Wild River: Prologue–Day Three

Our white-water guide, a really friendly dude with a bushy blond beard and a matching ponytail, has been pointing out the sights. Mostly mountains and canyons with strange names, and glints of creeks and rivers way down in the steep ravines.

Mia makes an impish face. I doubt she’s really hungry. Just making herself known.

Deke gives her a sullen look. She crosses her arms and ignores him.

Tony sleeps with his head leaning against the window, oblivious as usual.

Big Medicine Dam, one of the oldest in the state. Built for purposes of irrigation, and retrofitted for flow control in the 1950s.

We’ll hike down from here. Cindi and I will portage the raft. Everybody else, take a pack.

Base was duly notified about abandoning our first destination. But the phone is still down—looks like the battery croaked—so we can’t contact them to let them know the Crazy is our final choice, understood?

It’s not as if we’ll be alone on the river. Bound to cross paths with other tour groups, who are likely to have a working sat phone.

Across the river, tall fir trees line the water’s edge like a row of dull green sentries.

The ravine walls are higher and steeper than I expected, especially on the opposite shore.

I’m instantly soaked from head to foot, and that’s fun, too. Like the coolest ride in the coolest water park ever. The raft bobs and tips, and a couple of times it almost flips over. Or that’s what it feels like. I think most of us are screaming, partly in terror and partly for the sheer fun of it.

He sighs, and stands reluctantly, both hands thrust into his pockets.

He shrugs like he couldn’t care less what anybody thinks, and slumps down.

He staggers to his feet, making a goony face, his nose and cheeks red with sunburn.

Cindi with a look on her face so determined and so terrified that it almost stops my heart.

Somehow, I’m still here, clinging to the ledge, and the roar is gradually subsiding.

“It’s their own fault.” Deke folds his arms, defiant.

We could die of exposure. We need to get out of the rain, warm up somehow.

The only gear that survived is the backpack Sky handed up to Mia. The pack that maybe has emergency rations.

A whole, massive section of the sandstone cliff is collapsing. And if we can’t get away, can’t get deep enough into the woods, we’ll plummet into the wreckage of the river below.

“Who says they’re invited?”
“Sky Hanson,” I remind her. “All for one and one for all.”
“I guess,” she says grudgingly.

She carefully reopens the chunky backpack and rummages around.

“Yeah, right,” Deke says dismissively.

When we finally have enough kindling and wood, Mia opens the tin fire-starter kit.

“Why is it that when boys are in charge they’re heroes, but when a girl steps up she’s bossy?”
“Because you are?” Tony says, taunting.

But I can’t help worrying about my dad, who has a mental illness. Bipolar disorder. Sometimes he gets these wild thoughts, like he has an idea that’s going to change the world and he doesn’t sleep for days.

I might be blushing. Not that anybody would notice. I’m pretty sure we’re all too grimy and grumpy and hungry to pick up on that.

An hour later, our hiking has turned into trudging. It’s not fun shoving our way through prickly bushes and around piles of rock.

It’s hard to believe how much the river was wrecked by the flood, but there it is, right before our eyes. Masses of smashed trees piled high. Boulders as big as trucks, scattered like marbles. Shoals of glistening sand and mud, all of it strewn around like a giant had a temper tantrum and went nuts.

It’s hard to believe how much the river was wrecked by the flood, but there it is, right before our eyes. Masses of smashed trees piled high. Boulders as big as trucks, scattered like marbles. Shoals of glistening sand and mud, all of it strewn around like a giant had a temper tantrum and went nuts.

He wipes the rain off his dripping nose and strides to the path. Like if he’s first in line, that makes him the leader. Which means he has to deal with the bristly bushes, and be the first to duck under snagging tree branches, and trip on roots hidden beneath damp leaves.

He gives me this scornful look, like I must be out of my mind.

All the times we’ve clambered down to drink from the river and then had to climb back up, that slows us down.

Tony prances around, making caveman noises.

The creature, all muscle and bone, lands in a crouch no more than ten feet from Mia. Ears back, tail twitching, jaws open to show big, glistening fangs. Hissing and growling, low in its throat, like a purr gone bad. All the signs of impending attack.

Anyhow, to make him feel less scared for me, we looked it up together, what to do if confronted by a lion. Five things. Don’t break eye contact. Make yourself look tall. Never run. Back up slowly. Shout as loud as possible.

That skinny, mangy thing couldn’t have weighed more than seventy pounds.

And as we slog along, exhausted and hungry, searching for a place to get out of the rain, I’m thinking there’s a creature even more dangerous than a mountain lion.

Mia holds the flashlight while we find branches to rig the lines. It’s only a cheap blue tarp, one that has already started to leak, but it’s better than nothing.

I don’t care how dark it is, we’ll scrounge up some wood and make a fire and eat until we’re not hungry.