Chapter Twenty-Two #2
By the time she got up there, Sommer realized that there was a problem. There was usually a bridge right here across this creek, but apparently it had been washed away in a recent storm.
“We’re thinking this happened about a week ago when that thunderstorm roared through,” Marna said. “I didn’t think it came this far east on the mountain, but it might have been that the water up in the mountains came roaring down too fast and swept the bridge off.”
“Last time we were here, it was a little rickety,” Sommer said.
“Yeah, last year it was in bad shape. As a matter of fact,” Marna said. “Didn’t we call that into the rangers?”
“I did,” Abbie said. “Well, I filled out the online form and told them that we threw some rocks on the rotten parts to fill the holes.” She threw up her hands. “There’s no bridge to complain about now.”
“It’s too late in the evening to turn back,” Marna said. “And this slope is too steep to pitch a tent on.”
“So what’s the plan?” Sommer asked. “Water’s too deep to ford. How about the rocks up there?” She pointed upstream.
“I’d like to find something more substantial,” Marna said. “I really don’t want to take a swim tonight.”
Sommer reached around and pulled out her mini binoculars from her mesh side pocket. She looked up and down the waterway.
Marna was right. Here, the descent had the water running too fast for her to feel comfortable crossing with her pack, even though it was only about 25 pounds.
The three left the trail to wander upstream, stopping at a place with two fallen trees, one thin and bendy looking, the other thicker.”
“This might be doable,” Marna said as she bent and pushed on the trunk to test its solidity.
Abbie did the same, then climbed onto the trunk, spreading her arms wide. “Everyone shut up. I need to concentrate.”
Abbie took a few steps out, her left foot forward, her right foot sliding up to match it. Her left foot forward, again, not tempting a normal gait. “I think it’s fine.”
She made it all the way across, and now Marna climbed up. “Abbie, I swear you must be half goat. How did you get across this? It’s rolling under my foot.”
“Slide,” Abbie called.
Halfway across, Marna became unsure of her balance. “The trunk isn’t stable. I’m going to shimmy across.” With her backpack full, Marna bent her knees and put her hands on her thighs, then crouched, reaching for the log. “Am I close?”
“Another foot and a half,” Abbie called.
Sommer could only see Marna’s bright pink butt and her safety-orange backpack. And the wibble wobbling of the trunk.
“Agh!” Marna screamed as her hands shot out on either side as she tried to catch her balance.
When she did, the log rolled. Not even a quarter turn, but it was enough to launch Marna into the stream.
Abbie quickly shucked her packs so she was ready to help.
Marna took in a great gulp of air, then allowed herself to go under the water. A moment later, her face came up, and she pushed her pack toward Abbie.
Abbie held onto the branch of a nearby tree as she stepped into the rushing waters to snag a strap and pull it to shore.
Sommer was too far away to do anything.
As Sommer threw a leg over the log and lowered her chest to just above the bark, she hooked her feet on it so she could grip the log between her thighs.
The backpack was the problem, throwing off her balance. Sommer inched along, thinking snail thoughts, so she was slow and steady and not adding to the problem.
Marna gripped the smaller tree in front. She had one boot up beside her hand and was holding tight. Her head bobbed in and out of the water.
Coming down from the summit like that, the water had to be freezing cold. They’d have to get Marna out fast, then dried and warmed.
“Don’t let go. Keep pushing with your foot,” Sommer called as she inched closer.
Abbie was shin deep in the water at Sommer’s side, fingers gripping the handle on Sommer’s pack as she threw her leg back over safe on dry ground.
She shucked her bag and left it behind as she moved down to assess Marna’s situation.
“Marna, listen to me,” Sommer called.
“Yup.”
“That’s a sieve, so you don’t want to let your legs get dragged underneath.
” Sommer moved downstream to see what she could see.
The danger with sliding under things in running water was that they couldn’t see if there were rocks or limbs under there.
If someone were to go under, they might not have enough space to come back out.
The pressure of the water could trap a swimmer beneath the surface, and even very good swimmers could drown.
“You’ve got to keep pressing with your foot. Is there any way you can get up on the trunk? I know it’s skinny, but it’s solid enough to hold you without snapping.”
“Nope, I tried that,” Marna called back.
Abbie cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hand over hand?”
“The water's pulling so hard, I’m afraid not to keep a two-handed grip.”
And so she said, “OK, so what do we do here?”
Sommer moved over to her pack that contained minimal gear for their primitive camping trip. She looked at and rejected most of the things in her pack.
“Hurry, please,” Marna called.
Then she held up her sleeping mat.
“Abbie, what do you think of this?”
“I’d have to hear your idea.”
“It’s long. That’s my only idea. If Marna doesn’t feel safe enough to go hand over hand—” Sommer snapped her fingers.
“Marna, what if we found two solid sticks and we got one under each of your armpits? Would you be willing to move your hands from the trunk to the sticks? Abbie can hold one end, and I can hold the end of the other, and we can drag you in.”
“Something, now, please. I’m losing my body heat in this water.”
“Abbie, stay there. I’ll look.”
The woods were full of dead saplings; Sommer had to calm herself enough that her brain could find them.
Very quickly she was back by Abbie’s side, and they worked the sticks toward Marna.
Pushing with her foot, Marna grabbed one stick then the other, forcing them under her pits. Her hands did an odd little side-crab grab-release, grab-release as she inched her hands out in front of her. “Ready. Pull,” she called.
Standing away from the slick clay of the bank, Abbie and Sommer held tight as they walked backward, dragging Marna into the shallows. Then, they ran forward to reach for her.
Marna brushed her hand through the air. “I’m fine. Give me a minute.” She rolled onto her back and covered her face with her hands
“Should we—should we start a fire here?” Abbie asked through chattering teeth. She’d been in the water long enough that her flesh was bright pink with cold.
Sommer pulled out her map, and Marna rolled over to look.
“Thirty—maybe forty-five minutes?” Marna sat up and pulled off her shirt. “It would be easier just to dry off and change our clothes here and deal with this at the campsite.”
“You okay, Abbie?” Sommer asked as Abbie blew her nose on a bandana. Somehow she was as wet as Marna.
“Okay, but I swallowed a lot of water.”
“Same,” Marna said.
“Do you want to try to vomit it up?” Sommer asked.
“Would that work?” Abbie asked.
“I have no idea.”
“The water’s pretty clear, and it’s moving pretty fast,” Marna stooped over her pack, opening the dry bag.
Sommer stood and put her hands on her hips as she looked upstream. “What’s up from here?”
“A mountain top.” Marna patted the sides of her pack and opened the zippers.
“Not what I meant,” Sommer said, dryly. “There’s no cattle, no chemicals, right?”
“Beaver,” Marna said, choosing a pair of liner socks and another pair of wool ones.
“You think?” Abbie pulled off her shirt and was wringing it out.
Marna laughed as she unbuttoned her pants and pushed them over her hips. “For sure, there’s beaver up here.”
“Funny girl,” Sommer said and waited until Marna had stopped jumping into her pants before she asked. “But gaillardia?”
“That takes about a week to kick in,” Marna panted as she zipped up the closure. “When we get down again, Abbie and I need to run by the doc in the box and ask them for some antibiotics before it could kick in with its full effect.”
“A week, you’re sure?” Abbie asked.
“If you’re worried about it, Abbie,” Sommer said, “we don’t have to go all the way up. We can sleep out tonight and walk back down in the morning.” Sommer grinned. “I live in the woods; we can camp in my backyard like we’re ten-year-olds.”
Marna caught Abbie’s gaze. “How much water did you swallow?”
“I dunno, maybe a pint? I have to pee already, that’s for sure.” Abbie said, looking toward the tree line.
“Cold coochie, that’s why you need to pee,” Marna said, “not from swallowing stream water.”
Sommer held out her hand. “Here, give me that shirt. Go find a tree.”
“Are you kidding? Everything is wet. My panties are sopping. If I slide them down my thighs they’ll roll up into a cigar, and I’ll have to deal with that on top of everything else.”
“She’s right though,” Marna said as she struggled into a dry pair of underwear, “panties always roll when they’re wet. Then you end up walking along with panty wads.”
“The dreaded panty wads,” Sommer said. “Abbie, we’re not walking with you in wet clothes.
You’ll catch your death. The air is thin and getting colder with nightfall.
Just take a second to dry off and change, then pee behind a tree.
We’ll throw up a line when we get the fire set up, and you’ll both have dry clothes by morning. ”