Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  Alec had been listening intently. The man with missing teeth suddenly blurted out, “I ain’t gettin’ on da boat!”

  Elliott looked questioningly at the wiry mule handler sitting on the opposite side of the fire. “Why not?”

  “I dunno how ’ta swim!”

  Aurelio and Graham glanced at each other. They could hear the angst in Sibley’s voice.

  “Heck, that’s the least of your worries! Even if you could swim, you wouldn’t last more than twenty minutes in forty-degree water!” Elliott said with a chortle.

  Graham was peeved with Elliott’s crude humor. How was he going to persuade a man who couldn’t swim to climb into a boat on a deep, cold lake? He tried to think of something quickly to reassure Sibley.

  “I’m an excellent swimmer, and I’ve been trained to rescue others in the water.”

  Graham was indeed a proficient swimmer. He had learned to swim at an early age and spent many summer afternoons in the family’s pond with his brothers. He had passed a rigorous lifeguarding course as part of the requirements for becoming an Eagle Scout.

  “You don’t need to worry about not being able to swim. I’ll be with you. We will take the Annie out and back safely tomorrow. After all, Elliott and Cam used the boat for five days.”

  “’Cept for the tarnation scrape those fellas got into wit’ da mast a-breakin’.” Sibley’s concerns were not assuaged.

  “Well now, there isn’t a mast, so being tipped over by a gust of wind can’t happen,” Elliott responded. “Why are you bein’ such a Nancy-boy about this?”

  Graham was irked. He didn’t know the meaning of a Nancy-boy, but assumed it was a derogatory term challenging someone’s manhood. Elliott’s chiding did nothing to allay Alec’s fear of the water. He wanted the cocksure artist to quit stoking Alec’s anxiety, so he quickly changed the subject.

  “We need to know where to take our soundings. Do you have a map that shows where you already have readings?”

  Elliott pulled out a book and opened it to an outline of the lake. Circled numbers on the page corresponded to each reading. A table on the opposite page listed corresponding compass bearings, landmarks, and depth measurements. According to the map, the entire western half and both major arms of the lake had been plumbed for depth.

  “We need more soundings between this large island and where we are camped. I named it Frank Island in honor of my older brother,” Elliott declared as he pointed to the pencil-drawn map.

  Graham had not known the origin of the island’s name.

  “Okay. I’ll use Frank Island as my reference point when I take the bearings for each sounding. Anything else we should know?”

  “Nope, I don’t think so. I’ll help you fellas shove off tomorrow morning,” Elliott offered as he stood. He walked away from the fire, then stopped and called over his shoulder, “Hey, Sibley! Cheer up! Better to freeze in cold water than burn in hot water like Private Foley!”

  The landscape artist roared at his own joke, while Graham cringed at his thoughtless humor. Sibley looked down and placed his head in his hands.

  “I could ask Mr. Hovey to take Alec’s place on the boat,” Aurelio offered helpfully. He could take care of the horses and mules while we . . .”

  “No!” Alec shouted immediately. “I ain’t no Nancy-boy. See ya’ in da mornin’ at da boat.”

  * * *

  Graham pulled his collar up, stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, and strolled to the rocky shore shortly after sunrise to assess the lake conditions. The strong breeze from last evening had continued all night and into the morning, making it feel colder than the thirty-degree air temperature. As a west wind swept across the large expanse of open water, it generated two-to-three-foot swells. The long amplitude waves steepened into pointed crests that broke to form whitecaps as they approached the shore. Three-foot swells on Yellowstone Lake were often harbingers of an unpleasant ride for passengers on the forty-two-foot Lake Queen. It was certainly not advisable to take a canvas-covered, eleven-foot rowboat onto the lake in these conditions. Graham ambled to the cooking fire, convinced they would wait until the wind and waves subsided before venturing out with the Annie.

  Goodfellow had killed four ruddy ducks at the mouth of Meadow Creek yesterday around sunset. He reported the stiff-tailed ducks were easy targets because they seemed reluctant to fly. The survey team was grateful for his hunting efforts. Gibson and Potato John skewered the birds and roasted them on spits. Waterfowl for breakfast was a welcome change from the red meats the men had consumed recently.

  “Good morning, fellas,” Graham said as he walked over and sat by a fire where Henry Elliott, Cam Carrington, and Steve Hovey were gnawing on roasted duck and sipping coffee.

  “Mornin’,” Cam replied. The other men nodded their heads and continued chewing.

  “Anyone been out to see the lake today?” Graham inquired.

  “Nope. I imagine it’s a bit choppy,” Elliott surmised without looking up from his greasy duck leg.

  “It’s more than choppy. Up to three-foot swells and some whitecaps. We should wait until the wind dies down before taking the Annie out.”

  “Did Sibley talk you outta going onto the lake? That pigeon-livered mule man is just trying to get out of work.”

  Graham looked at Hovey, expecting him to defend his mule handler. The wagon master wiped his greasy hands on his trousers but said nothing.

  “He’s willing to go, but I don’t think it’s safe to be on the lake this morning.” Graham gritted his teeth and maintained his composure despite Elliott’s insults.

  “Mr. Hovey, Doctor Hayden is expecting the sounding data to be collected. Cam and I took readings for five days regardless of the weather.”

  “Did you have three-foot swells?” Graham countered.

  “We had a few sizable waves. But it didn’t stop us!”

  “Fellas!” Hovey interrupted. “Sibley’s a good man and a hard worker. He’s just afeard of water. I’ll fetch him and meet ya’ at the lake so’s we can see how it looks.”

  Ten minutes later, Hovey was standing on the rocky shore with Carrington, Elliott, Sibley, Aurelio, and Graham.

  “She looks rough,” Hovey admitted as he scanned the lake surface and felt the chilly wind bite his cheeks.

  “Why don’t they take a few soundings within a couple of hundred yards of the shore? No need to go all the way out in the middle,” Elliott proposed.

  Hovey scratched the stubble on his chin, then turned to face Graham. “That’s what you’ll do. You kin go further out when it’s not so drafted windy.”

  “But sir, I really think we should wait. Maybe the winds will lessen this afternoon or tomorrow. We could ask John Beaman for a weather prediction,” Graham pleaded.

  “You’ll be fine. Get those readings,” Hovey ordered, patting Graham on his shoulder.

  “Good luck, boys!” Elliott grinned as he followed Hovey back to camp.

  Graham regarded Sibley, who was staring at the small waves as they crashed onto shore.

  Waves at Signal Point

  “Alec, we will be out there only a few hours. Aurelio could take your place, and Mr. Hovey would never need to know . . .”

  “I ain’t no Nancy-boy. Let’s go,” he said with a hiss of false bravado, trudging up the bank toward the waiting boat.

  Graham went back to the fly and retrieved his compass, a pencil, and paper. Cam and Aurelio helped the boaters carry the Annie down to the water.

  Before the two men clambered into the boat, Graham considered the situation. They were about to launch a fragile boat onto a lake with wind-driven waves. Unlike recreational boating one hundred years later, neither of them had a life vest. He was an excellent swimmer and a lifeguard, but his partner suffered from aquaphobia and would sink like a stone in water. Hypothermia was likely for anyone who fell overboard in this alpine lake.

  This was a bad idea. As he was considering whether to defy Hovey’s orders, Alec gamely stepped onboard, moved gi
ngerly to the bow, and sat down facing the stern with his eyes closed. His hands gripped the seat so hard his knuckles were white.

  Graham sighed, climbed aboard, and sat in the stern. He placed the oars in the oarlocks and tossed his cowboy hat to Aurelio.

  “Hold on to this for me!”

  He spun in his seat and spoke calmly to Sibley. “I’m going to row about two hundred yards to the first sounding location. All you need to do is hold on tightly. We’re going to bounce around a bit as we go over the waves, but we’ll be fine so long as we keep the boat turned into the wind.”

  Alec nodded grimly with his eyes tightly shut.

  “Alec, look at me.”

  Sibley obeyed, and Graham noticed the enlarged whites of his fear-widened eyes. He tried to summon something to say as a boost of confidence.

  “Alec, you’re a mule handler and a hostler, right?”

  His boating partner nodded and swallowed hard.

  “Well, just think of this boat as a bucking horse or mule. She’s gonna want to throw us off our seats. But we’ll stay onboard if we learn how to ride her. Don’t fight her. As we go over the waves, let your body move with the boat without losing your grip. These oars will help keep us straight and stable. Okay. Are you ready?”

  Another tentative nod.

  Graham motioned for Cam and Aurelio to launch. They picked up the stern and heaved the boat into the oncoming waves. Graham plunged the oars into the water and began pulling. The Annie shuddered as her bow rose slightly, then crashed into a trough. After a minute, the boat left the shallow water at Signal Point, and whitecaps transitioned to rhythmic rolling swells. Graham struggled to pull the boat through the waters against the stiff wind, but they slowly made headway onto the main body of the lake.

  This is either courageous or incredibly foolish, Graham thought. Maybe both. But he was committed. If Alec Sibley were willing to face his fear of water, he wasn’t going to be the one to back down from this challenge.

  Fifteen minutes of hard rowing took them to a location several hundred yards from shore. He asked Alec to lean forward and hold the oars in the water while he took a compass bearing to Frank Island. The Annie bobbed with each swell, making it difficult to keep the compass pointed in a steady direction. After writing down the bearing, Graham took a second reading to the end of The Promontory and recorded this number in degrees.

  Graham instructed Alec to hold the oars and keep the boat headed into the waves. He hoisted the plummet onto the gunwale and slowly lowered it over the side, watching as the hemp rope uncoiled and the fathom markers disappeared under the cold, dark water at regular intervals. Ten fathoms . . . twenty fathoms . . . forty fathoms . . . The line went from taut to slack after forty-six fathoms. Graham pulled the line tight and estimated the depth to be two hundred seventy-eight feet. He recorded this measurement on paper, tucked it into his jacket pocket, and began hauling the line back into the boat, carefully building a uniform coil at his feet so the rope would not become tangled.

  “Our first sounding. You’re doing great!” Graham said encouragingly as he hauled in the plummet and set it on the bottom of the boat.

  Alec allowed himself a thin smile, but Graham could see the death grip he held on both oars as the Annie alternately rode crests and troughs of the relentless waves.

  Graham took the oars from Alec, and the mule handler sat back in his seat, clutching the gunwales on either side. The next location required Graham to row in a northwest direction. The boat pushed over the rolling waves at a forty-five-degree angle, which caused it to rock more from side to side. When he looked over his shoulder, Graham could see Alec’s grimace and pale complexion. It was impossible to tell if he was scared or motion sick. The inevitable occurred moments later when Sibley leaned forward and spewed his breakfast of greasy duck and coffee into the boat at his feet.

  “Alec!” Graham yelled. “You need to open your eyes and look at the shore. Don’t look down or at the water. Pick out a tree on the shore and fix your gaze on it. It will ease your sickness.”

  Sibley obliged, but he looked miserable.

  “Let’s take one more sounding, and I’ll row us to shore. Can you hold the oars?”

  Sibley weakly grabbed the long, wooden paddles. After recording two compass bearings, Graham raised the plummet from the deck and dropped it over the side, letting the rope uncoil and watching as the fathom markers vanished beneath the surface. The rope went limp and stopped uncoiling unexpectedly. Puzzled, Graham pulled the rope up and soon discovered the hemp had broken at the eyelet of the plummet, which was now lying on the bottom of the lake.

  “Crap!” Graham exclaimed looking down at a rope without a weighted plumb.

  Then it happened.

  In his debilitated state, Sibley had let go of the oars and grabbed the seat with both hands. The Annie’s bow was no longer pointing into the waves. Her axis was parallel to the three-foot swells. Just as a wave crested under the hull, Alec felt another surge of nausea and reflexively stood to vomit over the side of the boat. The starboard side of the small boat abruptly tilted upward at a severe angle and tossed Sibley headfirst into the water.

  Graham sensed the boat was drifting and looked up just as his partner was thrown overboard.

  “Aaaaagh!” Sibley shouted frantically as he surfaced and flailed his arms.

  Graham instantly switched into lifeguard mode, preparing to use the skills he had practiced years ago.

  “Alec! Grab the oar!” Graham yelled as he stretched the handle end of an oar toward Sibley. The panicked man wildly grabbed at the air as Graham tried to put the oar into his hand. After several failed attempts, Sibley finally latched onto the oar’s handle and yanked so hard Graham lost his grip on the blade. Sibley pulled the oar to his chest and clenched it with both hands in desperation. The long, wooden oar with a wide blade provided some buoyancy, but not nearly enough to keep him afloat.

  “Shit!” Graham yelled in frustration at his inability to hold on to the other end of the oar.

  Go to plan B, Graham said to himself, trying to keep a clear head. He grabbed a handful of rope coils, extended his arm behind him, and tossed the line over Sibley’s head.

  “Grab the rope! Grab the rope!” he shouted while pulling the rope toward the boat.

  It went right over the drowning man’s shoulder. If a ring buoy had been attached to the rope, it would have been easy to see and grab. But it was only a thin rope, and Sibley never attempted to latch on to this lifeline. A series of swells pushed the drowning man away from the boat. Graham quickly recoiled the rope and flipped it over the head of his partner a second time. Again, he slowly pulled it in. Again, the rope came back empty.

  Sibley’s head briefly submerged, then resurfaced even farther from the boat. He coughed from swallowing water and continued kicking and thrashing while gripping the oar, although with less vigor.

  Graham knew there was only one remaining option to rescue the drowning man. He quickly unlaced his Vasque boots and yanked them off, then ripped off his jacket. He stood on the seat with his knees bent and waited until the boat was in a trough, then jumped over the side while crossing his arms over his chest and leaning forward. When his chest hit the water, he threw both arms violently outward. This motion broke the momentum of his feet-first entry and allowed him to keep his head above water, so he didn’t lose sight of Sibley.

  The forty-degree water caused him to gasp involuntarily. He felt the stiffening effects on his muscles as they instantly contracted. He had limited time before succumbing to hypothermia. Graham used a breaststroke to swim rapidly to Sibley, who was frantic and losing control of his muscles.

  His lifeguarding instructor had emphasized the danger of swimming directly up to victims, who would often panic and grab onto their rescuer, pulling them both under. When he got within three feet of the drowning man, Graham took a deep breath and ducked under the water. Grabbing Sibley’s knees, he pushed on one and pulled on the other, rotating him to face the opposi
te direction. After surfacing, Graham clamped his left arm over Sibley’s chest and pulled him onto his back, then used a sidestroke to pull them toward the boat fifteen yards away.

  “I’ve got you, Alec,” he said in a strong, confident voice. “You’re going to be okay.”

  He needed Sibley to cease his violent movements. Otherwise, he could become even more hysterical and pull them both beneath the waves.

  Swimming against the rolling swells was arduous with Sibley clamped on Graham’s left side. He relied on a half breaststroke with his free arm and an inverted scissors kick to propel them forward. The rescue was made even more difficult because he was fully clothed.

  “Hold on to the oar!” he bellowed into Sibley’s ear, even though the terrified man wasn’t likely to comprehend what he heard. Even if they made it to the boat, they would die of hypothermia if he couldn’t row. He needed both oars.

  After reaching the Annie, Graham hurled the oar into the bobbing boat. He lifted Sibley in front of him and placed his armpits on the gunwale near the stern. Fortunately, the mule handler was only one hundred forty pounds, because he was unable to help with his own rescue. His muscles had stiffened, and his body was total deadweight.

  Graham hoisted himself out of the water and over the gunwale on the opposite side of the boat so it would not tip over from their weight. He used all the strength in his legs and back to pull Sibley into the boat by his belt. The shivering man collapsed on top of him. He scrambled to his feet and pulled Sibley toward the bow. Graham slid the oars into the oarlocks and quickly estimated the distance to Signal Point at one hundred twenty yards. Pivoting the boat toward shore, he began to row. He was already feeling the effects of the cold water on his muscle movements, but rowing was the best way to stay alert and keep the blood circulating.