Tracker's Canyon

by Pam Withers

  “This, everyone, is a circle of webbing,” Brigit says as she places a piece around a small but secure boulder. “It’s going to serve as my anchor. And see this thing that looks like a necklace pendant on the downward side? That’s called a ‘quicklink.’ Watch as I feed my rappel rope through it.”

  “Interesting,” Harry says dutifully.

  “Mmm,” says Angela as the rest of us nod.

  “Now, on one side of the rope I’m attaching a cara­biner. See how the rope slides through the quicklink? That allows it to pull only one way. It works like a belt buckle: the quicklink ‘blocks’ if the rope is yanked the opposite way.”

  “Clever,” Harry says.

  Next she feeds the other end of the rope through a fancy figure-eight-type configuration just above where it’s attached to her harness. “And this set-up lets me control how fast I descend. It offers the resistance I need.”

  “Hmm,” says Angela.

  “Okay. Here’s the fun part, folks.” Brigit proceeds to “walk” down the cliff face with feet to the wall, face to the sky, holding one strand of the rope in her gloved hands.

  I speak up. “Notice how there’s no knot on the end of the rappel rope. That’s different than in climbing.”

  “Why?” Harry asks.

  “Because when you get to the end, sometimes you have to get clear of thrashing water real fast, so that you don’t drown,” I explain.

  “Drown?” Angela repeats nervously.

  “It gives you more control, but it also means you have to pay attention. Because you want the rope’s end to stay above the water, but you also have to know exactly when you’re going to run out of rope and fall into the drink.” An old expression of my Dad’s I kind of like.

  “Bravo, Tristano,” Dominik says. “Guide Brigit had better watch her cute little behind.”

  That’s rude, man, I think. Anyway, no way Brigit has to worry about Alex hiring me over her.

  A long, clear whistle sounds from below.

  “All clear,” Angela says. “It means we go next, right?”

  “Exactly. Dominik and I will help you,” I assure her.

  “Yahoo!” I cheer minutes later as I splash into the creek — shallower here than the last place we jumped in — after Harry and Angela. We swim aside and wait for our Polish friend to land.

  “Tak!” he shouts in glee when he surfaces. “That’s ‘yes!’ in Polish.”

  “So now,” Brigit says, taking over again, “I pull the rope from the unblocked pull side, so that it falls free.”

  “But —” Harry points up to the bank we just leaped from.

  “Yup, this system leaves the webbing around the boulder. No big deal. Another canyoneering party might use it, if no floods shred it before they find it. And once I pull the rope,” she reminds us, giving it a dramatic tug, “there’s no going back. Canyoneering is all about going down, not up.”

  “No going back,” Angela repeats soberly, shaking and looking at Harry.

  “Wow,” he says, “coming down on that rope was pretty intense.”

  Chill, you guys, I want to say. Just enjoy yourselves! Rappelling is one of the easiest, most fun parts of the sport — at least, when someone else sets you up. Harry and Angela should be pumped about the experience. Dominik and I trade looks. Could be a slow day.

  We step out of the water, then follow Brigit down a path beside the stream, pausing to enjoy the view of the sparkling water, its mossy log-jams and dancing currents.

  “So, Tristan,” Brigit says as she moves up to walk beside me, “how long since you’ve been down here?”

  I hesitate. “Eight months.”

  “Makes sense. You were looking a little rusty earlier this morning, but you’ve already got your rhythm back.”

  Not sure it’s true, but sounds good to me. I force a smile.

  “Ouch!” Her angry cry startles me as she examines her arm. “A wasp just stung me.”

  “You okay?” Dominik and I ask at the same time.

  “Yes, but it’s time to stop for a cup of tea,” she says unexpectedly, glancing at a nearby tree stump over which a dozen wasps hover.

  “Now?” I ask, surprised anyone would want tea in the midday warmth, especially near a wasps’ nest.

  “Yes!” she snaps, and in no time she has extracted her camping stove to heat up a pot of creek water. Strangely, she also dons a hooded sweatshirt and pulls the hood tight around her face.

  As the pot bubbles fiercely, I organize tea bags and cups. Suddenly, she rises, grips the pot handle, sprints over to the stump, and pours the steaming water on the wasps’ nest.

  Angela’s blood-curdling scream — a fear of the wasps coming after her? — prompts Harry to wrap his arms around her and haul her well away from the stump. Dominik and I are preparing to dive into the stream when I realize that few of the wasps survived the attack, and none are coming for us.

  Brigit marches toward us, a triumphant look on her still-hooded face. “That’ll teach them,” she says.

  “But only one stung you,” Dominik objects.

  “The rest had to pay for that,” she declares flatly. “Now, anyone really want tea or shall we carry on?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Remind me not to get on that girl’s bad side,”

  Dominik jokes quietly as we amble behind the rest

  of the group a short while later.

  “She’s a little unpredictable,” I agree cautiously. More like frenetic as a mad hen. “But nice of her to invite me.”

  “She is impressed with you. When I was walking with her just now, all she could talk about was what a great canyoneer you are.”

  “Me?” My face goes warm. “I hardly know her. This is our first trip together.”

  “Well, she seems to know all about you. And she told me about your mom and dad. So sorry —”

  I stiffen. “She has no right to tell anyone stuff about me.”

  “Easy, kid. I just said it so you do not feel you have to hide anything.”

  “What exactly did she say?” I demand.

  Dominik shuffles his feet and steals a glance at our companions. Brigit is absorbed in pointing out plants and offering some kind of nature lecture. She and the couple are definitely out of earshot.

  “She said your dad drowned in the canyon last fall, and your mom has not been okay since. And that you never get out canyoneering anymore.”

  I feel the colour drain from my face. “My mother’s getting better,” I lie. “I look after her because I’ve got to. So what?”

  “Very noble of you, Tristan,” Dominik replies. “Please do not be cross about Brigit telling me. She may be moody, but she is a nice girl at heart. We’ve been talking, and I’ve learned she has been through family troubles herself, so maybe she understands.”

  “Understands what?”

  He rubs his chin. “Look, I have obviously said too much already. She helped you get out canyoneering today, right? And she is impressed by your abilities. Let us just leave it at that.”

  I lower my pulse by watching the water flow beside us. Then I raise my head to appreciate a burst of ferns sprouting from a crack in the canyon wall. My eyes continue up twelve stories to the top of the canyon wall.

  Tensing, I grab Dominik’s elbow. “Look up there, on the rim. Do you see something?”

  He raises his head and squints. “Nope. Why?”

  “I saw a person and a flash of light, like a signal.”

  “Signal? Sorry, Tristan. I do not see anyone up there.”

  I look again at where I’m sure I saw the silhouette of a figure and the glint of sun off glass. Nothing there now. Whoever was there has done a disappearing act.

  “Someone is up there watching us with a pair of binoculars,” I speculate. “Or else they used a mirror to signal us.”

&nbs
p; Dominik is peering at me. “Could be a house, a car, maybe even a hiker checking out the canyon. Or maybe the glint in the eye of that cougar, who likes you so much that he is tracking you again.” He’s smiling.

  “Nice try, but no houses, roads, or trails up there.”

  “Dominik! Tristan! I’ve seen snails move faster than you two,” Brigit shouts. “Can’t keep up with the rest of us?”

  He and I exchange looks again and speed up.

  “We’re almost to Emerald Pool,” she enthuses as we approach. “We can have our picnic lunch there. Then there are three short, easy waterfall descents before our exit out of the Upper Canyon. If we miss that exit, we enter the Lower Canyon.”

  “The Lower Canyon is more difficult?” Harry asks.

  “Ten times more difficult. Not many people are capable of doing it. We’ll not be going there today,” she says in her friendly guide voice, which I’m starting to believe is not her real voice.

  “The Lower Canyon,” Angela repeats slowly, pressing a finger against her chin. “Isn’t that where some woman drowned last fall? And a guy went missing? Sounds really dangerous.”

  My body goes as tense as steel. I notice Brigit’s eyes narrow before she dons her guide face again. She doesn’t look my way. She’s clearly avoiding looking my way.

  “The woman’s body washed up,” Harry contributes helpfully. “The guy’s was never found. But I can’t remember if they were connected.”

  “I think we should stick to cheerful topics,” Brigit says in a pleasant but measured tone. “And we should proceed to the pool, which will be the best part of today.”

  Emerald Pool lives up to its name, tranquil and green. Plumes of vapour hover over the top lip of the short chute that feeds it. One by one, we toboggan down the spillway with whoops of delight and then float on our backs for a minute in the peaceful stretch of water, gazing at the sky. To one side, a branch loaded with leaves sticks out of a crack in the canyon wall, like an exotic sun umbrella. Above it, a series of thick branches from a large hemlock tree elbow out of the rock face.

  “So,” Dominik says as he lodges himself two tree branches above the water and starts eating the sandwich Brigit has passed him. “How long have you been canyoneering, Brigit?”

  “Since I was a kid.” Seated on a riverside boulder across from one I’ve claimed beneath the tree, dangling a foot in the green water, she takes a large bite from her apple.

  “Your dad got you started?” Harry asks from his perch below Dominik as he rips into his potato chip bag.

  “Never had a dad. Learned from my mom,” Brigit answers after some hesitation.

  “Your mother was a canyoneer?” Angela exclaims. Poised standing at one end of the tree’s bottom limb, sandwich in hand, she shuffles along it like she’s a gymnast on a balance beam, lifting one foot at a time as she moves toward Harry. Though she’s only a few feet above the water, I don’t relax until she plunks herself down on the lowest branch beneath her husband’s swinging legs. That’s when I notice murky water flow into the clean green water from the chute. It unsettles me enough that I almost don’t catch Angela’s next question: “So how’d your mom get into it?”

  “She was a geologist. Her work took her into canyons.” Brigit’s voice has an edge to it, as if she’s resentful of the questions.

  “Does she still do canyoneering?” I ask, remembering only after the question is out of my mouth that Dean said their mom died last year.

  She turns hard eyes on me and her “No!” comes out ice-cold, flashing me back to that day at school when she stared menacingly at me.

  “Do you take Dean canyoneering?” I press, willing to piss her off as payback for her talking to Dominik behind my back.

  To my surprise, instead of inflaming her, this transforms her expression into one of softness and pride. “Dean is amazing. Smart as anything and an awesome climber. And yes, he has been in the Upper Canyon several times with me. Never in the Lower, of course. Sometimes he misbehaves, but that’s a twelve-year-old boy for you.” She smiles glowingly, the proudest sister I’ve ever met.

  “You don’t look old enough to have a twelve-year-old,” Angela declares, raising her voice to compete with the sudden splashing of a log and some debris down the waterslide.

  “He’s my brother,” Brigit corrects her client in a gentle tone. “I’m his guardian. We have each other for family. Do you have kids?” she addresses Angela and Harry, clearly ducking further questions about her life.

  Angela reaches up to clasp Harry’s hand and smiles. “We only got married last month. So someday, maybe. In —”

  “— a flash!” I say.

  “Pardon?” Harry stares at me.

  “A flash, up there.” My finger points to the forest floor high above us.

  “Tristan keeps seeing flashes from the rim,” Dominik explains, “like sun hitting binoculars. He thinks someone is stalking us.” The teasing voice prompts me to lower my head for a second.

  “Shh!” I order, suddenly noticing the spread of mucky water, floating branches, and bark pieces spoiling our pretty pool.

  “Like you can hear someone from way up there —” Dominik starts. Then he goes quiet and also stares at the new jumble of debris floating around our pool. Brigit, Dominik, and I all leap up at the same time.

  “Get up the tree, high as you can go!” Brigit shouts before blowing three loud shrieks on her whistle.

  As I scramble up to the first branch, I tie a rope to my harness and form an alpine butterfly knot to clip into Angela’s harness. Only as the carabiner clicks into place do I realize that Brigit has done the same from the other side. Then we’re on the second, the third, the fourth branches of the tree growing out of the rock wall.

  Dominik leapfrogs all the way to a high, sturdy branch in seconds.

  Brigit pauses just under him. “Move it, Angela!” she shouts, as she and I position ourselves beside one another for rope hauling. Harry offers his arm down to his shrieking wife as he scrambles upward, but they’re not moving fast enough.

  From faraway upstream comes an ominous rumble.

  Wordlessly, Brigit and I begin to pull Angela up on the ropes secured to her. We strain and yank and tug as the thunderous growl speeds toward us. Then a wave of muddy water bursts down the chute and infiltrates Emerald Pool. We stare, mesmerized, as the fast-moving head of muddy water fronted by debris snakes toward us like a dark, multi-armed monster.

  Faster and faster it moves, its head gobbling up any debris in its way, its arms shifting left and right according to the pond’s shape. With every foot that it progresses, it grows faster and more powerful. Behind it rides an astonishing volume of lighter brown water that takes over all in its path, hoisting up logs, covering boulders, rising as it gulps its way downstream.

  Emerald Pool transforms into a raging, mud-coloured whirlpool. The roiling water soon reaches Angela’s dangling shoes. Dominik pulls Harry up beside him; Brigit and I exert full force on the ropes securing his wife.

  “Help me! Help me!” Angela cries even after she’s wrapped safely in Harry’s arms.

  All of us are clinging to our trembling tree branch.

  In minutes, the force is spent, and the roar dies down as the head of foaming brown water continues downstream.

  “Whaa — ?” Harry says.

  “Flash flood,” I explain, while Brigit — who I have to admit handled the crisis admirably — makes sure everyone has a secure grip. “Is everyone okay?”

  It wasn’t Brigit’s or Alex’s fault, I remind myself. Alex may have started the season slightly early, but no one can predict a freak flash flood; they can only ensure that the guide is experienced and capable enough to react swiftly and correctly if it does happen. Which she did.

  “Yes, but where did that water come from? It’s blue sky, no rain,” Angela says, both hands gripping her husband�
�s arm.

  “Doesn’t need to rain here to raise the stream level,” I explain. “If it rains far upstream, it doesn’t take long to reach us.”

  “And you heard it coming?” Harry’s face is white.

  “No. First the water goes brown, then stuff starts coming down. By the time you hear a flash flood coming, it’s too late,” I reply. I can hardly believe I recognized the signs before Brigit and Dominik.

  “Thanks for helping me with your ropes,” Angela mumbles. “You maybe saved my life.”

  “You’re welcome,” Brigit and I say at the same time.

  “What a story we’ll have to tell when we get back, right, Harry?” Angela sounds almost excited now that the drama is over.

  “Mmm,” Harry says, observing the torrent beneath us. “How do we get out of here now?”

  Dominik, Brigit, and I eye the crack from which our tree thrusts. The maze of branches almost resembles a beanstalk, ending at a point about two-thirds of the way up the canyon wall. After that, the crack is more like a chimney, which I calculate even Angela can scramble up with a little coaching.

  “We should —” Brigit starts.

  “— make like Jack and the Freakin’ Beanstalk,” I finish for her, ignoring the annoyed look it puts on her face.

  “We are lucky,” Dominik rules.

  “Yes. We have branches, ropes, ascending gear, and an easy crack to climb up,” Brigit agrees. “I also have a cell phone in my pack for contacting Alex to meet us up at the trailhead.”

  So, this day trip is going to end abruptly, I reflect, as we begin scrambling upward. Safely for the five of us, thankfully. But with no clues as to why I was invited.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Hhow was it?” Mom asks the next day, holding my hand as she settles back against her pillows.