I stood on the shoreline cussing a blue steak at my Kayaking buddy Steve, yelling for him to help my daughter who was four feet away from him. A slight mishap had just become a deadly situation, as Steve could not get to her in time and she was swept into the current of the Jim Beam Dam on Elkhorn Creek. She cried out for help as the current swept her into the cascade of the spillway. The water, at 8 pounds per gallon, pounded her down beyond our vision. She disappeared briefly as the undertow took her away. She resurfaced about fifteen feet from the spillway, and I refrained from jumping in, as it appeared she would swim out of it. She was almost in the clear when the current began to suck her back into the spillway for another vicious cycle of beating. Steve was nearby, but still could not reach her with his paddle. I took the bowline off another boat and tossed it to Steve so he could throw it to her. His boat was in a precarious situation and he could not get his balance to make a decent throw. Brenna was on about her third cycle through the beating, and her arms were beginning to become limp.
While still attempting to inspire him with insults and profanity, (“Throw her the %*&$ rope you idiot”) I jumped in a kayak and made for my child. The surf wiped my boat and I swam to the log where Steve’s kayak was hung up. I tied the rope around my waist and told Steve that I was “going in” but would need him to pull me out, as I handed him the free end of the rope. I jumped in and got myself to her. I said “I gotcha Baby” to my 16 year old daughter. She had probably been through the cycle of the dam current five times by the time I reached her. I got her face up out of the water and we both frog kicked while Steve muscled us up to his Kayak by pulling the rope. A textbook rescue up until that point, Steve paddled like a champ and we nearly reached the shore, but the rope I had tied to my waist was in the current and our two friends on shore could not reach us to help us in. “Something is pulling us” I heard Steve yell. “Do something to help, you profanity, expletive etc.” I yelled to my friends on shore. The rope in the current pulled us away, and something went wrong. Who knows what? Steve’s Kayak capsized.
Brenna and I were both now sucked back into the Dam cycle and I now knew how Brenna felt, as we were battered down by the dam, pulled into the undertow and spit back up and pulled into the dam again and again. On the first cycle I was wondering if she remembered our talk about rip tides and undertows, and how if you relax and let them take you, you can hold your breath and conserve energy by not fighting it. (A “lost year” I wasted surfing in San Diego had provided us with some useful knowledge.) We were constantly being hit by boats, paddles and other things as the surf exhausted all of our strength. I remember what people had written about drowning being “peaceful” and felt somehow misinformed as my particular experience was becoming increasingly exhausting and more violent. We found ourselves facing each other and embraced and said “I love you” simultaneously. It felt good. I did not care, and was glad that I was dying with her. As I was underwater for what I believed would be the final time, I felt no regrets and was ready, as I thought about the “Great Mystery” of God, and was strangely not afraid, as I knew it would be something new and not at all boring.
I asked a small favor about getting my daughter out of this, but was willing to accept that we were together, and it would be OK. My foot then hit one of the submerged Kayaks and I pushed off on it. I found that Brenna was on the downstream side of me and I pushed her with all my strength, which I knew was not enough. I had failed and resigned to die, not having saved her. As I was being sucked into the dam again I felt a twinge of hope as it was clear she was out of the maelstrom and was now headed downstream. There were rapids down there, but the water was more shallow and she stood a fighting chance to get on a big rock that was out in the middle of the water. I do not know if the dam sucked me back under or not, but I remember being happy that she was given one more chance. I also suddenly became aware that the eddy of relatively calm water between the two spillways was only a couple of feet away. I could not make it, but my body continued to try anyway. I could hear my buddy Derek yelling to Brenna “Swim for the rock”. I feebly approached the broken concrete dam wall and dug my hand into a crag after three tries. I held myself there for a while to re-oxygenate my muscles and I turned to see Brenna on the big rock in the middle of the water. She appeared un-responsive. I got my act together and climbed to the top of the dam, while the two spillways raged on either side. I could see that somehow Derek had gotten his kayak out to Brenna’s rock and was comforting her. She was alive. I saw Steve and Howard were on-shore safely and I took inventory. Five went Kayaking. Five were still here.
The EMT and rescue people got to us in good time, but when they went to retrieve a tie-off rope from the dam, they drove our rescue raft right into the spillway, filling it with water. Brenna and Derek grabbed on the raft and I lay on them and told them to “stay low”. I knew the raft was nearly unsinkable, but if it flipped we would all be toast. We went through the cycle of the spillway twice without sinking or flipping the raft somehow, Derek was helping pull the rope to get us into the eddy, and the bowman cut his precious rope once we were in the calm between the spillways. The motorman goosed the engine and “leaped” the boat a little, to un-swamp us with the forward momentum. We approached the shore and got out. I looked back and saw the gas can floating in the flow of the spillway. The only fuel that motor had left was what was in the line. It was an 80-horse Mercury.
An administrator recently asked me why students were failing, and asked why I was not holding them accountable. I now ask myself:
Was I being held accountable when I failed my Freshman year, was having “legal difficulties” and was sent away as a youth?
Was my swim coach holding me accountable when I blew off practice during Christmas vacation and was made to pull three extra weekend practices?
Was my lifesaving instructor holding me accountable when he tried to escape my rescue hold in order to assure that I could perform the required duties?
Was my drill sergeant holding me accountable by addressing my fear of heights on the rappelling tower and making sure I knew my knot tying procedures?
Were the Seas, rivers and Great lakes holding me accountable throughout the years when I was un-prepared and under-qualified and things went wrong?
Are we preparing these kids to be in-effective parasites of our resources and non-contributors in society?
I am not here to play word games about what “accountable” means. Some live, some die. There are only so many chances available.
I feel that failing them according to standardized criteria, is holding them accountable.
If I cannot find people who can agree, I need to ask myself whether Carroll County or perhaps the entire teaching profession has any kind of future for me. God has not spared any of us to waste time humoring each other. Your comments are most welcome. Good Day.