Reality Check

His wandering thoughts were jolted back into the present as another fiery pain grasped at him. His first incoherent thought was that some monstrous creature hidden in the shallow water was clutching onto his shattered limb. Looking down, Troy saw in amazement that he was in less than a foot of water, and his left foot had gotten hooked on a rock just below the surface. Before he could take stock, disaster struck as the axe handle began to slip from his grasp. Troy heaved the duffle as far forward as he could, even as his right leg began to slip. As he started to twist out of control, his lunch cooler slipped off his right shoulder, banging against his side and inexorably continuing the process of twisting him around. As though in slow motion he felt himself loose balance and plunging into the shallow water. Instinct forced his right arm out to break the fall. His elbow and right hip hit the stony bottom as his already battered ribcage landed across the cooler forcing the air from his lungs.

Looking up moments later Troy saw that dry land was no more than ten feet away. Somehow, in his fog of pain, he had almost made the shore. Leaning on his right side Troy threw the axe with his left arm, then tried to crawl forward on his side to reach the duffle bag, now partially submerged in the water. The emergency kit and his cooler were tangled around his neck, holding him in place. Fumbling numbly, he desperately tried to untangle the fishing line now cutting into his neck. With increasing desperation he lowered his head into the freezing water to pull the lines off, only to slip on his throbbing elbow and half roll onto his back. Gaining leverage with his right leg he pushed himself back up, now soaked through. Finally, in utter despair, he felt the lines come apart and hoisted one set over his head, allowing the two containers to fall free. Still, the emergency kit was lying in front of him in water too shallow for it even to float. Troy braced himself on his left arm and pulled the container off to the side, then using both arms and his right leg he pushed himself forward, landing with a thud on top of his duffle bag.

Chapter 4 -- Thursday Afternoon -- cont'd

How he got to shore from there he afterward mercifully did not remember. He only knew that at some point he was on the stony, branch strewn, shoreline of the island, totally exhausted and awakened by a sharp pain in his side where his bruised ribs were resting against a rock. As his foggy brain regained full consciousness, the pounding in his left leg again took precedence over everything else. He half-rolled until the pain again became bearable.

In his mind muddled state he had begun to drift away when he heard his name being called again and again. Lifting his head he turned to find the origin of the sound, expecting that help had perhaps arrived during his sleep. There before him, not six feet away, sat a Whiskey Jack, now silent but looking at him with obvious interest. The bird hopped closer, seemingly intent on keeping his attention. Awareness glimmered through the fog of his mind, and he turned his head to see the strangely tilted wreck of his beloved Cessna sitting just offshore. Sharp memory flooded back into his consciousness, and then came the cold, a bone chilling knife edged cold, and with it the realization that he had to move, and quickly, to get dry before hypothermia did its quiet and merciful work of putting him into a sleep from which he would never awaken.

The Whiskey Jack seemed to agree, for it bobbed its head and again took up the chant that for all the world sounded like, "Troy, Troy, Troy, move, move, move."

Troy knew every sound the whiskey jacks made in their sometimes convoluted calls, most of which sounded like chatter, and he was quite sure he was hearing things the bird was not really speaking, but he had to admit the message was appropriate to his situation. He forced himself into a sitting position and finally looked around at his circumstances. His duffel bag, containing his sleeping bag, tent, and other camp items was only a few feet away halfway in the water and half on shore. Beyond it Troy could see his cooler floating in a foot of water, the fishing line still connected to the emergency kit that he suddenly realized he was hanging onto with his left hand. Even in his delirium he had somehow known to keep the life-saving kit at his side.

First priority, he knew, had to be heat. If he couldn't get warm and dry soon nothing else would matter. Turning back toward the island he saw that he was only a few feet from the beginning of underbrush, and with it undoubtedly material to build a fire. He just had to get to it and force his numbed hands to stop shaking enough to pull his fire starter from the emergency kit.

Pulling himself up the stony shoreline proved exhausting, but with gritted teeth and second effort he dragged his numb legs up to where he could reach some dried grasses and twigs. Fumbling endlessly to no avail with the cam lock of the emergency kit, desperation fuelled his frustration as hands simply would not perform the simplest of tasks. Holding them in front of his mouth he blew on them and rubbed them together, restoring some circulation and slowing the shaking enough to finally open the lid.

Inside, in a zip-locked bag, was a large plastic pill bottle filled with dryer lint mixed with a small amount of Vaseline. Beside it was the container of waterproof matches and his old zippo lighter. While not terribly high-tech, the combination had never failed him. Even in a pouring rain the slightly oiled lint was a dead sure way to get a flame started. Shaking fingers now piled bits of dried grass, moss, and little twigs around and over his little pile of lint. One match was all it took, but with numb and shaking fingers it still took three tries to get it to strike.

Fumbling, he almost dropped the match, but it seemed to find its own way to the little pile, and he cried aloud as he saw the yellow flickers of flame jump up to devour the tiny pile of dried morsels he had arranged for its appetizer. In a matter of seconds, he was grasping for more twigs to lay on his embryonic heat source. So preoccupied was he with getting the fire growing, so elated with his success, that he didn't recognize how close he was to the now dancing flames until his jacket started to smoulder as he held his now warming hands over the growing heat.

Pushing himself away, he jarred his left leg and fell back in agony. He would have to do something to stabilize the leg, but first he had to get dry and warm. Sitting back up, he began to get out of his clothes, starting with his soaked jacket and shirt. Between each item he carefully piled more twigs on the fire, allowing it to grow stronger until he felt confident enough to put on a larger piece of dried wood that he found just within reach in the deep grass. He knew he would have to be careful that the fire didn't spread, but for the moment more fire meant more heat, and he needed all the heat he could get.

Looking down at his left leg he realized he would never get the mangled boot off, and that even if he did manage, he would certainly never get it back on again. He could still see the tip of white bone protruding from his torn pants, although the cord, tied tight around his leg above the knee, seemed to be working because there was no more blood, just the constant throbbing, like a never ceasing drumbeat that some mad percussionist was pounding in his brain. Sitting as close to the fire as he could, he was at least getting warm and his pants were steaming. Suddenly it dawned on Troy that he had not seen his axe since awaking on the shore. He had to find that axe and get his duffel bag up from the water's edge.

Glancing idly at his watch he saw that it was now nearly two-thirty in the afternoon. He had no more than three or four hours to get set up before darkness would become an issue. First feeding the fire, Troy half slid and propelled himself back to the water's edge, where he retrieved his duffel bag and his lunch cooler. Grasping the cooler he hauled it ashore and popped the lid. Everything was a bit damp, but not wet, and there lying on its side, was his coffee thermos! Pouring the lid full of still hot, if not quite steaming, coffee, he let it slide down his throat, burning a bit, but the heat of it hitting his stomach felt wonderful. Carefully closing the thermos, Troy reached into the cooler and retrieved a cold turkey and salami sandwich. Wolfing it down he found how hungry he was and he was tempted to grab another, but he knew he had to already think about rationing, in case he was not found for another day or more. Taking stock, he had two more sandwiches, an apple, a piece of rice crispy cake, and a couple of oatmeal cookies. Troy smiled, thinking of Norma, and how she always packed twice as much food as he could ever eat. The emergency kit also contained half a dozen packages of freeze dried meals, tea, and sugar, which he could heat in a pot over his fire.

Scanning the ground where he had crawled ashore Troy's eyes lit up when he saw the handle of the axe lying in the shallow water. Propelling himself with his arms and one good leg, he deliberately, if cautiously, reached out and grasped the icy handle from the water. With this sturdy though makeshift cane he could stand, and if he could stand, he could perhaps find a couple of branches to make a real splint for his leg. Then he could use his fibreglass rods to put up the tent, which would gain him valuable shelter for the coming night.

First order of priority was to move the duffel bag up the shore to the fire where he could spread out its contents to begin to dry. Using the axe handle he managed to get his good leg under him and hobbled up the stony shore to the fire, every step sending an instant and agonizing shock through his crippled leg. In just the few minutes he had been away the fire had died down to a few red coals. Dropping the duffel bag on the stones, Troy leaned on the axe as he foraged for some dry branches to rebuild his only source of heat. Once the fire began to crackle again he piled on more dry wood until the flames were leaping several feet in the air.

He needed to rest, but although his chest ached and his breath was coming in gasps, there was no time yet. Looking around the shore, there were plenty of dead branches and even a fairly large dead tree close by, but Troy couldn't see what he needed. A good green young aspen or birch would be perfect. He needed straight supple branches about an inch in diameter and at least three feet long to create a splint that would immobilize his leg. Then he would need a slightly thicker stick at least four or five feet long to serve as a crutch. The axe handle was just too short and the steel head was biting into his hand.

Just as he was debating which way to go the whiskey jack flew down from a high branch to circle around him several times then flew off a short distance to his right and landed in the dead tree. The bird hopped to the end of the branch, cocked its head, and called out, "Troy, Troy."

Amazed, the weary pilot hobbled after the grey jay, not believing what was happening, but not being willing any longer to disbelieve either. As soon as he got close the bird alit and flew another twenty or thirty feet, landing in a young clump birch Troy had been unable to see previously.

"I'll be damned! Well, aren't you something! Thank you, that's just the thing I was looking for."

Returning to his duffel bag, Troy sat down and began to methodically empty its contents. First came the sleeping bag, only badly damp rather than soaking wet as he had feared, which he laid out on the rocks in front of the fire, then the tent, his collapsible folding pots, the remainder of his rope, his three piece fishing rod, his LED flashlight, the broken down shotgun, zip locked bag of shells, another bag of candles, and finally his folding saw.

Grasping the saw in his right hand, his axe handle in his left, he painfully pushed himself back to a position where he could get his right leg under him and stand. Then he stumbled off to where his new friend was still patiently waiting for him. In a semi-controlled fall, he got into a sitting position under the young clump birch and examined the group of trunks. While sawing through the green wood was going to be difficult, the alternative of chopping with the axe was unthinkable. He knew the first jar of the axe would send so much pain through his aching ribs, not to mention his shattered leg, that he would be incapacitated. Even sawing was going to be hell, but it had to be done. He decided to tackle the splints first, because if he could get them done he could brace the leg and use his tent poles to give him shelter for the night, even without the crutch.

Choosing the closest of the young saplings he first used his folding knife to cut a shallow groove in the bark to guide the saw blade, then bracing his good leg against the tree he began with long slow strokes to pull the saw blade along the groove.

. . .

Coming in for landing at the float base Jerry looked in vain for sign of the Cessna 185. Nothing! Where on earth was Troy? He had checked every bay in the river as he flew south, every straight stretch long enough to land the Cessna, but there had been no sign of either plane or wreckage. With a sinking feeling, Jerry taxied the big float plane up to the dock and tied up. As soon as he had his passengers taken care of he got on the phone to call Norma.

"Norma, this is Jerry. I am at the base. Have you heard from Troy?"

"No, nothing. Did you see his plane at the Island?"

"No, Norma I brought his passengers in. I looked for his plane all the way south. I don't think he is on the river. Norma, I tried to reach him on the radio all the way south. I think we have to call this in. Do you want me to call DOT?"

"I don't know... I guess so. I left my car at the base for Troy. I have to find a ride out there. I need to go and get the girls..."

"Norma, I can bring the car into town. I have passengers out here that need a ride out to the airport anyways. Don't worry, I'll be right there. Norma, Troy's a darned good pilot and a great outdoorsman. If he's out there, we'll find him and he'll be all right."

"Thanks, Jerry."

Norma sank into the nearest chair, her eyes closed. "Troy, oh Troy, where are you? What's happened to you?" Norma jumped up, staring at the clock in the kitchen. Nearly three, Troy was at least four hours overdue. No use pretending any more, Jerry was right, it was time to face reality. Well, she would have at least fifteen minutes before Jerry arrived with her car, probably more. Enough time to get her prayer team going, and time left over to spend on her knees, asking God to intervene and take care of Troy, or at least to help him to find God's love.

She rose from her chair and reached for the phone. As she did she silently prayed that God would give her something to tell her girls...

. . .

It seemed that she had been sitting there forever. No matter how she thought about the past few hours, no matter how she tried to talk to herself, the panic just kept getting worse. What if they both died? The lump in her breast seemed to grow and she could almost feel it spreading its poison. If Arden didn't recover, her kids would be orphans, or maybe they'd be left to deal with a mentally handicapped father while her returning cancer consumed her! How had this happened? Her husband was a very good driver, and he knew enough about the north to look out for moose. A moose, of all things! You could hardly miss one, they were huge! Arden, come back to me. Wake up, please, wake up!

"Mrs. Karth, hi, sorry to disturb you, but it's time to leave for the airport. The doctor's just received word from Winnipeg and they will have a team ready for your husband when we get there. There is a medivac jet waiting on the ramp for us already. They are just prepping your husband for the trip. I believe that Dr. Finning will accompany us to the airport."

"Oh, alright! I'm ready. Can I just make a phone call? Can I use my cell from here?"

"Yes, of course, but please do make it quick. We'll leave in just a moment or two."

Fumbling for her phone in her purse, Janice punched the number. Busy. She was going to leave a message, but the nurse was waving. She'd have to call from Winnipeg. She was just about to put the phone back when she heard a faint voice. Pulling the phone back to her ear she heard Norma say, "Hello?"

"HI, Norma, it's Janice. Only have a moment. Just leaving for Winnipeg with Arden. They think there is something seriously wrong with his head. He hasn't woken up yet, and they think there may be bleeding in his brain. We're getting on a jet to Winnipeg right away. Oh, please tell Troy and pray for us!"

"Janice, I will. We all will. Janice, Troy hasn't made it home. He's now four hours overdue and there's no sign of him, no radio contact."

"Oh my, no! Norma, I will pray for you, too! I, I have to go. They're waving for me. I'll call you from Health Sciences Center!"

Both best friends in serious trouble on the same day. At least she knew Arden was still with her. Poor Norma!

. . .

"Leaf Rapids RCMP, this is Corporal Hinton, how may I help you?"

"Doug, this is Jerry Forest. Listen, Doug, we've got a probable situation here. Troy is now about four hours overdue. He left on a flight up to our fishing camp on the narrows at Loon Island first thing this morning. He never got there. I brought the clients out and looked for him all the way down, but no sign. I'm gonna call it in to Thompson, but we'll need to organize a search from here."

"Oh, shit, not another crises! It never rains but it pours! OK, I'll call Lynn Lake detachment and Thompson to put out the word. I'm sure they can get a couple of planes up. Where's your other plane?"

"Phil Berg took her up to Tadoule Lake this morning and from there he's off to Gardener's fish camp and then running into Thompson. I'll have him back here in the morning."

"OK, where are you now?"

"At the float base, but I'm taking Norma's car right away, then I'll re-fuel Charlie Golf Echo and take her back up and run the west side of the river back up to the Island. There won't be daylight for much more than that today, but we can organize a proper grid search tomorrow."

"Ok, stay in touch, Jerry, and we'll see if we can get our plane out here tomorrow as well. I'll call you tonight. Maybe CFB Winnipeg can send out a C 130. Good luck."

Norma was waiting and out the door in a flash when Jerry drove up in her car.

"Should I take you back to the base?"

"No, thanks, Norma, just drop me at the Lodge. Barry Colomb's waiting for me there. He's going to come with me, along with his brother Steve. We're going to take the CGE and fly up the west side of the river back at least as far as Loon Island and then come back down the east side. We probably have time for at least one good look before it starts to get dark. I've already called Doug Hinton, and he's making some calls to Thompson and Lynn Lake. DOT in Thompson has been notified, and they'll get a call in to CFB Winnipeg and ask for a Hercules. We'll get a full scale search running first thing in the morning. I just want to give it one more look tonight."

"Oh, God bless you Jerry! Thank goodness it's not too cold yet, at least he won't likely freeze to death if he's alive out there."

"Of course he's alive! We've just got to find him. By the way how's Arden?"

"Oh, I got a call from Janice a few minutes ago. It didn't sound real good. Bleeding in his brain, I think. They're flying him down to Winnipeg by air ambulance."

"What a day! Is there anything that I can do for you, Norma?"

"No, I just gotta go get the girls and let them know before they hear something at school. You know how fast stuff travels. Take care out there, Jerry. Go find Troy for me!"