I’m retired from fire and rescue. I will never forget the words spoken during orientation on my first day: “The toughest decision you will face will be the one where you choose to not add to the death toll. Remember that there are only two ways to go a funeral: as a mourner or the mourned.”
Training, equipment, a plan, a way out. If you don’t have all four, you don’t go in.
This is not a criticism of the would-be rescuers, but a warning to those present. If there is any blame, it should be placed at the feet of those so afraid of negative reaction that they don’t make these points as part of any reporting on such tragedies. There is a duty to inform and educate that transcends how people react.
I’ve seen my dad and my dog fall through the ice on separate occasions.
Luckily they were both close to the shore and were able to self rescue.
My dad already had some experience falling through the ice from skating on the St. Lawrence River in the 1970s. He was by himself and had skated most of the way from Kingston to the border. His first attempt to pull himself back up failed because there was nothing to grab. He forced himself to stop wasting his energy with reflexive scrabbling and strategically let his soaked woolen mittens freeze to the ice and put all his remaining energy into a single big attempt which worked.
For the events that I witnessed:
Watching my dog struggle was really hard. He kept breaking through trying to climb directly back to shore. The water was mostly open though and we were able to get him to swim laterally to the dock 10m away where the ice had already cleared. Lots of snuggles.
For my dad:
We had checked the thickness of the ice ~200 meters from where it gave way. We didn’t like the look of the ice ahead and planned to make landfall at ‘Picnic Point’. It’s called that because it’s a beautiful rocky peninsula with southern exposure, a great place for a picnic in the summer. Maybe that rocky southern exposure contributed to thinning the ice.
My dad was tied/looped onto a sled he was towing, and wearing cross country skis. I’m not sure how much the weight of the sled contributed to the ice giving way. Skis should have helped prevent the breakthrough but they sure didn’t help him get out.
He was able to get himself onto the shore and ultimately to the cabin under his own power and warm up with an electric heater. I kept him company while mum, sister, and baby brother took a longer route in. We lost 2 bottles of wine, and some snow mobile parts off the back of the sled, and those skis will never be the same but we counted ourselves lucky.
let his soaked woolen mittens freeze to the ice and put all his remaining energy into a single big attempt which worked.
That’s pretty fucking smart under pressure.
Super sad all around.
Don’t go in cold water. Your lifespan will be measured in minutes. At best.
That’s not heroism.
It’s really easy to criticize people for being foolhardy and unprepared when you’re not watching a child drown.
I’m criticising the choice of words which might entice more people to attempt this kind of foolhardy rescue.
The people in this case were probably merely uninformed and well meaning.
To me heroism means doing something that requires bravery, for the benefit of someone else. It’s an especially apt term for describing acts which jeopardize personal safety for the safety of others.
Would the outcome have been less tragic if they’d been more strategic, probably yes. Don’t insult them by saying that they probably didn’t know that is dangerous to walk on treacherous ice. They could see the kids floating away and bravely put themselves in danger to try to rescue them.
