Scared Shitless on the Mohican River

My Falling Through the Ice Experience

No matter how hard I paddled, the slush conspired to push my canoe backwards —further, it seemed, than I had propelled it.

I was 100 feet from the bank in front of the Mohican Wilderness Campground. Clearly, the only way out was to work my boat to the bank, hike out through the deep snow and get a ride to my truck, which was parked downstream at Brinkhaven.

I struggled for nearly an hour to get the 17-foot aluminum canoe onto solid ice. I stepped out onto it, heard a crack and went straight down into the water.

Adrenaline kicked in. I shot out of the water like a missile and instinctively rolled into the stern of my canoe.

I had gone in past my boots but, somehow, no water got in over the tops, which were cinched tight around my calves.

Eventually, I worked the canoe to the bank. Still scared shitless.

Fate was not my friend that day. I had beached the canoe as far from Wally Road as the Mohican ever gets. Much snow had accumulated on land. I had to drag my boat and lug my camping gear a quarter-mile and stage it along the side of the road.

On the other hand, fate WAS my friend. I survived, worse for wear but smarter for experience.

Suggested Reading: “(Winter) River Reading for Crazy Bastards.”