Swamped: When Death Comes Too Close for Comfort

A country GP must be many things to many people. This means a rural doctor has to be able to help heal injured minds as well as bodies. A lot of my patients come to me after ordeals that try them spiritually and psychically as much as physically and their stories are often compelling looks at human nature.

An overcast day in May, it seemed like an ideal opportunity for Don and his brother-in-law Glenn to try their luck fishing in Lake Egmont, one of many bodies of fresh water in Nova Scotia known to contain a trout or two.

Arriving lakeside, Don and Glenn eased their canoe off the top of the truck, loaded on their tackle and pushed off into the shallows. Water dripped from their paddles, dimpling the waters of the cove. With the wind to their backs the two fishermen made good time, guiding their craft through the reedy shoreline to the deeper waters. The sky was an ominous gunmetal gray, with low cloud cover. After several casts into a promising spot, Glenn’s line became entangled in a wicked backlash due to the increasing wind. As well a chop had developed on the water and the two fishermen decided a return to shore was the safest route to follow.

Turning their craft proved more difficult than anticipated, something many a boater with a tailwind has experienced. Suddenly, a freak crosswind caught both paddlers unaware. Their craft quickly flipped over, jettisoning both men into the chilly waters.

After a moment of disorientation, both Don and Glenn floated to the surface. Their first thoughts were to check and see if the other was okay. “Take off your boots, Don!” Glenn shouted. Don was surprised at his brother-in-law’s apparent coolness. Glenn was an extremely poor swimmer and often tended to be excitable, yet somehow the emergency had brought out hidden resources in the young man. Don had doubts as well as to his own ability to swim any distance because of chronic problems with degenerative arthritis in his shoulder and hip.

After grabbing onto the capsized canoe and catching their breath, a short and intense discussion followed. The two men decided to attempt to right the canoe, but this proved fruitless. They realized that attempting to free-swim back to shore would be very dangerous in rough waters and elected to remain with their overturned canoe, which provided at least some flotation. The next important decision to make was whether to head back to where they came from or to try for the opposite shore of the lake.

While making for the opposite shore would give them the advantage of the wind, the heavily wooded uninhabited coastline looked uninviting. Glenn and Don decided instead to head back towards the nearer side, the one where their vehicle was parked. Clinging to the canoe, both men attempted to make progress against the stiff wind and the heavy chop. Cold waves kept unexpectedly hitting both men in the face, causing them to choke and gasp. The pair was making little headway despite considerable time and effort.

Both fishermen fell momentarily silent. “I don’t think I’m going to make it, Don,” croaked Glenn, his voice punctuated by the steady lop-lop of the waves. The chilly waters of the lake were rapidly affecting Glenn’s limbs, which had been badly frostbitten in the past. Keeping a grip was becoming more and more difficult and he often had to catch himself from sliding off the slippery hull of the overturned canoe.

Surprisingly Don’s own arthritic limbs were causing no problem whatsoever. “Of course you’ll make it,” shouted Don angrily. “Keep swimming!”

As Don floated, his mind wandered. He began to imagine the lake as a large abyss over which he floated, a thought he found very frightening. Visions of his body drifting slowly to the lake bottom haunted him. Hope seemed to fade as he lost the feeling in his legs, an icy numbness rising into his body. Thoughts of his wife and son and how they would miss him also bothered him. Graphic images of his bloated corpse rising from the bottom of the lake after several weeks spurred a sudden burst of anger, prompting renewed efforts.

“Come on Glenn, keep moving,” shouted Don again. More time passed. Don noticed several seagulls circling above. Somewhat later several ducks flew overhead. He envied them. Time seemed distorted. It became very difficult to judge the distance of the shoreline as well and chances of survival seemed dimmer as each minute passed.

Suddenly a cyclist’s white helmet came into view and hope flared in both men. Don and Glenn began shouting to the point of hoarseness and were dismayed at how little the sound of their voices seemed to project. The cyclist did stop and seemed to be shouting something to the two men. He then remounted his bicycle and sped off. After what seemed like an eternity, Don began to have the irrational thought that perhaps the cyclist merely thought they were out swimming and that he would change his mind and not go for help. Somewhat later a truck pulled out from a nearby side road but it turned and went back in the other direction.

Despair started to replace hope. Don began to think his brother-in-law was right, they weren’t going to make it. Then another truck appeared, stopped by the fishermen’s vehicle. Its occupant walked to the shoreline and waved his arms. “A boat is coming,” it sounded like he was saying. “Oh God,” thought Don, “don’t let it be too late.”

“Don, I can’t hold on any longer,” yelled Glenn, as he began to slide off the opposite side of the canoe. Don grabbed frantically for his fishing buddy, clasping his numbed hands and squeezing tightly. A second vehicle appeared and a boat put out from shore, paddling agonizingly slowly towards the capsized canoe.

By now, their bodies deeply chilled, things became dim for both men. Don recalled the sight of callused hands reaching to pull him into the boat. “Those were the most beautiful hands I’d ever seen!” Thinking he would be able to stand up and help assist his brother-in-law, Don was surprised to find his limbs would not obey him and he lay helplessly, shivering, as Glenn was hauled into the rescue boat. Two RCMP cars arrived on the scene as well as a helicopter from the nearby Shubenacadie Fire Station.

Don remembered feeling very guilty that these emergency vehicles were being diverted on their behalf, when they might be needed for “real” emergencies. Each man was bundled into a separate Mountie vehicle where the heat was turned up full blast.

“I felt awful when I saw the police officer sweltering next to me in his heavy coat,” Don said. An ambulance then arrived on the scene. Paramedics assessed the situation and took the two victims’ vital signs. Intravenous fluids were started on both men and they were packed in warm blankets before being transferred to the Victoria General Hospital’s emergency room in nearby Halifax.

Recalls Don, “I knew my surroundings were warm but I felt a deadly icy cold within.” This was only natural with the drop in his core body temperature. Total immersion time in the frigid waters was about two hours and it is questionable how much longer the two men could have survived without help.

It was extremely good fortune that a bicyclist had driven by on such a cold and windy day and heard the Don and Glenn’s cries for help. It is doubtful that anyone in a motor vehicle would have heard their faint cries over engine noise and the outcome of the afternoon’s fishing expedition would have been tragically different.

For Don, the whole incident seems more like a vividly remembered nightmare than reality. From time to time thoughts of his near death do come back to haunt him, a stark reminder of our own fragile mortality.

“Swamped” first appeared in Family Practice.

Photo Credit

“Sunken Canoe“

The Rapids Thumbnail – Creative Commons/Some Rights Reserved – David Quick

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