I spent part of the afternoon photographing a river rescue
above Low Force in Upper Teesdale the other day. The situation came about when four teenagers got trapped on one
of the islands after heavy rain upstream cut them off. Generally it's not too much of a risk to
visit these islands in settled weather when the southerly channel is dry, but
of course people from outside the area don't realise how fast the Tees rises
here. In fact it only takes a few
minutes for the islands to be cut off completely.
Once they had been safely rescued I kind of felt sorry for the
youngsters. In part because I heard
them get a bit of a talking to by one of the rescuers, which to be fair was
probably all that these young people needed at the time anyway. They had after all just experienced first
hand what can happen to the unwary.
Mainly however, it was because I knew the incident would
bring out the keyboard warriors on Facebook and elsewhere.
Many of which have obviously never been
young, made a mistake, or experienced a bit of bad luck.
A lot of the most vocal of course will never
have done anything remotely adventurous, but all the same they were lining up
to comment and pass judgement.
Some
were even critical of these youngsters for swimming in the river.
The fact they did not get into difficulties
swimming and had actually been camping on the island did not seem to matter.
Of course it is easy to play the blame game - my pet hates
as it were - are people who head out without a map, and those who don't carry a
torch when out in the mountains. It
winds me up every autumn when the clocks change and the callouts start, although to be honest it is
more to do with the bad publicity it generates for more responsible hill
walkers, who get tarred with the same brush, than anything else. In reality of course criticising people on
social media is unlikely to help anyone and may in fact may make inexperienced
people too cautious when it comes to making that call to the emergency
services.
The important message in this recent rescue really should
have been about educating people who don't know the area and highlighting how
rain further up in the dale can cause flash floods, even I might add, if it is
not actually raining where you are. To
be fair a number of people did try, but sadly it was lost among the general
noise of uninformed comment and criticism.
The incident did get me thinking about my own experiences of the river
as a youngster and how we learned about the dangers.
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| The Tees at Low Force in more benign conditions. |
 |
| The Tees in the same location on the day of the
rescue. |
Despite its reputation locally, it's worth noting the Tees is
a much tamer river than it was before Cow Green reservoir was finished in
1971. There are many stories and tales
linked to the Tees and the threat it posed for the unwary. One story passed down by word of mouth is
linked to the "Tees Roll", a wall of water that used to sweep down
the valley from the hills above. The incident itself occurred during the 2nd
World War when seven soldiers from the South Staffs regiment were trying to
cross the Tees just upstream from Barnard Castle during a training exercise. It is said they were trying to build a
pontoon bridge when they were hit by a wall of water six feet high which swept
them away. Such was the speed and power
of the water they never stood a chance - all were drowned.
As a kid the most sinister tale for me however, was that of
old Peg Powler the river hag, a spirit who it was said would seek out unwary
children and drag them down to a watery death.
These stories were passed down either from our parents, or by some of
the old fishermen we came into contact with.
This never stopped us from floating down the river on old inner tubes,
or jumping from the bridges on warm summer days though. The stories did however make us wise to the
moods of the river, especially the possibility of being cut off on the riverbanks
and islands when fishing. These
stories, sometimes embellished a little for effect, meant the river often had
something of an atmosphere. Some days
we would head down there and despite the fact it was a nice day for swimming,
the river would have a real feeling of menace about it. Sometimes the water would just appear dark
and brooding, creating a sensation of unease in us. On other occasions there would be patches of foam known locally
as Peg Powler's Suds floating by. This
foam often appeared when the river was rising and we always took it as a
warning. At such times I used to wonder
if old Peg Powler really was around. On
those days we would just fish, making sure of course to keep a wary eye out for
a flash of green skin, or her shark like teeth grinning up at you. Interestingly I still sometimes get that
feeling of unease when I am around the river, especially so when photographing
along its banks when the light is fading, or storm clouds are building. Something hard wired and linked to a basic
survival instinct perhaps?
For my own part my real education came from my time in
mountain rescue. Helping to recover my
first body from the river and the realisation that through a mixture of a lack
of knowledge, poor decision-making and of course bad luck, a life could so
easily be lost. It's worth noting that
in all those years and many incidents later, I never really felt people should
be given a hard time for getting it wrong, whether that was walking in the
mountains, wild swimming, or whatever. When
you speak to the casualties, or indeed see the effect such incidents have on
their families, you realise the last thing they need is people with the benefit
of hindsight slating them.
Instead I always felt that the way forward was to try and
educate people to the dangers. Even
today I still firmly believe that to be the case.
Text/images: Copyright David Forster
www.bluestoneimages.com
PS as usual blogger will not format the article properly, apologies for that.
