Last May, reader and fellow paddler Mark Scotch sent me a voluminous account of a canoe trip that he and seven friends had taken several years ago on the White River in far northwestern Wisconsin. I consider the 13-mile stretch of the White from Mason at Maple Ridge Road to the dam at State Highway 112 to be one of the state’s premier canoeing stretches, thanks to its remote setting, its Bois Brule-like high banks and its long, long stretches of Class I-II rapids. Consequently, I read Scotch’s material with great interest.

What really struck me about the account was the close brush with disaster that the group experienced. Like all such accounts, the recollections of Scotch and his friends constitute an object lesson – a morality tale, if you will – about boating safety and the wisdom of heeding warning signs before embarking on swollen rivers.

What makes this White River tale unique (and long) is that it is told from three different points of view. Four tandem canoes were on the river that eventful day, and three of the teams later wrote up their versions of what occurred. The three perspectives complement one another in a fascinating manner.

What follows are words of the paddlers themselves. Space considerations prompted me to shorten each account. If you’d like a copy of the complete, unedited original, let me know at mikesvob@yahoo.com.

Version No. 1: Bill and Al

The winter had been long and brutal, but, before I knew it, it was time for the annual spring canoe trip. This canoe trip is an annual ritual for me and a group of friends from the University of Wisconsin-Stout. Every year we head to northern Wisconsin to spend two to four days canoeing some of the best rivers in the state.

As I remember, the canoeing Thursday went well on the Bois Brule River with good high water and no major mishaps. After canoeing Thursday, we were eating dinner and it started raining. And raining. We woke up Friday, and it finally stopped raining by late morning. We could canoe after all. Around 9:30 a.m., we got to the drop-off point. There were six of us. One party of two had made a detour to Superior to drop off or pick up something and would be joining us later. At the drop-off point two canoes loaded up and headed down the river. It was a beautiful day – sunny and perhaps 60 degrees as I remember it. After about two hours, Al and I decided that the guys perhaps had car trouble and would not be going canoeing. If we didn’t get headed down river soon, we would never get done in time to hit the pickup point where the other four people would be.

The sights that we beheld as we made our way down river were spectacular. There were numerous ice floes breaking free from the shores and making their trek down river. Numerous times we had to pull over to let them pass us or risk being run over. It is awesome to witness these large chunks of ice mow down small trees along the shoreline.

All was going well until Al and I came around a turn. Twenty yards ahead we could see a tree had fallen diagonally over the river. We hit it broadside hard and our canoe did a barrel roll, throwing us into the water. The water temperature was probably around 35 degrees. I immediately lost my glasses, and coming to the surface I was gasping for air. Making our way to shore was easy compared to getting out. Normally there is a bank. Here there was only brush and trees. Finally, I was able to hoist myself out of the water, panting for breath.

After gathering my wits and resting for a few minutes, I tried slogging my way farther down river, yelling for Al. At last I heard a call back from him. He was on the other side of the river. Seems he had stayed with the partially submerged canoe, trying to guide it to the shore somewhere so we could restart the trip, but the canoe was now gone. A raging monster separated Al from me.

Perhaps 15 more minutes passed before we heard a noise. It was the fourth canoe coming down river. It was Mac and Mark. They went to the left bank and found Al and loaded him into their canoe. Mac and Mark then demonstrated some of the greatest canoeing skills I have seen in the 25-plus years I have been canoeing. They guided their overloaded canoe sideways across that raging torrent. Al and I were now back together but there was nothing else Mac and Mark could do. They had to leave us to fend for ourselves while they went for help.

We decided to try to follow the river downstream. That was our best hope to eventually reunite with the other six people however long it would take. We then spotted a small cabin along the bank. Warmth at last, we thought. We got to the cabin and it was unlocked. We made a roaring fire and removed our wet clothes to dry them off and warm up. We pondered our next step. The sun was getting low in the sky so we decided to venture out.

After about two hours, and with darkness starting, we came around a bend in the woods and saw a farmhouse. We approached the house and found, to our surprise, the four other canoeists who had been ahead of us. All six of us had spilled and were lost in the woods without our canoes. How miraculous! The couple who owned the farmhouse were most gracious to us, offering warm drinks. We slowly recovered.

The couple explained how they had heard that the local sheriff’s office was about to send a helicopter looking for some missing canoeists. It seems someone was driving by a bridge near our intended endpoint and saw three empty canoes floating down the river. Mac and Mark did make it all the way intact. Again, a truly great feat of canoeing on their part. They talked to the sheriff and backtracked up the local roads until they found the six of us safe at the farmhouse.

The farm couple were amazed that we had attempted to canoe the river at that time because it was the most dangerous they ever remembered seeing it. We thanked them and headed downstream to where we had meant to regroup and gathered up the debris of the trip. The sheriff advised us to either “go to a church and pray” or “go to a bar and drink heavily.” We loaded what we could in the van thankful we were all alive.

Version No. 2: Craig and Tom

After paddling the Bois Brule without incident, we spent Thursday night at a motel in Ashland, and it rained hard all night. After breakfast it started to clear and we decided to tackle the White as planned. I had paddled this same section at least 15 times before. After wading though waist-deep snow to launch the canoes, we had to duck to get under the bridge. Pavia and Robin went in the first canoe. Craig and I were second, and Al and Kelly said they would wait for Mac and Mark.

Ice-out had occurred two weeks earlier but the high water brought huge chunks stacked on the shore back into the stream along with logs and branches that had previously been above the high water mark. Within the first 100 yards it was apparent that the water level and speed was beyond anything we had experienced on the White in the past.

Normally we would follow the haystack waves marking the main channel. This occasion required a different approach as many of the haystacks were 2 to 3 feet high, sending water over the bow. The shore side was also very dangerous since the river’s edge had spread out into the woods and there were many downed trees and low branches waiting to snag us. Craig and I worked well together. Still, we had to stop often to drain the canoe.

My guess was that we were at the halfway point when we came upon Robin and Pavia on the left bank. They had tipped but luckily held onto their canoe and paddles. They were very cold but said that there was no reason for us to wait. They would dry out and continue. Craig and I were now the lead canoe.

After another two or three miles, the river took a sharp turn to the right. Once around the corner we were shocked by the sight of a long series of waves 3 feet and higher, all of them the full width of the river. Because of our approach, we were in the center of this torrent. After the third wave hit us, we were three-quarters full and lost all stability. When the fourth hit, we went over.

At that point, the river took total control of us. As expected, the icy water took our breath away. Finally, we both caught overhanging tree branches. When we pulled ourselves out we realized that we weren’t ashore. It was an island with more than a foot of water flowing over it.

Finally we saw a red canoe come around the corner. Immediately it went vertical. We caught glimpses of the canoe rolling in the water and Robin and Pavia near the boat. After getting bounced around for a long stretch, they were able to pull the canoe out of the river, ending up almost directly across from our island. It took them quite a while to get going again, but then with some outstanding paddling they came to our island. Then, with four people, we slid down the shore to a flat area where we could unload.

Our plan was to get to the top of the high banks and then follow them downstream. I knew that no roads came anywhere near the river and that going off into the woods would really get us lost. We did climb a 60 foot steep hill in snow 2 to 3 feet deep.

At about 4:30 p.m., we thought we could hear someone yelling. We could see two people slowly moving our way. Eventually we recognized Robin and Pavia. They had dumped again and this time they had lost everything.

We slogged along together, sometimes walking on deer trails that allowed us two or three steps before we fell through. By 6:30 p.m. it was getting dark, and we agreed that at 7 p.m. we would stop and build a fire. About 20 minutes later, however, we came to a clearing and could see the lights of a house.

Version No. 3: Mark and Mac

Mac and I were late to arrive at the river. We could see that the water was higher than we were used to but didn’t think anything about it. We’d done this river many times before, and it was like an old friend to us. Twenty yards after launching, Mac and I had to duck to get under the bridge.

Things were happening fast on the water. Getting too close to shore was dangerous as the river was flooded and trees were always ready to snag and upset the canoe. In order to avoid being swamped by some huge haystack waves, Mac and I pulled out and slogged through knee-high snow and mud to get around the haystacks. We started wondering what the other guys in our party had done when they got to same points on the river. Little did we know that our decision to portage allowed only our canoe to make it without swamping.

We were in very technical rapids heading into a hard left turn around an island when we heard shouting on the right side. It was Bill. We pulled over and talked to him and he filled us in. We left Bill and started downstream. We found Al, and were able to land near him.

We ferried Al to Bill and gave them some dry shirts. Then we pushed on knowing there was a cabin on the right not too far from where we left them. Mac and I felt certain they’d find it and they would be safe. We weren’t certain about the other four guys that we hoped were still in front of us.

We came around a corner after a bit and saw off to the right, caught in some tag alders, a rope or something. We could then see that a canoe was upside down in the water below the surface. Now we had two canoes. Mac and I split up and started down the river solo.

It was pretty uneventful after that. We came around the last corner and the river opened up into a small reservoir. We couldn’t believe our eyes. It looked like a yard sale of REI gear. Two canoes, life jackets, paddles and various other items were lying all over an ice shelf that had not yet melted.

We collected everything and lashed the two ice-bound canoes to ours and pulled them to shore. We got to shore and were somewhat relieved to hear police officers say that no one had been found drowned. They had been called by neighbors who had seen canoes and equipment floating downstream with no people in them. After a little while, word started to come in that some guys had shown up at a local’s house, and it wasn’t long before the rest of the crew got shuttled to us.

The most we had ever worried about on previous trips was tipping a canoe. We never really considered that someone could drown due to river conditions. We all learned some valuable lessons on this trip, many of which we now know could have been easily avoided with some common sense. But without experience, wise decisions aren’t as easily made as some may think.

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