LEARNING RIVER SAFETY THE HARD WAY - ON CONWY FALLS

By Chris Wheeler

There was a spate of serious incidents in Norway in the Summer of 2003, including three broken backs and one drowning, resulting in much debate on the web site message boards. One of the victims was viewed by some as a ‘legend’, whilst others were deeply concerned by the accident. This has proved to be very thought provoking for Chris Wheeler, because back in 1989 he too was a young casualty. 14 years on, he talks about what it was like to be badly injured and come close to drowning, what the consequences were, and how he feels about the experience now that he is ‘older and wiser’.

It was decision time. I did NOT want to die like this, an undignified, self inflicted death, crucified in my boat in front of my helpless friends, on a damp miserable day in North Wales. My thighs pinned painfully against the cockpit rim, with freezing cold water falling down onto my back, doubling me up, I could see no way out. I knew that time was running out- after close on 5 minutes, my strength was steadily being sapped by the cold and the effort of staying up out of the water. My friends’ efforts with throw lines had failed and they couldn’t reach me. I was on my own. I was surprisingly calm and rational- I had one final plan- I was trapped in the boat by my legs so I would use the power of the water to break my legs. So I made a decisive heave forwards and to the left, into the current. I was free. I shot off downstream towards the next drop. Thankfully my friend Fred was in the right place at the right time and plucked me out of the water. Grappled and pulled up the rocks, I slumped down and gasped for air. It was only then that we realised the price I had paid for my close escape- no broken bones but it was worse than that- my knees were bent the wrong way, both knees had been dislocated and I could no longer walk.

So how did I get in this mess? Let’s rewind this story by an hour or so. We’d headed up to Wales for a week of creek boating only to be confronted by no rain and dry rivers. We were bored. No problem, this was the late 80s and the era of the waterfall. After knocking off Pont Cyfyng on the Llugwy, we headed off to Swallow Falls, the scene of Fred’s notorious first descent with Shaun Baker back in 1986 (Fred was the older guy with the beard and wild eyes who nearly lost his head on the main falls). So, what next? Conwy Falls was inexorably drawing us towards it. We’d stared at it before, before paddling the Fairy Glen. We’d heard about Shaun Baker’s audacious descent of the river left drop and as we looked and looked at the river right staircase- worryingly, it looked remarkably feasible.

OK, I admit it, so there were warning signs. First of all, we are talking about a waterfall that, like Swallow Falls, is big and dramatic enough to rate as a tourist attraction that people pay to visit. Secondly, paddlers in our group of the calibre of Chris Sladden and (a then very young) Patch Bennett didn’t want to know. Thirdly? Well, I was paddling with Fred, the wild man of Swallow Falls. Their concerns were to no avail, we put on upstream in the deceptively calm and isolated gorge between the infamous Penmachno Bridge and Conwy Falls. Fred opted to run the falls first, with our bank support waiting below on the island in the middle of the Falls. I saw Fred disappear and after an anxious wait, up came the thumbs up from the team. I thought nothing of the one remaining warning sign- I had heard him make contact with the rocks underwater three times on the way down and whilst he was paddling the same boat, he was two stone lighter. Fred had done it and so could I.

I was alone, just the horizon line and me. As I began the usual lonely fumble with the spray deck, I was remarkably calm. I had no second thoughts. Plunging over the first big drop I subbed out completely and as I surfaced I was already on the lip of the second drop, it was all so quick. I had no time to correct my line and get to the left and as I went over the drop, I suddenly, shockingly, violently, ground to a halt. The power and cold of the water plunging down onto my back was overwhelming, trapping me up against the cockpit. There was no way out. My friends threw me a line, but as I pulled on it, the boat rotated me downwards to the left taking my head down to water level. I let go. I was in a 1980s Rotobat, very different to modern day creek boats- the cockpit was small and there was nowhere on the decks to clip a line to. My friends couldn’t get to the opposite bank, a sheer cliff, and couldn’t get sufficiently upstream of me to get the right angle. In the heat of the moment, no one thought to try getting me to clip a line to my buoyancy aid harness.

This takes us to where this story started, with me sat on the bank, no longer able to walk. There began a sterling group effort to extricate me from the gorge. Firstly, I had to be transported by kayak across a small pool and then, with the ambulance crew now on the scene, I had to be carried on a stretcher up a steep slope and over a large set of gates. My knees didn’t hurt- unless they were knocked, which they were several times, then they really hurt! As I lay on the stretcher, I started to feel tired. My struggle was over- I wanted to fall asleep. Thankfully, people were watching me and they kept talking to me, keeping me awake.

The next bit’s blank. I remember the nurses cutting me out of my wet suit; New Year’s Eve spent alone in a hospital bed waiting for the swelling to subside so they could operate; talking to the anaethetist as I was wheeled into theatre on New Year’s Day; and returning home to Oxford in the back of Fred’s van after discharging myself against the Doctor’s advice!

The result? No internal cruciate ligaments in either of my knees and foot long scars down the right hand side of both knees where the external medial and lateral ligaments were sewn back together. My legs were put in full length plaster casts and I was given my first ever wheelchair, with my now straightened legs sticking, comically, straight out in front of me. I had gone in one fell swoop from being an intrepid ‘white water warrior’ to being helpless and disabled and over the next few weeks I was going to find out exactly what it was like to be disabled. Three months off work, sitting there helplessly as my legs wasted away lay ahead of me. After 6 weeks my legs needed re-plastering because they had wasted away so much. I was fitted with hinged plaster casts to enable me to stagger down the street on crutches, Frankenstein style.

After three months I stood up for the first time without plaster casts, feeling my way uncertainly, like a young Bambi. One month later I was back in a boat and whilst I didn’t go near any white water rivers I was soon squirt boating and surfing. However, the aftermath was longer lasting. Tedious daily physiotherapy went on for 10 months, as I worked hard to build up my leg muscles, to ensure that they would be stable without any cruciate ligaments. I had a ‘drop foot’ too, caused by damage to the nerves and I needed a splint to hold my foot up to enable me to walk normally. The advice was that it could take 18 months (at an inch per month) for the nerve to grow back. I was lucky- the movement and feeling miraculously returned as I kept trying to push my foot down on the clutch in my car- but not until 4-5 months later. Life went on. I couldn’t fully straighten my right leg and OK, I gave up squash and skiing, but otherwise, life returned to normal, after all, my legs were stable and I could walk normally. It wasn’t long before I was back on Grade 4-5 and over the last 14 years I’ve paddled here there and everywhere and my knees have coped with everything from 3 mile walk ins with my boat on my shoulder, to portages from hell. I’ve been lucky.

So, how do I feel about Conwy Falls? I accept that deciding to run the falls that day was clearly a fairly disastrous mistake on my part. I did nothing wrong once on the water. As I’ve since realised, the rock formation at Conwy Falls creates a very high risk of a vertical pin and access for bank support was inadequate. Boats at the time were not as safe as modern day creek boats.

How has my experience affected my feelings for the sport? When I paddled Conwy Falls I’d already been paddling for several years and I knew the risks and accepted them. I have been honest with myself- I accept that I was pretty gung ho at the time and I was probably ‘an accident waiting to happen’. Mentally I was remarkably unaffected; in fact I can remember having a great dream, about river running, whilst in hospital- we were paddling this wonderful big staircase of a pool drop river. I have accepted right from the start that the sport wasn’t to blame and nor were my paddling buddies- I was- and that avoiding a recurrence was down to me. That’s been crucial, because I still love the sport as a result.

How did it affect my paddling buddies, who watched on helplessly as I came close to drowning? Seemingly it left them untroubled- most of them have gone on to have illustrious paddling careers since, running countless tough rivers Worldwide.

How has it affected my paddling? At first glance to many people I may still seem fairly gung ho, keen to take on Grade 4/5 and spate creek boating. However, I have clear personal boundaries. I will NOT paddle drops where there is a high risk of a vertical pin, I will NOT touch waterfalls higher than 10 metres and I hate disappearing down into slots where there is any element of randomness about the outcome. In other words, I avoid drops with a high risk but low skill factor. I have learnt to say no and walk even when others run the drop and when I do run the drop, I don’t have to run the drop first, not when the younger guys are volunteering to act as 'probes'! Why rush? What have I got to prove? I am also now, belatedly, evangelical about creek boats! The fact that I’ve survived another 14 years of creek boating suggests I must have learnt something.

One major regret in over 20 years of paddling white water isn’t so bad. One bad accident in return for 20 good years, and hopefully many more to come, of doing what I love doing. It’s a fair trade off and one that I have come to accept.

Which takes us to today. I read the very judgemental comments on the message boards concerning one particular incident in Norway this summer, which took place whilst the victim was stuck in hospital, unable to defend himself. The incident (involving a highly skilled 16 year old breaking his back on the 60 ft high 4th Ula fall), provoked a polarised reaction. He was defended by some of the younger ones, whereas others were very harsh in their assessment. So, how do I feel?

I personally would never run Ula 4 because it is a relatively high risk, low skill challenge that is fundamentally about having the balls to do it, if necessary at the expense of a serious injury- just like Conwy Falls. I am however, fairly philosophical. So long as the individual is considered by his peers to be capable of making an informed decision, then it is a matter of personal choice. One of the attractions of creek boating is the danger, and it is dangerous precisely because the sport can maim or kill you if you get it wrong. One man’s challenge is another man’s recklessness and the younger paddlers often have a higher risk threshold- and skill level! We are all fallible human beings- how many of us have paddled something we shouldn’t have? Or succumbed to peer pressure against our better judgement? Or screwed up the line? Or simply ‘got away with it’? By being quick to dismiss others as reckless, what we are really doing is seeking to convince ourselves that it could never happen to us.

Finally, we must all share some responsibility for our sport and the way it is. The younger paddlers are inspired by the top Pro Boaters; the Pro Boaters seek to out do each other to make a living; the magazines print pictures of the Pro Boaters running 60ft falls; and we buy the magazines.

Listen to what I’ve said. Be very careful out there but also think very carefully before seeking to judge others. They, like you, will be judged by the river!

Chris Wheeler - first published in 'Playboating' mag, Spring 2004.

Pictures below from Franco Ferrero, taken 2004...