Casualties of the River

The following were casualties of the annual spring Wascana creek trip-

-One Wiser's special blend mickey bottle- This was shot to pieces by flashlight.
-One Hollywood trucker hat- The wind on this particular weekend was strong enough to not only force the weary paddlers to portage a Northward stretch, but it was also strong enough to blow my favorite hat into the drink. Oh well.
-One toque, camera and cell phone- All destroyed when the canoe rolled while running into a four foot hole of swirling flood water.

I hope that at the very least my memory card in the camera was not destroyed. Everything else is extremely replaceable. Moments captured in time by photographs are not so readily replicated.

Now for the story of how I was rescued by a dog, shortly after a dog tried to drown me.

As me and Tanner paddled towards the infamous curve towards the end of our journey, it became apparent that there was a reason this stretch of river had a reputation. I have only flipped a canoe three times in my life and it just so happens that all three have come at the exact same place.

The bank at this spot takes a very sharp curve at a point where a large piece of bank had fallen into the river years previous. This "island" in years when runoff is small forces a small stream to its outside bank. In this year of the flood, what it did was create a 4 foot swirling hole of water. There was no avoiding it, like gravity the river pulled us straight to the vortex. The right side dipped down, took on water and in the instance of a moment our feet were no longer touching anything solid. My dog, terrified of his first water experience, tried to climb onto my head, drowning me in the process. I would have more sympathy for the bastard except that he also had a life jacket on. I tossed him away to gain my composure but he simply swam over to tanner and attached himself to the back of his head instead. Luckily Tanner is a stronger swimmer than me. Somehow he managed with paddle in one hand, canoe in the other, to navigate the boat and the dog to shore while I floundered helplessly trying to figure out my next course of action. My once helpful rubber boots now became anchors and useless flippers. I drifted down river cursing the fact that I could not swim because I was wielding a paddle. Then it dawned on me... Why do I not pretend I am a boat and paddle myself to shore. As I finally pulled my lifeless body onto terra firma 300 meters downstream from the vortex, I realized I made to the opposite shore that Tanner did.

While catching my breathe, friends Avery and Brett who had been behind us, pulled up on shore where Tanner was wrestling the canoe to upright position. Walking along the bank toward me they yelled encouraging words, "your on the wrong side!" As if I was blindly unaware of the problem. Now this really was a predicament. The canoes were right full of gear and the current was the strongest I had ever seen it. There was no way we could fit three in a canoe and no way Tanner could navigate my big blue machine by his lonesome.

So we came up with an idea. They would throw a rope to me and pull me across. One rescue rope was not long enough so two were tied together. After 4 painful tries it became obvious that no one had the strength to toss that rope across the raging canyon. Meanwhile, Brett's black lab had been standing inquisitively to the side watching our every move. Like a faithful companion he trotted up to Brett and we realized that Harley was here to save the day. The rope was tied to the dog but it was obvious it would not be long enough. As the dog would float down the river he would take more line with him (A squared plus B squared = something something something... science... I don't know). Anyway while Harley traveled down river, someone would have to run as fast as they could along the bank so that the rope would remain parallel to the shore bridging the shortest distance. Harley jumped into the river and with every meter of progress towards me the river took him four more down stream. We were quickly running out of rope. Also running along the river was me, shouting encouragement to the hound, hoping he would make it before the end of the rope would reach Brett. True to form, as the last knot of the rope reached Brett's hand, I threw out an arm and dragged Harley from the dangers of the water. We had one hand on each end of the rope as we praised a very proud dog.

I quickly tied the rope around my chest and with the strength of ten men, my three friends played anchor while the river swung me into home shore. At last I was safe in the arms of my fellow travelers. Needless to say the rest of the trip went off without a hitch, and I'm sure damn glad that pooch was with us.