This week marks a big milestone in history: we celebrate the anniversary of the demise of a watercraft which, traveling amidst floating boulders of ice, was filling up with water, tilted straight into the air, and cut in two before meeting its fateful end.
Yes, that’s right, today marks the….18th anniversary of the rafting adventure that me and several cohorts wound up right in the middle and which was still being talked about many years later. Now, I know you’re thinking of a certain ocean liner run by the White Star line, that also met its deadly fate eighty-one years before that, but by now you know that story. Betcha didn’t know this one, however…
But first, we need to set the stage. For many years, 18 of them in total, I worked at Prudential, which at the time was probably the best place to work in the state of New Jersey. It wasn’t just an office, but a country club, school, and social club all rolled into one. Blurring this distinction further was something called the “RRA”, which stood for Roseland Recreation Association but which had nothing to down with that municipality in suburban Essex County, New Jersey. But our office was located there, thus the name.
But first, we need to set the stage. For many years, 18 of them in total, I worked at Prudential, which at the time was probably the best place to work in the state of New Jersey. It wasn’t just an office, but a country club, school, and social club all rolled into one. Blurring this distinction further was something called the “RRA”, which stood for Roseland Recreation Association but which had nothing to down with that municipality in suburban Essex County, New Jersey. But our office was located there, thus the name.
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| Morning of the trip: getting ready for the day ahead |
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| One of the many ice chunks floating on the river |
RRA sponsored everything your local high school did: Intramural-type sports stemming from softball and tennis, onwards to volleyball, golf and bowling (the latter three I had taken part in at one time or another), plus offering discounts to theme parks, putting on bus trips into New York City, and even ski weekends to New England and out West.
And then there were the once, sometimes twice a year weekend whitewater rafting trips that took place. My first such trip was in 1982 to the rain-swollen class II Lehigh River in which we stayed at a resort in Wilkes-Barre only to be bussed down to White Haven for some fun in the rapids. Much of the 80’s featured these trips, run by various Pru employees.
Then came 1991, and co-worker Dave Sun took over these trips. After a Lehigh trip in the spring, he (and us) felt it was time to try something more challenging. That fall was our first trip on the Class III Upper Hudson River gorge. More importantly, it was the beginning of a formation of many friends who were co-workers there (and some of their friends as well). For about a two to three year period, we all hung out, be it happy hours, trips into the city, apple picking in the fall, ski and beach houses or parties at someone’s house. It was definitely the equivalent of high school for sure, and the gang was commonly referred to as the “Circle of Friends”, or just simply “the group”.
The Upper Hudson trips, in the Adirondacks, featured staying at the Summit Condos in near Gore Mountain in North Creek (about a half hour north of Lake George Village), and, aside from the river trip, a complementary steak dinner at the rafting outfitters office a couple miles away (usually Whitewater Challengers), then back to the condo for the big evening “pot luck dinner party”, where everyone brought, made, or cooked something, music (usually provided by yours truly), karaoke, back rub chains, or other “couch activities”. The Fall 1992 trip was at the pinnacle of good times, and we wondered what we’d do for an encore.
Which brings us to the month in question, namely April 1993. Dave Sun, responding to repeated requests for something more challenging, decided to upgrade to the next level: The Class IV, very demanding Moose River. Not far from the Upper Hudson, it entailed staying at the same Summit Condos in North Creek. The first weekend in April we were ready for the Moose, but was it ready for us?
The winter of 1992-93 was the snowiest and coldest in about six years, especially in Upstate New York and New England. Southern Vermont got so much snow in a two month period that our beloved “Skihaus” had several feet on the ground, and crazy us did some deck jumping some twenty feet down to a “cushiony” snow cover, and the wide parking area all but disappeared as the snow piled up. The result was that by the first weekend of April, the Moose River was frozen! No rafting that weekend, we would have to reschedule it in two weeks, for April 17, 1993.
Since the plan was to head north that first weekend, much of us had nothing else to do, so we had a rafting “Pre-survivor’s party” at Wendy Intili’s house. Everything you always wanted in a pot luck dinner party (couch activities, etc) at a fraction of the cost (of gas, tolls, etc).
Two weeks finally passed--April 16, 1993 and time to head up to the Adirondacks all set to master the Moose…but, another snag. Seems that in the ensuing two weeks, the ice broke up and melted, but we also had massive heavy rains--such as what greeted us that night. Upon arriving at the condos, we learned that the Moose was deemed unsafe, thus we had to be diverted back to the Upper Hudson. While there was a sigh of disappointment, there was the realization that even that tried-and-true river was flowing to the max, behaving as a Class IV, and even that was close to being off limits, but it was not.
The morning of the 17th arrived, and we all met at Whitewater Challengers to be bused to the Indian River (of which eventually flows in the Hudson). Snow was still on the ground, but the river was roaring…and I mean roaring. Hugh chunks of ice were floating downwards as I wondered, “should I be doing this?”. But it was too late.
We formed groups. Our rafting guide was a guy nicknamed “Lurch”, and my cohorts for the day were Justin Klug, Terry Gordon, Kyra Spak, Diane Olson, plus two people we didn’t know. Once we were underway, I knew this wasn’t going to be an ordinary trip. I had never rafted before the beginning of May when the water subsides a bit. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for his. The river temperature was a bone-chilling 34 degrees, enhanced by the flowing ice. Despite all the wool thermals and wet suits, the water would hit you like a Mack truck, and anytime it splashed onto your face (like about every 3 seconds), it was pins and needles coming at you!! The Indian River was one big, fast ride; no taking breaks here as you had to constantly paddle into big waves and troughs. It didn’t matter if you just paddled air, you had to keep going, or face the consequences. Towards the end of the Indian there was the usual camera taking pictures; someone from a bar in North River shot videos from the same location. Soon it was the roaring Hudson, and we made it through the first half of the trip without incident, breaking for lunch.
But once we resumed, all hell broke loose. The rapids were amazingly tall, and we constantly took water more than we could bail it out. A couple times we felt like we could flip over, but instead, water was crowding our raft to the point we couldn’t steer. Lurch yelled out several times to go left, but we were hung up along the right side of the river. The raft, half filled with the water at this point, was helpless. We inadvertently ran into a big wall of water, then hit a tree sticking out on the right bank, with several logs and debris all piled against it. With nowhere to go, the rapids freely flowed into the back of the raft, pointing it up almost 90 degrees in the air. Justin and Terry at this point bailed out and swam to shore, which luckily was just a few feet away on the right side. The rest of us righted the raft for a few seconds, until once again it rose up…and this time it flipped. Myself, Kyra and Diane jumped out, partially covered by the raft but managed to free it. Kyra and I had just made it to shore when Justin got my attention…..it was Diane (whose birthday was today), just about submerged; all you could see was her helmet.
I managed to pull Diane out, and both Justin and myself got her to shore safely. But where were the two other people we didn’t know? There was no sign of them. At this point, the raft was facing upside down against the tree, and Lurch and other guides were swimming underneath to find them. One of them even cut the bottom of the raft open, but to no avail. Kyra was visibly in shock from the experience, having been calmed down by Terry, vowing she’d never get back into a raft (although we were in the middle of nowhere, the river was the only way back).
Finally about 10 minutes later, the two missing people were found downstream alive and OK. As the guides showed us at the start of the trip, if we fell out and got trapped, curl your head, arms and legs against your body and let the current take you. It’s what saved those two people’s lives.
It was finally time to resume the journey, but the seven of us had no raft. Thus we were dispersed between several rafts from various outfitters (they all ended near the same place anyway). Luckily the rest of the trip was uneventful and we were all back at the rafting office, enjoying our steak dinner while talking about the day’s experience.
And then there were the once, sometimes twice a year weekend whitewater rafting trips that took place. My first such trip was in 1982 to the rain-swollen class II Lehigh River in which we stayed at a resort in Wilkes-Barre only to be bussed down to White Haven for some fun in the rapids. Much of the 80’s featured these trips, run by various Pru employees.
Then came 1991, and co-worker Dave Sun took over these trips. After a Lehigh trip in the spring, he (and us) felt it was time to try something more challenging. That fall was our first trip on the Class III Upper Hudson River gorge. More importantly, it was the beginning of a formation of many friends who were co-workers there (and some of their friends as well). For about a two to three year period, we all hung out, be it happy hours, trips into the city, apple picking in the fall, ski and beach houses or parties at someone’s house. It was definitely the equivalent of high school for sure, and the gang was commonly referred to as the “Circle of Friends”, or just simply “the group”.
The Upper Hudson trips, in the Adirondacks, featured staying at the Summit Condos in near Gore Mountain in North Creek (about a half hour north of Lake George Village), and, aside from the river trip, a complementary steak dinner at the rafting outfitters office a couple miles away (usually Whitewater Challengers), then back to the condo for the big evening “pot luck dinner party”, where everyone brought, made, or cooked something, music (usually provided by yours truly), karaoke, back rub chains, or other “couch activities”. The Fall 1992 trip was at the pinnacle of good times, and we wondered what we’d do for an encore.
Which brings us to the month in question, namely April 1993. Dave Sun, responding to repeated requests for something more challenging, decided to upgrade to the next level: The Class IV, very demanding Moose River. Not far from the Upper Hudson, it entailed staying at the same Summit Condos in North Creek. The first weekend in April we were ready for the Moose, but was it ready for us?
The winter of 1992-93 was the snowiest and coldest in about six years, especially in Upstate New York and New England. Southern Vermont got so much snow in a two month period that our beloved “Skihaus” had several feet on the ground, and crazy us did some deck jumping some twenty feet down to a “cushiony” snow cover, and the wide parking area all but disappeared as the snow piled up. The result was that by the first weekend of April, the Moose River was frozen! No rafting that weekend, we would have to reschedule it in two weeks, for April 17, 1993.
Since the plan was to head north that first weekend, much of us had nothing else to do, so we had a rafting “Pre-survivor’s party” at Wendy Intili’s house. Everything you always wanted in a pot luck dinner party (couch activities, etc) at a fraction of the cost (of gas, tolls, etc).
Two weeks finally passed--April 16, 1993 and time to head up to the Adirondacks all set to master the Moose…but, another snag. Seems that in the ensuing two weeks, the ice broke up and melted, but we also had massive heavy rains--such as what greeted us that night. Upon arriving at the condos, we learned that the Moose was deemed unsafe, thus we had to be diverted back to the Upper Hudson. While there was a sigh of disappointment, there was the realization that even that tried-and-true river was flowing to the max, behaving as a Class IV, and even that was close to being off limits, but it was not.
The morning of the 17th arrived, and we all met at Whitewater Challengers to be bused to the Indian River (of which eventually flows in the Hudson). Snow was still on the ground, but the river was roaring…and I mean roaring. Hugh chunks of ice were floating downwards as I wondered, “should I be doing this?”. But it was too late.
We formed groups. Our rafting guide was a guy nicknamed “Lurch”, and my cohorts for the day were Justin Klug, Terry Gordon, Kyra Spak, Diane Olson, plus two people we didn’t know. Once we were underway, I knew this wasn’t going to be an ordinary trip. I had never rafted before the beginning of May when the water subsides a bit. And I certainly wasn’t prepared for his. The river temperature was a bone-chilling 34 degrees, enhanced by the flowing ice. Despite all the wool thermals and wet suits, the water would hit you like a Mack truck, and anytime it splashed onto your face (like about every 3 seconds), it was pins and needles coming at you!! The Indian River was one big, fast ride; no taking breaks here as you had to constantly paddle into big waves and troughs. It didn’t matter if you just paddled air, you had to keep going, or face the consequences. Towards the end of the Indian there was the usual camera taking pictures; someone from a bar in North River shot videos from the same location. Soon it was the roaring Hudson, and we made it through the first half of the trip without incident, breaking for lunch.
But once we resumed, all hell broke loose. The rapids were amazingly tall, and we constantly took water more than we could bail it out. A couple times we felt like we could flip over, but instead, water was crowding our raft to the point we couldn’t steer. Lurch yelled out several times to go left, but we were hung up along the right side of the river. The raft, half filled with the water at this point, was helpless. We inadvertently ran into a big wall of water, then hit a tree sticking out on the right bank, with several logs and debris all piled against it. With nowhere to go, the rapids freely flowed into the back of the raft, pointing it up almost 90 degrees in the air. Justin and Terry at this point bailed out and swam to shore, which luckily was just a few feet away on the right side. The rest of us righted the raft for a few seconds, until once again it rose up…and this time it flipped. Myself, Kyra and Diane jumped out, partially covered by the raft but managed to free it. Kyra and I had just made it to shore when Justin got my attention…..it was Diane (whose birthday was today), just about submerged; all you could see was her helmet.
I managed to pull Diane out, and both Justin and myself got her to shore safely. But where were the two other people we didn’t know? There was no sign of them. At this point, the raft was facing upside down against the tree, and Lurch and other guides were swimming underneath to find them. One of them even cut the bottom of the raft open, but to no avail. Kyra was visibly in shock from the experience, having been calmed down by Terry, vowing she’d never get back into a raft (although we were in the middle of nowhere, the river was the only way back).
Finally about 10 minutes later, the two missing people were found downstream alive and OK. As the guides showed us at the start of the trip, if we fell out and got trapped, curl your head, arms and legs against your body and let the current take you. It’s what saved those two people’s lives.
It was finally time to resume the journey, but the seven of us had no raft. Thus we were dispersed between several rafts from various outfitters (they all ended near the same place anyway). Luckily the rest of the trip was uneventful and we were all back at the rafting office, enjoying our steak dinner while talking about the day’s experience.
As was our tradition, we had our pot luck dinner party, many would quickly leave to head to the bar where they showed the videos of the rafts negotiating the heavy rapids.
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| View of where the raft was wedged against the trees |
Whether it was because of this experience, or simply that the “group” started going their separate ways, there would be no subsequent interest in any other trips to this region for next few years. Dave Sun managed one modest trip in May 1995 to the calm-by-comparison Youghiogheny in Southwest Pennsylvania, but that was all.
Luckily, Suzanne Couture, an outdoors enthusiast who I had met in the summer of 1994, was putting together similar rating trips to the Upper Hudson, staying at the same condos with her friends. I joined them for three years, from 1995 through '97. The second year, in 1996, I invited several friends, to fill out one of the condos. Among them were the now-married Terry and Kyra. Kyra wanted to prove to herself and to all that she could indeed take a trip on this river without incident. Thanks to better conditions (the trip was in early May), Kyra finally got closure she was seeking and got the upper hand on the upper Hudson.
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| Justin Klug and Kyra Spak Gordon survive the day |
We would never get another chance to take on the Moose (which was just as well), but Dave Sun was able to revive the RRA trips to the Adirondacks and the Hudson as there was renewed interest in the late 90’s, several of which I had gone on. Then there was a High Life Ski Club trip there in May 2000, and finally my last time rafting the Upper Hudson was Memorial Day weekend of 2001, which Dave got about 7 of us and rented a condo for the final time.
Almost a decade after that inadvertently extreme adventure, rafting guides were STILL telling the story about that day when the raft flipped over and had to be cut open. And I could tell them I was a part of it.
Take that, Titanic…
Almost a decade after that inadvertently extreme adventure, rafting guides were STILL telling the story about that day when the raft flipped over and had to be cut open. And I could tell them I was a part of it.
Take that, Titanic…
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