I just missed the stroke by half a second, but the mistake would stay with me for a lifetime. As the water pulled my kayak back from the preferred route across the shoals, I felt my heartbeat rapidly increase as I began to prepare myself for what was to come.

The Ocoee river is not a forgiving river; it is known for its killer holes and deadly undertow. It was my first time on the Ocoee in a kayak, and although I had been boating for over three years and had many other rivers under my belt, the Ocoee still pulled me from my destined course into a hole where I thought at one point, my life was over.

I saw the look of terror on my friend’s face as I was pulled back towards the Class V hole, dreaded by most boaters and avoided at all costs. Facing upstream, I was pulled backwards into the cold, unforgiving hole and churned for what seemed like an eternity. My heart beat rapidly in my chest and echoed in my brain as I tried over and over to roll myself up using the Eskimo roll I had perfected just weeks earlier. Each time I rolled up and caught a breath of air, I was pulled under again by the force of the hole. My bright red Dagger kayak held me tight and felt like a thousand pounds as it, too, was churned by the hole. The water, crisp and fresh in the early March morning splashed up my nose and in my eyes, blocking off on sense I desperately needed to get myself out of this hole. I finally rolled back up and was successful just long enough for the river to laugh at me and pull me under again.

The force of a river is something no one should ever take for granted. Thousands of pounds of water were keeping me in the hole and the only way I could save myself was by swimming; a mortifying experience when dozens of other boaters are looking on. While still churning I debated the bail and decided on one more attempt at my roll. I knew I could do it; hell, I had just rolled over and over almost ten times in a row without any problems at all above the dam before we put in to run the river.

My last attempt to roll back up was utter failure. Not only did I first snort and swallow a gallon of water, I also whacked the back of my head on the rocks at the bottom of the river. The most important rule of thumb when bailing out of a boat in desperation is to keep your chin tucked. Even though I was way past desperation, on the fringes of a complete collapse, I tucked my chin and pulled the loop on my skirt. In one swift motion, I was out of my boat. The hole spit my boat out immediately, not wanting to swallow the entire plastic frame; but the hole had another plan for me. In my attempt to swim out, I stretched myself and swam for the surface. That damn unforgiving hole pulled me back for one last whack on the head and a twist to the knee.

After sustaining these injuries and surviving, the hole seemed satisfied with my struggle and spit me out to float downstream towards my boat, which rested safely on a small pebbled beach surrounded by other boaters. When I reached the beach, I was bloody and trembling. My boating partner and other concerned on-lookers swarmed me like vultures, wanting to know how I survived the hole. Looking out from behind swollen eyes and massaging my twisted knee, I shrugged and snarled through a stuffed-up nose, “Guess I wasn’t its cup of tea.”