DAM CHRISTMAS, a memoir

A story of camaraderie and friendship while risking our lives to have fun.

It was Christmas, and we were badly in need of something to do. Rain had been continually falling for a number of days, and water was everywhere. There were four of us involved: Tim, Steve, Gary and myself. We all had wetsuits as we headed for Steven’s Creek Reservoir with some nebulous objective in our heads concerning “shooting” the spillway. After so many weeks of rain, the reservoir was filled past the top and water were pouring over.

 

The spillway was like an enormous playground slide made from cement. It didn’t get real steep until the bottom, where it plunged into a frothing pool of agitated angry looking water. Another feature was the fact that all the surfaces in contact with water were covered with a thin layer of gooey green slime, which made it extremely slippery.

 

One of the most obvious perils was the end of the spillway, where water plunged into a pool far below creating a massive wave that fell back on its self, pushing brown colored foam and debris back toward the spillway. If one got sucked in this undertow, they would be in tremendous trouble. An added danger was what was under the water. There could be submerged rocks and tree branches to become entangle in. We were there to have fun, and none of us wanted to die, including Tim.

 

Because of this fear of injury or death, we were trying to be extra cautious, and thoroughly inspect the spillway and all the potential dangers. We first walked out onto where it first left the reservoir and was not particularly steep. The thin layer of algae was as slick as a layer of grease. The water pouring down the spillway was only about four inches deep; although, the power of even that small amount of water was abundantly apparent, as it tugged at our feet. Steve and I decided to get out and inspect the pool at the bottom once more. We cautiously edged our way off the spillway, slipping and sliding all the way. The general consensus was to “shoot” the spillway looked to be too hazardous even for avid adrenaline junkies such as us.

 

As Steve and I peered at the water dropping off the spillway down into the seething pond; we began to hear screaming over the crashing sound of the water. Quickly, we ran back up the side of the spillway, only to see Tim thrashing in the four-inch deep water, trying to drag his body up onto the angled side of the spillway. He had a look of genuine terror on his face, and if his eyes were open any wider they would have simultaneously popped out. Clawing and scratching like an enraged cat, the only progress Tim was making was to get ever closer to the end of the spillway; closer to what we all believed would be his ignominious death. The rest of us felt helpless, as we watched our friend unsuccessfully try to save himself. Running along the side of the spillway, as Tim spilled down, was about all we were able to do. At least we could be close to him, so we could accurately convey to his parents how he had died.

 

As Tim got closer to the drop-off, he was hurriedly going through the five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) at a meteoric pace. His screaming subsided, and he seemed to be more resigned to his fate. Like it or not, he was going over. He did continue to intermittently scratch at the side with his now bloody fingers, but without the same vigor as he had previously. The spillway was becoming much steeper, and Tim’s tempo was noticeably accelerating. He made one last frantic stab to save himself, which proved fruitless. It was heartbreaking seeing him fight for his life.

 

We were all silent now, including Tim, who had decided to sit on his rump facing downstream like a child on a slide and take his lumps like a man. It was surreal, as I saw the head of my friend since fifth grade violently submerged under the churning, brown water. The three survivors, Steve, Gary and I, looked at each other in disbelief. We quickly ran down to the pond, hoping to recover his body before it was pushed downstream to the sea.

 

Suddenly, Tim popped up out of the boiling sea of soup, screaming once again. This time, the scream was one of pure joy, the joy of being alive! Tim’s scream could also be interpreted as a vocal expression of his joy of discovery; he was the first to “shoot” the spillway and survive! He quickly pulled himself out of the water, and related to us his hair-raising experience, rapidly forgetting that less than a minute previously all of us thought he would die, including Tim. We were soon infected with his enthusiasm, and we ran upstream to duplicate Tim’s experience, minus the panic, terror, and the other distressing feelings.

 

By the end of the day, we had each run the spillway several times, and only the cold and approaching night forced us back into the car, and a hot shower at home. Looking back at that long ago Christmas leaves me with several emotions, two of them being a feeling of nostalgia for that simpler time, and the realization of how lucky I was to have had the opportunity to live in that time. Another sentiment conjured up by that Christmas was a feeling of loss of youthful camaraderie. However, the gift of that Christmas was to remember that this present moment in time, now, today, are the “good old days,” and those were the good old days from my youthful past.  

Reviews

[Shelley Holt-Lowrey]

Boy did you ever capture the quintessential essence of the youthful "male" in this story... and took the reader right along with you on quite an interesting little ride. Laughed hard at these antics, and waxed nostalgic toward the end while recalling those times of such innocence and the simple joy of just being alive. I wonder what today's youth will look back and think. Certainly not this. Nice way you brought this one home, with a bit of sweet sentiment.

[Robbie~xoxo~]

Oh my! This kept me on the edge of my seat! This was such a fast read!... I absorbed every word so vividly written. This is a parent's worst nightmare...Thankfully the outcome was not the worst, but a well learned lesson. Friendship is so fragile, and friends are to be cherished indeed!

[emmajoy]

Oh my, this is so scary and awful! The way you've written this in fairly short sentences suggests the rapid progression of happenings, the build up of tension, and is very good! Tim's near death was written almost too well, such a clearly- put description of a near calamity, how fpetrifying it must have been, if he had a moment to think -he must have thought himself a goner. The memory of the incident must be carved in your memory. However, teens thrive on danger, it's what makes them feel alive, feel like men .. and that's what seeps out towards the end.

Life at any age is worth living .. has dangers of all kinds .. without them, guess it would be called inert and boring or something!

[roarke]

ah, the good ol' days.... what will you scamps think of next.... fast paced teenage mayhem.... could be an episode of South Park... "The slip and slide killed Tim"

ahem...

Clean clear writing, I'm toweling off as I type this, how do you get algae out of your... never mind.

And to think, I thought putting the angel on top of the tree was dangerous at Christmas time... I must have led a sheltered life.

Z, you need to write the Surfer's Handbook Diary or something to that effect. Great tales, good times.