| innuendos |
by Jon Turk
I watched, first with almost abstract curiosity, then incredulity, and finally terror as the snow wrinkled, churning into angry surf. Avalanche! Steve's body rotated, rose and tilted. I looked over my left shoulder to see if I could race to the ridge, but I was deep in the gully and there was no escape. Somersaulting, cartwheeling--out of control. Heavy pressure, a sudden pain, I swam for my life, and then the slide stopped and I was at the bottom of the mountain, on top of the snow. Alive. Alone.
Shaking from fear and adrenaline, I zipped open my jacket and turned my transceiver from transmit to receive. I picked up a faint signal and I was certain that Steve was beneath me, under the snow, struggling to breathe air that didn't exist. Find him! Dig! I tried to stand, but couldn't. I lay back in the snow and told myself, "You've broken something. It hurts. But you can't afford the luxury of listening to pain. Steve is dying. Stand up! Find him! Dig!"
I carefully tried to curl my legs under me, but they wouldn't move. "Oh my God, I broke my back!" I saw a dull picture of myself forever in a wheelchair. Then I wiggled my toes and felt them press against my boots. My spinal column was intact and I told myself, "It's bad, but not that bad."
Voices. Steve had washed farther down the gully and was on top of the snow, calling to Mitch, Linda, and Chris. I lay back, relieved. I looked around at the snowy peaks with their jagged limestone outcrops, and spoke to them as old friends, "I'll miss you guys." But then, with an upwelling of resolve, I promised myself that by springtime I'd be in my kayak, playing on the melting snow. I thought of rivers that I love. The Selway.
The Selway hovered around me as I bounced behind the snowmachine on a toboggan. As the ambulance sped through town, I saw myself in the center run on Ladle, dancing past holes. At the hospital they cut off my clothes, inserted IV's, and the doctor told me, "We've called Life Flight. We're flying you to Calgary." Separated pelvis, internal bleeding, hypothermia, dislocated shoulder. Two weeks in the hospital; a month more in bed and in the Lazy-Boy recliner. Then the therapist put a wide belt around my waist and helped me to my feet. I was shaky; I needed crutches; but I could walk. The next day I was in the gym, lifting light weights, thinking of the Selway.
My friends joked that we'd have to mount a rack on the back of my kayak to hold my crutches so I could walk from the take-out. I smiled, put the crutches in the back store room, and hobbled back to the porch. "I don't need crutches any more."
We paddled the Class I West Fork of the Bitterroot. My hips felt locked, but I shouted commands down the nerves and the joints reluctantly responded. The next weekend I tried the Pine Creek stretch on the Salmon, Class II. I did a practice roll in an eddy but it hurt so much that I boated conservatively the rest of the day. Then the Lochsa, and the Lochsa again. Time was running out. My put-in date approached.
Hot weather was melting the 180 percent of normal snowpack. At the put-in, the gauge read 6.5 feet, 20,000 cfs. I'd run the Selway 20 times, but never when it was this high. I was thankful for my three friends, all strong boaters, all familiar with the river. I didn't tell them that I hadn't done a combat roll yet this year. I wanted them to have faith in me. I boated scared the first day, but with no problems. That night the river rose another foot. This small Idaho stream was probably running twice the volume of the Colorado through the Grand Canyon. The water overflowed the shallow bank and trees grew out of the eddies. If I needed to, I could fly out from Selway Lodge. No, the mental intensity reminded me of an old friend--me. I resolved to kayak the river.
I ran Ham, the first Class IV, on the right, punched the lateral, moved center, and passed easily above the hole. The waves were big and powerful but I whispered to myself, "Piece of cake." Double Drop didn't go so smoothly. A huge wave broke and surfed me backwards. There was no time to recover and I dropped into the hole. If I swam here, I might lose my boat, swim the next half a dozen rapids, and then have to walk the 25 miles to the road. But I couldn't walk twenty five miles. No way.
The hole embraced me with aerated foam, violent moves. Then the turbulence subsided and I bobbed down the wave train upside down. I reached my paddle out. My body remembered and I rolled easily. As I paddled into the eddy, Charlie laughed and said, "You're in your boat, right side up, with your paddle in your hands. I guess you had a good run." I smiled weakly.
The right sneak in Ladle Rapid was blocked by a log. The center was mayhem. But I thought the left would go--maybe. Two of our group elected to portage. No one in the Universe would care if I walked this one. I looked around at the ancient ponderosa pines on the south facing slopes and the dark firs across the river. Spring flowers bloomed. This is my home. I'd chosen my lifestyle a long time ago. I knew that if I ignored my fear long enough it would retreat into a familiar dark corner where it could watch but not rule. I waited. Then I slipped into my cockpit and pulled my sprayskirt tight.
I made the ferry cleanly, eddied out and tried to relax. Then I entered the narrow slot between the rock and the hole, drifted too far right, and pried out of the hole. I was too far center to make the second eddy, but turned my boat in time to catch the green tongue. Time to move right, but the lateral had a nasty curl. I forced myself to wait and watch the scenery until the current carried me beneath the lateral. Then I pillowed off the big rock and I was home free.
Only four more rapids in quick succession and we would be out of the canyon. I ferried hard left between Puzzle Creek and No Slouch and saw a phantom motion in the cliffs along the shore. I paddled into the bouncy eddy and stared up into the eyes of a yearling doe. The river had eroded a small cave into the rock, and the spring moisture dripped off the almost Day-glo green moss. The doe had an ugly wound on her right shoulder. She probably fell into the river and swam Ladle. She was undernourished and mucus oozed out of her nostrils. I guessed that she had clambered to shore and then was trapped in the cave, afraid to swim one more boiling rapid. I couldn't tell how long she had been there, but she was starving, sick and hurt.
I whispered quietly to her, "I've been where you are, Little Mamma, I know the abyss you feel." She backed up against the rock, cold water trickling over the protruding ribs and clotted blood. Her big eyes stared, ears stretched out as far as they could reach. I carefully climbed out of my boat and lifted it onto a narrow ledge. She tried to step backwards again, then looked nervously side to side, but she had nowhere to go.
"You'll die if you stay here. I had snowmachines, ambulances, helicopters, doctors. All you've got is me. I'm going to give you a chance at life. I would have taken the chance, if that had been my only hope. I know I would have. I'll throw you in the water. You'll have to swim one rapid. Hold your breath when you go into the hole on the left. Then head for shore. Understand?" Her ears twitched. I lunged. My left hand pressed against the sticky wound on her shoulder. My right tried to grasp her hind leg, but motivated by the contact, she leapt.
A rear hoof bashed painfully against my ear. Her front legs glanced off my boat and then she was in the water, swimming strongly. As she disappeared around the bend, I reminded her one more time. "Remember to hold your breath." Then I was alone in the damp greenness of the cave. As I eased back into my boat, I whispered to myself, "Everything is going to be all right."