Anglers drown in rivers that look easy. The common story is not a giant rapid; it is a thigh-deep crossing on a cobble bottom, a slipped foot, a wader full of cold water, and a current just fast enough that the person could not get up. Wading is the most dangerous thing most fly fishers do, and this page takes it seriously because the river does.
Foot entrapment
This is the killer. Your foot slides into a gap between two rocks, the current pushes your body downstream, and the leverage pins the foot in place and your face under water. It happens in water that is only knee to waist deep, because that is the depth where current can push you over but you are still standing on the bottom. In deeper water you float; in shallower water you can stand.
The rules that prevent it: never walk downstream in fast water with your feet forward. Do not wade fast water above a bouldery, ledgy bottom. If you fall in moving water and it is deeper than your knees, do not try to stand up. Float on your back, feet up and pointed downstream, and work toward the edge. Standing up in current is how feet get trapped. Rescuers should approach from upstream; a person pinned facing downstream cannot be pulled free from below.
Cold water is the second killer
Western trout rivers run cold, and tailwaters like the Green below Flaming Gorge or the San Juan stay cold in August. Falling into cold water triggers an involuntary gasp and a minute or more of uncontrolled breathing, and if your face is under water during that gasp you inhale water. After that, cold saps the strength in your arms and legs fast, faster than most people expect, and swimming becomes impossible before you feel truly cold.
Waders do not drag you under the way the myth says, but a wader full of water is heavy and awkward to climb out with, and it stops you from kicking. A snug wading belt keeps most of the water out and is the single cheapest piece of safety gear you own. Wear it tight, at the top of the waders, every time.
The staff, and felt versus rubber
A wading staff is a third leg, and in any water faster than a walk it is the difference between two points of contact and three. Use it upstream of your body so the current pushes it into the bottom instead of away. Keep it on a tether so you can drop it to fish and find it again. Collapsible staffs that live in a holster on your belt get used; a stick you leave on the bank does not. Anyone who fishes the Madison, the Deschutes, or the Yellowstone on foot should carry one.
Felt soles grip algae-slick rock better than any rubber compound. The problems are that felt is slow to dry and carries invasive mud snails, didymo, and whirling disease spores from one river to the next, and that some states and waters restrict or ban it; check the state agency before you travel with felt. Felt is also poor on mud and snow and useless on ice.
Modern sticky rubber with metal studs comes close to felt on rock and beats it everywhere else. The studs matter; plain rubber on a slick basalt ledge in the Box Canyon of the Henry's Fork is frightening. If you fish felt where it is allowed, clean, dry, and inspect the boots between rivers; a boot still damp from Monday is moving organisms on Wednesday.
Crossing technique
Read the crossing before you start. Cross at the tailout of a pool or the widest, shallowest point of a riffle, not the narrow deep run that looks shortest. Angle downstream as you go; fighting straight across or upstream doubles the effort. Face upstream or quartering upstream, so the current pushes you onto your feet rather than off them.
Move one foot at a time. Plant the staff, move one foot, get it solid, move the other. Shuffle, do not step. Keep your feet apart and your knees slightly bent. Reel up before you cross. With a partner, lock arms with the stronger person upstream; two people crossing together are far more stable than one.
If the water reaches the middle of your thighs and is moving fast, turn around. If you cannot see the bottom, you cannot judge it. If the crossing requires a moment where you think "I hope this holds," it does not hold.
When not to wade at all
During runoff. Rivers like the Big Hole and the Logan in May and June carry brown, fast water full of debris, and a river you waded easily in September will kill you at three times the flow. Check the USGS gauge on the river page before you go and compare the reading to the ideal flow range listed there; if flows are well above it, plan to fish from the bank.
Below dams on tailwaters where releases change. The Colorado at Lees Ferry and the Bighorn can rise while you are standing on a gravel bar, and the bar you walked out on becomes an island. Know the release schedule, watch the water line on the rocks, and keep an exit behind you.
Alone, at dusk, in cold weather, in water you do not know. Any two of those together are a reason to stay on the bank. Storms upstream can raise a desert river like the Fremont or the Paria with no rain where you are standing.
If you go in
- Do not fight to stand. Turn on your back, feet downstream, toes up.
- Get your breathing under control. The gasp passes in about a minute.
- Hold the rod if you can, drop it if you must. Rods are replaceable.
- Backstroke at an angle toward the nearest slow water or the inside of a bend, not necessarily the nearest bank.
- Stand only when the water is shallow and slow enough that you cannot be pushed over.
- Once out, strip wet layers, get into dry ones, and start moving to generate heat. Tell your partner what happened.
Before every trip
Wading belt cinched. Staff on the belt. Studded boots. A dry layer in the truck. Someone who knows where you are and when you will be back. The gauge checked against the river page. A rule for yourself about depth and speed, decided at home, when the fish are not rising on the far bank.