My Scariest Day on the Water

We’ve all had harrowing experiences on the water over the years.  Whether it’s a capsize, a storm, an animal attack, or something else (UFO???), we remember that day as vividly as our first kiss. For me, it was a storm the likes of which I hadn’t seen previous, and hope to not see in person again.

My cousin Pete and I were fishing the Susquehanna River near Nichols, NY, where the Wappasening Creek drops in.  It was in the mid to late nineties, but the exact time and date escape me at the moment.  The details, however, do not.

Upon our arrival, wearing shorts and wading sandals, we walked down the nearly dry bed of Wappasening Creek. It was a mild summer day, blue skies, but with some threat of passing thunderstorms in the afternoon.  We both carried a rod and a tackle bag of some sort, and a bottle of water.  In that area, the Susquehanna River had given up smallmouth bass and walleye in the past, so that was our quarry.

The river there is very wadable when it’s down, and you can walk thigh high nearly half way across on most days.  We had been in a dry period, so wading was very easy that day.

Several hours and fish into the trip, I glanced upstream, essentially due west on the map above, and saw a thunderhead blowing up several miles away. I kept my eye on it for a few minutes, but said nothing.  Pete, east of me, called down at one point indicating he saw a good storm coming, so I glanced west again, and gauged I still had 20 minutes left before I had to bolt. We were a ten minute walk from the car.

I indicated we could fish a few more minutes… hell fishing is always great right before a storm… and he hesitantly agreed. Not for long however.  He called down again that it was almost on us, and that he was heading back.  I took another cast, then turned east to respond to him.  It was then that I realized our mistake. We were watching two different thunderheads.

Pete’s storm was east of us, and moving west rapidly.  Mine was west of us, and slowly crawling east. They were on a collision course. And the point of impact was likely to be right above us.

I cranked my Shimano for all that it was worth and swung my Mister twister out of the water.  “Let’s go!” I yelled, but Pete, being a few years my senior and infinitely wiser, had already taken off. I could see him walking quickly over the stones that led back to the mouth of the Wappasening, where we would turn south and head back to the car. I picked up my pace.

By this point, the winds were howling, and thunder and lightning erupted everywhere. It was getting ugly, and the two thunderheads were seconds from their ultimate collision. As Pete made the turn south, he stopped and waited for me to catch up. Then the hails came, and the trees started bending sideways. We were still 5 minutes from the car, and in big trouble.

About 50 yards south of us, Route 17 (now 86 I believe) crossed the Wappasening. There was a south bound and north bound bridge. We had a look at the hail, listened to the thunder and lightning, and bolted full speed for the overpass, climbing the rip rap and pressing ourselves up under the bridge girders. Right or wrong, we thought this was what you did if you suspected a tornado was coming.

Several minutes passed as we were under there. The hail was flying straight sideways under the bridge, and noise was indeed like a freight train down there. Leaves, branches, bushes, and anything that wasn’t nailed down flew by down below. It was INTENSE. We held onto the girders for what we suspected was dear life.

Finally, it subsided.

When we climbed down to the creek bed, we could hear sirens in the distance, and saw downed trees everywhere. Hailstones covered the grassy field as we walked back to the car, and as the temperature was rising, an eerie knee high fog came off of them as they melted. Pete and I shook hands, got in the car, and headed home.

Because of that day, when I’m paddling or wading and someone mentions a storm is coming, I search 360 degrees. Never take for granted that everyone you are with is looking at the same thing. Or you could end up writing a story like this one some day.

What’s your scariest fish tale?  Feel free to leave it below!