***
I turned to a page in the scrapbook that showed a picture of my Uncle Dave and I standing in front of his country house up in North Bay, Ontario—a city located approximately 335 kilometers north of Toronto on the shore of Lake Nipissing. We had gone fishing that day and we were proudly holding up all the fish we had caught. This photograph triggered a powerful memory of an event that occurred at that same location one year earlier when I was six years old—an event that forever changed my life. It was early April and my mother had decided we would travel up to North Bay to visit her brother. My uncle was a divorcee, and we would occasionally visit his country house for a change of environment. On this particular day my uncle was going fishing and I asked to go along. My mom agreed while trusting that her brother would be responsible enough to look after my welfare. We drove along the shore of the lake towards the French River.
Spring thaw had begun. Pieces of ice were breaking off and flowing down the river into the Georgian Bay. The outside temperature was around 4° C. Groups of people were mingling on top of the frozen lake. Some of them had dropped fishing lines through holes that they had drilled through the ice. I was transfixed by the colored specks of fishermen and the ice chunks reminded me of miniature icebergs. I watched as sections would break off from the edge and float away in the swift current.
My uncle stopped and parked the car where people he knew had gathered on the ice. He told me it was a great spot for catching walleye pike. We exited the car and then we carefully hiked over to the assembled group. I had never fished before and I watched in fascination as my uncle drilled a hole in the ice. He dropped a baited hook through the hole and then handed me the fishing rod. I stood there jiggling the line while hoping for a bite. After a while I grew restless. I started wandering around on the ice now curious to see what others were doing. I eventually made my way over to the ice edge which was approximately 10 feet from the fast moving water.
Water fascinated me. I always loved playing and swimming in it. Watching the rapids flow under and around the ice aroused my curiosity. I decided to move closer to them for a better peek. I was oblivious to the fact that no one was keeping an eye on me. They were all preoccupied with doing their own things—all of them that is except for one man. It felt thrilling to walk within three feet of the edge. The ice was translucent and through it I could actually perceive the movement of the water beneath my feet.
Then without warning I heard a cracking sound as the ice already weakened by the sun, began to fracture under my weight! It shifted and I lost my balance. I slipped and fell as the section I was standing on broke off. Panic instantly gripped my mind as the current immediately carried me away! I screamed and started crying! People turned in my direction, stared in shock, and then began running toward me in confusion and alarm! By this time however, I was at least 45 feet away from the main ice body and 60 feet away from the shoreline. My situation appeared grim.
I glanced around and saw that the miniature iceberg that held me prisoner was slowly but steadily disintegrating. I was also floating toward the center of the river. While sobbing and crying out for my mother, I felt helpless and alone. As the piece of ice spun around in the current, I came face to face with the shoreline. That's when I noticed him. There was a man running along the shore and he was following me! He was undressing as he ran, and at the same time he was trying to encourage me. I could hear him yelling, "Don't worry! Stay calm! I'm coming for you! Look at me kid, look at me!"
I kept my eyes glued on him. His voice was commanding and authoritative. He was darting, weaving, and dodging past brush, over rocks, and around trees and amazingly, he was keeping up with me!
He yelled, "Kid, do exactly as I say! Do you understand me?"
I kept staring at him. Water was splashing on my clothes and in my face as the river became choppy. It was cold and stung my skin.
Again he shouted. "Kid, listen to me! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?"
I shook my head yes as I was startled by the power of his voice.
"When I say jump into the water, you jump in and start swimming toward me! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
"OKAY!" I shouted back. At this point he had only his long underwear and socks on.
"Get ready kid, get ready!"
All at once the water became calm as I floated by a small outcropping of land.
"NOW, KID! JUMP AND START SWIMMING – AND SWIM HARD!"
I obeyed his command and jumped without hesitation. The water was less than six feet deep but it was still over my head. And it was cold—numbing cold. I gasped and started choking. I was kicking, screaming, and clawing at the water—desperately trying to stay afloat. He dove in and began swimming toward me; a distance of about 60 feet. I felt myself sinking with the weight of my winter clothes and boots. Finally he was by my side.
"Hang on kid," he encouraged. "Hang onto me." He put an arm around my chest and swam us both back to shore. Once on land he said, "Do what I do kid, move like I move."
He would alternate between jumping jacks, running in place, and arm circles. I tried to keep up with him as best as I could. Every so often he would come over and vigorously rub my body up and down while saying, "Kid, you have a good instinct for survival! Good job! Good job!"—and then he would briskly rub my head.
This went on for about 20 minutes until a boat pulled up alongside us. He picked me up and carried me over to where it landed. I was hot by this time from all the exercise but I was happy when we boarded the boat. We were wrapped in blankets until we arrived back at the fishing area. There was an ambulance waiting for us there and he, my uncle, and I all rode in it to the local clinic. After having been admitted and found to have no serious medical issues, we were released. And that was how I was introduced to Scott James; the most remarkable person I have ever known and the man who had just saved my life.
Dawn of the Knight: The Lance Rock Chronicles Volume 1. Page 2
