That guy at the helm appears to be wearing his PFD under his shirt. That would be me.
No, I wear mine.
Here's a word picture, as I have no photos.
SURVIVAL IN A MELTED GLACIER
Margie was visiting her family in Ohio, so one day Annie dog and I had nothing to do. I had a brainstorm. I put my bicycle in the back of my pickup and took it to the Brotherhood Bridge, where I hid it in the brush.
Somehow my better judgment held sway and I took Annie dog home, not knowing how she would cotton to a canoe trip down the Mendenhall River. Then I drove up to Skater’s Cabin on Mendenhall Lake and launched my canoe in the lake. A stout wind was blowing off the glacier, so it was with difficulty that I paddled a mile or so to the mouth of the lake where the river began.
Everything was going just fine. I slipped under the cable across the river, placed there I’m sure by the Forest Service as a warning to would-be white water enthusiasts. I paddled down the river a half-mile or so, passed under the Mendenhall Bridge, and looked down the gut of some very big waves just below the bridge.
My canoe is very seaworthy and will take most any water as long as it does not get any inside. Steering towards the edge of the waves, I planned to skirt around them. Unfortunately, I hit several of the waves head on, and shipped a large amount of water. Having lost all its buoyancy, my canoe decided to become a submarine.
The only problem with this idea, dear canoe, is that the Mendenhall River ain’t all that far from being 10,000 year-old ice. It’s durn cold!
I was in the water over my head, fighting my way to the surface. My only thought as I struggled was: “Hold onto that canoe, bub, or it’s curtains for you.” After I bobbed to the surface, I managed to congratulate myself on the wisdom of having worn my personal floatation device (Coast Guard lingo for life vest).
Here we were, my canoe and I and my favorite hat from the Montana Trapper’s Association rendezvous, given to me by Janet Moore, floating down the Mendenhall River in this ice-cold glacial melt water.
By this time I was worried that somebody would see me and risk their lives making a rescue attempt. Fortunately, I was spared this embarrassment.
I must have been in the water for a half-mile or so, when some big boulders in the middle of the stream offered themselves to me. I took advantage of this kind offer and snagged one of them with one hand, all the while clutching the gunnels of my canoe with the other. My favorite hat continued on without us.
I managed to climb up on the boulder, and sat there for some time with my canoe perched well enough to prevent its continuation of the trip without me.
After a while, I began to lay plans for what I would do next. Getting off that rock was a must, especially since I was in clear view of some houses from which people might see me and cause a great ruckus. If I tried to swim to shore, I’d lose my canoe and would have a long walk down to the Brotherhood Bridge for my bicycle, or up to Skater’s Cabin for the pickup. Going back up stream in the canoe was out of the question. Down stream in the canoe was my only option.
After gaining my strength back a bit, I pulled the canoe up on the boulder enough to dump some of the water out of it. You have no idea how much water a canoe can hold! I had to do the job in little stages. Finally, I got enough sloshed out that I could use my bailing bucket to complete the job.
It was a pleasant trip down the river after that. The rapids were all behind me, and the river swayed lazily back and forth down the valley. Along its banks I began to see more and more houses, some of them very close to the water indeed. The soil was nothing but glacial till, which the river clearly constantly peeled off the banks with ease. I clearly remember thinking how stupid it was to build in such a location. Then I remembered that my own house was only two blocks from these very same banks. And I knew the river would eventually take it out too, no matter what puny efforts the City/Borough of Juneau put forth to save itself.
Of course, I didn’t have to worry about that, because the 10,000-year-old melted glacier water didn’t care if it took another 10,000 years to wipe the slate clean. After all, less than 1000 years ago the entire Mendenhall Valley was under the ice, so what’s a few centuries? After all, 100 years from now, all new people!
The trip ended as I had planned, with a bicycle ride up from Brotherhood Bridge to Skater’s Cabin, where I retrieved my pickup. Then back to the Brotherhood Bridge to get my canoe and home to my little dog Annie.
“To really live, you must almost die,
“And it was just that way with me.” |
