A Backwoods Adventure

“Don’t startle it; there’s no telling what he might do,” cautioned John. As quietly as John talked the moose must have

heard him. It looked up, directly at John and the boys, and then bolted. Fortunately, it didn’t charge them; unfortunately, it ran

in the direction of the tent, knocking it down and dragging it a short distance before breaking free to disappear into the

woods. All three stood there stunned before John ran over to pick up what was left of the tent.

“I think it’s still serviceable,” he commented.

A closer examination showed that two of the three fiberglass wands which supported the tent were broken. Also, a seam

close to the door had a six inch tear in it. John pulled out all the stakes which had been holding down the corners and spread

the tent out flat.

“Jerry, why don’t you get a fire going and get supper together while Steve and I see what we can do in the way of repair.”

John got a sewing kit out of his pack and a spray bottle of silicone to use as water-proofing on the seam and, with help

from Steve, sewed up the tear. He was also able to splice the two broken wands by placing several short, slender willow

branches alongside the break and wrapping them with duct tape, which was always part of a small emergency kit he carried.

By the time Jerry had supper ready the tent, if not a thing of beauty, was at least standing and, hopefully would not

collapse on them during the night.

“The Hilton it ain’t,” Jerry quipped. “It looks like the moose is still leaning on it.”

“You don’t have to sleep in it,” John replied. “You can always sleep in the outdoors Hilton.”

“Maybe I will,” was Jerry’s retort.

When bedtime came Jerry dragged his sleeping bag and pad out of the tent and spread them out near the fireplace.

Steve followed suit.

In the early hours of the morning the boys regretted their decision to sleep outdoors. A sudden thunder shower came

upon them so quickly that they were soaked before they could crawl out of their sleeping bags. Then, in their rush to get into

the tent, Jerry tripped and fell on top of one of the emergency guy ropes John had tied to the tent. The tent immediately

collapsed, undoing all the repair work John had put into it.

A muffled roar came from inside the tent. “What’s going on out there?”

“Sorry, Dad,” mumbled Jerry. The Outdoors Hilton suddenly became Niagara Falls and I tripped and fell over one of the

tent ropes.”

“Cover your sleeping bags with a tarp while I work my way out of this trap. Then we’ll see if it can be resurrected.”

By retying the rope Jerry had tripped on they were able to restore the tent to an almost vertical mode. After placing the

boys’ sleeping bags inside the tent the tarp used to cover them was draped over the tent as a security measure. By that time

all three were soaked and the storm had moved on.

“No sense going to bed wet,” John commented. “Let’s build a fire and dry everything off first.”

The fire, smoky at first, was soon blazing cheerily. By standing close they soon were able to dry the clothes they were

wearing. As the sleeping bags were too wet and soggy to dry by the fire John suggested the boys leave them until morning

and sleep in their clothes, donning a jacket for warmth.

In the morning all the wet clothes and the two wet sleeping bags were spread out to dry. The tent had to be completely

re-erected and new repairs made to compensate for Jerry’s mishap. This took most of the morning. Because of these

chores the fishing that day was confined to an area close to camp.

In contrast to the first day, when the fish would not rise for Jerry, on this day they seemed to be in a feeding frenzy.

Almost every cast, whether with fly or lure, provoked a strike. By mid-afternoon they were all tired enough to call it a day.

“Tomorrow is the last day we can fish,” said John as they sat around the campfire that evening, “I suggest we walk down

to the confluence with the main river. We didn’t fish that section last year; and as I recall there were many beautiful stretches

there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jerry replied.

“Me too,” said Steve.

The going was much tougher going downstream than it had been on their upstream trek. In order to keep their bearings

more or less in a straight line John decided to stay on the same side of the stream as their camp. He felt this would be the

most direct route to the main river, although it appeared the going might be easier on the other side.

John carried the machete and a pack with their lunch and emergency supplies. He frequently had to hack his way through

dense brush when there was no way of going around it. Wisely, they made an early start; even so, it was past 10 o’clock

before the Kennewash came into view.

“Let’s stay together,” said John. “This is a much larger and swifter stream than the North Fork. If one of us gets in trouble

the others need to be there to lend a hand.”

As they turned downstream to find a pool where they could begin their fishing Jerry called out, “Bear,” and pointed to a

pool directly in front of him.

Sure enough, a large brown bear was standing in the water near the edge of the pool swatting at fish. Twice it

succeeded in striking one and flipping it to shore where it picked the fish up in its giant paws and ate it. The three of them

stood there quietly, observing the scene with fascination. Finally, the bear had enough and ambled off noisily into the woods.

“I’ve never seen a bear up close before,” Steve commented. “Do you think he’ll return?”

“Probably not,” John replied, “but we’d better keep our eyes open just in case.”

They began fishing at the next pool and soon all three, using lures, were fighting a large fish. To keep from getting all

their lines tangled John waded downstream, horsing his fish with him. His efforts were to no avail. As soon as he left the

boys’ lines became entangled when each of their fish made a sudden change f direction. Jerry and Steve exchanged rods

hoping this would solve the problem but that only made matters worse.

“You hold both rods,” Jerry shouted to Steve. “I’m going to wade in with the net and see if I can net one of them.”

“Okay,” Steve responded.

Jerry soon discovered that wading wasn’t going to be enough. After three short steps the bottom dropped away

suddenly and he was in over his head. The current was so swift it immediately swept him downstream past an astonished

John who was still fighting his trout.

Jerry hurtled through a cascade, tumbling head over heels, barely able to keep his head above water. At one point he

careened into a rock with such force that he felt an instant agonizing pain in his right ankle. A few seconds later his

momentum carried him against another rock. This time his head hit the rock, knocking him unconscious.

By now both Steve and John had dropped their fishing rods and were racing downstream after him. John wasted no

time; as soon as he was abreast of Jerry he plowed into the water, swimming with short, rapid strokes to where Jerry was

floating, face down. John immediately turned Jerry on his back and, wrapping an arm around Jerry’s chest, swam to shore.

Steve was waiting for him. Quickly they turned Jerry onto his stomach and began artificial respiration. Jerry came to a

few minutes later, coughing and gagging on the water he had swallowed. John noticed then that Jerry’s eyes were not

focusing, a sure sign of concussion. After discovering this he had Jerry stay lying down until he was breathing normally.

“What happened?” Jerry asked as soon as he was able to speak.

John answered, “You went for a fast water swim and must have hit your head on a rock. Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“My ankle,” Jerry groaned.

John looked at Jerry’s ankles and could see that the right ankle was swollen and badly discolored. “Hand me your t-

shirt,” he said to Steve. “We’ll use that to bind Jerry’s ankle. Then, we had better see if we can make it back to the car.

When we get Jerry settled we can start thinking about our gear at camp. I guess we’ll have to write off the fishing rods as a

loss.”

The return to the car was one fraught with difficulties. John carried Jerry piggy-back so Steve could go ahead with the

pack on his back and clear a path with the machete. Every fifteen minutes or so they stopped for a breather; both Steve and

John were soaked with perspiration. In one short stretch, about half-way back to the car, they came to a section of downed

trees that extended a quarter of a mile back from the river. They had no option but to go around it. By the time they reached

the car both John and Steve were bone weary. Jerry, silent through most of the trek, had begun to gasp each time John

stumbled over a fallen log or a rock.

John eased Jerry to the ground before opening the car, a fairly new mini-van. The back opened up to a large, now empty

storage area where Jerry could lie down if need be or sit, leaning against the wall of the van. John sat him inside and got out

a first aid kit from which he procured an ace bandage and pain pills. He gave the pills to Jerry before re-wrapping the injured

ankle. In the meantime, Steve set up a camp stove and began heating several cans of soup for them to eat. As it was almost

dark he also lit a camp lantern.

That night John and Steve slept in the front part of the van, John in the front seat which he had tilted back as far as it

would go; Steve stretched out on the back seat. Jerry, when he slept, which to John seemed to be little, had the back of the

van to himself. John fed him pain pills several times during the night; even so, Jerry’s ankle ached and throbbed all night. In

the morning John decided Jerry needed to be taken to the nearest hospital. All the camp gear they had left at the North Fork

would have to be retrieved at a later time.

Negotiating the 30 miles of rough, rocky road back to the Trans-Canada Highway, and civilization, was a painful

experience for Jerry. John drove as slowly as he could to ease the jarring that took place each time he hit a rock or a

chuckhole. As a result, it was more than two hours before they made it to the highway.

Another two hours later they arrived at a hospital in the little town of Hearst. Here, Jerry was examined by a doctor and

then rushed to an x-ray room to have his ankle x-rayed. A fracture of one of the bones was discovered. The doctor agreed

with John that Jerry had also sustained a concussion and advised John to have Jerry stay in bed for several days. While a

cast was being applied to the ankle John called home and advised his wife of the situation.

John also called Joe Bourke, their guide from the previous year, explained the problem to him and arranged to have Joe

hike to the backpack camp and retrieve whatever was worth retrieving, primarily backpacks and sleeping bags. Other gear,

the tent in particular, was probably not salvageable. Joe agreed to retrieve the gear and ship whatever he salvaged to John

at his home in New York State.

Following an overnight stay in Hearst the drive home was much more comfortable for Jerry than the last two days had

been. He slept most of the way.

END OF STORY.