A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT, MY OLD HOME TOWN
I nearly drowned in the Muskoka River, once upon a time. I saw my wee life pass before me, and it was a short review. A rather pathetic replay, truth be known, to show for all my many exciting adventures to that point.
I was fifteen years old, and I came within a hair's breadth of being on display, in all my lost youth, at the local funeral home. So when I write or talk about the Muskoka River, I do so with the greatest reverence. I survived a frightening encounter with its undertow; and what had appeared so gentle and soothing, in casual recreation, possessed, in stark contrast, a serpent's constriction of invisible current.
It was the first warning I was given, less than twenty-four hours, after we arrived as new permanent residents, of the Town of Bracebridge. "Stay away from the river," my mother warned me, as I put on my winter boots, with the failing sole, and my coat that had been repaired at least twenty times, to the point you could see all of Merle's scattering, of less than proficient stitches, on the shoulders and arms. She was more concerned that I would drown, in the black water of the Muskoka River, than die of wet feet or from the chill-wind, cutting through my old parka.
When we lived in Burlington, up on Harris Crescent, a block off Lakeshore Road, Merle warned me to "Stay away from the lake," instead, which meant that while I could play in the ravine of Ramble Creek, I was forbidden to cross through the conduit under the road, which would have put me on the slippery rocks of the lakeshore. So in Burlington Merle worried I might be swept away by a wave on Lake Ontario, and in Bracebridge, she figured my curiosity, the lure of adventure, would pull me to the bank of the Muskoka River. She was right, you know. I frequently arrived on the rocks of the lake, in Burlington, after a short, wet hike, and I spent a good portion of my youth, sitting with mates, and swimming off the embankment of Bass Rock, southeast of the rapids, and Wilson's Falls, on the North Branch of the Muskoka River.
I've been indebted to water for enhancing my life, in so many ways. At the same time, I have to admit, that despite my mother's most emphatic warnings, I nearly drowned on four occasions. First of all, I fell through the thin ice over a chest-deep pool on Ramble Creek, one spring afternoon, wearing a bulky snowsuit. Which by the way, immediately acted like a bladder, trapping gallons of creek water. My mother always warned me to stay away from the creek as well, in the spring of the year. I just didn't listen. I almost drowned in Lake Muskoka, at Kirby's Beach, after my chum, Al Hillman, jumped off a dock onto my head, knocking me out temporarily. I came to in the knick of time, because no one knew I'd been injured as a result. Then I almost succumbed to exhaustion, while trying to swim across Bass Rock, and once again, Al was with me. We had been on the opposite side of the river, and our mates were on the west, or downtown side. As they wanted to head downtown for an ice cream cone, after swimming, and Al and I were too lazy to go all the way around, and down Hunt's Hill, we decided to swim across, like we had done about ten thousand times. The only difference, is that we had to bring our dry clothes across, meaning we had to keep one arm in the air, while we dog-paddled with the other. Al was wearing diving flippers, so he was across the narrows of Bass Rock, in less than a minute. I wasn't a great swimmer to begin with, and I got caught by the current, and pulled down toward the larger bay, south of the same narrows.
The danger of this, was that entering the bay, as the current pulled me downstream, was the reality the distance to shore doubled and tripled the further along I was pulled, because of the shape of the bay. Add to this, the fact I dropped my arm and the clothes I had elevated, thusly submerged, quadrupling in weight. None of my mates had any idea what had happened, and were getting ready to head downtown. I dropped some of the clothing, worrying less at that moment, about my mother being mad, at lost attire, than if I had become a casualty of her greatest fear; the river. I could have drowned and my chums, who were all good lads, wouldn't have thought it odd, until halfway uptown. "Where's Ted?" "Oh, he'll catch up." By that point, I would probably have been cast over the falls, to add insult to a drowning victim. It was my fault on several counts. When I got home that night, Merle seemed to know that her son had come within a whisker of drowning, just by the look of me coming through the door. I was also wet, which kind of gave the swimming part away, but she never said a word about my missing shirt, socks and dress pants. I'd thrown my shoes across the river before I got into the water that evening. So the Muskoka River spared me.
There are hundreds of former residents who weren't as fortunate. From pioneer times to the present, a lot of lives have been lost in the deep running currents of that black snaking river, that looks so picturesque on post cards, and in tourism videos.
As I've written about many times previously, in these blogs, I was nearly drowned, as was my wife Suzanne, as well, during a canoe mishap, on the South Branch of the Muskoka River, during the annual Muskoka Shield Canoe Race. We toppled out of the canoe in a small rapids, and we weren't wearing life jackets. After some precarious moments trying to balance, in the middle of the rapids, we were rescued by Dan Lacroix and his daughter, Angie, a father-daughter team entered into the event. A few moments longer, and I would have lost my balance, and fallen right into the area of the rapids, where the undertow would have been strongest. Suzanne had an injured hand, and couldn't use it to swim free of the rapids. So we survived because of the proximity of our rescuers.
If you were to conduct a modern day survey, to ask permanent residents, especially in the urban area of town, most exposed to the river, whether or not they think of the waterway frequently, some times, seldom, or not at all, the results would be predictable. If you were to ask, regardless of the answer to the first question, whether or not they considered the Muskoka River part of their psyche, living in Bracebridge, I doubt there would be anyone who would answer affirmatively. It's not something we think about, as such, unless we are boating on it, or swimming in its chill water. From an historical perspective, the Muskoka River, being the north and south branches, has been part of the characteristic of this community, dating back to the first explorers and surveyors. The river has provided a canoe route, a navigation link, a power source, a water resource, and the means of transporting logs to mill sites. The first settlers selected this location because of the cataract, of the present Bracebridge Falls, which in the very early 1860's, was known as "North Falls." The larger of the cataracts, but located on the South Branch, was known as "The Great Falls." The falls and the navigable waters, represented economic potential, and a connectedness with the wider Lake Muskoka, and Gravenhurst, where the first steamship was launched.
In those early years of town history, the river was all important to economic development, and future prosperity. From a toppled pine tree, that served as an inaugural bridge across the rapids, above the falls, to the construction of several major iron linkages, across the waterway, this permanent relationship with the river became part of the culture of the hamlet, village and then town. It became so ingrained in fact, that most residents probably would have answered the questions above, roughly the same as they would today; denying that they spend much time at all, thinking about the "river that runs through it!" I know differently. It is a quality and quantity of living in Bracebridge. It is just a deeply imbedded reality. We know it's there, and we see it numerous times each day and week, but it never seems a rite of passage, or necessity, to analyze its social / cultural or spiritual connotation. It is what it is! Or maybe there's more to it!
I will never forget the amplification of the daily train horns, and the roar of the engines and long line of cars, that echoed and throbbed through the deep river valley, through the four seasons. It was part of my life then, as it is for residents today.
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