The Canoe and the Rock

The Canoe and the Rock

by B. Pacheco

It was July 10, 2004, a Saturday. The Saturday after my best run ever, just a 5k (3.2 miles) but under 30 minutes. Twenty years ago, now, but some days it seems like I can bring up the memory like yesterday. Other days, it is so distant I can't even see my sweet dog, Quincy.

Harper's Ferry Maryland was hot that day, well, July on the East coast always is. Humid, sticky and a perfect day for being on the water. Except I did not want to go.

Jeff dropped me off near the entrance to the river, it was the perfect spot for me and Quincy, my golden retriever, to wait. He must have sensed my anxiety as he was pretty calm that day. His usual exuberance was subdued, maybe he knew too.

Anyway, Jeff parked the car and returned with the two-person canoe over his head. He was not a big guy, maybe 5'8 but strong, wiry. We had been dating for about a year. His mom lived near Harper's Ferry, and we stayed there for the weekend.

I don't want to go, but still, I say nothing. Keeping quiet as he puts the boat in the water, and we get the dog ready to settle in. Life vests all around. How stupid, I think. It is a river, and I can swim. He insists and I reluctantly agree.

The water looks fast. We have both had some experience in boats, my mostly sail and fast boats, not this canoe. It is my first time.

Quincy gets in, I get in and Jeff gets in, we push off and Quincy freaks out, it is his first small boat ride too. He tips the canoe, and the river is running. He is out in front of me, and I am in the front of the canoe. Jeff is left behind, I think. I am unsure at the time, but in the aftermath and many conversations later, I learn where he was and his experience.

I'm underwater, above water, spinning so fast. I can't stop, can't move, and just must pray and hold on for the ride, unsure when or where it ends. I am trying to right myself, I can't. I'm trying to stop the current, I can't. I am terrified.

I am unsure how long the "ride" was, but I hit a rock. It was a flat rock in the middle of the water. Perfect for my landing. However, as I am putting my hands up on the rock to steady myself, the canoe slams into my back and pins me to the rock. It was truly the proverbial rock and a hard place. No joke this time.

Somehow, Jeff is there, at the same rock. He gets out and as I am about to ask him where Quincy is, the dog is paddling toward the rock, from downstream. It is a visual I have never forgotten and can bring it to mind at will. I prefer not to, but I can.

So, the dog gets to the rock, he is ok. Jeff is on the rock, and I am still in the water, stuck between the canoe and safety.

As we sit there considering what to do, life on the water goes by. People are having fun; it is a good day for the river. Tubes and kayaks zipping by people waving and saying "hi". It is surreal. I'm stuck and can't even say anything. Even now, I have no idea why we did not ask for help earlier. Or maybe Jeff did and I just don't remember.

The people keep zipping by, and I am still stuck. Jeff says he will try to push the canoe off me, and I can get on the rock. Easy-peasy. We got this. I agree and he does his thing. Pushing thousands of pounds of water off me and thinking Mother Nature will let this happen. She does not. After two attempts, he finally gets some purchase but, he is not strong enough alone to hold it long enough for me to get myself out. He can't push it around the rock either. So, bam! It slams back into me.

I hear it, loud and clear, in my head. The crack. I know, "I broke my leg" I tell him. He looks at me and I say, "I just heard it, I know." "Ok," he says. The game has changed.

Who knows how much later, but someone kayaks up and asked if we need help. Jeff tells him what is going on and he agrees to help. We never knew his name, but he stayed with us for a long time afterwards.

He and Jeff decide to move the canoe. I am awake and alert, shock is a wonderful tool. They push the canoe and are finally able to move it around the rock, it sails downstream. I hate it. Hate the canoe, hate the water; fear and hate are powerful emotions for survival.

I pull myself out of the water and I can get my legs in front of me. My right ankle is flopping to the side and there is a cut low on my calf. Turns out, that is where the bone came through. I sit there and just stare at it. Grateful to be there and sit with Quincy. Jeff and the guy are looking for help and they finally get the attention of someone on shore. The river is not very wide in this area and there are plenty of people. Jeff yells for help and the ambulance is called.

I spent Saturday to Tuesday in the hospital after a long rescue and a whole lotta mess. But here I am! In the aftermath, Jeff and I had several conversations about that day. I finally confessed to him that I did not want to go. I told him I knew, just knew, it was a bad idea. Funny, he agreed and felt the same. Neither of us wanted to disappoint the other. So, we did not speak up. At the end of the relationship, soon after the accident, I realized we never really talked, ever.

My right leg suffered a tibia-fibula fracture. The bone came through the skin and my ankle was scraped to the bone. No skin graft necessary, but just barely. I had an external fixator for several months and three rounds of a strong antibiotic for infection.

By the time October rolled around, my amazing medical team agreed I could run. I ran. I limped, I had a hitch in my step, but I ran. It was the most amazing run I have ever had.