October 2, 2012, 8:15 p.m., Gabriel’s Cabin
“You’re like a moth to a flame with that thing.”
Gabriel caught me checking to see if I’d gotten any messages or e-mails on my phone at the first lull in the conversation.
“It makes your face glow and everything,” he said, nodding at the phone.
“Habit, I guess.”
There was not one bar of service out in the wilderness. I felt pretty stupid as I put it back in my jacket pocket. Where the airport conversation left off, the conversation at the cabin picked up. The adventure seemed palpable. It was a welcome distraction to my own misery. I still had so many questions.
What happened to Tabitha? Did he marry her? What about the bones? Where is Jacob now? Or Billy?
“You hungry?” The early-sixties mountain man dumped the last bit of coffee over the railing.
“Actually, yeah, I am,” I replied.
“Let’s head back up to the lodge. I’ve got some steaks in the fridge up there that are begging to be grilled over the open flame.”
“Oh, man, you don’t have to go to any trouble. We can just go to a restaurant or something.”
Gabriel looked at me and chuckled. “There’s a diner in town, but if I were you, I’d have one of my steaks.” He smiled. “Besides, preparing a meal for a friend is a privilege.”
“Okay, sounds great. Just didn’t want you to go to any hassle.”
Gabriel set the coffeepot down on the ledge. He slid his arms into the sleeves of his flannel overshirt.
“Serving others isn’t a hassle. It’s a joy. Come on. Let’s go eat.” He lifted his eyebrows and smiled as he started down the steps of the porch. I followed.
Gabriel seemed to have a view of life that flew in the face of everything I’d been about. I’d spent my life climbing the proverbial ladder. It almost seemed as if everything up to this moment had been a blur, another rung to climb and another hill to conquer, another investment to discover. I’d reached all my goals—money—and lots of it, cars, a second home—I was a pacesetter in the financial district. So here I was, hanging out with a mountain man, searching for God knows what in the wilderness. The irony wasn’t lost on me. By all normal measures, from the outside, I was a successful investment banker. Deep in my gut, though, I felt like a street beggar.
We made the short hike along The River back up to the lodge. The air chilled quickly in the canyon after the sun ducked behind the mountains.
I helped Gabriel get the charcoals going on the large, brick grill pit out on the edge of the deck. I looked around and imagined some of the scenes Gabriel had told me about tonight and when we were in the airport together. I imagined Jacob Fielding giving his famous opening season speech as the torches flickered. I pictured all the young apprentice guides carousing and enjoying the food. I thought about the old man, Ezra, who made cinnamon rolls and dispensed his otherworldly wisdom. I felt like I was on the set of a thirty-year-old movie. The characters and dialogue were vivid in my imagination
Gabriel lit a few of the oil torches to shed some light. We sat down at one of the weathered picnic tables on the deck. He slapped down two ice-cold soda bottles with one hand. The spread was enormous for just two people.
“Gabriel, this looks incredible. You always eat like this?” I looked down at the feast of rolls, grilled potatoes, three bigger-than-your-face rib eyes, salad, and sliced tomatoes. The aroma from the juicy, charred steaks was straight out of heaven.
“I try to,” he said as he grinned. He reached over and twisted off the soda bottle caps like they were toys. He handed me one as he held his up for a toast. He looked up to the sky and surprised me with what he said.
“Maker, we are thankful for more than enough. We are thankful for Your River. We are thankful for mercy. We are thankful for friends. May we give as You have given, love as You have loved.”
He looked back at me and held up his bottle.
“To great friends, great food, and great white water.”
“Hear, hear.” As our bottles clanked together, I felt mysteriously connected to the moment and to this guide. I’m not sure why, but it felt familiar and right. I’d only known him for a few short hours in two separate conversations nearly a year apart, but I felt like I’d known him for years.
“Now this is a steak knife!” I said through a laugh as I held up the twelve-inch serrated blade.
Gabriel smiled as he cut into the sizzling meat. “So, tell me about your family.”
“I have three kids . . . two crazy boys and a girl in between.”
“What are their names?”
“Jake is my oldest. He’s sixteen. Lily is thirteen. She’s my princess. Dylan is the little firecracker. He’s six.”
When I said my kids’ names, I felt great happiness at the thought of their faces, but the stronger feeling in that moment was sadness . . . deep sadness. I’d failed them. I couldn’t be with them and it was killing me.
“You miss them.” Gabriel took another bite and squinted as he focused on me. The food looked and smelled amazing, but now my appetite was dwindling, and I idly pushed salad around on my plate.
“More than I can say, really. Jake is driving now . . . and life is all about girls and sports. Lily has these deep dimples when she smiles . . . melts me every time. And Dylan is always looking for something to jump off of. These gray hairs all have that one’s name on them.”
Gabriel laughed.
“I’ve got to figure something out.” I felt and heard the desperation in my voice. “Sarah was a senior in college when we met. I had already been working in New York for a couple of years. One weekend I dropped in to surprise my sister at her college campus, and Sarah was her roommate that semester. She was stunning. She still is. She’s actually smarter than she is pretty, which is dangerous. She can hold her own in any debate too. Once I met her, it was like I didn’t have a choice. Like I was supposed to marry her from the beginning of time.”
Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. “How do you think it happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did you drift apart?”
“I don’t know where it started, really. I was hoping you could tell me,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I think it’s the natural way . . . you know, to drift away from each other.”
“You think it’s supposed to be that way?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said it seems to be the natural way of things . . . to come apart . . . to get weaker . . . We lose sight of things. It takes extraordinary effort to keep things right . . . to keep people together. Left alone, we wander. I don’t think she appreciated all that I was doing for her and the kids. I worked my butt off, fourteen-hour days for years to get us where we were.”
“And where was that?” He smiled graciously.
I didn’t have an answer. Then it hit me.
“How could I spend my life chasing after everything that doesn’t matter? I hate losing. It’s like someone moved the goal-post or something! I don’t know what to strive for anymore.”
I was hoping he would give me a glimmer of hope. As we took the last few bites of the incredible meal, Gabriel got up to take the dishes inside. “I have an idea,” he said as he rubbed his hands together, chewing the last of his dinner roll.
“What’s that?”
He held up his hand as he swallowed.
“I’ll be right back.” He had that crazed look in his eye I remembered from the airport.
He came out of the kitchen and walked past me with a purpose.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where? It’s got to be closing in on ten o’clock.”
He looked back over his shoulder at me.
“You got somewhere to be? Just come with me. You’ll see.”
I followed him across the gravel drive. He took me down to an old wooden barn-like structure. He unlatched the large door and swung it open. It smelled of rubber, river water, and a touch of mildew. He pointed over to the wall.
“Flick that light on, will ya?”
I turned the light on to see a row of hundreds of wetsuits hanging high on a rack like suits of armor, a large wooden crate of helmets, stacks of wetsuit booties, and rows of life vests all sorted by size. Gabriel picked one off of the “large” rack and tossed it to me.
“That should fit.”
“What do I need this for?”
“Always wear a vest on the white water, my friend.”
“What? We don’t need to go out on the water.”
He walked right over to me. His presence was powerful.
“Really? I beg to differ. That’s why you came, isn’t it? To get in The River?”
I stumbled over words. “Well, I just wanted to . . . you know . . . get a change of pace.”
He smiled and lowered his voice a bit. “The River is the change of pace. I’m going . . . and you’re going with me.”
He smiled again as he pushed a paddle into my chest.
I didn’t have a choice. I fancied myself a pretty adventurous guy. After all, I was an avid runner. Being on The River at night took it to another level.
“I’m not really dressed for this.”
“The River doesn’t care how you look,” he retorted quickly. “Put on the wetsuit, grab a brain bucket, and meet me at the Jeep,” he commanded as he walked out of the barn carrying his gear.
I stood there, half angry, but half excited. I was going on The River at night with a notorious adventure monger.
I hollered after him, “Am I supposed to wear this wetsuit over my jeans?”
“I wouldn’t do that. You want to keep the moisture away from your body.”
“Uh . . . okay.” I’d have to strip down to my boxers and T-shirt. What in the world am I doing?
After I gathered the gear, I trudged back out to the parking area. I stopped by my brand-new black BMW 740i sedan to drop my leather dress shoes in the trunk and grab my sneakers. It seemed odd to me. This dream car didn’t seem to mean much out in the wilderness.
I helped Gabriel hook up the trailer to his Jeep. It carried the raft and had a large white cooler strapped to the back. After a few minutes’ ride through the canyon switching back and forth, we pulled into a small clearing, and Gabriel backed the trailer down to the water’s edge.
The next thing I knew, I was in a raft on a mighty river with Gabriel Clarke, floating into a moonlit canyon in Colorado. You could say I was officially out of my comfort zone. What a far cry from my office at 590 Madison Avenue in Manhattan. Once I got over the shock of what I was doing, I came awake to the experience.
A starlight canopy twinkled above. All I could hear were the sounds of the water. In the distance you could hear the dull roar of rapids. Up close, just the occasional bubbling of the gentle flow over the riverbed rocks. The moonlight beamed, but the occasional cloud would block its light, rendering the canyon pitch-black for a few seconds. I felt the water tap the bottom of my feet as we coasted along, Gabriel in back, and me in front on the starboard side.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
“You hear that?” Gabriel asked as we floated along.
“Yeah, what was that?”
“Beaver tails. They’re warning everyone of the city dweller.”
I laughed.
Then a coyote howled high in the hills. It was a chilling sound.
“Go ahead and get secure. Slide your foot under the tube there, and when I say ‘forward hard’ or ‘backward hard,’ you dig into the water. That will steady you in the boat. This next rapid will be fun in the dark.”
I could feel my adrenaline pulse as I braced for my first ever white-water experience. The night made the water seem infinitely strong and mysterious. I could barely see the water, but I could hear the roar get louder. I paddled furiously, not knowing if I was helping or doing the right thing. The raft picked up speed. It felt like a cosmic invisible rope was pulling us faster and faster toward something. Gabriel guided us from the back, steering us between boulders and over the waves.
“Forward hard!” he yelled several times. My heart pounded as I connected with the water. It splashed my face. It awakened my senses. I felt like a child again, scared and thrilled at the wonder of the moment. We cascaded over a small drop, and I felt the boat turn quickly. We were now floating backward.
“Forward hard! Hard!” Gabriel yelled. I thought we were in trouble. The raft bucked up and down.
Gabriel and I dug in as we pulled the raft upstream against the rapid. Then suddenly we felt the struggle release and we just floated, pointing upstream, the boiling waters cascading all around us. The moonlight beamed onto the white water we now faced.
“We’re surfin’ now! Ha ha!” Gabriel shouted.
It was a magical experience. It was as though the waters allowed this peaceful respite in the middle of the raging water. We stayed there for a minute or so, and Gabriel backed us out into the flow, and we headed downstream once again.
“Have you ever been over a waterfall?” he asked as we paddled gently.
“What?”
I’m sure he sensed my fear.
“I’m just kidding. Did you enjoy that little run?”
“Yeah, it was amazing. Little?”
“Yeah, that was only a level two. I’ll take you on a four plus tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to let on that I was really nervous at such a prospect.
“Okay. I wasn’t sure how long I was going to stay.”
“One of the things I love about these waters is that just when you think you can’t handle any more big white water, she blesses you with a section like this. Look around.”
We pulled up our paddles. The water here was pure peace. The River opened wide as if to invite us into its tranquility. The mirrored surface reflected the moon’s brilliance, and the roar of the white water melted into deafening stillness. I leaned over the side of the raft and I could see my reflection in the smooth and dimly lit surface. The dark outline of the mountaintops that surrounded us looked like someone drew them in charcoal on the canvas of the sky. A hawk screeched and the cry reverberated. I was in another world. It was like one part of me started to die and one part of me started to awaken from the dead. It was just nature and us . . . no deadlines, no big business deals, and no media. I was in the presence of power and beauty, and I felt very small.
“Stunning,” I commented to Gabriel as I looked up to the sky.
“It’s in the dark that I hear the waters differently. When I can’t see, when I don’t know, when it’s hard, that’s when I listen. Life becomes clearer when I have to trust . . . trust that it’s going to be good . . . in the end, it will all be good. When I come to The River, I’m actually the truest version of myself. I think that’s because I realize it’s not about me.”
Gabriel’s words burrowed deep into my soul. Could it be good again for me? I was hoping beyond hope.