Blue River OK, Not OK

When I was 13 almost 14, our scout troop went on an overnight campout at a Blue River campground in southern Oklahoma, a little north of Tishomingo. We had to ford the river to get to the remote undeveloped campsites on the other side. Driving through the river at the ford intrigued me; Wow! You really could drive through a flowing river. At the ford, the river was shallow and maybe 80 feet wide. The river banks on both sides were also wide with very gentle inclines. At the deepest point driving through the river, the water did not even come up to the axles, maybe 8 to 10 inches deep at the most.

We got there late Friday afternoon and looked forward to a great time with new wilderness to explore and critters to harass for the remainder of that day and most of the next day. We would have to pack up and leave Saturday evening. I always liked the longer campouts instead of the quick one-night campouts which always ended way too soon.

We camped on the east side of the river, about 100 feet from the river bank. On this particular campout our scoutmaster brought 6 or 7 new boys who were not in our scout troop but were some of the football players in a 6th grade team that he coached. My best friend Steve and I didn’t want to set up our tent in a crowded area with everyone else so we found a grove of pine trees on a raised area about 50 feet further from the river and set up our tent along with one other guy, Paul.

In the mid 1970’s the cheapest camping equipment was army surplus stuff. That’s what I had, a WWII era “pup tent” made of olive drab cotton canvas with a double row of snaps down the middle that joined the two halves. It did not have a floor. It was barely big enough for two boys and our packs. The other boys had larger wall tents that could each hold 4 boys comfortably. We went to sleep anticipating a fun filled day the next morning.

It was a peaceful night but a slow drizzle of rain started during the night and was still coming down in the morning. This made it a little more enticing to stay in bed a little longer. It also meant that it would be more difficult to start a fire to cook breakfast, but we had gathered a pile of firewood and covered it with a tarp.

When we finally got out of our sleeping bags, we discovered that we were the last ones to get up. Some of the boys had been awake several hours already because their tents leaked and they got rained out and flooded out. Our two tents, off to the side in the trees, were the only ones that were not smack in the middle of a new lake, 6 to 10 inches deep, that covered the rest of the camping area. Some boys had cots but they were stuck on their cots. They could not go anywhere without wading through water. Anything they left on the ground, even inside their tents, was buried in water, including clothes, food, shoes, packs, and sleeping bags.

In our area of higher ground, Steve and I had no flood water, we just had to deal with the sprinkling rain. Once we got dressed and put on our ponchos, we checked out everything. Some of the boys had gathered in the back of the pickup, above the water level. Looking back at the river where we crossed yesterday, the river was unrecognizable. It was now 200 to 250 feet wide which also included our main camp site. Judging from the depth of the water in our camp, the river had risen 3 to 4 feet overnight. There must have been a lot more rain far upriver all night long. The river water was an angry brown color with small trees, debris, and logs tumbling down the middle of the river which was flowing fast and crazy.

There was one other tent that did not get flooded out. The goofball Paul also set up his tent near ours and was trying to light a fire. He was using Coleman white gas but had not been successful until we brought out our dry firewood. He was almost out of camp fuel when we pooled our resources and got a big fire going. Of course this attracted the other boys to join us even though it was still sprinkling. But the rain stopped about mid-morning.

The scoutmaster decided this was a bad enough situation that he needed to hike out and notify the authorities and families that we were stuck on the back side of the river until the waters receded and we could again drive back across the ford. That could be several days. At that time the only people who had mobile phones were James Bond and other cold war spies like “Agent 86”, Maxwell Smart. By the map, the closest road was to the north about 3 miles which had a bridge to cross the river to get back to the ranger station on the west side of the river. Our scoutmaster put the senior patrol leader in charge and struck out hiking northward (parallel to the river) with two of the older, stronger boys to reach state route 7.

Now that the only adult and two older boys were gone, Steve and I would be considered ‘older’, so we helped the forlorn sopping wet boys clean up and organize their stuff. No one had eaten by noon so we pooled the food that was not spoiled and got everyone fed. Luckily, several of the new boys left their food in the cab of the pickup. Some of them had huge grocery bags their mothers had filled with food, enough for several days for a couple of the boys.

By noon the waters had started receding. About mid-afternoon the main campsite had no standing water and wasn’t too muddy as there was an established grass cover. By late afternoon the scoutmaster returned. They never made it to state route 7. Too many of the side creeks were also swollen and they could not cross without traveling much farther eastward.

That evening everything was still damp, including our spirits, so we made two bonfires about 15 feet apart and dried out in between them. Having two fires solved the age-old problem of camping in cold weather where your front side gets toasty warm while your back side is freezing. We also stretched several ropes to hang wet clothing and sleeping bags. We stayed up most of the night enjoying the warmth and feeding the fires. About half of us stretched out our sleeping bags on the ground between the fires and got a little sleep.

On Sunday about mid-morning the sun peeked out between the clouds and lit up the woods with a cheery glow. It was fitting that this was Sunday morning, about the time I would normally be in church. I found a quiet part of the woods nearby and had my own devotional; to thank Heavenly Providence that this turned out marvelously, that no one in our group was injured, that all necessary things were provided for, and for the beautiful sunshine in my private chapel-in-the-woods.

By noon the river was still running high and there was no way to drive back across the ford. But we could see some of our parents and their station wagons across the river waving at us. We had not returned home late Saturday night and they had heard nothing from us so they drove up to find us. With the dull roar of the flood waters, it was too far to be heard yelling or screaming across the river. Later we saw a person join them in a park ranger uniform. He motioned with his arm downriver. Sure enough, about a half hour later he drove across the river about 100 yards downstream in a jon boat with an outboard motor. The river at that location was wider, slower, and safer for a boat to ferry boys, 3 to 4 plus gear, per trip. He brought the scoutmaster last. But our scoutmaster had to leave his pickup there until the next weekend.

I really did not want to leave. We had enough food for another whole day. And this was a perfect excuse to skip school on that Monday and maybe Tuesday too. But I didn’t get any days off from school. What I did get was a lifelong lesson in being prepared, checking weather forecasts, and the very real occurrence of flooding due to unknown rain far away.