We see high whitewater ahead and pull in.
But Max and Daphne keep going.
The third canoe follows – Craig and Alex shrugging. So we join them.
But ahead I can tell Max is in trouble.
I stand up in the back of the canoe. I can see Max and Daphne lean and capsize. We pull into shore.
All I can think is, Daphne is pregnant.
They have gone down several steep shelves of rock. They are hanging onto the sunken canoe in the last pool before the falls. The current is fast.You can tell from how theyre balanced that their purchase is tender, up to their necks. They are leaning into the river.
Max is nimbly leaning back into the current, holding the nose of the canoe. The falls are twelve feet and very rough, massive rocks. Max calm in the face of a ridiculous situation.
I throw a rope and Max secures the canoe. Craig hauls the canoe over and I steer it in. I throw a rope to Daphne. It’s not clean around her. She loses her footing and swings, she swings towards the edge of froth, gripping the rope in her armpit. I see Craig lean to dive in. The rope snaps taut and we pull her in. Then it’s Max.
It’s six-thirty, the sky grazing the tops of heavy spruce. The food tubs were not roped in. So their gear is floating down-river. It begins to rain. Daphne a little in shock. We set up tents on the only clear spot, rocky and steep. A dreary scene. Build a fire, a fire is good, you hear about fires, everything you read about a fire is true. A fire never offers despair. A fire is pure hope, a true raw heart.
Make some tea. Tea is the drinkable equivalent of fire.
We portage the canoes. We spot a tiny cabin behind the bluff of a hill in the rain. We decide to break in. Max assures us the cabin owner wouldnt mind, considering our predicament. The rain plummeting.
We scuttle our miserable camp, our last stand, and make for the cabin. We ruin a screen on the window breaking in. There are six bunks. Six of us. A fine woodstove. Drying out the gear.
We leave money on the table to replace the screen.
We all try our best to lose our stiffness. We’re too serious. Or perhaps it would be best if someone admitted how close to death Max and Daphne were. And Daphne pregnant. But it’s too early, or too severe, to admit to anything, and we play cards and drink Scotch and light candles and kerosene lamps.
13 Lydia: Take a gander at the map.
Me: You mean, take an exploits at the map.
What?
Gander River. Exploits River.
I knew you were gonna say that.
We take a vote and decide to continue down the Exploits. We’re sick of the cabin. We feel better in a canoe, even in the rain. We make it to Badger by nightfall and camp at the edge of a farmer’s field. Max walks into town the highway runs very close to the river, so even when youre out on the water youre never that far from civilization. Craig strings up a tarp and a line to hang clothes.
The farmer and his wife come by. They are politely leery of the fire and their grass, which could transport a line of flame straight over to the sheep barn. They tell us that the Badger Chute is around the bend and that we must portage it. Search and Rescue, the farmer says, are hauling people out of that every year.
Max returns with a bottle of dark rum. And Daphne mixes drinks. It is clear Daphne has scolded Max and Max has apologized.
Craig repairs everything. A missing tent pole. He leans over to apply duct tape to the heels of Lydia’s sandals.
14 We reach the chute and size it up. We portage the gear over the knob of rock and stand studying the chute. I try to stand as if I know what I’m gauging. Craig and Alex want to do it, which convinces us. Max and Daphne have already begun to portage. We flip a coin and Lydia and I win the toss. We tow our canoe upriver a little. We have to cross the current and then swivel midstream and hit the chute at a little off-centre to avoid a massive rock. It’s difficult to see what is under the boiling froth below the chute. I throw in a carrot and it bobs safely enough. Lydia says, But we’re not a carrot. The wind picks up and Daphne clambers along the shore to us.