Swimming the North Fork
We are talking about the North Fork of the Flathead up near Polebridge. The water couldn’t get any colder if it was full of ice cubes in this river. Come to think of it, it was full of ice chunks. Of course no sane person would willingly swim here and I’m happy to admit that I was sane at the time. Well close enough anyway.
My good buddy Jerry and me were fly fishing. Fly fishing requires wading out in the water to get close enough to flick your line over to the best likely spots that trout are lurking in. This happened to be one of the few times that I actually wore waders. I guess a better description would be irrigating boots because that was the only reason I ever bought them. Normally when I was fly fishing I just waded in with my jeans and tennis shoes. Well since the North Fork of the Flathead was so darn chilly, I sorta appreciated those hip boots. They were the only thing between me and hypothermia.
I crossed the river a few times where it was shallow and never got a drop of water down those hip boots. When we decided to quit fishing for the day I just happened to be on the wrong side of the river. No problem, I could just find another shallow crossing and wade back across. I found a likely spot and struck out for the opposite side. About a third of the way across I was still only in fast moving water that came up to my knees. I took another step and my foot just kept going down. I never touched bottom.
The next thing I knew I was completely under water and looking up at the surface a couple feet over my head. This was shocking! I wasn’t much of a swimmer back then and that super cold water about paralyzed me. I’m no quitter though. I thrashed around enough to get to the surface and suck in a lungful of air. Holy crap, that water was cold! It was swift too and I was being carried downstream fast.
I probably should have turned around and tried for the nearest side of the river but that was where I had started out from. Heck as long as I was drenched already I struck out for the opposite bank. No sense getting all wet for nothing. I also kept a tight grip on my one and only fly rod. If I lost it then this fishing trip was over and that wasn’t going to happen. Of course that only left me with one arm to swim with. Undaunted, I pressed on. Things started conspiring against me right away. My fishing bag with all my extra tackle and a couple nice sized rainbow trout filled with water and weighed me down. No damn way was I going to lose that fishing bag. It stayed slung over one shoulder and around my neck. Trouble was the carrying strap was threatening to choke me. Now I was down to just one arm for swimming and a very restricted air supply.
I could still kick with both legs though so I was slowly making headway toward the opposite bank. Every time I kicked though, those hip boots which were full of water, slipped down a little more off my legs. There was no damn way I was losing those hip boots. I might not use them much for fishing but I sure needed them for irrigating and I couldn’t afford to buy another pair.
Those boots kept slipping down until they were just hooked on my feet and I had to cock those feet up at an angle to keep the boots on. That meant I couldn’t kick with my legs anymore. Those water filled boots were more like a couple heavy anchors trying to pull me under. I’m no quitter though so I struggled on. That water was damn cold. My whole body except for the one arm I could still swim with was cramping up.
About that time I spotted my buddy Jerry on the river bank. The rotten bastard was laughing at me! Here I was out in the middle of the freezing North Fork of the Flathead River with my hip boots trying to drag me down, my fishing bag trying to choke me, and one of my arms useless because that hand had a death grip on my one and only fishing pole. I was drowning and he was laughing. That pissed me off so much that I plumb forgot about drowning and swam across that river with one arm while dragging those water filled hip boots. The only thing on my mind was getting over there and kicking his butt for laughing at me.
I made it too. That river took me downstream a good half mile in the process but I made it. I never lost my fishing pole or my fishing bag or my hip boots either. Jerry was over there waiting for me. He was still laughing and I still wanted to kick his butt but I was so cold I could barely move. He was a lucky man that day.
I guess he really saved my life because if he hadn’t pissed me off so bad I probably wouldn’t have made it. I guess I really did look funny out there swimming in the North Fork. I never went fishing wearing waders again though. Those things can kill you.
Of course this story is completely true. Just ask anyone how cold that river is.