“What are you in for?” the guy in the wheelchair next to me asked when the nurse dropped me off at the psychiatric ward for testing.
“I had a kayaking accident and was lost in the woods for a few days. They think I’m nuts because I was babbling when they found me on the side of the road. I’m not crazy. What happened to me was real.”
“Oh,” he sounded interested, “tell me about it.”
I ran the story over in my mind. It’s late spring. My buddies and I decided to take our annual kayaking trip a month early. The days are warming but the nights are still cold as hell. We packed the usual things and added some extra blankets and warmer clothing.
The Lochsa River was up from the early spring thaw but we were experienced kayakers. It’s an Indian word and means “Rough Water”. No problem. We loved these three day trips. Man against the wilderness.
Day one was great; everything went fine. Fresh new flowers were blooming from the sun’s warmth. A few swell rapids were just the thing to prepare us for Bloody Mary the next day. We usually opt for the Grim Reaper rapids, but we decided that we’d take on Mary this year.
Day two was crisp. The morning air felt good in our lungs. We headed out early to stop and eat before hitting white water heaven. Lunch consisted of roasted hotdogs and chips. Outdoor cooking just makes simple foods taste better.
