I made it onto the bank just in time to watch my kayak lodge itself firmly into “Right Crack”

“FUCK! NOOOOOOOOO. NOOOOOOOO. DAMMIT.”

I made it onto the bank just in time to watch my kayak lodge itself firmly into “Right Crack” on Section IV of the Wild and Scenic Chattooga River—a section of whitewater as notorious for its ability to take the unwary from the land of the living as it is for its raw, natural beauty.

It was late in the afternoon on a cold February day, and there I stood in midst of the infamous “Five Falls” of the Chattooga River without a kayak or any means of navigating the long paddle out on Lake Tugaloo.

“Fuck. What should I do?” My friend Jake stood next to me soberly observing the scene. The stern of my kayak was barely visible above the surface after pinning itself between a rock and whatever debris was invisible underneath the turbulent water. “It looks like it’s stuck pretty good,” he commented as I stood helplessly looking at my only viable means of transportation across the lake.

After several attempts to get a carabiner attached to the grab loop of my kayak it was decided that rescue efforts were futile, and I would have to hike out. “There’s a trail somewhere below the Five Falls that leads to a road, but I’m not sure where it is,” my friend commented.

The water was high and I had taken a rather violent beating in the bottom hydraulic of a notorious, and aptly named, rapid called “Corkscrew.”

The water was high and I had taken a rather violent beating in the bottom hydraulic of a notorious, and aptly named, rapid called “Corkscrew.” I held on for as long as I could as the water thrashed me about before I was too exhausted and had to wet exit from my kayak. Left with no other option, I made my way down the bank as Jake and Stephen ran the final two drops of the Five Falls. I eventually reached a sandbar which contained a sign for a trailhead that I assumed was the aforementioned way out. “Y’all take my phone and keys. When you get to the take out, drive until you find service and figure out where the trail is going to dump me out. I’ll meet you there. If I’m not at the trailhead, drive down the road until you find me walking.”

I watched them disappear into the fading sunlight across the lake before starting down the trailhead. I moved at a light jog. My dry suit was keeping me warm enough, but I was concerned about hiking out in the dark. Do bears hibernate this far south? After several minutes of hiking, the trail dead-ended, and I was standing at the base of a waterfall. My heart sank. I ran as quickly as I could back to the beach. I was going to be “that guy.” I had no water, no means to make a fire, and I was going to have to wait there to be rescued by the Forest Service. I surveyed my surroundings for another means of escape. Finding nothing, I angrily sat down on the beach and waited.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a flat spot in the hillside off to my right. Hope surging in my chest, I jumped up and ran over to discover a trail I hadn’t seen before. Without any hesitation I took off at a run carrying my paddle in hand. It was some time later when I began to make out a black rectangular shape in the darkness that I assumed was a trailhead sign. It was. Relieved, I sat down at the base of a large pine tree and waited.

Nothing.

No car engines, no light from nearby houses, and no sign of my friends. I decided to walk down the road in an attempt to stay warm and keep my mind occupied.

I hiked for what seemed like hours before I realized that I was getting nowhere closer to rescue or civilization. Visions of Ned Beatty danced in my mind. "Deliverance" had been filmed on this river. I turned around and walked back the other direction. At some point I must have passed the trailhead again, but I was too consumed by the silence of the South Carolina wilderness to notice. I was lost, and I was very scared.

I reached a fork in the road.

Exhausted, angry, and thoroughly confused I threw down my gear in the middle of the road. I cursed quietly to myself. I couldn’t mentally afford to take another wrong turn. As far as I could tell, I was way back in the South Carolina woods without any means of navigation. After weighing my options, I decided to lay my paddle in one fork and the rest of my gear in the other. I figured that my dry suit would keep me warm enough even if I had to spend the night out in the cold. If a car came along, my gear in the middle of the road should be enough to tip off the driver that something was amiss.

No sooner had I sat down with my back against a tree than I heard the “yip yip yip” of a coyote on the prowl. Fear gripped me as I waited to hear it again. Moments passed by and there it was, but this time it sounded different. It was closer. I stood up and let out a shrill “yeeeeeeeeeeeeee yeeee!.” What I had first thought to be a coyote I quickly realized was the call of my friends. Seconds later, my call was returned. I grabbed my paddle and gear and ran in the direction of the sound. A hundred yards later I was standing on a paved road. Both forks lead to the same place. I laughed audibly. I had given up on hope just as my salvation was imminent.

Light glowed on the South Carolina pines. Moments later, my car appeared out of the darkness and relief spread over me like the warmth from a first sip of bourbon.

I threw my gear inside and sat down in the front seat tired and cold. Jake grinned at me from the driver’s side. It would take me a while to live this one down.

How many times have I given up when I shouldn’t have?

See the video below for the rescue effort: