Chapter 6

Chapter Six

There was a hard thump, abrupt, the sound of breaking glass and crumpling sheet metal, from behind me some one said in a thick English accent; “What the bloody ‘ell was that for Tyrone?”
“Yeah Tyrone what was that?” Echoed a voice from the passenger seat beside me.
“I didn’t see it!” I heard my self-reply in similar argot.
“You didn’t see it? …It’s a three ton bloody van!”
“It was at a funny angle!” I responded.
“At a funny angle? …It was behind you, when your reversing things come at you from behind!” he persisted.
“I didn’t see it!” I replied sternly.
“Wait, something is not right, I am not English, or black, what’s going on?” I thought to myself. “I’m driving? …let me check this out what kind of car am I driving? I can’t see any kind of car wrapped around me…how’s all this work?” I was very confused. “Let me think, I got to think, ok, my legs are my car, is that right? Maybe, will they work; what kind of wheels are on my legs? … I know, ill ask my passengers, they can confirm what’s going on.” I could hardly speak, as I tried to talk to my passengers, and it seemed they had left.
I looked and I had clean shiny wheels with chrome hubcaps attached to my hips. “That seems ok I thought, that should work.” but something still seemed wrong. Instinctively I knew that something was out of place. I closely examined the wheels, all the wheel nuts were tight, and I was puzzled: Why did I feel so strongly that something was wrong? Then all at once it came to me, “this cant work! What kind of wheel bearings fit a hip? But then again, there you have it, obviously some kind of wheel bearing, it would have to be a tapered roller bearing, this would take care of any end thrust or side loading,”
“Well it all checks out,” I reasoned. “I guess Ill just take her for a spin.” Sure enough, before I knew it I was speeding down the road. “How do you stop this thing?” I wondered, and before I knew it I was coming to the steps of some old court house type building at a tremendous rate! I struggled to try to figure out how to stop the thing. I tried to step on the brake pedal, it was difficult, and I had to force my self to reach the pedal. Just as I applied the brakes I realized that I had only two wheels attached to my hips: What was there to stop me from being slammed face first into the ground when the brakes grab? It was too late; the ground came rushing up to smash into my face with such force that I was jolted as by lightening in a flash of white.
I awoke from the strange delusion and found myself crumpled up buried headfirst in the toilet bowl. Something had happened, I don’t know what. I could hardly move, I was jammed upside down in this tiny room, and so cramped was the space I could not right myself. It was cold, dreadfully cold, cold air was blowing in through the cracks around the door, and so was some light shining in. not much light but some. I had no way of helping myself; I was too weak by now to be able to push my self up out of the toilet bowl. I could not even feel my legs so I had no way of knowing what I needed to do to get my self situated properly. I was getting weaker, I would die very soon if I could not fix my problem. I almost gave up.
I had an arm free, and I seemed to be able to move it. I could scarcely feel my fingers, but I knew that the doorknob on the inside of the head door was a lever rather than a round knob. If I could just bump it, it might let the door open and I would fall out of the toilet. I reached around until I found the handle and tripped the latch. It worked the door flung open and I rolled out of the head and crumpled on the floor of the galley. I laid there and tried to figure out what had happened, the boat was upright, and on top of the ice. Well part of the boat was atop the ice, the rear half or more was gone.
It seems that the ice had crushed the boat and pulverized the main cabin area so that it had broken off and no doubt had sunk; taking the engine and all the heavy driveline parts with it. The front of the boat was pushed onto the top of the ice when the ice folded upon itself as two or more huge masses of ice converged and caught me in the middle. The bulkhead between the lower cabin and the upper cabin were mostly intact. There was a mattress heavy with frozen seawater, strewn across the narrow span between the bunks and the galley. I was cold, almost too cold to move, and now, wet and exposed to the winter air I was in immediate danger of freezing to death.
I had to act while I could, if I rested or waited to gain some kind of composure I was sure that I would be dead. The bitter cold wind was whistling by. I had to seal up my shelter fast, I could feel my body cramping up in the cold. I forced myself to my feet, using my arms and elbows as crutches on every edge I could find. I could barely open my eyes; the cloudy stormy daylight was too bright for me after all that darkness. I would close my eyes for about twenty seconds and then open them for only five or six second to see what was what, then I had to rest my eyes again. With great difficulty I was able to stand up, leaning against the galley locker next to the head.
I pushed the frozen mattress down and towards the stair well opening to where the forward cabin, had been. I was able to block the opening with the soggy mattress and it kept some of the wind out. The mattress was very heavy, it was not completely frozen as I had thought, and it was only frozen on the surface, so I reasoned that I had not been unconscious that long. It was heavy and awkward, but I managed to get it standing in the opening. It helped tremendously to block the cold wind, but I also needed more heat, or I would die.
I had a hundred pound propane tank that ran the stove and oven. It was strapped into a locker at the bulkhead wall, and since the bulkhead wall was still mostly intact, so I reasoned it should still be ok. The stove had a safety valve operated by a bimetallic strip that had to be heated by the pilot light to turn on the gas. Since the seawater would have surely snuffed out the pilot light it should not have lost any gas. I hoped the propane tank would still be pretty full. If I could just light the stove, that would be a real lifesaver. I needed an ignition source; I had to find the striker that I used for lighting the stove. The contents of the galley drawers were spread about under the counter. I searched through the mess of junk and cooking and eating utensils dumped about and trapped under the galley.
I first found an adjustable crescent wrench, which I used for taking the gas line off the propane bottle, when changing the bottles. This was a good sign, I kept the crescent wrench with the striker, if the crescent was still here, and hopefully the striker would be as well. With renewed encouragement I continued to hunt for the striker. The striker was a flint sparker, much like that found in any cigarette lighter, but much bigger, this striker was the type used by welders to light their welding torches. Actually, they usually use it only to light their cutting torches, but you are probably more familiar with the Hollywood correct name, of welding torch.
I found the striker in the bilge under the galley counter, it was partly frozen into the frozen bilge water, but I was able to easily break it out of the shallow ice film that encased it. It would need to dry before it would work. I hit the striker against the galley counter and the ice clinging to it broke off. I then tapped it several times on the counter to shake all traces of ice and moisture off it. I tried the striker, after several strikes it made a faint spark. That’s all I need! I thought.
I turned the safety valve to the lighting pilot light position and held the gas bypass button down to light the pilot. I listened for the hissing sound of the propane but I could hear nothing. The lines must be plugged with frozen seawater! I reasoned. I had to act fast, I had almost no feeling in my hands, my feet were in terrible pain, my legs were as cold as ice, and my chest was tight and cold. A rough tickle could be felt in the center of my abdomen; as if a cold stiff fuzzy feather was reaching in from my back between my shoulder blades. But I was too weak to cough, there would be no relief.
I took the crescent wrench and undid the gas line where it connected to the stove. It was a copper flex tube type line, so I was able to flex it to point away from any walls or any thing that might burn. I turned the propane tank back on and lit the gas coming out of the tube with the striker. A large orange plume flashed off, and then a clumsy orange flame billowed out of the tube. It worked heat! I bent the tube to face down more to keep the ceiling from burning. It didn’t take long to feel the temperature rising in that small space.
I was able to direct the flame toward the stove to try to thaw and dry it out. After a few minutes, maybe as much as a half an hour, I turned the gas off and reconnected the stove. I tried the stove again, and I could hear the hissing of the gas this time, it took a couple of strikes with the striker this time to get it to light but it lit okay. I turned all four burners on and lit them all. A small amount of seawater would gurgle out through the burner orifice once and a while and cause the blue flame to metamorphoses into a sloppy orange ball of flame for a moment. After about a half an hour the stove began working normally. Before long my small survival capsule was all warmed up.
I went through the locker storage under the lower bunks. In there, stored in large black garbage bags were blankets. I pulled the waterlogged bags out of the locker. I quickly began hanging the wet blankets on the bulkhead wall to further plug any air leaks. Before long I realized that I had done a pretty good job, it was now actually getting hot inside the broken half of the boat hull.
I decided that I had best try to remove my wet and frozen clothes. In some spots they had frozen and stuck to my skin. Removing my clothes proved to be a delicate and painful process. It felt like tearing duct tape off of a hairy back. In the worst spots small amounts of frozen skin would peel off with my clothes, the pain was excruciating when that happened. I had to be careful, this was not only painful, but it was dangerous, as an infection might set in, and that could kill me without proper medical attention.
I had to take my time, I stood over the stove thawing out my clothes, one arm at a time, and one leg at a time, carefully pulling my clothes off, trying not to peel any frozen patches of skin off. As the surface of my skin warmed, and my nerve endings thawed out the pain became unbearable. I felt myself becoming nauseous from all the pain and I had to lie down before I collapsed.
After awhile I must have been feeling better because the discomfort of laying on the cold plywood of the mattress-less bunk sensed that I was uncomfortable, so I got up to see if I could fix myself up a more comfortable bed. I pulled the rest of the bedding out from under the bunk and emptied the black garbage bags of their soaking contents. I hung everything up to dry. I needed to stay near the stove; I was too cold to be more than a foot away for very long. My feet were still cold on the icy floor, so I took down one of the drier of the blankets and made a pad on the floor to stand on. I hung all the rest of the blankets around the stove and me and made a small tent, it was like a sauna in there, and it felt so good. But still I was chilled to the bone, and that cold well of bristle kind of feeling in the center of my back persisted. It would take a long soak in a hot tub to melt that away.
For the first time I allowed my self to think that I might live through all this after all, there was a much better chance of survival, especially if I could get comfortable. Few people die of exposure while they are comfortable. I handled my clothes and held them close to the stove to warm them and dry them quicker. It felt good to slip into hot dry clothes. I then, one by one gave each blanket special attention over the stove, and as each blanket dried I wrapped it around me to keep me warmer. But I left the mattress and blankets in place that were blocking the outside cold from coming in.
Wearing warm dry clothes and being inside a warm shelter seemed so unreal when compared to where I was just a short time ago. I opened the door to the head and just stood there staring at my would-be tomb. I did not know what to think about it, except that it seemed so far from where I was now. I don’t know what I was looking for in there, and after a while I realized that whatever it was it was not to be found in there.
I closed the door to the head and decided to make everything as secure as possible before lying down to sleep. I spent some time fussing with the mattress and blankets that sealed the end of the broken vessel. I was able to make a fairly nice tight seal, and the wet blankets were frozen stiff enough to give strength against the blowing wind and snow. I had several blankets and I sacrificed a couple more to making an inside layer wall over the frozen blankets. Creating a dead air space that should act as good insulation from the cold.
The layer of ice that covered every surface of my enclosure began to melt and drip, it was almost like an indoor rainfall. I used one of the blankets as a towel to wipe all the water off the ceiling, and walls, and everywhere else that was wet. I then hung that blanket to dry again. I made up a place to sleep on the top bunk, it was warmest up there. I padded the bunk platform with as many blankets as I could spare to not have over me. The mattresses had all been washed out and lost in the sea when the boat broke up, except for the one that I had used to block the opening to the outside. I now contemplated retrieving that mattress and replacing it with a blanket. But it seemed too risky; I might foul up the integrity of the seal I had made. The mattress was a good strong defense against high winds; it would not be easily blown away. Besides all that, how would I ever get it dry? I did not want to sleep on a wet mattress, so I abandoned the idea.
To save propane I turned off all the stove burners but one. Then I climbed up on the top bunk and got as cozy as possible. I was exhausted, in spite of the fact I was very hungry, or at least I should have been, I had lost my appetite, I fell into a very deep sleep rather quickly. I don’t know how long it had been but I woke up, and it was dark. No light was coming in through the port holes or hatch porthole glass. It had cooled off considerably, so I lit another burner and crawled back into the bunk.
As I lay there I felt so all alone, not really lonely, just so separated from everyone. It was a strange feeling, knowing that not one other soul on the whole planet knew where I was. I suppose I should have let some one in on my travel plans, but that just was not like me. I had not told anyone of my plans that would notice if I did not arrive or return. No one who would have missed me knew that I was even near Alaska, let alone in peril in the Bering Strait. But I took comfort in knowing that I was in better shape tonight than I was only yesterday. The comfort level contrast between these two days was greater than that between a prince and a pauper.
I tried to fall asleep but I couldn’t, all the images flooding my head would not let me rest. None of the images were coherent; at least they were not as long as I let them rave on uncontrolled. The images were far too distracting to let me rest, memories flashing in and out of focus, as if my subconscious was trying to offer my consciousness an escape from reality. I decided to accept the offer and lose myself in well of my revived memories. Maybe if I just go with it eventually my mind would relax and let me fall asleep.
I looked and I saw a blue old-fashioned type travel trailer. I could hear that someone inside it was crying and wailing. It was Joy, my eldest sister, and actually the first born in our family. She was crying; she had been for days. She had never been equipped to handle loss, especially the type of loss she had suffered. Her husband had left her. In our family we were taught that the break up of a marriage was the end of the world. That if we were divorced we would go directly to hell. Where we would eat not, but hot coals, drink not, but hot cola, where our souls would be slashed into a million pieces and sprinkled like confetti on a parade of murders and single mothers.
I remember the day Wilson left; he and Joy were all set to make a big move from Ontario to Yellowknife. Joy was looking forward to this move, for as far as she was concerned the farther she could get Wilson from his family the better. Wilson’s near kin drank alcohol, and from time to time she had smelled it on Wilson’s breath as well. She knew that if someone drank liquor it was a small step to debauchery and hell.
Wilson on the other hand was not so thrilled about being separated so far from his side of the family. He had been rather disingenuous about his feelings in this matter and so Joy had no idea that Wilson did not want to go to Yellowknife. But there is more to this story I am sure, but I have no way of knowing it. As for Joy, the shock of Wilson’s leaving was a hard pill to swallow. She was going to become a divorce, a class of people whom she despised.
For Joy this barrier was a hard wall to push through, each day she woke up she found her self in a world that had ended. So she wailed, she cried, without shame, she mourned. Her youngest son Todd played and looked for fun, but his world had ended. I think he believed that if he could just play right he could get through this. We were at the cottage so he swam and explored the forest and stuff like that. He missed his father, he too young to know the right or the wrong of it, he just wanted his dad back.
When Todd was with his dad he lit up like a Roman candle. Wilson was fun, and he knew how to have fun with his kids, he would tell jokes and get everyone laughing, Todd, sitting curled up on his dads lap was enjoying the two of them being the center of attention. I was not much older than Todd and I may have even envied the father son relationship he and his dad had. Through all this, Todd still held hope that everything would be okay. But I had seen the pain on his face, something deep inside him knew it would not.
Duane was older, and he mourned in his own way, but he loved his mother, and he took it upon himself to help share her burdens, he felt her pain, but took it like a man. He still played, but did not play to deny the reality of his life, but rather to enjoy life alongside the sad reality. Whatever way they used, they eventually coped with their loss. Although, to Todd it would seem that he had needed just a little more time together with his father, a feeling that would stay with him for a large part of his life. Duane made a clean break, and adjusted to life without a father. But is this a fair comparison? Duane was older, so he had the extra time with his father that Todd was denied.
Todd was tough, he would take pain and laugh, I recall him jumping off the Lady Susan and trying to dive, but he belly flopped. We all expected him to surface crying like a baby, but he just laughed; he laughed so hard! This didn’t happen just once, Todd belly flopped off everything and he always came up laughing! I recalled one time before Wilson had left, Todd jumped off the diving board into the river, he went under the water; the water was always dark in color so we could not see him down there. Time past, too much time, there was not a ripple left on the surface of the water. Todd still had not surfaced, expectant smiles on all of us watching dropped, Wilson’s face became grave with concern, and panic. Someone spoke, “He has been down a long time, is he okay?” Wilson with a look of near panic on his face moved to the waters edge and dived in to find his submerged son. However at that that moment Todd surfaced, laughing like crazy, that was Todd for you, always laughing while everyone else had their hearts in their throat.
Todd was tough, and as far as he was concerned everything else had to be as tough as him; and so became what we all called the Todd test. If it could be broken, Todd broke it. If anything was found broken, Todd broke it, or at least he got blamed for it. One time there was this D-8 Caterpillar bulldozer parked outside the house, Todd was playing on it, “Well I doubt he can hurt that, it should pass the Todd test,” we quipped, at that exact moment the engine started up. How did we overlook that possibility?
One time Todd and I were hiking through the forest, there were these tall skinny dried trees, balsam trees maybe, I am not sure. They were only about three or four inches diameter at the bottom, and very tall, with pointy tops. We found that if we shook the tree from its base the tops would come falling down like huge spears, this was great fun. The spears would be as long as ten or more feet and falling from probably thirty or forty feet high, it proved to be an impressive impact when they hit the ground. I was careful to get out of the way of these falling spears, as getting hit by one might really hurt.
Todd was shaking tree after treetop down, giggling wildly as they hit the ground. Then one treetop came down and Todd did not get out of the way! He looked straight up at it and it came down and hit him in the face, no more than a half inch under his left eye. I thought I had just watched him get killed, the twelve-foot long spear hit his face, stopping all its downward motion. Then from the force of the impact with Todd’s face, it shattered into several small daggers. I ran to assist him, but before I got to him he looked at me as the bits of wood and bark hit the ground around him, and he just started laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world!
“No Todd!” I told him, “it’s not funny;” there is a huge hideous gash under your eye!” Todd was still giggling, and he muttered in a giggle, “hideous gash! Ha-ha!”
“Todd! That just missed your eye! You could have been killed!” Todd just laughed and still wanted to shake more treetops down. It was a pretty good wound, you could see his cheek bone at the bottom of it, and surprisingly enough it did not bleed much. I don’t know why Todd laughed; there are a lot of things that I don’t understand about Todd. Like what is in the locked freezer in his apartment that he won’t let anyone near, or why does he always blush and get all awkward at the sight of a burning house or building? It is all very unsettling.
Todd and Duane lived with us that summer and on through the winter into the next spring. Duane was different; he had a strange fascination with dead things. Often he could be found in the heat of the day poking and prodding at some dead bird or squirrel, turning it over and over with his stick, mesmerized as he spent the whole afternoon kneeling in the hot sun, completely focused on the dead creature. He also had a very disturbing attachment to that stick, every where he went he would keep that stick with him.
One night after we had all gone to sleep, there was the awful odor of rotten fish permeating the atmosphere of the cottage. I got up to investigate. The odor led me to where Duane was sleeping. The stench was unmistakably coming from under Duane’s blankets. Duane was sound asleep; I pulled back his blankets, fearing the worst. Duane was still clutching that stick. I was able to get the stick off him without him waking, and I raised the stick to my nose to take a sniff and verify that it was the source of the odor. In the dim light I was unable to see how close it came to my nose, and I inadvertently bumped the end of it against my nose. I felt the sensation of a sticky slimy coating on the end of the stick when it touched my nose. I gagged, this goop was the source of the stench, and now some of it was stuck on the end of my nose!
It had been a scorcher of a day, it had been tremendously hot, and Duane had spent the day poking and prodding at the corpse of a rotten fish that had floated down the river and washed against the bank. He would turn it over and over with that stick, spin it round and round, and do lord knows what with it all day, till finally he was temporarily satiated. Then, he would go into the furnace room with his drawing book and draw pictures, sometimes dozens of pictures. He never let any one see what he had drawn, but his pattern was always the same.
If he had drawn only one picture he would carry it around with him for the rest of the day, never letting any one see it. Then, just before it got dark he would disappear into the woods with it, and come back out of the woods without it. One time I followed him to see what he was doing. I was careful to make sure he never saw me. He found a spot where the forest floor was soft enough that he could dig it up with his bare hands. Then kneeling in the dying light he would dig a small hole, about six inches deep.
Very slowly and deliberately he would begin to tear up the picture that he had so carefully drawn. In the silence of the evening forest the sound of the tearing paper was very distinct. He would bring the remnants of the paper and rub his face with the fissured edge of the torn paper; slowly dragging its jagged edge over his cheeks, like it was part of some ancient ritual. Then he would begin to softly sing in voice that seemed too baritone for his small frame. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”
By the time he had finished the song the picture had been torn into tiny pieces. He then carefully laid the pieces in the small hole he had dug, and before he covered them up he would cry and weep saying “I’m sorry! I’m sorry”. Suddenly he stopped weeping; he quickly began looking about as if he had heard something. I ducked down behind a tree trunk and stayed as still and quiet as I could. After a few minutes he got up off his knees and ran as fast as he could back to the cottage. I never knew what to make of that, and I told no one.
I was so tired and cold that I had a hard time reasoning my thoughts, did that really happen? I don’t know. Or was it some movie I saw once? I was not sure, I think it was real, I think Duane did those things, although I do have a vague memory of making that story up about Duane for a book I was once trying to write. No it must be true, or at least I will assume it is, it is probably best just to assume it is true, if it is not true, who is it going to hurt to say it is? I can’t think of anyone. If it is true then it might explain all the locks Duane put on his basement door, or if you go to his house and he is coming up from the cellar he always quickly pad locks the door behind him. He then unsolicited offers the explanation; “I wasn’t doing anything down there! …There is nothing down there; I was just…cleaning up…yeah that’s good… I was cleaning it up!”
On days when there were no dead critters to be found Duane was a completely normal and lots of fun. But that morning, when Duane woke up and realized that his stick was gone, he was not his usual care free self. He had that glazed flat look in his eyes, like he was trying to see with his eyes something that eyes were never meant to see. Every one fell silent, I was terrified he would think it was me, so thinking fast I grabbed a metal detector that Tom Pit had left at the cottage and pointed it at the metal buttons on Todd’s shirt, and turning it on I said ”hey look at this! A nerd detector!” and it started to beep. This distracted Duane long enough for me to make my way to the door, and putting the metal detector down I made good my escape. “God help every one else” I thought to my self.
Other than that Duane was a real card, he was always quick with a joke, and enjoyed exciting games, of course we all enjoyed that. The canoe wars were the best. A number of canoes could be found at the cottage, of all shapes and sizes. My brother Dan had bought a large freighter style canoe that was very stable and hard to tip. My sister Lynn’s husband Richard, a one eyed long haired hippie, had a little flower power canoe he got suckered into buying off of Dave Martin. If you sneezed too hard while riding in this little canoe you would immediately find yourself in the water.
My brother Ron had a nice canoe, it was not as stable as Dan’s, but much more stable than Richard’s, it was a nice compromise between the two boats of Dan and Richard. We would fill each canoe beyond its intended capacity of occupants, and square off against each other in battle. Maneuvering for position and trying to get their broad sides in our sights each team navigated and competed for a position of advantage. We had two secret weapons on board our crowded canoe, Duane and Todd, they were our “red shirts” the sacrificial crew men, “Torpedo one!” we would shout, and Todd would dive out the front of the canoe and swim as fast as he could for his targeted canoe.
When Todd reached our enemy’s vessel he would grab the gunwale of the canoe and try to capsize the boat. He would be met with a flurry of paddles, smashing his fingers against the aluminum extrusion that formed the gunwale. Poking him and forcing him under the water and holding him down, and generally beating the tar out of him with their paddles. “Fire two!” we would shout, but Duane, seeing the fray of the battle foaming the water around his target was reluctant for a moment to dive in! “We said fire!” we shouted again, this time tossing Duane from the canoe towards the battle, Duane disappeared into the froth, there were screams for a short while, then the cruel hush of desperate breaths as he was repeatedly dunked under the surface of the water.
Because of Duane and Todd’s interference, our opponent’s canoe’s maneuverability was compromised. We were then able to gain a position of advantage. We moved in, “Ramming speed!” was our battle cry, and we plowed into the broad side of their canoe as fast as we could paddle. The inertia of all the weight of our crew caused us to plow their canoe over and capsize it, submerging it under the water. Some of them tried to jump into our canoe but we successfully fought them off and threw them overboard.
Now all our opponents were in the water, and as they surfaced and recovered from the shock of loosing their vessel and found their bearings, they made for us, mounting a swimming assault towards us. “Full reverse!” we shouted, and backed away from the swimmers charge as fast as we could. The swimmers immediately realized that they could never catch up with the speed of our retreating canoe, and we sat a safe distance off after they had ceased their charge.
Unable to eek their satisfaction from upon us, they turned to get their revenge efforts towards Duane and Todd. Realizing this, Duane and Todd began swimming towards us, trying to reach the safety of our canoe. There was suddenly the sound of many legs kicking up froth on the surface of the water as several swimmers engaged all their swimming ability and speed to catch Duane and Todd. It was a terrible sight, poor little Duane and Todd being chased down as they tried to out swim a mass of pursuers.
As Duane and Todd got close to the canoe, we realized that the time it would take us to bring them on board would be too long, and our vessel would be put at risk. “Back away!” the cry came from somewhere among our ranks. We paddled back away from Duane just as he was about to reach out to us to be rescued. He continued swimming as we paddled away and increased our distance from him. He and Todd cried for us to stop, we couldn’t, we had to save our vessel, and we couldn’t risk all of us getting wet saving them. We left them to the mercy or their aunts and uncles in the water. Their screams were quenched by the gulping sound of water being swallowed as they were again being repeatedly being dunked under the water. Sometimes late at night when it is quiet I can still hear their screams. War is hell…
There was always something fun at the expense of someone else going on at the cottage. One time, Richard tied a long but thin nylon rope to the back of Ron’s canoe. The rope was tied to the dock post under the water. As Ron and his wife Debbie were getting into the canoe Richard offered to help stabilize the canoe by holding it firm as they climbed in. While they got settled into the canoe Richard quickly hooked the long thin rope through the tie eye on the stern of the canoe; he did this without them noticing. To distract Ron Richard says to him; “Dan said that he sure is glad that you don’t tease him anymore since he has grown up and gotten strong!”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Ron responded defensively.
“Yeah he was saying that you’re too old and slow to dare teasing him anymore!”
“Dan said that?” Ron asked in disbelief.
“Oh yeah, he was just saying how all weekend you haven’t said one thing to provoke him in anyway, he said it was obvious that you were too scared to offend him at all anymore!” Richard told him, calculating his every move, setting up the pretense of his charade.
At that Ron shouted “C’mon Dan you big landlubber! You think you stand a chance against your big brother! Ha! I laugh at you and your posterity!”
It was fall and the water had cooled down considerably from the days of summer. The leaves on the trees were turning color; the whole river scene was very picturesque. Dan was not too willing to dive into the cold water to try to sink Ron’s canoe, especially when he knew that a swimmer could never catch up with the speed of a canoe. If he were to dive into the cold water, he knew that Ron could easily outrun him. Dan knew that Ron would have had the last laugh, Dan would have been soaked and cold and Ron would be high and dry, and from a safe distance Ron would be mocking him. So Dan was not interested in accepting Ron’s challenge.
Ron of course knew this, so he mocked and scoffed at Dan all the harder. Ron was holding all the cards, he knew that Dan would not want to dive into the cold water, and if some how Dan ever did, Ron knew he could get away in the canoe before Dan could catch him. So Ron kept calling Dan a slow landlubber and taunting and daring Dan to try to catch him. “You’re too slow!” Ron would shout. “You’re too chicken to dive into the water! The water is too cold for a big sissy like you!” he taunted.
I was aware of Richards’s ploy, Richard trusted me with insider information on most of his pranks, and he knew that I appreciated the genius of a good practical joke and that I would not foil an excellent plan. So I told Dan that Richard had tied the canoe to the dock with a long nylon rope and that Ron did not know that he could not get away. At first Dan didn’t believe me, but along with a look from Richard that let Dan know that something was brewing; I was able to convince him.
“You better not be lying!” warned Dan as ran inside the cottage to get into his swim trunks; all those years of Ron tormenting him could be avenged in one foul swoop. Water did not come cold enough to hold Dan back from this opportunity! Ron foolishly waited, confident that even if Dan dove in after him the canoe could easily out run him in. Dan came charging out the cottage at a dead run for the river bank, Ron began paddling as fast as he could, confident that he could paddle faster than Dan could swim. Dan dove into the water with a mighty plunge. He began freestyle swimming at a tremendous pace. Ron was still yelling slurs at Dan goading him on more, such was Ron’s confidence.
The one quarter inch thick nylon rope was about eighty feet long, so Ron was able to put a bit of distance between him and Dan and was pulling away. Ron was convinced of his victory and escape and began laughing the victor’s laugh of mocking the vanquished. I can only imagine the look on Ron’s face when that rope tightened up. The canoe came to a dead stop “What the…?” Ron exclaimed in total shock as he turned around to see the long thin rope break the surface of the water. “No!” he shouted in disbelief. “RICHARD! You diabolical…” Ron stopped mid sentence as he saw Dan’s rapid advance, “Don’t you dare!” Ron screamed at Dan, hoping to intimidate him. His voice became even more aggressive and he shouted again, “Don’t you dare! …Don’t do it Dan!”
But Dan was not deterred; Ron’s wife Debbie was in the canoe as well but Dean was not going to be deterred. Ron had his wallet his watch and everything still on him; he was not prepared to go into the water. Dan grabbed the stern of the canoe and tried to flip it over, Ron counter balanced Dan’s every move, while at the same time shouting and trying to beat Dan off with his paddle. Ron’s efforts were unsuccessful, and Dan capsized the canoe and dumped both Debbie and Ron into the cold late fall water.
Ron swam after Dan as fast as he could and if he had caught him I am sure he would have drowned him. But Dan was in his swim trunks and Ron was fully clothed so Dan easily out swam him. Once on shore Richard and Dan dove into Dan’s sixty-five Plymouth Sport Fury and made good their escape.

I was startled back to reality by the howling sound of a strong wind, and the hearing of ice being bullied about in the gale. What was left of my vessel was moving and shifting with the ice. I feared that at any moment the ice could open up under me and plunge me into the depths of the icy sea. It had gotten dark now, except for the blue glow of the burners on the stove there was no other source of light. I must have been feeling better because I was hungry. Since I couldn’t sleep anyway I got up to see if I could find something to eat. The food locker had several soggy cases of Kraft dinner still secured in it. I had no water or milk to make the Kraft dinner with so I opened the box and ate the uncooked but seawater soaked noodles. “Tomorrow I will get some snow and make water” I thought.
I was very thirsty, so I looked for something to drink, the icebox door had opened when the vessel foundered and all of its contents were lost at sea. I rummaged in the dark through the bottom of the dry food locker and found a case of lucky beer that the guy that sold me the boat gave to me as a sending off gift. I pulled out a can of cold beer and cracked the pull-tab and drank it as I ate a couple of boxes of uncooked Kraft dinner macaroni noodles. I tried adding some flavor by tearing open the cheese pouch and eating the dry cheese powder …it was not that good.
The sound of the weather out side was both unnerving and at the same time kind of cozy. I can’t explain it but being inside in the warm and dry while I knew that it was windy and very cold outside gave me a comfortable feeling that offset the uneasiness of my predicament. Some wind would find its way through my makeshift wall and a cold draft would be felt gusting in from time to time. For now the stove was hot enough to overcome these drafts, but I did not know how long my propane would hold out. So I turned the burners down as low as I could, to preserve fuel. Eventually I knew I would run out of fuel and the cold would once again creep back in and try to overcome me. It was not something I wanted to think about. I had a pounding headache, my neck was so sore it was difficult to hold my head up. I was still very tired and needed more recuperation time before I felt I could venture outside my shelter. I had no way of knowing what time it was but I don’t see how that was of any consequence, but still I always caught myself wondering about it. I had tried to go to sleep and for the longest time but I couldn’t. The wind seemed to be driving harder, and I was sure that I had the sensation that I was moving, but in the dark it was hard to tell. There seemed to be a definite rocking and rolling sensation going on, but I was unsure. I hoped I would at least make it till morning without incident.
I laid back in the bunk and tried to relax; it’s tough trying to carry the whole show when you’re the only act! I thought to my self as if the whole world was watching. I needed to think of something pleasant so I could put myself at ease. I tore open another box of macaroni and began munching on the salty soggy noodles, and sipped my beer to wash it down. I counted my blessings and decided that I was thankful that I was no longer trapped inside the head, and the warmth the stove provided was pretty nice as well.
My mind wandered back to the cottage and I remembered one morning that Joy was livid, she was red faced furious! I was use to that; Joy always stated her mind and was indignant at the sign of any injustice. It so happened that this day it was directed at me. You see, there was this campsite upriver that was kind of like some kind of Boy Scout group. One day at dusk I took Duane and Todd in the canoe with me up the river to make some kind of an attack on this campsite. I knew that there was about fifty or so kids at this campsite and that they would still be there, but that is what made it so exciting.
We brought the canoe to the shore just behind the encampment. In the evening dusk we snuck up through the brush and forest to the perimeter of the campsite. We could see all the young troops sitting around the campfire singing songs and the like. We snuck into the campsite, it was very risky and we could have been spotted at any time. We pulled all the pegs out of the ground on several of these large tee pee style tents. Then I tied all the short ropes that were tied to all the pegs together to make one long rope.
I then snuck inside the tent and tied this rope to the center pole of the tee pee and ran the rope outside under the flap of the tent. I was able to do this to three or four tents. Duane and Todd retreated and were nervously hunkered down in the tall grass just slightly beyond the perimeter of the campsite. I grabbed the ends of the ropes and pulled on them until I was able to pull the center pole out and brought the tents down.
As I dove for cover in the grass beside Duane and Todd I thought I heard some one from the campsite call out as if they saw me. Quickly we crawled through the tall grass as fast as we could to the tree line. Once in the forest we got to our feet and ran in the dark through the trees as fast as we could. It was all very exciting, we were giggling hysterically, or at least I was. With the sound of our pursuers charging after us my excitement peaked but I think it was just plain terrifying for Duane and Todd.
We made it to the canoe and began to paddle off. From the shore I could hear some people that I think were near or at the riverbank, I could not tell, by that time it was too dark and none of us were looking back. But before long, before we got too far down the river I realized that I was not yet satiated. Against the pleading and advice of Duane and Todd I turned back up river. I quietly brought the canoe in to the shore at the campsite. Because it was now dark, I was easily able to once again approach the campsite without being detected.
They were all busy trying to set the tents back up, so I made my way to the outhouses. I got up against the outhouse and pushed as hard as I could to try to tip it over. It is not as easy as it seemed like it would be in my mind. I used a little more effort but still it did not want to go over. I searched in the dark and found a log about four or five inches in diameter and about seven feet long. With some concerted effort and leverage I was able to get it to fall over. I then made my way towards where the canoe was waiting. That was too easy, I thought to myself. So to get something going I made some coyote and wolf like calls from out of the darkness until I got their attention. I then made a beeline for the canoe.
When I reached the riverbank Duane and Todd had deserted me and taken the canoe with them. Mutineers! They should hang for this! I thought. Oh-oh, this was not good. I could hear a ruckus as a group of the unhappy campers charging toward me. I had no escape except to go into the water. I waded in a quietly as I could. I swam very stealthily to the far bank of the river, but there were too many logs sticks and slimy debris for me to egress up to the shore. I waded and treaded water and quietly floated towards the center of the river.
I could make out the silhouettes of several people along the shore looking for me. I submerged so that barely my mouth and nose were exposed above the water. I swear that some of them were looking right at me but didn’t see me. I swam as silently as possible down stream, barely making a ripple on the water. Part of me wanted to splash or yell or something to bate them a little more, but part of me thought it was better to just sneak away. Some where down stream I made it back to the shore and found my way home in the dark. As I made it back to the cottage Duane and Todd must have only just barely arrived before me. They were getting in trouble for being out in the canoe so late after dark.
The next morning Joy was about four feet off the ground. She was demanding that my mom and dad punish me, because she was going to punish Duane and Todd and it would not be fair if I was not punished as well. I was confused, how did she find out? It was not until years later that I would find out that it was Todd who had squealed. The ruckus was such that my dad came out to see what the fuss was about, my dad rarely paid any attention to much of any kind of antics so this was rare. “What’s going on out here?” he demanded.
“David…” I hated it when I was called that. “…Took Duane and Todd out last night and raided a campsite!”
“What campsite?” my dad asked.
“The Christian campsite!” Joy exclaimed, emphasizing the word Christian to imply that my sin was even less pardonable.
“What did you do?” My dad wanted to know.
“Well its not like there was no one there, they were all there, we snuck up on them.” I offered in my defense.
“They were knocking tents down and tipping out houses over!” Joy interrupted, not allowing me the privilege of presenting my case.
“Oh, tipping out houses over is as old as the hills!” My dad commented, dismissing Joy’s case as trivial.
“SO IS MURDER!!!” Came the blood-curdling cry from Joy, it was so intense that I was sure my dad would have no choice but to impose capital punishment against me.
I was sure I was sunk, Joy’s prosecution had even won me over, and murder is pretty bad, but my dad was not affected by Joy’s passionate rant, and he quietly walked back into the cottage without suggesting any punishment whatsoever. Joy was frustrated but gave up her tirade, my brother Dan was equally indignant against me, he was asking, “Why would you do such a thing? …And against Christian campers!”
“I don’t know, I thought it would be fun I guess” I humbly answered
“I never did anything like that! …I can not understand it!” Dan continued.
But Kathy interrupted him saying; “C’mon! …Get out of here! …You did to!”
“No I didn’t” he persisted weakly and at some point I stopped listening. A few moments later I found myself thinking, “Why are they still talking to me?” And I wandered off.
It was beginning to get light, and so I decided I should maybe stay up and when it was bright enough I would venture outside and try to bring some ice or snow inside to make water, and besides that I really had to go to the bathroom.