The cold water wasn’t what I noticed first. What I noticed after the boat went down was how difficult it was to keep my head above water. My baggy waders and heavy coat were making it impossible to swim as the huge waves crashed over my head. I gasped and coughed and spit water — all while trying to right myself. That’s when I began to panic.
It was late October in northern Utah. Duck season was well underway, but it was my first hunt of the year and my duck dog’s first hunt ever. I had brought Roxy, a fox-red Labrador retriever, home just six months earlier and she was already showing great potential. We had spent all summer preparing. This was her day to shine.
I hadn’t seen many birds in the area, and I knew our hunt would be short. That was fine, especially for her first time, but I didn’t want to waste a trip to the lake, so I brought my fishing gear along, too.
I was spot-on with my prediction. Only a few ducks were flying that morning, but I managed to take a pair of gadwall and a ring neck. Roxy did about as well as a young dog can. She sat patiently in the blind, waited for my commands, and retrieved each of the three ducks with enthusiasm. It was a great first hunt of the year and a fantastic first experience for my young dog. I decided it was time to go fishing.
Caught Sideways in the Storm
The weather called for relatively strong winds that day, but this lake was narrow and the hills and cliffs surrounding it usually blocked whatever storm was blowing through. Unless the storm came directly from the West, in which case the wind would follow the roughly two miles of lake and have time to whip up the water. As I motored my small wooden boat out of the protected cove the wind was blowing, but not too strong. I figured I could hug the shoreline and avoid any potential waves if things got dicey.
I fished for an hour or so, working along the shoreline and eventually past the dam that was maybe two miles from the lake’s only boat launch. I hadn’t caught any fish, and the weather was starting to turn. It had been warm when I left my house that morning but now the cold wind and light rain were cutting through my jacket. It was time to head in.
I had been fishing in a deep canyon protected by steep sandstone cliffs. Now, as I approached the main part of the lake, I could hear the haunting sound of the wind howling over the top of the cliffs. Then I saw the waves. They were big — bigger than I had ever experienced on this lake.
I turned into the main channel, heading straight into the wind and oncoming white caps. The waves broke and splashed over the bow of my small craft. I knew that I couldn’t maintain my course, and looking across the channel, I could see that the other shore was more sheltered.
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What happened next happened fast. I turned to try for the other shore, which put me sideways to the wind. Immediately, waves started to crash over the gunnels and fill my boat. I grabbed my bilge pump and started frantically pumping. It was no use; the boat was already starting to lean and drag to the right. I scrambled for my life jacket as a final wave pushed the boat fully on its side and poured me, Roxy, and everything inside the boat out into the crashing waves.
I gasped and coughed and spit water as I tried to keep my head up. My waders, my heavy clothes, and the frothing water all but stopped my ability to swim, and it felt like the lake was pulling me under with all its force. I panicked. I slapped at the water in a frantic attempt to stay above the waves that were crashing and breaking over my head. I felt like I was losing the fight. Then I had a moment of clarity.
You better calm down or you’re going to drown, I thought.
I regained some control and realized that some of my gear was floating nearby. The first thing I saw was my bag of decoys. The mesh bag was bobbing like a cork, but as I paddled toward it, the wind pushed it away. Then the cooler I had brought for the fish slipped away just as I kicked towards it. One last piece of gear floated past: my blind bag. I paddled with everything I had and grabbed it by the shoulder strap at the last second as the wind tried to rip it away.
I had managed to hold onto my lifejacket. I stuffed it between my legs like a pool noodle, then I pulled the blind bag against my chest, positioning me upright in the water for the first time. As I prepared to take my first full breath, a panicked Roxy climbed over the back of my head and pushed me completely under water. I fought her off and surged up, only to have her attempt to climb onto me three more times. She was terrified.
At last, I was able to persuade her to swim to shore. She swam the few hundred yards in less than a minute and stood on shore, watching as I floated in the swell.
It was a constant struggle to stay upright and I swam to my capsized boat, but it had tipped up and I couldn’t climb aboard. So, I clung to the keel and floated along helplessly as the waves kept crashing over me.
Marooned on an Island
Eventually, my feet touched something soft. The low water level of the lake had exposed a small muddy island, and I had drifted directly to it. I clambered onto the dry land. The water sloshing in my waders limited my movement, and emptying it was harder than I expected. I had to pull the waders most of the way down and then lie on my back and lift my legs up. It was physically exhausting, and it took me several attempts to drain them.
Now I was cold — really cold. My first thought was fire. There had to be some driftwood around, and I circled the small mud island as quickly as I could.
No wood. Okay, I thought. I will run around to warm up.
The wind was howling, and a mix of rain and snow were spitting sideways now. My feet were numb as I tried running down and back on the leeward side of the small island. I tripped and fell hard on my frozen hands. I got up and kept moving, but the icy wind was cutting through my soaked clothes. My vision was starting to blur and my thoughts were slowing.
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The island was roughly 100 yards from the main shoreline, but that would mean getting back into the frigid water and swimming upwind. I weighed my options. I had a lighter in my blind bag. I grabbed it and a few shotgun shells, confirmed I still had my knife, and buckled on my life jacket. I then grabbed my decoy bag, which had also washed against the same island. I paused and then stepped back into the waves.
I held on tight to the decoy bag and kicked my feet powerfully. Surprisingly, I moved steadily across the water. I hit the main shoreline with a newfound energy.
Reunited with Roxy
The wind was still blowing hard, and the snow had given way to heavy rain. Two hundred yards down the shore I found a cliff wall in the bank that harbored a few small dead trees. With shaking hands, I broke some branches. I struggled to cut open a shotgun shell to expose the gun powder contained inside. My hands were trembling so violently that when I tried to pour out the first shell, I tossed the powder all over. I concentrated harder on the second and was able make some semblance of a pile on a cottonwood leaf. Then I had to work the lighter.
I tried as hard as I could to strike the lighter, but I couldn’t even get a spark. I didn’t have the strength to spin it hard enough. I used my knife to pry off the child safety mechanism and tried again. It finally sparked.
As the flame grew and caught the sticks and branches, I held my head in my hands and broke down.
As if on cue, the clouds passed and the sun shone bright. I sat by that blaze for nearly an hour, Roxy now by my side, and I was able to dry out most of my clothes. On any other day, the two-mile slog back to the ranger station would have been a pleasant hike.
There was a stark irony while riding out in the park ranger’s boat to retrieve my gear. His 20-foot Boston Whaler cut through the heavy waves like ripples on a pond. These were the same waves that nearly killed me, and they now seemed so insignificant.
I learned a lot of lessons that day: be prepared, always wear a life jacket, tell someone where you are and when you’ll be back. But most importantly: Know your gear’s limitations. Pushing it too far can turn south in a hurry.
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