2 years ago I (Teddy) wrote the first installment of a true story of survival. A whirlwind 48 hour trip that stretched from deep in the Adirondack wilderness and ended up in Manhattan. Part 2 was long overdue, so my fellow adventurer Keith stepped up to the tiller and expertly guides us through the next stage from his perspective. I have to admit, everything he says is 100% accurate...
PART 2
By Keith Textor
I woke early, before dawn with a strange sensation. Next to me was a damp, dead log, snuggled right next to my sleeping bag. My compatriot, Mr. Chase, had obviously put it there to prevent any possible contact between him and me in the night. Surely this level of homophobia is a diagnosable mental disorder, but at the moment, I had no intentions of chastising him for it.
It was necessary to have a partner with a certain level of mental illness, lest the adventure before us may have never come to fruition. Moreover, he was just waking; no doubt about to gather more firewood, and maybe even start breakfast. Right then I needed to keep my eyes closed and continue the facade that I was sleeping, or I was likely to end up also gathering wood and starting breakfast.
A little extra rest would do me well this morning. The day before had been exhausting, and if only there were a more potent adjective to describe it. My arms had raced the sun across Long Lake, paddling with high intensity and speed northward to the island where I slept next to my new wooden friend. It was a fierce thunder storm the day and night before, and by the time our canoe made berth, we were soaked well into the dermas.
The lightning fueled my adrenaline, but not in the way I was looking for. Naturally, Mr. Chase, valuing his life, started to make hinting comments and statements about porting out of the water until the danger subsided, so I did the only thing I could to keep our vessel moving forward; I insulted his masculinity. I knew him well by this point. He was the type of man that would rather sleep next to a wet and rotting log than possibly be accused of sleeping next to another man.
"Quit being such a sissy girl and keep moving forward!" I shouted behind me over the sound of the thunder rolling through the mountains. It was effective in keeping our purpose. We had a schedule to keep, ten miles to paddle, and limited light.
Of course, the thought crossed my mind that we were in a large body of water, sitting in an aluminum canoe, drenched beyond recognition, and a close lightning strike would stop our hearts and boil our blood to two- hundred degrees. My mind wandered to the thought of my loved ones, crying over my closed casket a mere few days from then. But I felt no fear. I was annoyed, more than anything. Dying in the thunderstorm would ruin the true adventure.
Despite the log in my side, I was warm and dry. I was enjoying the feeling in a way I never had before. The day and night before made me feel as though I had been cold and wet all of my life. Mr. Chase's oil cloth was remarkable. My clothes and blankets had stayed dry through the storm, and it now resided over my head and kept me dry all night.
I was impressed with Mr. Chase, but couldn't bring myself to tell him. Surely there would be a mutiny against my leadership if I were you compliment him, and perhaps the adventure would end because of things like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, I was impressed.
The night before we had gathered firewood from a somewhat scarce area, while quickly running out of light. Nothing was dry. The rain had soaked every inch of everything we might try to burn. I did, however, bring some dry newspaper. Soon, Mr. Chase had a nice, popping fire going from wet tinder. The man had a talent for the wilderness. This is why he was chosen.
As I lay resting, I soon heard the sound of the fire popping once again. As I started to get hungry I considered getting up. Suddenly Mr. Chase decided it was time. "A bald eagle!" I heard him say, and for the first time, cracked my eyes open a little.
I never saw the alleged eagle. I was told that he flew away before I got up. I adopted two working theories immediately: The first was that Mr. Chase was a delusional lunatic. This was a theory I had already previously drawn some data from, but until now he hadn't been "seeing things." So the second working theory is that the eagle had indeed appeared, and was an omen.
A bald eagle in the morning could only mean something spectacular was about to happen. A bald eagle represented freedom, pride, power, and arrogance. The king of the sky had paid us a visit this morning, and surely things would only get better from here on in.
"Breakfast!" was the next word out of my mouth. I found it best to make my points with one word whenever possible with Mr. Chase. If I had asked, "What's for breakfast," it would have given the impression that there was something I didn't know; an impression my narcissism would not allow. If I had simply told him to make breakfast, it would leave room for rebellion. He might have the instinct to answer me in the negative. One word is all that it takes to push him into action without thinking.
He began to remove food from the cooler and mess to prepare it. Soon there were hot eggs and turkey bacon ready for my salivating lips. I chose to help with breakfast, not out of kindness, though. I just know how I prefer my eggs and bacon and the supplies were too limited to send the first batch back.
I remember that as I ate I felt this was the very best moment of my life. I was dry, which was my new favorite thing to be. (After I realized the day before how I had taken this state for granted in my life.) I was satisfied with hot food. I was camping in the wilderness with no responsibility on my mind. I was about to embark on something truly special.
After breakfast, it was still early, only 5:30, or so. It was mid summer, and the sun was up early, and both Mr. Chase and I knew that the midday heat would be upon us sooner rather than later. We packed our goods and set out for the river.
It was steady and quiet. The deep and wide lake soon became the calm and winding river. I paddled forward at a much calmer pace than the day before. Mr. Chase paddled his rudder back and forth as we wound through the sharp bends of the river. It was a flat calm. It was nearly impossible to tell which way the current ran. Back and forth, right and then left again, we turned through the river. The conversation was pleasant, but not memorable. However, Mr. Chase made mention again about how we ought not enter the rapids; a suggestion I had no intention of entertaining.
The rapids are why I came. I could already feel my heart pumping faster with every stroke toward them. I was finally going to get the rush I had been thirsting for. We kept moving forward until, at last, we saw it.
On the side of the calm river bank stood a sign. It read, "DANGEROUS RAPIDS AHEAD. PREPARE TO PORTAGE." Now my heartbeat really picked up speed. Because there was a sign, I had now crossed into what was, not only reckless, but also defiant. No sign would tell me how to captain my own vessel. I only felt encouraged by the warning.
I looked behind me long enough to see the uneasiness on Mr. Chase's face, but reassured him with the confidence on mine. He knew we were beyond the point of reasoning or bargaining. We were going down these rapids. No warning sign could possibly deter that fact. We paddled beyond the sign on more calm and deep water.
As we plunged ahead, it became apparent that another sign was coming into view. It said the same thing as the last, in case the last one was missed or ignored, it seemed necessary to warn the travelers again. Once again, we kept paddling. Once again, my resolve strengthened.
At last the river bed straightened and the speed began to quicken. It was still quite deep and not difficult to control. Quickly we reached the final sign, and it was accompanied by the noise of the river. The sign instructed to portage, and although we wouldn't be carrying our canoe, it was necessary to stop for a bit at the portage point.
The relaxation of this venture had ended. Each of us prepared ourselves to get wet. I stripped down to my swimming trunks (it was quite warm now) and began to fasten the cargo with ropes. All of it was tied in the oil cloth as it had been before, and affixed in the center of the canoe. Life jackets were put on. Rope was used to tie our own selves to the canoe, should one of us be thrown out. We were as ready as we could be. Each of us inhaled a long breath, just as if we might be holding it the whole time through the rapids. The time had come. We pushed off the shore and started toward the noise.
The first rocks came into view among the white race. I called orders from the front, and my rudder steered as hard and best as he could. We made it past the first rocks and then past some more. There was not a moment to be silent though. "Hard left! To the right! Slow us down! Push through!" I shouted over the sound of the water crashing ever the sides of the canoe and fury of the river.
We were doing well. We sped past one obstacle and then another, narrowly escaping what could have meant our deaths. It was hard not to grin. Fear was a forgotten taste that needed to be refreshed on my tongue. I finally started to feel the sensation as the rocks narrowed ahead. "Pull us hard left!" As hard as we paddled, the river was stronger. She was the eagle. I had presumed to think that I must be the one with such pride and power, but instead, I met a force of nature that I couldn't best. SLAM! Our first collision had happened and at once I understood the omen. We were mere prey to a merciless predator.
Eagerly we moved to loose ourselves from the rock, and once we did, we were headed down the next rush of power. CRASH! Into another rock we collided, and no amount of steering or paddling could have prevented it. Pushing off from that rock, we found ourselves in another path which the river chose for us. The tail started to come around until I could see Mr. Chase beside me rather than behind. "HARD LEFT!" I shouted in desperation, but to no avail.
It was what I would call a "slam dunk." We had struck the rock on our port side, sideways and began to take on water. It rushed in, several hundred or even thousands of pounds of force on the thin aluminum canoe. We tried to loose ourselves, but the river quickly won by knockout. We were stuck. We were in the middle of the rushing river. And we were going to die here.
This was the adrenaline I had been waiting for. I had, until this point, existed for 18 years. This day was the day I started to live. I thought a hundred thoughts in a matter of seconds. I thought about the extraordinary nature of the story that would be told. All at once it occurred to me that there would be no story other than the forty- five second news blurb on the local television station if both of us died. Someone needed to live to tell this.
In a split- second decision, I chose Mr. Chase. I would simply die saving his life, and this would be my eternal legacy. It was perfect.
I shouted to him that I was going to shore, and without further hesitation, jumped out of the canoe. I was caught by my rope and floated by my life-jacket, but the challenge remained to cross the river. Through the deep, rushing water, I made my way from rock to rock, until finally it shallowed, I gained my bearings, and walked out. The rope that was tied to me I quickly tied to a tree. Now the canoe was affixed from going downstream. (Not that it could've loosed itself to do so."
I looked to the canoe and suddenly realised my error. I was safely ashore and Mr. Chase was still in the rush- and the canoe was bending significantly in the center. I quickly needed to reassess my plan. I suppose I would have to tell his story instead. I would tell of his bravery and unwavering friendship. I would comfort his loved ones and speak of his unparalleled skill, and how he valiantly died doing, undoubtedly, what he loved most.
After I had resolved that Mr. Chase would be the one to die, I shouted to him to tie some of the cargo to the rope. He faithfully did so, and I hauled it in with great effort. At last all of the cargo was on shore, and the canoe was just getting ready to split. I called for Mr. Chase to tie himself onto the rope, and he did so. Moving from rock to rock he assisted me as I hauled him in.
Alas, once again, I had to reassess my plan. Whether by luck or accident, up until this point we had both managed to live. We sat down on the shore for a moment, panting to catch our breath and watching our vessel split down the center. We both realized, although we didn't speak it right away, that we had just lost our mode of transportation in the middle of the Adirondack wilderness. We merely looked at each other for what was likely only moments but seemed to be several minutes, until at last I blurted out, "That was awesome!"
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