Trust No One

There is one particular day I will never forget, where I was reminded of the constant respect you must give the elements of your chosen adventure.
Our party of six canoes was a few days into an 18-day trip down the Nahanni River in Northwest Territories, Canada. The waters of this glacier fed river were higher than usual that stormy summer, and class two rapids had exploded into class three or four.
My dad and older sister Robyn paddled together, while I paddled in the front of the group with the assistant guide and veteran white water runner, Doug.
That afternoon, Doug and I safely set the course down one challenging set of rapids thanks to ol’ Doug’s expertise. The two of us hurried ashore with throw ropes, in case any of our team capsized, which they did.
The next four canoes tossed its paddlers into the water. Our team became divided as eight cold-shocked canoe junkies swam to opposite sides of the river from each other.
Picking up the rear, my dad and Robyn’s canoe flooded in the rapids. Now uncontrollable it was batted upside down like a mouse under the paw of a cat.
Out of reach and without a throw rope anyways, Robyn seized a rock just offshore and dragged herself to land on the opposite shore from me. My father wasn’t so lucky and carried through the waves and turmoil. For the first time in my life I heard my dad, a wilderness guide, yell in vain the word “help.”
He was half drowning in the foam as he was carried down the middle of the river. I clambered along the tree lined shore, lock eyed with him as I tried to keep up.
Amid the panic, I dually came to a level-headed and solemn recognition that I was probably about to watch my father die.
Robyn, who sat like a zombie, mentally incapacitated under the spell of hypothermia, was slowly marginalized in my thoughts. I was going to lose sight of my dad soon.
Thrashing, he approached a sinister set of rapids that disappeared around a bend, and would not have even been runnable in a canoe.
Nearing certain death, he powered himself over to the calmer river edge and struggled onto the shore’s rocky face. As two of our team members frantically tore along the shoreline towards him, his first words were, “ROBYN! COLD!” as he pointed to Robyn upriver.
No time to rest or garnish attention, as you learn from watching him. If the river doesn’t eat you, you move on with whatever phase two is. That’s called living for the next adventure, which we all did.