Woman Overboard

Over Memorial Day weekend I had the pleasure of camping at Del Valle Regional Park near Livermore. The weather was perfect. I arrived on Thursday evening and had some quiet time before the mob of holiday campers arrived the next day.

Friday morning, I decided to check out Lake Del Valle and see what kinds of boats they had for rent. I went down to the boat rental place and inquired as to what sort of boat would be good for a single person. A motorboat was suggested, but since I'd never operated one before I felt a little nervous about taking one out by myself. I opted for a good old-fashioned rowboat instead.

There was only one working rowboat available for rent, and as I tried to paddle away from the dock, I realized it just wasn't going to work for me. The wooden oars were huge and weighed a ton, and they weren't properly anchored to the sides of the boat. It was darn near impossible for me to row. The dock attendant saw my struggle and suggested I try a canoe instead. I eyed the two canoes dubiously. They were made of some kind of metal which creaked as the boats bobbed up and down gently on the waves. They both looked old. I chose the one that was less covered in bird poo.

I got into the creaky old canoe and was handed a single plastic paddle. "You want to wear the life jacket or should I just throw it in the boat?"

I was sure I could handle this lightweight canoe. "I'm not worried about falling out. You can just throw it in here." Yeah, famous last words.

Off I paddled into Lake Del Valle. I've been kayaking a few times and thought the canoe would be similar to a kayak. It wasn't. First there was that whole metallic creaking bit, and also, I'd never used just one paddle before. I proceeded across the lake in zigzag fashion- a few strokes left, then a few right. It was definitely easy to paddle but not very efficient.

Since I had my digital camera with me, of course I wanted to take pictures. Lake Del Valle is very large- there are two separate beaches that you can drive to, East and West. From the middle of the lake, I couldn't get a good view of the birds hanging out along the shore. So I decided to get closer.

There were several mergansers, and lots of red-winged blackbirds singing along the shore. I am still convinced that red-winged blackbirds on the West Coast sound slightly different from their brethren in the East. Closer and closer I came, though I didn't want to get too close to shore, for fear of getting stuck.

And that's when the trouble started. Maybe it was the current, pulling me closer to the shore. My zigzag paddling pattern certainly wasn't helping any. Suddenly I was headed straight for shore, despite my best attempts not to. The boat veered to the left as I got closer, and then stopped.

Some tree branches had grabbed the boat, holding it fast. I tried to push off from the shore with my lone paddle, but the water was too deep. I tried to move the branches out of the way, but they were unyielding. I shifted my weight ever so slightly, trying to get at a better angle to move the branches...

... and over I went, into the lake. It's funny how when things like this happen, time seems to slow down. I'm sure that no more than five seconds could have passed from the time I fell overboard to when I poked my head out of the water again, but it seemed like an eternity, as though I might have been watching a movie of myself falling in slow motion: the disorientation of suddenly being next to the boat instead of in it, then the sensation of water rushing up and over me as I looked up at the sky, now seen through a filter of green water sparkling in the sunlight, and finally my legs instinctively kicking, propelling me towards light and air. I felt strangely peaceful in those few moments underwater; it reminded me of the many times when, as a child playing in the ocean, I was overcome by waves bigger than myself and sucked underwater, turned head over heels and dragged along the bottom until finally being spat out on the shore. Time stops in those moments underwater and there is little to do but think about your next breath.

And so it was this time, except that instead of being tossed onto the shore like an abandoned plaything, I surfaced in the water, next to my sad little canoe. The first thing I did was pull off my camera bag, which was still securely strapped around me, and toss it into the boat. The camera was really the only thing I was worried about in all this. I have very little fear of the water and have a hard time understanding the worries of people who do. I knew I would be fine, but I was very, very concerned about my poor camera.

The next logical step seemed, of course, to try and climb back into the boat. I quickly realized that this would not be possible. The canoe was so lightweight that I couldn't climb in without capsizing it. So I swam in circles around the canoe for a bit, contemplating swimming across the lake to the opposite shore where there was a nice, flat beach. The shore I was currently swimming on was a mess of tangled trees with nowhere to stand up. Those trees must have been rooted in the water.

Then I heard someone calling across the water to me- a fisherman on the opposite shore had spotted me. "Don't move, I'm going for help!" I have to admit that I sort of didn't want help, because that seemed embarrassing. I now noticed that a small crowd of people was gathering on the opposite shore. Great.

I swam around for a bit, looking for the paddle I'd dropped when I fell, but didn't find it. So I just sort of hung out near the boat, treading water. After about ten minutes, I heard and saw a large motorboat headed directly for me. Again, my first thought was not for myself, but for my camera. I snatched it out of the canoe and handed it up to one of the park rangers in the motorboat. The two park rangers, one male and one female, then proceeded to try and pull me into the boat. The side of the boat was pretty high and there was no rescue ladder, so it wasn't easy for me to swing my legs up and over the side. Finally each ranger grabbed one of my hands and pulled. The side of the boat dug into my ribcage and I said, "Um... ouch," and they let go. I had a terrific bruise on my chest after that.

I finally got into the boat by climbing on the rudder and then being pulled on my stomach the rest of the way. I was embarrassed and sore and laughing, lying there on my stomach in the boat. I think I apologized to the park rangers about a dozen times for causing so much trouble. They were very cool about it and said it happened all the time. Really? There are other dorks out there like me, who don't know how to steer a canoe?

They tied the canoe to the motorboat so it could be towed back to shore, and we found the missing paddle. About halfway back to the marina, the boat took a sharp turn and the canoe turned on its side and then filled with water and sank. We had to stop the boat and get the canoe righted again. All in all, it was hilarious. When we finally made it back to the dock, I said to the attendant who'd helped me earlier, "Yeah, so remember how I said I wouldn't need that life jacket?" I think I was laughing for an hour straight after that.

All in all, it was a funny experience. Everyone at the park was super nice and helpful (and I wish I could find that fisherman to thank him). But I did learn that next time I should probably wear my life jacket. I can swim, but you never know what could happen. I could've hit my head on the side of the canoe and been knocked unconscious, and my legs wouldn't have saved me then.

Here is a picture of my campsite, taken a couple of hours after I fell overboard with the camera:

The camera has since made a complete recovery after I removed the battery and flash card and left everything to dry in the sun for a couple of days. A friend suggested I might try sending it in for repairs anyway, just in case there's algae or something blooming in there (or in case I start seeing fish swimming across the screen...) I'm really amazed at how durable my camera is!

I got to watch a pair of acorn woodpeckers in the trees near my campsite for the two days I was there. I really became quite fond of them and their endless drumming and raucous chatter. I also met several yellow-billed magpies who are not the least bit afraid of humans, and I spotted some California quail and a Western bluebird. I wasn't able to get pictures, of course, but that's ok. Sometimes it's nicer to spend the time focusing on the experience itself rather than worrying about getting pictures.

Later, I went for a swim in the lake, with a proper swimsuit on this time instead of my street clothes. The water was surprisingly warm. As I walked up the beach, I noticed a kayak rental place. Next time, I'm definitely renting a kayak instead of a canoe!