It was spring, 1975. I drove south with a handful of friends from Chicago to tackle the raging river that author and poet James Dickey had mythologized a few years earlier. We were among a huge wave of city slickers making a pilgrimage to north Georgia’s Chattooga River after seeing the disturbing and powerful movie, Deliverance.
Like many of our fellow adventureseekers, we had no idea what we were getting into.
Before the 1972 release of this AcademyAward-nominated film, only a small number of paddlers had explored the Chattooga’s remote, thickly wooded gorges. However, in 1974, due in large measure to its abrupt and unexpected fame, the Chattooga was designated a National Wild and Scenic River and boating use skyrocketed to roughly 21,000 float trips per year. Not surprisingly, a fair share of these giddy rivergoers were ill-informed and ill-prepared. During the year after Deliverance appeared in theaters, 31 people drowned while attempting to paddle the same stretch of river featured in the film.
“Hey, what happens if we flip this thing over?” —Bobby, Deliverance. Photo: Larry Rice.
We knew none of this as we camped peacefully along a manageable upper stretch of the Chattooga. The following morning we entered Section III—a 13‑mile run of class II–IV drops and ledges. We endured several capsizes and bruising swims, loaned wetsuit jackets to two other canoeists we found on the verge of hypothermia and helped evacuate a kayak party that had suffered a near drowning.
One of our canoes, my buddy’s prized 17-foot aluminum Grumman, never left the river. It remained wrapped like a shiny pretzel around a mid‑stream boulder between the vertical rock walls of the Narrows, a sobering reminder of our arrogance and ignorance.
Not even knowing it was there, we miraculously stayed upright through notorious Bull Sluice, a killer class IV, before reaching the take-out in the dark. Humbled, bloodied and chastised, our only consolation was that we had finished the trip in better shape than Burt and Jon.
Now, decades later, I hope I’ve learned at least a few things to help smooth those choppy waters. But this I confess: when I think of returning to the Chattooga, I can’t shake a little lingering dread.
Still, the remarkable thing about river tripping is also my inspiration for a sequel: no two runs are ever alike. Which means that one day I might be delivered down the Chattooga with a smile on my face instead of an arrow in my ego.
Buena Vista, Colorado-based Larry Rice runs rivers about 100 days each year. The next time he tackles Bull Sluice, he’ll be counting on skill, not luck.
This story originally appeared on page 8 of the Early Summer 2012 issue of Canoeroots & Family Camping Magazine. Read the entire issue here.
