When the wall of water hits us we’re instantly soaked to the skin. There’s no time to put on ponchos. We do have our spray skirts attached, which keep our lower bodies dry, but that’s all.
The wind whips our kayak from side to side, but Dad holds the nose into the waves. If we get broadsided, that’s it. We go over. In the middle of the lake.
A big lake. And we’re far from shore.
The rain’s so dense I can barely see the bow of the boat. It’s like being inside an inferno of water. Dad’s trying to yell over the roar. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I think he’s yelling, “Paddle! Paddle!”
What does he think I’m doing?
The bow rises and plunges and waves crash over us. Our paddles are “feathered” so the blades cut horizontally into the wind, but the paddle shudders in my hands and is almost ripped loose.
There’s only one thing to do, and that is to hunker down into the wind and paddle like demons.
Miraculously, the squall passes as suddenly as it struck. It’s as if the rain gods have turned off a celestial spigot.
Thanks be to the rain gods!
The wind dies along with the squall. We rest our paddles across the hull and just float for a while. We’re both breathing hard. We’ve earned a rest.
But a minute later Dad’s back to being the king, the captain. “Okay, Aaron. If we’re gonna make this whole lake while there’s light, we’ve got to get paddling again.”
“How about a lunch break, Dad?”
“Good idea.” He tosses me a bag of gorp. It lofts over my shoulder and lands in my lap. “Chow down,” he says. “You got two minutes.”
I’m really getting ticked off, but somehow it doesn’t touch me. The squall was like a cleansing. A trial by water. We’ve passed through it and we’re as good as gold. The waves are flattening and I watch the sun dance silver dimes on the lake’s surface, as I munch my gorp.
“Two minutes, Aaron!”
“Aye aye, sir!” I straighten up and salute my dad from the back of my head.
And I laugh to myself, thinking of Lisa again. Geez, if she were here now, we’d have the whole wilderness to ourselves! I’d bust a few rhymes for her, and maybe we’d dance to the stars, and watch the moon growing fat, like a piñata filled with candy.
Daydreaming like this, I paddle steadily and try to forget the pain in my shoulder. After a while I paddle on automatic, like the blades of a windmill. I churn through the water and I’m surprised Dad can keep up. He may be skinny and getting old, but it seems like he’s getting tougher in his old age.
We keep up the furious pace and slide into one of the last campsites on the lake—after a whole day of paddling—just as the sun sinks behind the peaks.
“We did it, Aaron!” Dad crows. It’s about as close to praise as I’ve gotten from him in a long time. It adds to the bubble of pride I feel rising to my heart, making it swell.
The bubble bursts while we’re setting up camp. Every chore is murder. My right shoulder hurts again and I ache all over. But this time Dad filters the lake water while I build the fire. I make the best fires. And tonight we have an epic bonfire to celebrate today’s legendary voyage. The flames leap up like crazy dancers at a late night concert.
And after dinner, for the first time, we do roast marshmallows and drink hot cocoa!
We’re almost like a normal father and son enjoying a fun family vacation.
But I know it can’t last.
And I’m right.
I make the mistake of mentioning Lisa. “So, I’ve been thinking, Dad. Maybe we can swing by Roger and Lisa’s on our way home?”
“I don’t think so, Aaron.” Dad slowly spins his sharpened stick and dips his marshmallow closer to the flames. “It’s way out of our way. It’s my responsibility to get you back to school by the end of May. And it’s your responsibility to get with the schedule. You’re supposed to be keeping a journal and writing a story. You have to keep up your end of the deal, kiddo.”
“Like I’m not? I’ve been writing in my journal after you go to sleep. I’ve only missed one day! Cut me some slack.”
“You’ve been getting too much slack, Aaron. That’s the problem.”
“Geez, Dad, it’s too close not to make a little side trip to see them! Why do you have to be like this?”
Sometimes I feel like he’s not really my father. That I’m adopted. That there’s no way we share the same genes.
Suddenly, his marshmallow bursts into flame and he throws it and the stick it’s on into the fire. “Sorry to spoil the party, Aaron, but tomorrow we do the Chute and the Roller Coaster. It’s the only real white water of the trip, and from what I’ve read, it can be a boat graveyard for newbie paddlers.”
He stands up and starts off toward our tent, then stops and turns around. “Don’t forget to scrub the dishes and stash the food and garbage into the bear locker.”
He sounds angry. Why does he sound angry?
He stares, then shakes his head. “I’m bushed, Aaron. I’m calling it a night.” He starts off again, but can’t resist calling over his shoulder, “Don’t forget! The bear locker!”
Just at that moment my marshmallow bursts into flame. But that’s how I like it. I wave it like a torch in the night, then blow it out. I let it cool for a moment, then stick my teeth into the blackened crust and gooey white center.
Perfect.
I stay up late and roast and eat all the marshmallows in the bag. All of them! I eat until my teeth ache and my head aches and my belly’s ready to burst.
My mouth and cheeks and hands get all sticky. I feel like shouting: Forget the dishes. Forget the food. I’M the captain. I’M the King! Let the bears come! Let the grizzlies party!
LET THE WILD RUMPUS BEGIN!
But I don’t. I’m too responsible, even if my dad doesn’t know it.
When I finally climb into our tent, next to my sleeping dad, I actually write LET THE WILD RUMPUS BEGIN! in my journal.
Then my pen slips from my fingers, and my eyes close.
It’s nighttime but there’s an otherworldly light shining and I’m skating down Wolverine Mountain—or is it Grizzly Peak?—my board rattling over stone. There’s something big and hairy and scary right behind me, chasing me. A grizzly? But I don’t care.
I’m swerving through trees, kick-flipping over logs, doing ollies over boulders, and catching a sky-full of air—and I’m free.
I’m free!
Snow glitters all around me and the cold bites my face but I’m flying. I am the wind and nothing can catch me.
But now I smell death. I smell the breath of the beast behind me—
And I jolt awake. I’m in the smelly tent. With Dad snoring and farting beside me.
There’s a noise. Is that what woke me? A scratching. A chuffing. The sound of a beast digging, scraping . . . and it’s right beside my ear!
My heart’s crashing around again. I clutch myself in terror. Utter terror! I want to yell, to scream, but I have no voice. Not even a squeak.
Something nuzzles the door to the tent. There’s an inward pressure pushing, pushing—until the whole tent begins to wobble.
Then a huge furry head bursts through!
THE BEAST ITSELF!
A GRIZZLY!
All fangs and claws. A massive explosion of violent gnashing.
Its great slobbering jaws open. . . .
I wake up. Again. There is no room for my heart. It is pounding like it will jump out of my chest. There is certainly no more room for bad dreams.
I gasp for breath. I force myself to breathe slowly. To breathe in and out. In and out.
My palms are wet. My mouth is dry. I’m shaking all over. I try to focus on the sound of my dad snoring. Always annoying, now comforting.
But there is something out there. For real! I can hear it. It’s banging on the bear locker. Claws raking across metal. The earth beneath our tent reverberates with the thump of padded paws.
This is no dream! Not this time! But as in the dream I had of flying, the chill I feel verges on thrill. I poke my head out of the tent to see if what I hear is a grizzly.
From our tent all I can see is a huge bulk of darkness. A living shadow. Nosing up to the bear locker, less than ten feet away.
I think again of the Boy Scout who, according to Ranger Pam, “lost his life.” I’ve heard about grizzlies pulling people out of their tents and eating them.
I’ve dreamt about it, too! Just moments ago!
I pull my head back into my tent.
But what good is a tent going to be against a grizzly?
I poke my head back out at what I’m now positive is a grizzly bear. I swear I can see the hump on its back. I can smell it. Damp fur, rank breath.
Death.
Is it moving toward the tent now? In the darkness I can’t tell.
The confining space of the tent tightens around me. I can’t breathe. Should I wake my dad?
The grizzly snorts once, scrapes the ground with huge claws, and snorts again.
It’s time to wake my dad!
