you lost...that the river had beaten you. So, I took just one moment to think it over. In that single cold and breathless moment, I couldn't help wondering how the hell I had gotten myself into the situation to begin with.

You could tell immediately the Big Pigeon River was at flood stage. The water was at least six feet over its normal level, eroding away anything set in its path. It had been running high all month due to the snow that was melting off the Smoky Mountains. The result was streams and waterfalls that had never previously existed were now spilling directly in the Pigeon River. The Upper Pigeon River is usually considered to be a Class 3/Class 4 whitewater run. However, during flood stage, the entire river changes completely. Some of its most dangerous rapids become obsolete as new ones turn up wherever possible, bumping the river up a notch to a Class 5 run. Debris such as entire trees and rotted car tires surface to the top, making it all the more difficult. In short, the river should be run by experts only, but in the town of Hartford, Tennessee, it's run by just whoever is around at the time.

I remember there were nine of us; mostly composed of river guides who in one way or another refused to leave the beautiful and quiet town of Hartford, even after the season was over. Five chose to take a raft. Now that I reflect back on the moment, it seemed to be the smart thing to do. In a raft your chances are better - if you fall out, there are a few other well-trained people there ready to get you back in. Still it was a flood stage and even then your chances aren't guaranteed that you'll make it the entire trip down the river.

I chose to take my kayak - it was a stupid thing to do. I have never truly excelled in making the best judgment calls when it comes to choosing the most sensible thing to do. I had started kayaking in the beginning of the season and loved it right away. I had paddled a few other rivers, learned a lot of fancy tricks, and knew every crack and crevice that existed in the Pigeon River. This was at normal level, or even at a moderately high day. Now it was a flood stage and I should have chosen the raft.

At the put-in, the thought of going in the raft did cross my mind...so did not going at all. It was the river that made me decide otherwise. She was raging. Water coursed through her with no mercy, churning out an echo that was loud enough to intimidate me even before I got out of the car. The more I looked at the river, the worse the fear grew inside my chest. It was big and a lot could happen out there. There are no rules...no second chances. On a day like that, you didn't just shrug your shoulders and say, "Maybe I'll get lucky."

It was the hate of the fear that made me want to go. I hated to be scared of anything in mother nature. I hated anything that made me question my own ability...that told me I couldn't go that way. It's a sickening type of fear - the kind that makes you make the correct decisions. Luckily I had plain ignorant reasoning on my side as well, and I proceeded to drop my kayak into the Big Pigeon River.

My reasoning was this: Behind me was a raft of five trained guides. They were all my friends, but what was more important, I was familiar with their experience on the river and trusted their ability to help me if I got in a jam. In front of me were two other kayakers, Soup and Alan Wray. I had met Soup briefly before the put-in and figured that if he was going, I might as well. Alan Wray was the strength of my reasoning - the kid knows how to boat. He is usually the best kayaker out there on any given day and knows the river better than anyone I have ever met. He is an expert - if I was with him, everything was going to be all right. The reasoning sounded good enough to me at the time...especially while I was sitting right side up!

As soon as I put in, my boat took off down the river with a force that was quite unexpected. From that point on, there was no turning back. You have about twenty seconds to get comfortable before hitting your first Class 3+ set of rapids on the Upper Big Pigeon River. However, on a day like that it took me about four seconds to hit Powerhouse. Scared out of my mind, I paddled as hard as I could. Crashing through those rapids I couldn't help noticing something...my boat was actually getting airborne. As I tumbled through one huge wave after another, I felt the entire body of my kayak freefall for one brief second before slapping water once again. Paddling harder, I started to think that I was having fun...and then I saw Big Rock coming.

Big Rock is more of a monument of the Big Pigeon rather than a rapid. On a normal day it stands in the center of the river sticking out about six feet. It's fun to guide a raft towards it, scaring your customers by coming within inches of crashing into the side of it just before throwing one hard stroke and clearing them into safety. However, as I looked that day, Big Rock was no where to be seen...only heard. The river was so high the rock was covered in the front of it. Behind it was a hydraulic so strong that if you got caught inside it you wouldn't come out until spring. I decided to stay as far away from Big Rock as possible.

After Big Rock I felt myself becoming more comfortable with the river. Sure she was running high, but as long as you stayed alert everything seemed as if it would go just fine. We paddled on through all types of rapids - most of them were brand new to us, and it was like learning the river all over again. We reached the first mile marker in under two minutes...beating the usual commercial route by ten minutes.

From there on out the river was becoming a blast - big water and quick currents. At times I followed Alan's path the best I could. At others I knew it was best to make my own line. I paid attention to the raft behind me, making sure they were close enough. Quickly we reach Lost Guide -the most dangerous and threatening part of the river. It's a tricky rapid where you don't want things to go wrong. As we paddled closer, I felt the fear coming back again. It soon subsided when I realized that Lost Guide was no longer there. It had been washed out and replaced by a quick rush of water. Sailing through it, I figured the rest of the river to be a breeze...but then again it was more ignorant reasoning. I should have known better.

There are two Class 4 rapids close to the end of the Big Pigeon known as Double Reactionary and Accelerator. I had involuntarily swum them both on a number of occasions and knew that it wasn't much fun, especially when the penalty is having to buy a case of beer if you swim them while guiding a commercial trip. Now it was different. I wasn't worried about having to buy swim beer...I just wanted to make it through.

As we drew closer the fear came back again. The rapids were now a Class 5 - a level that I had minimal experience with in a kayak. I checked to make sure the raft was still behind me, and then looked back to see Alan drop into what was once Double Reactionary. He disappeared immediately, leaving me with a sudden sense of panic and isolation. In one great rush of adrenaline, I started to paddle as hard as I could and follow the same line that Alan had taken. It was another stupid thing to do...

I dropped into the rapid and noticed something really different. There once was a huge curling wave at the bottom of the rapid. Now there were huge curling waves that looked to be turned inside and out. At that point in time, I realized that I would have been much more comfortable in a crashing airplane. I estimate that it took the rapid a full second before it managed to swallow me whole...snapping my face into the water before I could take a breath!

Upside down everything went black. My body was crashing through a Class 5 rapid and I couldn't see a thing. Panic screamed in my ears as I struggled to hold onto my paddle. It wasn't hard for me to realize that I was not having fun. By the grace of God, I managed to keep from losing all control. I started to go into a roll and knew it wasn't going to be easy. The force of the current seemed impossible...too strong to really do anything. That's when I noticed the knocking on my boat. It was a hollow, echoing knock like the gentle beat of a drum. Underwater it sounded even cooler. By curiosity and simply biological needs, I forced my head out of the water to gasp for air and to sneak a peak to see what was happening upstairs.

It was Alan Wray paddling upstream through a Class 5 rapid, attempting to give me an Eskimo roll (an Eskimo roll is when another kayaker pulls perpendicular to your boat and you grab the bow for a little help). How he had managed this I'll never know. The one thing I did know is that he was there and I was really glad to see him. I clutched the front of his boat and hip snapped my body upright. For one brief moment, I experienced the glory of returning my position back where it should have been. Naturally, the glory proved to be short-lived as soon as the current caught my paddle at an awkward position and yanked it out of my hands. I looked forward and saw what was ahead...

"Oh good," I thought, "it's Accelerator and I don't even have a paddle."

Once again I was swallowed whole and flipped upside-down.

I was forced to make a tough decision - do I pull my skirt and start to swim, or do I hang out and wait to see if that crazy, but fashionable, redneck Alan Wray will show up to give me another Eskimo roll in a Class 5 rapid? Sure enough the knocking started again. This only made the decision harder - do I stay or do I go? Will I let the Big Pigeon River beat me today? Fortunately, the decision became a lot easier to make as my helmet started to bounce from one rock to another. With a ringing head and bruised ego, I pulled my skirt and started to swim.

Above the surface it was all I could manage to cling to my kayak and stay conscious. The final stint of Accelerator sucked out every ounce of energy I had, and it was all I could do to hold onto my boat. I could see little flashes of light popping in front of my eyes and I realized it was cold out. Disoriented and exhausted, my body was lifted into the air and placed into the safety of the raft.

"Soup is swimming too," I heard someone yell.

"All forward, all forward," I heard the guide scream. It was Anthony I think, but I really didn't care. Whoever it was sure knew more than I did at the time...besides, my head was still ringing from ricocheting across the bottom of the Pigeon River.

A few minutes later the raft picked up Soup and pulled to shore. Somehow, and I'm still not quite sure exactly how, Alan Wray managed to save both of our paddles and boats. Before I could even thank him, he threw our equipment onto the sides of the bank and paddled on down for some more whitewater fun.

Recovering on shore, I felt my body growing numb from the cold. I was shaking but it didn't feel like it really was from the 40 degree air temperature or the ice cold water. I cupped my hands together and blew hot, short breaths into my palms. Staring out towards the river I noticed a set of trees the size of a small island go floating by - perfect symbolism of the conditions of the river that day. Slowly, I started to accept the fact that the river had beaten me. I was in no mood to challenge it again that day and decided it was time to get warm. There would be another day just like this and I would be there again with all the same set of ignorant reasons why I was going. However, for the time being, I just wanted to get warm...to stay upright...and to separate my head as far as possible from the bottom of the Big Pigeon River.

I had survived. It was time to go home, and on that day, it was just too soon to die!