Rapidity

by shane exton (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Canada

Fortress Lake is a 24km hike from Jasper, Alberta with a river crossing about 18km into the hike. The fishing is said to be world class. Ken, Robbie, John and I set out on the hike with the goal to raft the Chaba River out of Fortress Lake and back down to the highway where we started. After catching absolutely nothing for three straight days, we inflated the raft at the river crossing and started the meandering journey home. The gently moving river soon gave way to a few rapids. Nothing that a foursome of over-confident guys couldn’t handle. The “oohs” and “ahhs” of rollercoaster-style, white-capped fun turned into nervous commands about steadying the raft and avoiding sideways entry into the rapids. A few splashes around the feet quickly formed into a large puddle sopping around the bottom of the raft, soaking the backpacks. “This can’t be right,” I thought out loud. This doesn’t sound at all like what we discussed. What happened to a casual float down the river to our landing spot? I felt adrenaline taking over my paddling as the inflatable raft started to fold under the pressure of the rapids. Once the packs got wet in the bottom of the inflatable raft, it took no time at all for us to bottom out and gash the floor wide open. The shock of cold-water soaking our legs was accompanied by panicked cries to scramble ashore. We dragged our ripped raft and soaking bags onto dry land in one of those moments where the only words that come to mind were four letters long. After passing a canteen of water around, we started to look for trail markings. We couldn’t be that far off course but all we could find was dense brush, tall pines and an alarming feeling that we were in over our heads. A map unfolded onto the ground. I’m not overly adept at reading topographical maps, so at this point I’m in support of whoever has the most confidence reading one. Take any food and water you can out of the packs and leave them here. We’ll come back in the morning. We need to find the road before sundown. Let’s follow the river and if we don’t find the trail, we’ll come across the highway at some point. Sounded foolproof. But so was the raft idea. As the sun started to dip behind the tips of the surrounding pines, Ken began to pick up the pace. The sweat started to cool the back of my neck in a shiver. My next few steps felt like walking through the thorns of a rose bush. The prickling intensified like needles scraping my skin. The searing pain spread like fire up my legs and back in horrifying confusion. “RUN!!” yelled Ken in a deep, low roar that didn’t sound human. Shrieking in my own unrecognizable scream, I crashed into the adjacent river as Ken ripped off his shirt and snapped it like a towel in a gym locker room. The crack of a whip at the end of his wet shirt pierced the air and momentarily disrupted the dark cloud buzzing around Robbie’s head. His cries filled the air with terror as he flailed into the rushing water beside me. Wasps. After the melee calmed and the tears dried, we put mud from the riverbank on our bites and stings. What does 30 or 40 stings do to a human? Has Robbie ever been stung before? “Go!” Ken barked urgently. “Follow the trail! I will get John and we will catch up. Stay beside the river and don’t stop.” Where is John? A few minutes behind us, John is startled by the agonizing screams up the trail. He hears the roar of Ken yelling to run. The only thing John can do at this point is assume the worst, and he does. Having no knowledge of what has happened, John pieced the image of a bear together in his mind and climbed the nearest pine. For the rest of his life, John would be reminded of that time that he left his hiking partners to die by bear attack as he sat safely in a tree.