Hindsight is 20-20

[Phil Lilley]

Fear welled up inside of me as I felt the pressure of the current relentlessly increasing against my legs as I waded toward the far shore. The water was only knee deep, but the current was now a raging torrent threatening to sweep my feet out from under me with every step. My legs were tiring and my breath was deepening and quickening from the labor. I quickly re-evaluated the situation and judged the distance to the far shore was now too great and the risk not worth it. I made the decision to turn back toward the protected bank. Our trucks were parked on the opposite shore and it was too far to walk around using the Highway 5 bridge. We would have to wait for the current to recede or find a ride from a Good Samaritan.

I knew I would have to use caution when reversing my course. As I turned downstream my legs were suddenly swept from under me just as if I had been hit low by a blocker in a football game. I felt myself tumbling head first into the raging waters. I quickly fought back the panic and let it happen. Far too many injuries occur when people resist a fall instead of "going with it" and allowing their body to absorb the shock. I expected to hit the rocky bottom, so I allowed by limbs to go loose instead of bracing for the impact.

My waders made me somewhat buoyant and the loose state of my now prone position allowed me to float, and I was carried along by the current rather than impacting the streambed. My swift-water rescue training kicked in and I immediately turned my body and pointed my feet downstream...taking up something pretty much like a seated position in the river. I was headed for deep water. I knew I needed to make the attempt to stand back up right away, or I might not get another chance.

In my right hand, I held my fly rod. My left hand was free. I reached down to see if I could touch bottom. I felt the slick rocks and decided to go for it. I plunged my free hand into the graveled bottom and reached downward with my opposing right leg. Both found purchase and I struggled quickly to my feet. It worked!

The water was rising fast and I knew I had to act even faster, or I would find myself in water far too deep to wade to safety. I headed for the bank on the inside of the bend where I knew the current would not be quite as swift and I knew the bank from walking it earlier that day. I caught sight of a huge rock about ten yards up the grassy bank and made a bee-line straight for it. Even in the slack water of the bend in the river, the current was still threatening to once again sweep my feet out from under me. I struggled hard with each step. My chest was now heaving from the exertion of fighting against the little stream that had become a raging river in less than two minutes. I began to question whether or not I could even make it to this more protected bank. But shear determination and the will to survive kicked in and the dry grass loomed nearer and nearer.

This was my first conscious thought for my wading partner. I glanced upstream and Mike came into my field of vision. He too was struggling to keep his feet, but he was halfway in toward the bank from my position. I knew he could make it. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I actually made landfall first. I struggled up the bank, now laboring the catch my breath. I collapsed on the big, flat limestone boulder and began stripping off my gear down to my waders, which were now full of water. I was safe.

Mike came out of the water just behind me. I heard him ask if I was OK. Between ragged gulps of air I nodded and said, "Yeah, I'll be fine." By then Mike had reached the boulder as well. I noticed he was pretty wet himself, but I never saw him fall. We were safe. And, for now, that was all that mattered.

Exhausted and wet, Mike and I waited there on that rock and gathered out thoughts. Our trucks were parked at the access parking area now directly across the river from us. We were both wet and tired. Norfork Dam might continue to generate power for several hours. We could be waiting until nightfall or later before the current subsided enough to safely wade across. The highway bridge was several miles downstream. And I knew I was not familiar enough with the area to be certain I could even find it easily. And I knew I didn't feel up to a walk of what was probably ten miles or more. Our best bet was to sit and wait.

After about fifteen minutes of sitting on the big rock, we heard boat motors laboring their way upstream. Three boats full of anglers passed closely by us and we exchanged greetings. No one offered any assistance. And, frankly, I was still too tired to ask for it at that moment. I knew the fishermen would drift back by our resting spot eventually, and I decided I would ask for help when they did.

That's how we managed to get out. The first fishing boat that drifted by came close enough for a gentle conversation, and I asked if they would be so kind as to ferry us across to the landing on the opposite shore where our trucks were parked. They readily agreed to assist us. A few minutes later, we were sitting on the tailgate of my truck looking a bit worse for the wear. But we had neither lost nor damaged any of our gear. And we were both uninjured except for a couple minor scrapes on my hands. We decided we had been very lucky.

The Bull Shoals and Norfork tailwaters of Northern Arkansas have claimed the lives of over two hundred anglers since the dams were built in the mid-twentieth century, and I am grateful not to be counted among them. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Looking back, it is relatively easy to see what went wrong.

Fist of all, that day was my first trip to the Norfork tailwater. I had heard and read that it could be dangerous and one needed to pay attention to the water in order to be safe. But I have fished other Ozark tailwaters for several years, and I made the near-fatal assumption that Norfork would function pretty much like the others. I was relying on hearing the horn sound to signal the beginning of hydroelectric power generation. We never heard the horn. Our first audible warning came from a man standing below the handicapped access we had used to enter the stream yelling, "Water's on! Better hurry!" And hurry we had. But it was already too late. I never even looked at a map or asked anyone specifically if the horn was audible from where we were fishing. Since the incident I have learned that it is not. Had I know this in advance, I certainly would have paid far more heed to the other warning signs we did, in fact, observe, but had dismissed. And that was our second mistake.

"Is it just me, or is the water rising?" Mike asked about fifteen minutes before my fateful swim. In fact, I had just had the same thought cross my mind a few seconds prior to his question. I stopped fishing and took a good look around. Perhaps we were just wading deeper than we had earlier in the day in the same spot. I checked the bank. I looked upstream at other anglers who were still fishing. I saw no one moving toward the access stairs. I could not tell that the bank showed signs of rising water.

"Nah, I think we may have just waded deeper into this hole," I replied. And we returned to fishing.

Looking back, we both also recognized that there seemed to be more moss and stuff floating downstream than usual. And, probably the most dangerous sign because anglers like catching fish, we both began catching fish as the "bite" picked up...an almost sure sign of rising water. But we hadn't heard a horn and none of the other anglers were heading for shore. So we kept on fishing. And that extra trout or two we picked up in the intervening moments almost cost me my life.

Indeed, I violated at least three of the cardinal rules of water safety. I ventured into waters with which I was particularly unfamiliar without making any serious effort to acquaint myself with her eccentricities first. I hadn't even made study of a map that I had picked up that morning in Dale Fulton's Blue Ribbon Flies fly shop. And I had no idea how far downstream of the dam (and horn) we were fishing. I also ignored three different known indications of rising water: the "feeling" that the water is rising is usually correct and should be heeded, the increase in debris is a certain indication of rising water, and when you add to these the sudden increase in feeding activity of the fish, we should have realized that the dam had begun to generate power. Finally, when I knew the water was rising and we had not received any warning...and I could see the current picking up and the water rising a few hundred yards upstream of our position, I never should have struck out for the opposite bank. I should have played it safe and remained on the shore near that big rock that became our shelter after the incident. But I had put convenience ahead of safety. I didn't want to get stuck over there away from our vehicles and have to wait out the dam operators and their need for electricity. Convenience and perceived comfort should never trump safety, but I suspect many an outdoorsman has lost his life to this error in judgment.

Well, I've certainly learned from my mistakes. I know Mike has too. I put pen to paper on this subject in the hope that others may learn from our errors as well. Lest you think it cannot happen to you, let me tell you a thing or two about my background as it relates to these matters.

I have lived my entire life around rivers and lakes, boats and canoes, fishing poles and firearms. I am no stranger to the water. I am an avid waterfowler and fly-fisherman. As such, I do a lot of wading and have for many years. I have fallen once while hunting, and...prior to this...have never fallen while fishing. I am a strong swimmer and wader. I have done more than my share of white water rafting and canoeing. So I am familiar with swift water. I used to be an assistant trip guide on such excursions, and I have been trained in swift water rescue, basic water safety, small craft safety, wilderness emergency medicine, first aid and CPR. I am a former Red Cross Water Safety Instructor and Wilderness Survival Instructor. And I have lived in the Ozarks and fly-fished Ozark tailwater trout fisheries since 1998.

But I got sloppy and careless. I know that most of these types of accidents occur when the victims are unfamiliar with their surroundings...either new to the activity or the area in which they are doing it. I know better than to ignore my instincts and observations. Yet, I fell victim to precisely these errors in judgment. I cannot tell you why. Even if I could, I probably wouldn't, because someone else may find themselves in similar situations but for different reasons. The message is that when we fail to practice solid safety, it can happen to anyone...for any reason.

Speaking of safety, here's a good tip I've picked up in the few days since the incident that I think is worth passing along. One angler told me that he doesn't trust his ability to gauge rising water based on its position on a rock, shoreline, tree, etc. So he carries a small orange bag...duffel or knapsack...and drops it on the shore a foot or two from the water's edge where he enters the water. If he moves very far, he takes it with him. He glances back at the bag frequently, and if it is in the water, it's time to get out. In any event, you certainly need to make a mental of the water line in relation to some stationary object and check it frequently. If you notice the water starting to rise...especially on a tailwater fishery...you know it is time to head for safety. ~ Ken

[LostMyWife]

Being here for such a short time, this is only the second article of Kens's that i have read. I found both to be a great read as well as informative.

On our last trip to Taney, Rob and I were fishing below the MDC Ramp. We were at the bend right befroe Clay Banks. It was dusk, and the horn went off twice. As we had been instructed, we looked to see what other fishermen were doing and were surprised to see that no one was moving. The sun was almost gone, so we decided to that dark wrising water and rookies did not go together so we headed out.

My questions:

What happenes when the horn blows.

What does it mean when the horn blows twice.

How long after the horns before the water gets dangerous?

How much does the water rise?

[SilverMallard]

On Taney (and everywhere else I've fished), the answers to your questions are:

When the horn blows, you have about 5 minutes to get to safety.

Twice? God only knows!

Depends on how much they generate. So the safe assumption is about 5 minutes.

Again, God only knows. It can rise a few inches up to almost 10 feet. But the cfs (flow rate) is far more threatening than the water level. You can drown in 6" of water if you're unconscious or trapped face down. A strong swimmer can lose to a strong current. In still deep water, even a marginal swimmer can get to safety. Current kills.