Jetski Incident

About 11:30 AM local time on April 8, 2001, I was kayaking with two friends, Tom Macomber and Tim Berry, both of Fremont, IN. We were on the southern part of Snow Lake, near Fremont, about a quarter mile from the channel into Lake James, 200-300 yards off the nearest shore, which was to our left. We were paddling southwest, nearly directly into a wind that we estimate was 20-25 mph out of the southwest. The air temperature was over seventy degrees, but the strong wind made things chilly. Wave heights were about one foot, and had been higher earlier in the passage. As the ice went off the lakes only a couple weeks before, the water temperature could not have been warmer than about 40 degrees and could have been less. Macomber has about my level of experience, and we have frequently paddled together. Berry, though a practiced canoeist, is relatively inexperienced in kayaks, and was in his new boat for only the second time.

We were spread out somewhat; I was slightly ahead of Berry and to his right, and Macomber was 50-75 yards ahead of me. I noticed another kayaker, in a small, red kayak, slightly out of the channel. At this point, two bright red jetskis appeared from the channel and powered up, passing us at a distance of approximately 100 yards to our right, heading northeast. The first of the two was ridden by a middle-aged man, solo; the second, trailing somewhat, was ridden by a young man, with a young woman on the back. After a brief period, the trailing jetski with the young couple aboard turned around and buzzed past the stern of Tim's kayak at a very short distance, with obvious intent, then passed ahead of me at a distance of less than ten feet. The first jetski was nowhere in sight. I managed to stay upright by bracing. The jetski rushed on ahead, taking a close pass past Macomber and spraying him with his jetwash, then buzzed the red kayak, which we later learned was paddled by Joel Bredemeyer of Ft. Wayne, IN, whom we had not previously met. As the operator of the jetski passed Bredemeyer and swung hard to wash him down, he rolled and stalled. I yelled at Bredemeyer, "Get his number," although he was far enough away that I don't think he heard me. I had only a brief glimpse at the small number which was black on the red jetski. Bredemeyer did in fact get his number when he was slowed at this point.

Regaining his balance, the jetski again buzzed past me at a close distance, and again I managed to maintain my balance with a brace. The jetski then proceeded on to Tim and washed him down, rolling his kayak over. I only saw this out of the corner of my eye, but yelled at Tom that Tim was in the water, and started to turn around to go and help Tim when the jetski again passed me, at a distance of no more than two or three feet, rolling me over. I was literally thrown from the cockpit, and had my head above water in time to hear the operator of the Jetski yell "Does anyone else want to go for a swim?"

Out of my boat, at least 200 yards from shore, with the strong wind blowing me somewhat parallel to the shore, in bone-chilling water, I was in a life-threatening situation; I was not particularly dressed for immersion. I had managed to hold onto my paddle and maintain contact with the boat, which I righted from the water. I thought briefly about attempting to rig for a paddle float re-entry, but it takes precious time, and I figured the operator of the jetski would think it fun to swamp me again as I attempted to re-enter the boat. I figured he would pay me less attention if I was in the water, so I worked my way to the bow of my boat and started to swim for shore, knowing that warm clothing stowed in a dry bag in the boat could be essential to staying alive. The shore was in a state park, separated from habited areas by a swamp, and I knew it would be a long, cold walk to safety if I managed to reach the nearest shore without the boat. While I was slowly swimming toward shore, dragging the boat, the operator of the jetski took more passes at the kayaks that had managed to remain upright. I was hoping to pull myself close to enough to shore that the strong wind would carry me near the tip of a little reedy point, where I might be able to get my feet down. It was slow progress since I'm not an exceptionally strong swimmer.

Fortunately, the jetski left the scene after about ten minutes of harrassing us, with Bredemeyer and Macomber still upright. Bredemeyer went to Berry's aid, while Macomber came to mine. We had practiced "over the boat" rescues last summer, and I briefly thought of trying one. I am quite heavy, and we had difficulty when we'd practiced the rescue last summer in much more benign conditions. As it was, we quickly decided the better approach was for Macomber to tow me and my boat to shore. Up until this point I had not inflated my inflatable personal flotation device, as it would have impeded my swimming, but did so now. I grabbed onto the stern of Macomber's boat, and he towed me to where the water was something less than waist deep. The bottom was so soft that I had to breast stroke the rest of the way into the reeds, pushing the boat ahead of me. I had difficulty in getting the stern of the boat into the soft, reedy shore and turn it over to dump out the majority of the water. I managed to find a fairly firm spot on a root ball to stand while I pumped a little more water out of the boat with a handpump. I was still knee deep in water, without much hope of making it to firmer ground to change into dry clothes. I was finally able to get back into the boat. Bredemeyer had been able to similarly assist Berry, who had bruises and abrasions from wet-exiting a very snug cockpit.

We spent some minutes catching our breath and assessing the situation. We decided to head back downwind to a more populated area with a better beach, about half a mile away, to pull ourselves together. We decided to stay quite close to shore, in case the jetski should decide to return for some more fun. We got most of the way across the small bay with little difficulty, but in the last two hundred yards had to turn partially across the 1-2 foot waves in order to make it to a protected channel that leads into Big Otter Lake. I could easily have swamped again in the last couple hundred yards, as I was not paddling very well and the five gallons or so of water still in the kayak's cockpit made the boat somewhat unstable, but I managed to stay upright and get the boat to the beach.

A man with a cottage there was doing yard work, and he came to our assistance with coffee and towels. I didn't get his name, but we owe him a great deal of thanks. We were able to dry off, and I was able to get into dry clothes. Macomber called 911 to report the incident, and after some minutes a local Conservation Officer came and took the complaint and information from us.

After getting warmed back up, we emptied the rest of the water out of the swamped boats, got back in and headed back to where we'd parked our vehicles on Marsh Lake. We crossed Big Otter Lake and entered the channel into Little Otter Lake. We paddled easily down the lake, until I noticed two red jetskis tied to the dock ahead of me. I pointed them out to the others, and we paddled closely past the dock in order to positively identify the jetskis, without saying anything to the people watching from shore. We then paddled another couple hundred yards to a bait and tackle store, where we stopped, called the Conservation Officer again, and waited for his arrival. We were later able to positively identify the operator of the jetski.

In four years of kayaking on lakes in Michigan, Ohio and Indiana, and in many other years of boating, in all sorts of conditions and with all sorts of boaters around, I have never seen the blatant, reckless, callous disregard for human safety that the operator of this jetski displayed, especially in making several attempts to upset all the kayaks, even after two people were in the water. In discussing it later, we pretty well agreed that if three of us had been in the water instead of two, the situation would have been considerably worse, and there would have been a much greater liklihood of death or severe cold injury. All four of us in the water would have meant a near certainty that some or all of us could have met our deaths, given the wind, waves, distance from shore, cold of the water, and other dangers.

The above statement was written at the request of the conservation officer, and has been slightly edited for length. The operator of the jetski was ticketed, and I have been informed that a felony charge is contemplated. We are considering civil action.

Objectively, we were inadequately dressed for immersion, but were otherwise well balanced for the day. I was wearing polarfleece, with a lightweight paddling jacket, and it had been uncomfortably warm in the sun, even heading into the wind. Heading downwind on the way back across the Otter Lakes, in dry clothes -- again polarfleece with the same paddling jacket -- I became quite warm in the nearly 80 degree temperatures.

I do feel that I am a little more hypothermia resistant than the next guy, due to my size. When I dumped, there was no gasp reflex, no ice cream headache, just an "Aw, ****!" I was able to stay operational in the cold water for a surprising length of time with a very quick recovery. A skinny guy might not have been able to do that. I didn't have a stopwatch on it, but estimate that I was fully in the water for ten to fifteen minutes, and waist to knee deep for at least another ten.

We were too far from shore in the conditions. Even a hundred yards closer in might have meant many things could have gone differently. We were probably a little too far spread out, but in retrospect it would have just made it easier for the young punk, so that's six of one, half dozen of the other. Macomber has since commented that had we been close enough together to raft up we might have been able to avoid dumping.

We have got to spend more time in getting proficient with rescue techniques and rolls. However, in this circumstance, I believe Berry and I were safer in the water while the young punk was still around. Once he left, in the circumstances we were in and considering our inadequate recovery skills, we were probably better off going to shore than trying any sort of midwater rescue.

I'm very glad I had the inflatable PFD. Regular PFDs ride up on me in the water. I cannot swim effectively in a regular PFD once it has ridden up on me, which it does almost instantaneously. Once inflated, the Sospenders PFD gave me considerably more flotation than my regular hard PFD, and held my head out of water. While I think that there's still a place for a solid PFD on moving water, I think I will abandon solid PFDs on flatwater in the future. However, this may not be the best approach for the average kayaker, who can wear a PFD that won't ride up.

Berry, who is pretty close to my size, was paddling a fiberglass Perception Eclipse, which is a very snug fit on him. He had difficulty getting the spray skirt off and exiting the cockpit, swallowing some water, and in fact got an abrasion on his leg from his wet exit. The thigh braces on that boat have since had a date with a dremel tool. I, on the other hand, could stand for better thigh braces in my Nimbus Telkwa, as there was a possibility that I could have managed roll back upright had I been able to stay in the boat.

Clearing the swamped boat of water was difficult, even with a hand pump, which wouldn't pick up the last few gallons. The water remaining in the boat made handling difficult getting back to dry land. The boat will have an electric pump in the near future, if for no more reason than that is one less thing to have to deal with in a swamping and recovery situation with limited time and strength available. For the same reason, I plan to start carrying a solid paddle float when in cold water conditions.

I have to extend my thanks to Joel Bredemeyer, whom we had never met before, and who happened on the scene at just the right (or wrong) time. He was well met, and I'd be honored to paddle with him again.