30 Years in a Housetruck

Page Sixteen: Taking a Dive

Well, OK, so this next bit is hard for me to post, partly because it's very personal, but it's also very heavy. I guess I could skip it, but it's part of my early life in Oregon, so here goes:

It's the second week in June, 1975. Sarge and Terri decide that Woodley and I can get out of the work harness for a day and visit the Great Outdoors in observance of my 24th birthday. An outing is planned to Sahalie Falls on the McKenzie River, about 75 miles from Eugene. Lunch is packed, swimsuits and towels stowed in my car, and the four of us are headed upriver for the day.

The McKenzie Highway (Oregon 126) is a very picturesque highway that parallels the McKenzie River, climbing gracefully up the valley through the foothills of the Cascade mountain range. Just before the road gets steep and begins to really climb into the mountains, and very near Clear Lake, the source of the McKenzie, there is a pair of spectacular waterfalls, Sahalie, and Koosah. The area is a National Park, and is developed with hiking trails, campgrounds, and picnicking facilities.

Crosby, Stills and Nash's "4 + 20" from the Déjà Vu album was just ending on the cassette player as we pulled into the parking area. We grabbed our gear, and headed down to the first falls, Sahalie. The view from the stone observation platform was indeed inspiring:

The spray from the falls made the air alive with negative ions, and the temperature from the constant evaporation of the mist lowered the heat of the day by a good ten degrees. Of course, the thunder of the water echoed off the trees and rocks.

A rustic path lead downriver, winding between the trees, and scrambling over roots and stone. The river itself is moving fast, fairly boiling with air and energy from the falls, and the colors of the water with the sunlight penetrating it was amazing. No painter's palette could ever hope to capture the shades of blue and green contained in that living body of water.

About a half mile down stream is Koosah Falls. Much rockwork has been done to the paths around the falls, creating stairways, observation decks both above and below the falls, and trails to an adjoining campground.

Another half mile of hiking brings one to Carmen Reservoir, where one of the electric utilities diverts a portion of the river's flow into a canal, to be carried to a powerhouse several miles down stream. Here, the water calms a bit, and the widening channel that leads into the reservoir allows the river to slow somewhat, although it's still a huge quantity of water, and moving right along as well.

Over the entrance of the reservoir is a vehicle bridge, a single lane span to allow cars to reach the parking lot on the opposite shore. A few fishermen try their luck on the far end of the bridge. Woodley and Sarge decided that the coolness of the air at the falls has worn off and it's time for some swimming, so they begin taking turns diving off the bridge into the river. I was content to sit on a large stump off to the side and observe. Eventually, Woodley came over and tried to interest me in trying a dive. I wasn't really into it, but he was persistent, and talked me into removing my boots, taking off my glasses and coming over to the bridge to try it.

Without my glasses, not much was in focus, so Woodley guided me over to the place on the bridge where they had been diving, stood me up on top of the guardrail, and said something like "Right here, the water is so cold, it's a rush". I seem to remember that my last words before I went head first into the river were "Aw shit".

Cold? Let me tell you! Some few years ago in July, I went on a rafting trip a few miles down river with one of my radio station clients on their employee appreciation day. The professional white water rafting guides had us all put on life jackets. Then they came by and "helped" each of us make sure that the jackets were secure. This consisted of the guides grabbing the straps that closed the jackets, and pulling them tight until the life preservers fit us like corsets. Then they told us that if any of us got pitched out of the raft, we would likely go into hypothermial shock within a few seconds, and that we'd probably be unable to save ourselves, even if we wanted to. I thought they were just being dramatic, but one member of our crew did get tossed overboard, and spent about two minutes in the water. Once we had hauled her back into the raft, she was unable to do anything, although conscious, and not injured, she was "frozen", and had nearly no muscle control. I thought she was just being a pussy, but when we reached our destination, and we were instructed to go overboard in thigh-deep water to portage the raft up the bank, I realized how really damned cold the water in the river was.

Anyhow, back to my birthday. Apparently, the cold shock of the water distracted me, and I failed to pull out of my dive quickly enough and crashed head first into the rocks on the bottom of the river. I stayed conscious, and swam quickly to the surface, where I shouted to the others that I had hit bottom and needed help. Then I began to pass out.

Terri had the presence of mind to scream "SWIM! SWIM OVER HERE!". This made a certain amount of sense through the pain, and I did swim the short distance to where they were. Woodley and Sarge dragged me out of the water and up the rocky shore. Once there, my respiration arrested, and I remember Sarge grabbing my shoulders forcefully and shaking me, telling me to keep breathing.

The fishermen began to approach to see if they could help, but Sarge waved them off, telling them I just had a bloody nose. I wouldn't discover the extent of my injuries until later, but I had perforated my upper lip in an "X" pattern below my nose, and torn a large flap of my scalp loose. I also had abrasions on my chin and chest. Terri used her white blouse to try and stop some of the bleeding while Woodley ran the mile plus back to where the car was parked. I managed to remind him to grab my glasses and boots from the stump on his way.

Time had little meaning, as seconds seemed like hours, and the pain made them pass slowly. Woodley arrived with my station wagon, I was loaded into the back with Sarge, and we set off for the nearest hospital, that being back in Eugene.

On the road, I went into shock, my eyesight narrowed to a tunnel, and my breathing went hyper. I remember Sarge telling me from very far away to breathe normally. I also remember hearing the engine of my car wound up tight in overdrive, meaning that Woodley was probably going close to 100 MPH . We were pulled over by a State Policeman somewhere near Vida, perhaps. The cop looked in though the back door of the car, and offered Sarge some sterile bandages, and told Woodley to slow it down some.

Once at the hospital, I was made to answer loads of questions, fill out forms, and got to wait around, laying on a gurney in some hallway. I was still wearing only a bathing suit, and the hospital had very effective air conditioning. Eventually, Sarge found me a blanket while we waited to see a doctor. I also needed to use the rest room, which I was allowed to do, and after using the toilet, I tried to look in the mirror to see what damage I had sustained. Sarge sensed the quiet in the room, and barged in, dragging me away from the mirror before I could make much of an assessment. I seem to remember being taken to radiology for some x-rays, waiting some more, and being asked literally a dozen times how the injuries happened. Either they weren't bothering to read my chart, or they had some suspicion that I had gotten hurt during some criminal activity, perhaps a fight.

Without my glasses, I couldn't tell what time it was, were I was or had been or was going, and couldn't recognize people until they had gotten within a few feet of me, not that I was going to know very many of them there anyway. I was eventually conducted to some room where a doctor looked at the various charts, films, and such, and prepared to suture my lacerations.

They started by throwing a sterile cloth with an opening in it over my face so they could work on my upper lip. Now I couldn't see anything at all. Sarge engaged the doctor in some small talk, and the topic turned to one of the popular news items in that day, malpractice lawsuits. I finally had to tell them both to shut up because I didn't think that I was very interested in the subject, considering my current position. It took 13 stitches to close the skin under my nose.

Part of my head was shaved, and another 17 stitches inserted there. The doctor told me that most patients that were admitted with injuries sustained in the manner I received mine spend the rest of their life in a wheelchair. If they're lucky. The nurse gave me a tetanus shot, and I was suddenly back out on the street in the last rays of a setting sun.

Woodley brought the car, and Sarge and I got into the back seat, sitting up this time. We drove about two blocks before Woodley had to pull the car over to the curb and jumped out to empty the contents of his stomach into the gutter. Apparently, I looked pretty bad.

Back at home, I doubt that I ate anything, as that would require using my mouth, which wasn't in much condition for exercise at the moment. One might assume that the indignities of this day were about over, but that's not quite the case yet. I was still wearing my swimming trunks, and they, along with most of the rest of my body were covered with dried blood and mud from the river bank. A bath was called for, but I was in no shape to conduct one. I ended up in the tub, and Sarge carefully washed my head and shoulders, keeping the soap out of the wounds. After the bath, I tried to look in the mirror to see what I looked like, but again, Sarge was lurking outside the door, and burst in to pull me away from the sink before I could get much of a look.

In the living room of the rental trailer, Kitty had come up to see me, bringing with her one or both of the young women from the office. I felt that I was being put on display, and really didn't want to be the focus of the spectacle. They made sympathetic noises, and then went away.

All I wanted to do was sleep in my own bed, but even that was denied. The doctor was concerned that I might have a concussion, so Sarge insisted that I sleep on the living room couch so he could check on me overnight. I didn't care, I was so weary, battered, and in pain that I just crashed there and gave up for the night.

Years later, Woodley confided to me that when he and Sarge had dragged me out of the water, he thought I was dead.

Not yet.

And that is how I spent my 24th birthday.