Camp Wild

by Pam Withers

  My lifejacket seems inadequate in this current. I fight to keep my face above water. I struggle to lift my feet, knowing that snagging them deep below me can mean a quick drowning. I reach my arms behind me and attempt to flutter kick toward the canyon walls, where quieter patches of water might give me a chance to climb out on a rock. It’s a slow, terrifying process but better than being sucked further into midriver whirlpools that somersault me until I don’t know which way is up or down. Every now and then my raised feet bump into a boulder. I bend my knees and spring off them like a frog, trying to work my way toward the canyon walls.

  I feel my strength being sapped by the cold. My attempts to grab and hold onto climbable rock islands are slow and clumsy. Sluggishly, I lift my head to see what’s coming up and feel adrenaline course through me like lightning. I’m heading fast into a log jammed across the water like a police barrier. It’s right at water level. I know that where there are logs over water, there are typically branches beneath, ready to catch a stray swimmer like a fishnet. With every drop of strength I can command, I reach up as I’m hurtling into the log and hold on. I have nothing left in me to lift myself up onto it, but I refuse to surrender my hold and slip under it. My only chance is to hang on until Herb or Charlie can rescue me. What chance they have of positioning themselves to help me without joining me, I can’t calculate. Not with my frozen brain.

  I don’t know how long I’ve held on, limbs locking slowly like a chicken tossed in a freezer, when I feel the log start moving. Why is it moving? my numbed mind asks. Then I see a pair of extra-small neoprene booties shuffling slowly toward me along the top of the log, like a tightrope walker’s cautious feet. They stop far short of where I can reach up and clutch them. But they stop close enough that the small hands above them can toss me a rescue rope shaped into a lasso. Somehow, I understand that I’m to lift one hand at a time to let this circle fall over me and slip down to my waist. Somehow, I understand that I’m to maintain my icy grip a little longer, until the rope gets tied off and tightened. Then the feet come closer and a young face leans down into mine.

  “Herb’s coming,” Charlie says. The log begins to shake like crazy, and I think of the folktale about the giant coming to roar at someone clinging to a beanpole. Fee-fi-fo-fum... But this crawling giant and his pint-sized assistant grab me under my arms and shout at me to kick myself up on the log, which I do, or try to do.

  Soon I’m lying on my stomach, clinging to the bark like a baby monkey clings to its mother’s fur. I’m terrified of falling back into the water, rope or not. But slowly, my coaches persuade me to crawl along to the safety of the cliff-side rock on which the log has wedged. Then they rip my wetsuit off, towel me down and force me to crawl into a sleeping bag. They feed me a chocolate bar and sips of water like a baby. I am glad they realize that my fingers are incapable of flexing at this point.

  As I begin to come to my senses, I fumble for what I’m supposed to say.

  “Thank you,” I finally croak. I feel myself shaking. I am having difficulty forcing words from between my chattering teeth. “I’m sorry, really sorry. Stupid, really stupid. Won’t take off on you again. Promise.”

  chapter ten

  That night, I sleep like I’ve never slept in my life. We’re in a patch of woods just beyond where the canyon has begun to open up. A bomb could have dropped beside me and I wouldn’t have heard or felt it. When I do finally wake up, it’s because Herb and Charlie are arguing.

  “Yes, you are going to leave your kayak here,” says Herb. “We can’t take any chances of you going over the falls. You can paddle in the front of my canoe. You’ll be safe there.”

  “You can’t make me.”

  “Don’t bet I can’t make you. It’s for your own good, you know, Charlie. Can’t you see that you’ve been lucky up until now? We can’t take on the responsibility when we know what’s coming up.”

  “I’m as good as you guys. I’ve proven it.”

  I turn my head to see Charlie’s arms crossed over his chest. Poor kid. Herb has been treating him like a toddler ever since he joined us. Not that I’ve done anything about it. I hate the little brat, don’t I? But he deserves a break from Herb.

  “Let him be,” I say, sitting up.

  “See?” Charlie says.

  “You stay out of this, Wilf. We all know how much you’ve looked after Charlie on this trip.”

  “Oh yeah? You think I should manage him every second like you? Treat him like he has no skills or opinions of his own? Act like his nanny? Just give the kid a break, Herb.”

  “I will not give him a break if it means letting him hurt himself. No one else seems to be watching out for his safety.”

  Now it’s Herb’s arms crossed over his chest and Charlie looking from him to me.

  “Herb,” I repeat, “back off. Let him decide what he wants to paddle in. I’ll watch out for him today, okay? He’s sick to death of you and your ‘coaching,’ and I want some peace and quiet for once.”

  Herb looks from me to Charlie, undecided. “Okay,” he says hesitantly. “It’s about time you helped out with him.” He stomps back to his canoe and begins packing.

  Charlie smiles at me, but I turn my back on him and finger through what’s left of our food supplies. At length, I select my breakfast: canned peaches and two slightly stale cinnamon buns. These feel great in my belly as the three of us slide our boats into the water and enjoy a more leisurely set of rapids than we’ve had for many miles.

  “Nice part of the river,” Herb observes as he moves into the lead.

  “Awesome,” Charlie says as he surfs a play wave and spins off it in show-off fashion.

  I’m supposed to keep Charlie between Herb and me, but if he’s going to stop and play all the time, forget that. I pass him and tail Herb, pretending I don’t hear Charlie when he calls out, “Wilf! Look! A heron on shore.”

  The river grows ever gentler, as if spent from its ride through the canyon. Its deep green color allows me to see almost to the bottom. I wish I had my camera. I’m totally enjoying myself as I slalom around obstacles and even put my feet up on the bow thwart and stretch my hands behind my head on one particularly calm section.

  But something tells me it’s the calm before the storm. A few minutes later, my instincts are confirmed. The river speeds up, rounds a sharp bend and crescendos into a thunderous noise.

  “Falls!” I scream as I see Herb dig deep for a pivot into the nearest eddy.

  chapter eleven

  Like dominoes touched by an invisible hand, we fall into one another in a tiny eddy, each reaching for dangling-root handholds on shore to ensure we don’t get pulled back into the current.

  I climb out first, forgetting to help Charlie as I haul my boat up. Herb shouts above the roar of the falls, “Way to help the kid, Wilf. You’re useless.”

  Big deal. Charlie is doing fine climbing up the bank himself. He doesn’t need Herb to hold out his hand for him. Once we’re all on shore, we walk a few minutes until we reach the falls’ edge and look down. They’re impressive. Twenty-five feet down onto a pile of sharp rocks. Not much chance of anyone surviving if they went over, that’s for sure. I shift my eyes to a steep, muddy path zigzagging down to the pool at the bottom. It’s riddled with roots that might offer handholds but looks pretty marginal as a portage trail.

  “Ropes,” I shout to Charlie.

  “I’m not letting him help us portage!” Herb shouts back, still competing with the sound of the falls. “Let him climb down first and wait for us. You and I can hand the boats down to one another on the ropes.”

  “Stop telling him what to do. Start asking him how he thinks he can help!” I yell.

  “No, you let me organize the portage. You never do anything for that kid. I haven’t seen you take one bit of responsibility for him today, so you’re fired.”

  “Fired from what, you idiot?” I bellow, reaching out to grab him by his wetsuit’s shoulder strap.

  I don’t know what Herb th
inks I’m up to, but he lands me a hard punch in the chest. Soon we’re sprawling on the rocky ground, fists flying, backs crunching into the path, mist from the falls washing our faces. It ends as fast as it starts, like both of us can’t believe we’re being so stupid. As we scramble up and brush ourselves off, we see an orange kayak slung on a shoulder moving toward us.

  “He’s trying to portage the kayak by himself!” Herb exclaims. Before either of us can run forward to help him, Charlie stumbles. The earth beneath him gives way, and he and his boat tumble down in a small landslide. They hit the water above the falls with a splash.

  “Rescue rope!” I scream. I see Charlie failing in his efforts to regain shore. He’s being sucked toward the waterfall. I reach the canoes first, grab the rescue rope and throw it as vigorously as I can. It misses Charlie by several feet. As I retrieve it frantically and coil it for a second throw, I see Charlie reaching out for a rock, clinging to it and pulling himself up on it.

  “Attaboy,” I mumble, but I’m horrified at how close he and his rock are to the edge of the falls.

  Herb’s hands are covering his mouth. He’s speechless for once. “Our ropes aren’t long enough,” he finally says, sinking slowly to the ground.

  “Not unless we tie them together,” I say.

  “Of course!” Herb leaps up. As he helps me finish pulling my rope in, he says, “Can you imagine how scared he must be?”

  Ropes tied together now, I throw like I’m a major league pitcher in an overtime inning. Charlie, who appears to be trembling slightly, gives me a thumbs-up as he catches the other end. Herb moves to loop our end around a tree. I watch Charlie wrap his around his torso.

  “Looks like he was paying attention during the knot-tying portion of sailing class,” I say. “He’s tying a bowline.”

  “And I’ve remembered to not tie mine off,” Herb replies soberly. “The only safe thing to do is belay him. You pull while I take up the slack, okay?”

  My fingers shake slightly as I clutch the rope and nod. It’s going to take everything I have to pull him up against this current. “He has to hold the rope and his head up high enough that he planes above the water, or he’ll drown while we’re pulling him.”

  “Good thing he’s so light-weight,” Herb states.

  We draw our breath collectively as Charlie steps to the edge of his rock and slowly lets himself back into the water. Now we pull like we’re in the tug-o-war competition of our lives, which we are. Two strong camp seniors against one small junior and a roaring river. Slowly, he moves upstream toward us, stomach skimming the surface and head held high as we huff, puff and take in slack faster than champion fly fishermen with a record-breaking catch.

  When Charlie is onshore, we take a few minutes to catch our breath. Then Herb crouches down to Charlie’s height. “Charlie, this is my fault.”

  “Nope,” I say, bending down awkwardly. “It’s mine. I know you’re an incredible, amazing kid—almost bionic—but I’ve been treating you like you’re not a kid at all. I’ve been ignoring you, wishing I could get rid of you and Herb. This whole trip happened because that’s how my parents treat me. I can’t believe I’m doing that to a little kid.”

  Charlie looks at me curiously. “I’m not a little kid. You’re the only one who lets me do stuff, Wilf.”

  Herb scratches his head. “I guess I’m being a control freak like my mom and dad.”

  Charlie grins. “You’re not my parents. I don’t need any stupid parents. I know how to kayak.”

  I laugh and place my hand on his helmet. “Oh, yes, you do need parents,” I tell him. “So, now that your kayak has found its own way down the falls, tell us: Do you want to scramble down and untie the canoes as they come to you or stay up top and help lower them?”

  Charlie smirks. “I’m helping Wilf. Are you up or down, Wilf?”

  Herb laughs. “Of course. I’ll go down first, then. Better keep my helmet and lifejacket on in case you two let go before you’re supposed to.”

  chapter twelve

  It takes forever to lower the canoes down on ropes. Even if Charlie is strong for a ten-year-old, I sure could use Herb’s muscle to help lower them. But Charlie loves every minute of being my helper. And much as I hate to admit it, I’m kind of taking a shine to the kid. Yeah, he’s a pain, but then so am I, eh? In fact, he’s way too much like me. Stubborn, competitive, adventurous, no fear and lots of attitude. I feel sorry for his parents.

  So now we’re launching, and guess who insists on riding in my canoe, since we seem to be one kayak short? Good thing I brought a spare paddle. Did the kayak and its paddle get swallowed by the waterfalls? I doubt it. That little orange play boat is just doing the solo trip I’d planned on doing. But I’m having too much fun to be jealous of it. Yeah, fun. In a totally weird family of three.

  It helps that we’re done with the really hairy stuff. At least, I hope. So far, the first few rapids after the waterfall are hardly rapids at all. They’re perfect for someone like Charlie, even if he thinks he’s too good for them now.

  “Hey buddy, pretend that orange-colored rock over there is the finish line of a race. Show me your best sprint.”

  Whoa. That’s all it takes to fire up my new partner. It’s like setting off a rocket booster. I can hang out in the stern with my feet up on the thwarts, head back. He doesn’t even know it. I just stick my paddle in when he looks back or needs a little ruddering.

  But as it turns out, the orange rock isn’t an orange rock at all. It’s his waterlogged kayak plastered against a rock. We all pile out and, working together as a team, finally extract it.

  “Can’t blame it for hugging that rock after what it has gone through,” Herb jokes. “Good thing it’s plastic.”

  Indeed, there’s hardly a scratch on it.

  “Think I could have gone over the falls in it and lived?” Charlie asks, inspecting it.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Herb and I say together.

  “Hey! Is that my paddle?” he asks, pointing to an eddy further downstream.

  Herb canoes down to it, picks it up, gives us a victory sign.

  Too bad, I think. Now I’ve lost my slave. So Charlie climbs back in his kayak, and the three of us meander on down through playful rapids: canoe, kayak and canoe, staying in the order we’ve agreed on. Herb and I are careful to pick routes Charlie can follow, more careful than we were above. Even if it’s easier here, there’s no point losing him after all we’ve been through. And okay, I’ve undergone an attitude adjustment.

  “Hey Herb. The way the trees look up ahead, I’d say we’re about to dump into a lake. You figure?”

  He slows his stroke rate for a second. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Then what?”

  “Well, first we break out the marshmallows, because I’ve been saving them for a celebration. Then you catch us a fish and we’ll have a delicious fry-up. Then we look for a break in the trees that might be a road access.”

  “Then you and Charlie can hike out if no one has shown up looking for us yet.”

  “You’re still set on staying here?”

  “Can I stay with you?” Charlie asks.

  “Not in a month of Sundays, kid. You get back to camp and show Patrick and Claire how your ferry moves and eddy turns have improved.”

  “Awwww!”

  “Not much food left, Wilf,” Herb objects.

  “That’s what my fish hooks and survival skills are for. Tell ‘em I’ll be back before my two weeks is up.”

  “They’ll grill Charlie and me about where you are.”

  “Well, I know Charlie won’t break,” I tease back.

  As we’re talking, the river gets shallow and gurgles as it feeds into the lake.

  “Sounds like it’s farting,” Charlie says, laughing so hard his kayak shakes.

  “It’s just saying goodbye.”

  chapter thirteen

  We take a good look around. Forget a break in the trees indicating a road. The glare of the sun on a bun
ch of vehicles beside a dirt ramp across the lake hits us. It’s matched by the sparkle of aluminum canoes coming at us, like maybe someone’s binoculars spotted us on the last portion of the river and served as the signal for launching.

  “Three double canoes. Isn’t that a bit large for a Camp Wild posse?” Herb says uncertainly. “I think we might be in a little trouble when they get here.”

  “Doesn’t leave many canoes back at camp,” I mumble, realizing I have no time to hide now.

  “Or counselors,” Charlie inserts.

  We paddle slowly toward the middle of the lake as the canoes close on us. I can’t figure out who’s in the boats. I’m guessing it might be Claire and Patrick in the front one, and judging from the color of their clothing, park rangers in the second. Looks like a middle-aged couple in the third. Herb’s folks? The couple is struggling to keep up with the other two boats, like they’re not very fit, but their paddling technique clearly shows they’ve spent lots of time in canoes. Hopefully they’re not police officers or anything.

  My paddle keeps dipping, my eyes on the party approaching. Definitely Patrick and Claire, definitely rangers. But... my mom and dad? What the heck would they be doing here, in a canoe of all things?

  As five canoes and one kayak converge in the middle of the lake, people practically tip over reaching out to shake hands or, in the case of Mom and Dad, hug me.

  “We’re so relieved you’re safe,” Claire gushes. “I just want you to know how happy we are that you’re all here. Everyone at camp has been worrying like crazy about the three of you. Especially you, Charlie,” she says as he squirms a little and gives me a sideways smile.