Nearly three decades ago on a relatively warm winter afternoon, my brother, nephew, a family friend and I were paddling a pair of rented canoes on Missouri’s Current River. We were on a float friendly section of the river, Class I water. The friend and I were in one boat; my brother and nephew in the other canoe. The afternoon was overcast but comfortable: no wind and temperatures near 60 degrees.
We were about halfway through the four-hour, half-day float and had entered a long, placid pool. I was in the stern of the trailing boat. We pulled alongside my brother and nephew, talked for a few seconds, and decided to stop at the next gravel bar, which entered the river from the left about 60 yards downstream. My friend and I moved into the lead and angled toward the left bank.
The water began to be shallow. I dug in with the paddle to push us toward the bank when I heard the splash. I turned and looked upriver.
My brother and nephew’s canoe had capsized. My brother was clinging to the canoe, one arm wrapped around the stern thwart, his head barely above water. My nephew, who was 15 at the time, was bobbing between the canoe and the bank, flaying wildly.
We furiously back-paddled and, in and the rush and chaos of the moment, somehow flipped our own boat. Under the best of circumstances, I am a poor swimmer. None of us was wearing a life jacket, although the outfitter had supplied each paddler with a PDF (personal floatation device) as regulations required and suggested they be worm. I scrambled for a toehold. My feet touched the gravel just as I came within reach of my nephew. We struggled up the gravel tongue and onto the gravel bar. My brother had managed to hold onto the canoe until our friend reached him. Fortunately, the boat had drifted toward the shallows of the gravel tongue, enabling him to get a foothold. Had it floated a few feet toward the river channel, this story would have ended differently.
We had been foolish yet fortunate, or lucky, if you believe in luck. Some people I loved and I were spared a second chance. Most paddlers, who use their life jackets as seat cushions—as we had—and are upended are not as fortunate.
In 2018, officials for the Kentucky Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources investigated 33 drowning deaths. Ten were boating related. Every accident has a story, and every story is heartbreaking.
Water is an indiscriminate killer. Victims ranged in age from 3 to 89, and locations spread from the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to the North Fork of the Elkhorn and South Licking Rivers to a city lake and a strip pit. There was one common denominator: None of the victims was wearing a life jacket.
Unfortunately, this heartache extends to every state.
According to the U.S. Coast Guard, nationwide there were 658 reported boating-related fatalities in 2017. Drowning was the leading cause of death (when a cause of death could be determined, 76 percent of all boating accident victims drowned). Of those who drowned, 84.5 percent were not wearing a life jacket.
It’s boating and fishing season in Kentucky. Consider this a life-saving plea: Wear your life jacket or PFD, which they are now commonly called. Yes, some can be bulky and hot, although the CO2-powered vests (and belts), properly adjusted are unobtrusive and comfortable. They save lives. I wear mine.
Think you’re a strong swimmer? Maybe you are. But probably not as strong as you think.
Don’t take my word for it. Shane Carrier is the assistant director of law enforcement for Fish and Wildlife Resources. He also oversees boating safety for the state agency and has seen more than his share of boating accidents that ended badly.
“I encourage everyone to wear a PFD while on the water, regardless of their swimming ability,” Carrier said. “Many people feel they have a better swimming ability than they actually do. This gives them a false sense of security, and they feel they don’t need to wear their PFD.
“I see many people fishing alone this time of year without wearing a PFD. If they fall and hit their head and go overboard, they are likely to drown if the fall renders them unconscious. If I am by myself fishing, I never take my PFD off.”