Four boys, one river, near disaster

Editor's note: The Memorial Day holiday weekend saw the season's first rescue on the Spokane River of a person on an innertube who wasn't wearing a life jacket, according to reports. As a safety reminder to outdoors enthusiasts, here's a My Turn column by former Press staffer Ryan Bronson, originally published in The Press last summer.

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Due to recent and past events, I feel obliged to tell you a story about the day my junior high friends and I nearly drowned in the Spokane River.

It all began one fine spring day in 1986. Four fun-seeking boys — Norm, Randy, Shane and myself — jumped in the back of an old pickup truck, driven by Norm's dad, and headed to the river near Corbin Park, below the dam in Post Falls. When we arrived, Norm's dad grabbed his fishing gear and headed for his favorite spot on the river while the fellas and I traversed upriver to see if we could find a current to ride.

The Spokane River was running at spring capacity — full and fast — and we found a spot where the bank gave us access to a chute. When we got to the river's edge, I had my doubts about jumping in, but Norm assured us that it would be OK, that it was "fun," and he even volunteered to go first.

So Randy, Shane and I watched as Norm jumped into the chute, bobbing up and down and cruising through the stretch of racing water only to appear at the other end unscathed before disappearing around a bend.

It looked like so much fun, and it was safe … or so I thought when I jumped in next.

At this point, my biggest fear was the temperature of the water, not the whitewater itself — but all that would soon change. Within seconds of taking the leap, I was sucked down by an unknown, unchallengeable force. No matter how hard I tried to get back to the surface, I couldn't. I was overwhelmed with helplessness and fear and panic, and it felt like I was underwater for an eternity.

This is where some background information might come in handy.

I scarcely remember my first swimming lessons, but I do know that I was so distracted by the other kids that I failed the class and had to take it again. Once I learned to swim, however, I was hooked.

As a 6-year-old, I joined the swim team and spent the next five years competing in swimming events all over the Pacific Northwest. No, I didn't win every event (OK, maybe only one or two), but suffice it to say that I was no slouch in the pool. On this day, that fact would prove to be lifesaving — and not just for me.

Finally, the current allowed me to get back above water, but I didn't surface downstream, where Norm had been whisked away. I had been pulled into a cove, and as I swam for shore, I realized that getting there was not going to be easy. Not only did I not have any energy left in my body to swim, but this "cove" wasn't just a cove — it was an eddy.

The definition of an eddy is "a current at variance with the main current in a stream of liquid or gas, especially one having a rotary or whirling motion." This eddy was trying to take me back to the beginning of the chute for another whirl!

What?

The brief relief I felt from reaching the surface was now gone, and fear once again set in. The effort it took to get to shore was Herculean, and once I got there, all I could do is lie on the rocks, trying to catch my breath, unable to even stand due to exhaustion. I was safe. But where were Randy and Shane?

No sooner had I reached the shore when I heard yelling from the river.

"Help!"

Randy had been dragged through that same undercurrent, fighting for his life, and he wasn't going to make it to shore. The eddy was steering him toward the big water again, and he had run out of strength to swim. At this point, the last thing I wanted to do was dive back into the water, but I didn't have a choice. I had to save my friend.

The swim out to save Randy wasn't nearly as difficult as the swim back to shore. If you've never tried to swim with somebody wrapped around your shoulders, it ain't easy — take my word for it. We crawled out of the water and onto the river bank together, utterly and completely exhausted.

Not long after Randy and I reached the shore, we heard yet another cry for help — Shane was flailing and hollering from the eddy. By this point, I had nearly drowned three times myself — once in the current, once in the eddy, and once again in the eddy while rescuing Randy. All I could do is watch as Shane succumbed to exhaustion. The eddy would force him back into the chute, and there was nothing I could do about it. Shane was going to drown.

Just then, Norm's dad appeared out of nowhere. He had heard the ruckus, dropped his fishing pole and sprinted upstream. With no hesitation, he dove into the chilly water and pulled Shane safely to shore. For the next 10 minutes, Shane laid on the ground, spewing up river water, lucky to be alive.

We were all lucky to be alive.

I tell you this story because it may save a life. A word of caution: The Spokane River, as beautiful as it may be, is not a place to take risks. If you do decide to tackle the river, wear a life jacket. You can thank me later.

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Ryan Bronson is a Coeur d'Alene native and a former sports writer and news editor of The Press.