With the picture “Capsized” I told about the fun we used to have paddling into a Lake Superior Northeaster.  Then all of a sudden it wasn’t fun at all.

For the first time in my life I was wearing a life jacket, one of the old-fashioned kind with oblong cork slabs.  I had put it on just for the heck of it.

Three of us carried the canoe out into the breakers, as usual, jumped in as usual, and, after some hard paddling, were swung broadside and tipped over as usual.  The rule is to hang on to the canoe until it is blown to shore, but I often used to swim instead.

This time it was different. Instead of each big wave passing over my head and leaving me plenty of time to breathe between waves, I found myself suspended by the jacket rolling over and over in a white crest.  I tried to untie it but couldn’t find the straps, gasped for air, got water instead, felt that this was the end.  Then in a last desperate effort I tore the jacket off and sank out of the white water.  The wave swept on and I bobbed to the surface.

My breathing apparatus was full of water and I couldn’t take in much air.  This left me so weak that I was hardly up to the effort of swimming.  My friends didn’t know that I was in trouble.  I tried to call out to them but couldn’t even squeak.

I don’t know yet how I made it to shore.  But finally I was scrabbling up the sand on hands and knees, then flopping down just out of reach of the waves.  It was a long time until I could really breathe.

I’ve never worn a life jacket again, even where they’ve been required by law.  Better jailed than drowned.  This, my only experience with one of the things, may not be valid for other people under other conditions.  But it was plenty for me.

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With the picture “Capsized” I told about the fun we used to have paddling into a Lake Superior Northeaster.  Then all of a sudden it wasn’t fun at all.

For the first time in my life I was wearing a life jacket, one of the old-fashioned kind with oblong cork slabs.  I had put it on just for the heck of it.

Three of us carried the canoe out into the breakers, as usual, jumped in as usual, and, after some hard paddling, were swung broadside and tipped over as usual.  The rule is to hang on to the canoe until it is blown to shore, but I often used to swim instead.

This time it was different. Instead of each big wave passing over my head and leaving me plenty of time to breathe between waves, I found myself suspended by the jacket rolling over and over in a white crest.  I tried to untie it but couldn’t find the straps, gasped for air, got water instead, felt that this was the end.  Then in a last desperate effort I tore the jacket off and sank out of the white water.  The wave swept on and I bobbed to the surface.

My breathing apparatus was full of water and I couldn’t take in much air.  This left me so weak that I was hardly up to the effort of swimming.  My friends didn’t know that I was in trouble.  I tried to call out to them but couldn’t even squeak.

I don’t know yet how I made it to shore.  But finally I was scrabbling up the sand on hands and knees, then flopping down just out of reach of the waves.  It was a long time until I could really breathe.

I’ve never worn a life jacket again, even where they’ve been required by law.  Better jailed than drowned.  This, my only experience with one of the things, may not be valid for other people under other conditions.  But it was plenty for me.

Back to Life Portrait - Buy Now