Canadian Bacon

It was after 2 a.m. when they heard the gunshots. Earl climbed the cliff in the dark, and called again.

"Yes Mr. Carlson, we have been in contact with the Witikami Outfitters, and they confirm your identity, and we are also aware of a breakout from a Quebec Penitentiary, and it could be connected, so we will send a plane as early as possible," the officer confirmed.

They decided to wait. With two large and loaded canoes, and one small empty one, it was obvious that they would have to leave a lot of gear behind if they were to continue.

Earl watched the sun rise above the horizon from his perch on the cliff. It was his turn to sit with the satellite phone, while Jim stayed at the camp. He found a spot where he had a good signal, and he could see a stretch of the river. He saw the police float plane, and prayed that his friends were safe.

Then he saw Jordan and me, paddling hard but not frantically. He only watched for a minute, hoping to see more of our group, but he just couldn't wait any longer. He hurried down the ravine, using the rope that Jim had secured so that they could go back and forth without risking a bad fall.

"Everyone is okay," I explained to Earl when he got to the camp. "Bishop and Christa are banged up, but they will be heading out in the float plane that landed just as we headed downstream."

"They raped Christa, and hurt Bishop," I cried quietly as I explained how we managed the rescue. They both held me, though it was not sexual.

Before sunrise I had ventured onto the lake, to find my little canoe and my special paddle, Charlie. When the RCMP plane was safely on the water, we pushed off, to help our friends finish their trip.

"Christa is traumatized for sure, but she is safe, and Bishop will take good care of her," I told my anxious audience.

"I'm sure the cops will be pissed off," Jordan explained. "They would have made us leave in their plane, so we left before they could make us.

"I wasn't about to let you two try to travel through the rapids of the Albany, with only one man in each heavily loaded canoe," I explained.

We hid my little canoe, and the four of us finished the trip, arriving at Porcupine Lake two days later. We found three pontoon planes attached to the small dock. One was from the Quebec Provincial Police and one was RCMP, while the third one had private markings.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Loren," One of the uniformed men explained, as they came out of the outfitter's building.

"Of course, Gentlemen. So, here I am," I responded soberly.

"You should have waited at the scene of the crime," a second uniformed man gruffly demanded.

"I suppose we were in shock," I explained, though the truth was more selfish. "I had to stash my canoe as it was, so I'll be heading back out, as soon as I can."

"Generally, when people are killed as savagely as these four were, we want to get your testimony before you have a chance to get your story straight," the one older officer explained. "But, it is obvious from the physical evidence, and the testimony of Robert Lane, and Christa Marshall, that you are the victims of this attack, so I think that we will let your... delay be ignored."

"You have rid the world of some bad men!" One of the Quebec lawmen insisted with a big smile of approval. "It is a miracle that any of you survived," he continued in his accented enthusiasm.

My two remaining partners had cousins that would fill in for Christa, while she took some time to visit her parents in Brazil. Boston welcomed their returning sons, as if they had saved their Wilderness Guides from four desperate criminals.

The best response was from my Indiginous friends. We had a dozen applications to join Canoe Sue. We doubled up on some of the late season trips, so that we didn't miss a beat in growing the business.

Next year, if Christa comes back, we will have three crews of loving Guides to help our visitors to understand and appreciate our land, our water, and our Canadian women.