The Art of Not Drowning

I photographed some sea gulls, not realizing that, as pictured above, all of us would be doused by a “king” wave. While I was able to keep my balance, this ocean wave reminded me of a short story I once wrote, “The Art of Drowning,” based on my two near deaths in the water. The “art” refers to the calmness that overcame me when I faced the fact that I only had a few seconds of air remaining before…well, I never got to that part.

I swim—not like a fish—but I can go a few lengths of a pool without concern. But stuff happens. As a little kid I was walking on a lake bottom, my neck at the water line, when I stepped into a deep hole. I plunged downward, gulping water. I let myself sink before I pulled myself to the surface by the time my grandmother came to my rescue.

Another time, not long ago, I was an overzealous kayaker. The melting snow had the American River in Northern California running deep and fast. I was by myself and confronted with the age-old dilemma of not having anyone to drop me off upstream so I could ride downstream to a pick up point. I paddled against the current, figuring I’d get to a place where I could turn around and ride the current back to where I started. I was doing well until I hit white water. I struggled, inching to a spot where I could get a good ride back. Suddenly, and I mean suddenly, the 12-foot long kayak turned sideways and flipped over, sending me into ice cold water. I’d practiced rollovers, so I was able to easily exit out of the kayak underwater, but my ascent was blocked by the thick branches of a fallen tree submerged in the water. I was stuck in the branches about two feet below the water line. I took off my lifejacket(always wear one)—and this enabled me to wriggle free and get to the surface with not much time to spare. I held on to the kayak—my life jacket and paddle were floating downstream—and caught my breath. I was reunited with my equipment about a half-hour later.

Over 50 years separate the above two water experiences—I don’t recommend them to anyone, although it is smart to practice tipping over in a kayak. The commonality is that I was calm in each case and this “instinct” is my mantra in a tight situation, not that I am a secret agent with danger lurking at every corner. Actually, I’m a beachcomber at heart and I’ll save that tale for another day.