Battling the River

 Standing there on the bank of the creek, I looked down into that cold dark water.  The four-wheeler was buried with only the handle bars breaking the surface.  My heart sank.  Would it ever start?  Was the engine completely ruined? How would we get home now?

 I learned a very important lesson of living in the wilderness that day.  When you are in a tight spot and it looks like you won’t make it through, don’t worry about the things you can’t change and do what you can, even if it doesn’t seem to help the really big problem. 

My dad told me we needed to get the trailer unhooked. We could not pull them both out of the river hooked together.  He plunged in once again to the frigid water, groping up to his shoulder among the submerged branches to find the tongue of the trailer.  Finding it, he tightly tied a rope around it and then to the brush.  Now soaked to his shoulders in the icy stream he had the trailer secured and he could unhook it from the four-wheeler. It would now stay put while we battled with the stream to pull the four-wheeler up onto the bank.

Next we untied the rocks on the four-wheeler and dumped them into the creek.  The four-wheeler then began to float just slightly.  We pulled on the rope, still tied to the front.  There was no way we could overcome the power of the water without help.

We stopped to catch our breath and warm up a bit.  My dad decided we would try and use the three wheeler.  I untied the end of the rope from the tree and tied it around the axle of the three wheeler.  Once I had the rope tied and my dad was ready, I started the machine and slowly began to pull the four-wheeler up out of the water and then up the steep bank out of the creek. 

I was relieved.  We were able to get it up. One hurdle overcome!  Still, I had a nagging worry, would the machine start?  Was the engine ruined?  I asked my dad if he thought it would start. He said, “Well….. Let’s just let it sit and dry out and not worry too much about it right now. We need to focus on getting the trailer up out of the creek.”

 I looked down the bank at the alder brush whipping back and forth in the current.  The trailer was still tied to the bushes floating there like a boat.  Much of our gear and supplies were packed in water tight plastic buckets which provided floatation along with the wood and the balloon tires on the trailer. 

Now we just had to get it up onto the bank and out of the creek.  Overcoming the strength of the current without being swept down the creek along with the trailer would be our biggest challenge.  

 Once again we took the end of the rope that had been attached to the four-wheeler and plunged into the belly deep water fighting the current and brush. Making our way to the floating trailer, we tied the long rope to the tongue. We then stretched the rope up and around a tree, then to the three wheeler, pulling it as tight as possible.  I started the machine and pulled it forward to take out more slack. 

Now the rope tied to the brush was loose and my dad could reach down and untie that. With the machine I held pressure against the rope feathering the throttle so I did not pull too much until it was untied.  As soon as he yelled, I began slowly and carefully to pull forward. He guided the trailer along to keep it out of the brush. Slowly we were able to pull it up and out of the raging water to dry ground.

Another job accomplished!  We collapsed on the machines exhausted and tired but relieved to be out of the river!   As we looked across the stream our hearts sank we could see on the other side the shotgun leaning against a log and our two dogs, Moose and Babe, pacing the water’s edge.

The dogs were unwilling to cross the river and sat barking their dismay.  Someone had to go get the shotgun. I volunteered to be the one to cross back over yet again and to see if I could get the dogs to cross.  There was no way I could ever carry them across. 

Moose, my dog, was a husky, hybrid wolf, chow cross and his mother was a chow husky, neither one very small!  So once again I plunged in and waded the river.  When I reached the other side I slipped the shotgun over my shoulder and grabbed Moose and shoved him into the deep water. He swam a bit and turned around and came back to the shore.

Then I shoved his mother Babe into the stream, she took off swimming for the other side for all she was worth.  The current swept her downstream several hundred feet around the bend in the river.  Soon she appeared from the underbrush wet but no worse for the experience.

I grabbed Moose and drug him out again as far as I could, he just turned around and once again headed back to shore.  I decided I would just have to leave him.  He would have to figure out his own way across.

I plunged in to the bitter cold water once again. The repeated dousing chilled me deeper, nearly taking my breath away. The cold of the repeated crossings was seeping into my body making me more uncoordinated as I struggled across.  I staggered up out of the creek, I could hear Moose barking and see him pacing up and down the far side. He would just have to make it on his own. There was no other way.  I would be risking my own life, being swept down the river if I were to try and carry him across. 

Now the time had arrived, the moment of truth, would the four-wheeler start? The trailer was hitched and we were ready to go, if only it would start.   My dad turned on the key and the green light came on. Then he hit the starter switch and it cranked over a few times. Then it roared to life, oh what a relief!    I was very much looking forward to a warm meal and some dry cloths!   

Poor Moose was still stranded on the other side.   All we could do was leave him.