LUCY GOES CAMPING
There
were thin gray clouds in the sky, and a cool breeze wiped up small waves on Crotch Lake, the day my buddy Doug and I got a
small taste of what those on the Titanic suffered. Spring was late that year,
and the frigid water numbed our bare feet as we loaded the canoe and set off for our campsite.
For the
last 10 years Doug and I have camped every spring and fall with about 20 other men and youngsters. We canoe into a quiet lake
with a weekend supply of food and beverages, and while some of the campers fish, others catch up on fishing stories.
This year
Doug brought two young lads, and I had my black lab Lucy. We had too much gear for one trip, so after dropping the boys and
the dog at the site with other campers, Doug and I headed back for another load. About half way across, I looked back and
saw my dog Lucy swimming along just behind the canoe.
Normally
Lucy is cautious of the water even though she's a Labrador Retriever, and I've never seen her go further than 50 feet from
shore, chasing a stick. So when I saw her out in the middle of the lake, behind us, I decided to bring her into the boat.
Now the
first rule of canoeing is always communicate clearly with your partner when you intend to do something different'. Too bad
I didn't remember it.
Lucy came
along side the boat and put her paws up on the gunnel. Doug had leaned away from our side, to balance us, and didn't expecting
my next move. I grabbed the scruff of Lucy's neck and heaved her in. She came
into the boat a lot easier than I thought and we all ended up on the same side of the canoe-which rolled it over throwing
us all into the water.
The dog
was trapped under the boat, and while I dove under and dragged her out, Doug retrieved my Personal Flotation Device, which
I'd been kneeling on. Now a little cautionary note about PFD's for those who've never been in my predicament. While easy to
get into on shore, a PFD resists every effort to put it on in the water. You can get your arms in, but every time you pull
it down at the back to hook the straps it pops up forcing you to tip forward and pushing your face into the water. The next
thing I discovered about PFD's is it's almost impossible to swim in one-so trying to get ashore seemed futile.
I could
feel my legs and arms starting to go numb from the cold water. Doug floated with me, beside the overturned canoe, and I could
see his lips were blue, and his teeth were chattering.
Fortunately
Doug had a whistle so we stayed with the boat and signaled to those ashore, that we needed help. After what seemed like hours,
two of our pals, Peter and Nick arrived. They hauled our canoe across their boat, forming an X, then flipped ours over and
put it back in the water. Then Doug and I took turns getting between the two boats and carefully sliding over the side into
our own.
Our wet
shirts stuck to our bodies as our muscles began to unwind. Just then a shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, massaging
us with heat. A light mist of steam began to rise from our clothes, and in the distance by the campsite, I saw my weary dog
Lucy drag herself out of the water and flop exhausted on the rocks.
What did
I learn that day while I floated in the cold water reviewing the sins of my life. Always wear my PFD, communicate clearly
with my canoe partner, and remember, the damn dog can swim better than I can, any day of the week.