"Holy
crap," Lonny Johnson exclaimed and banked his Cessna 185 float plane hard
to the right. He'd caught a glimpse of something shinny on the shore of the
lake. Maybe it was a reflection off the hull of the canoe he was looking for.
He leveled off and flew back, keeping his eyes focused on the north shore of
Little Swan Lake.
The guy he was looking for was named
Charles McRoberts. He'd been missing for two days, but Lonny had only received
the call that morning. He was working with the Search and Rescue crew out of
Ely, Minnesota. Ely was in the Boundary Waters Wilderness Area of northern
Minnesota and considered to be the gateway to the intricate string of lakes and
forests hugging the border between Minnesota and Canada. Search and Rescue
spent all day yesterday in canoes looking for McRoberts but had come up empty.
They'd called Lonny that morning asking for his assistance and he was more than
willing to help. He'd worked with them before and he liked the team, four men
and two women, highly trained professionals who were all skilled in handling
the adverse conditions that often arose in the Boundary Waters.
Little Swan Neck Lake was about a half
mile long and maybe a quarter mile wide. It was surrounded by pine trees and
not much of the shoreline was visible. From past experience Lonny knew that 'Little
Swan', as the locals called it, was not a good lake for camping due to its lack
of room for a camp site. The trees were just too close to the shore which was
really nothing more than about six feet of pebbly beach surrounding the lake.
Lonny throttled the engine down as low as he could go and settled the Cessna in
about a hundred feet off the surface, eyes intent on watching the shoreline. Nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. Then he saw it. The canoe was resting half in and half out of
the water in an indentation in the trees. The guy was laying next to it, not
moving. Lonnie pulled the plane up above the tree line and circled back for
another look. Yep, it was the guy he was looking for. He radioed Ted Peterson,
the head of the rescue team with the news.
"Ted," Lonny said when
they'd made contact. "I've got him."
"Where exactly is he?" Ted
sounded out of breath. This was the second day the guy had been missing. They'd
probably been paddling hard all morning. Lonny knew he'd be in a hurry to get
to the site.
"He's on the north shore of
Little Swan. Near the west end."
"Jesus. How'd he get way over
there?" Ted wondered out loud. Lonny heard paper rattling. Ted was
checking his maps. "He's not even close to where he'd supposed to
be."
"Ya' got me." Lonny was
circling back again. "He's not moving."
"We're two lakes away, over on
Granite. Got a portage of seventy five rods into Beauty, then one hundred and
thirty five rods into the west end of Little Swan. We should be there in a few
hours. Can you get down there to him?"
"It'll be tight, but I think I
can do it." Landing was no problem. Taking off would be a challenge. The
Cessna should be able to do it, though. "I'll get down there. You hurry it
up. I'll contact you again when I get on the water."
They signed off and Lonny made ready
for his landing.
Charles "Mac" McRoberts
lay on the rocky shoreline dying. At least he thought he was. He'd given up all
hope of being rescued until he heard the single engine of the plane. He wanted
to look up but he couldn't move. Then the plane passed over and the sound of
its engine drifted away and Mac thought he'd imagined the whole thing. Then, unbelievably, the plane circled back.
He permitted himself to hope. He'd be saved. He wasn't sure how he felt about
that.
Charles McRoberts was a fifty nine
year old business executive for a successful computer repair company located in
St. Paul, Minnesota. He was an avid outdoorsman, comfortable with himself and
his abilities in the wild. He'd canoed the Boundary Waters nearly every summer
since he was first exposed to the area with his church group through the YMCA
when he was fifteen. He loved the peace and quiet of the region, but he also
loved to exert and prove himself. He had started taking solo trips ten years
ago, stretching the limits of his physical abilities. The guys he hung out with
all admired him. His ex-wife thought he was nuts and his current lady friend was
ambivalent. Mac didn't really care. "Life is for the living" was his
motto and he planned to live life to the fullest or die trying. Which, on this
trip, he almost did.
He'd been out for three of the ten
days he'd planned when he had hit Little Swan Neck Lake. The day was sunny and
warm with a strong wind blowing from the south. He'd been drifting, regaining
his breath after a challenging 50 rod portage into the lake. His sixteen foot Wenonah
Kevlar composite canoe bobbed confidently in the water. Mac watched a mature
bald eagle soaring above the tall pines that surrounded the lake. The next
portage was at the west end. At one hundred and thirty five rods it would take
him a while to get to the next lake. He reached over the side and cupped his
hand, wanting to splash some refreshing water on his face. And, just like that,
an unexpected wave broke and caught the bottom of the canoe at the wrong angle
and it tipped, tossing him over board. He braced himself for when he hit the
water, but he wasn't prepared for how cold it felt. In early June the ice
hadn't been out for more than six weeks and the water temperature was only
around fifty degrees. The shock caused him to lose his breath. The weight of
the clothes he was wearing pulled him under. In those first few seconds he
thought he would drown. But adrenalin kicked in and he forced himself to the
surface and grabbed for his canoe, which was floating upside down within arm's
reach. He was able to pull himself half out of the water onto the canoe but his
strength was gone. He lay there bobbing in the water trying to catch his breath
but he was having a hard time. There was a pain in his chest and his right arm
was numb. He was wondering if he'd suffered a mild heart attack when he passed
out. When he regained consciousness his canoe was bumping against the rocky
shoreline of the lake. He gathered himself, willing his body to move as he
crawled and pulled himself as far out of the water as he could. The last
thought he had was how good the warmth of the sun heated rocks felt underneath
him. Then he passed out again. For the next two days he drifted in and out of
consciousness, not knowing that a search party had been organized and people
had been looking for him since the morning after the day of his accident.
Lonny set his plane down with the
precision of the confident pilot that he was. The twin pontoons skimmed the
water and then he settled into a light chop and taxied toward where the canoe
and the victim lay. He radioed Ted with his update.
"I'm on the water and making my
way to the shoreline," he said into his mouth piece. "I still don't
see any movement."
"You be careful." Ted
replied. "You have your raft?"
"I do." Lonny taxied as close
to shore as he dared. "I'm going to use it to check on this guy."
"Be careful, man," Ted
said. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
Lonny signed off, anchored his plane
and got his raft out of the storage compartment. In a few minutes he was in the
water, paddling the fifty feet or so between his plane and the shore. The guy
still hadn't moved and Lonny wondered if he was soon going to be making contact
with a dead person. Lonny had been working with Search and Rescue for the past three
years. Prior to that his life had not been too easy. When he'd been in his
early twenty's he had enlisted in the army and become an airplane mechanic
stationed in Afghanistan. When his time
served was over he came back to the states, where he'd had a hard time adjusting
to the life he'd left behind before he'd enlisted. He had changed. He was glad
to be done with the war and had turned his back on anything having to do with
killing. For those first few years after he'd returned he had kind of turned
his back on society too and had gone through a tough period with alcohol and
drugs. He knew he had some issues to deal with, but right now he was just
taking life a day at a time. He'd stopped drinking and smoking pot, bought his
Cessna got his pilot's license and was just trying to live a decent life. So
far he was happy with how things had turned out. He'd started a little business
taking customers to remote fishing areas in the Boundary Waters and Canada. Ted
was a friend and also a vet, but he was a veteran of the Vietnam war. When he called Lonny with the opportunity to
work with Search and Rescue, he jumped at the chance. It gave him an
opportunity to be useful and perhaps help people. Over the last three years
Search and Rescue had made a dozen rescues, all successful. Everyone had lived.
As he approached the guy on the beach he wondered if maybe this would be the
first dead guy he'd have to deal with.
Mac was dimly conscious of the
events taking place around him. He'd heard the plane flying by overhead and he thought
that it had landed on the lake. He just wasn't sure if what he was aware of was
for real or simply tricks being played on him by his imagination. He was in bad
shape. He knew that for sure. He couldn't move the right side of his body. He
had lost track of time and he had no idea if he was going to live or die. Since
the accident he had been unconscious most of the time, but when he came to he
was somewhat lucid. When he was conscious he spent most of the time replaying
the events that had brought him to this shoreline in the middle of the Boundary
Waters.
He'd been planning this trip for a
good six months. This was to be an opportunity for him to get out and prove
himself. That's the kind of person Mac was. Life to him was a competition. He was
a driven, type A type personality type of guy. Driving to work to the company
he owned was a chance to race other drivers in his high end Lexus RC-F. Going
to the gym was a time to challenge himself to do workouts better and faster
than the people around him. He rarely relaxed. He was divorced and had no
children. He liked to force himself to be the best he could be. He never
permitted himself to be sick and he looked down on others who got ill as weaker
than he was. He worked hard to make his business a success and he enjoyed the
money that came along with it. Being rich allowed him a degree of freedom to
challenge himself even further. This canoe trip was a chance to prove to
himself that he could survive a long solo trip through the Boundary Waters,
something that not many people could say they could do.
He'd set it up that he would call
his lady friend, Mary, every evening on his cell phone. Which he did. What he
didn't tell her was that instead of going for a ten day trip, most of which was
going to be camping and fishing on one lake, he'd planned all along to really
push himself to see how far he could travel in those ten days. So Mary had no
idea where he was. When he didn't call that night of the day he'd capsized, she
immediately called the authorities. She'd driven up to Ely early the next
morning and had been talking to Ted.
"He went in at Clearwater
Lake," she told him. "At least that's what he told me." She had
a sneaking suspicion that Mac might pull something stupid. "But you never
know with him. He tends to do pretty much anything he wants to do."
So he could be anywhere, Ted thought.
What a jerk to put people through this. But to Mary he tried to be consoling.
"Don't worry. We've got a lot of experience with this kind of thing. We'll
find him."
When Lonny's call came in, the first
thing Ted did was radio Mary. "We've found him. Our pilot is with him now,
and we should get to him in a few hours."
"Is he alright?" Mary's
voice was full of concern.
"He seems to be. Our pilot is
approaching him now in his raft. We'll keep you posted."
For some reason, Ted was finding
himself not liking this guy they were rescuing. He didn't have a lot of
patience for people who felt the world revolved around just them. He tried to calm down and center
himself on doing his job. Lonny came in on the radio.
"I'm with him right now."
"How's he looking."
"Not good. I can't see any
broken bones. He's unconscious. It looks like he capsized and drifted to shore
with his canoe. He's out of the water, but he's pale and probably dehydrated. I
don't think he's moved since he came up on shore. I can feel a pulse, so that's
good."
That was good news, Ted thought to
himself. He was back in his 'Rescue' mode. "Keep him warm with a blanket
and see if you can give him some water." He checked his watch. "We
should be there in under two hours."
"Sounds good. I'll keep you
posted." Lonny signed off.
In his raft was some bottled water.
Lonny grabbed a bottle, twisted the top off and was turning to give some to the
victim when the guy made a quick movement, startling Lonny. Yep, he's alive,
Lonny thought to himself, thinking that the guy now might have a chance to live
through his ordeal. Lonny bent to give him some water and the guy opened his
eyes, making contact with Lonny.
"Who the hell are you?"
The guy asked.
"Lonny Johnson," he
answered. He wanted to be friendly and see if he could get the guy talking. It
would help him to judge his state of mind. "Pleased to meet you. I'm a
pilot with the Search and Rescue team. What's your name?"
"Charles McRoberts," he
said and then groaned. "Man, get me out of here. I don't feel too
good."
"We've got our rescue team on
the way. They should be here in less than two hours."
Mac groaned again. "Can't they
get here any sooner?"
"They're coming by canoe.
They'll be here shortly."
He sighed and closed his eyes. Lonny
wondered if he had passed out. After a few minutes his eyes flickered open.
"I can't feel my right arm or leg."
"Here, let me give you some
water," Lonny moved to lift his head, thinking, I'll bet this guy had a
stroke.
He drank a little, most of it running
down his chin. "Damnit. What the hell is wrong with me?"
Lonny gently lay his head back on a
jacket he'd folded up to serve as a pillow and covered him with the blanket. "The
rescue team had a medic with them who'll check you out. Just rest. You're going
to be OK."
The guy lay his head back and closed
his eyes. "Thanks." And was quiet for a few minutes. Then added.
"You can call me Mac. It's short for McRoberts."
Lonny laughed. "Yeah, I kind of
got that."
Mac groaned again and then gave him
a look half way between a grimace and a smile. "Smart guy you are,"
he said, and then passed out again.
Lonny stood up and looked around.
The wind was still light out of the south. The chop on the water was manageable.
But the problem was that out to the west some clouds were building up and that might
not be so good. In the north country, in June, storms could blow up quickly.
Just a few years ago straight line winds had damaged an area of the Boundary Waters
just fifteen miles east of where he was right now. Fallen trees out there formed
piles, some of which were thirty feet high, that now were dried out and lay like
dried straw waiting to burn. All it would take would be a spark from a
lightning storm and the whole forest would ignite. Lonny watched the clouds
saying a quick prayer that Ted and his team would get to him sooner rather than
later.
His thoughts were interrupted by
Mac. "Hey buddy. Can I have some more water?"
Lonny raised Mac's head to drink and
then helped him lie back down. "How're you feeling?"
"Not good." Mac sighed.
"My damn right arm and leg. I can't feel them."
Lonny didn't want to be the bearer
of bad news. Let's just get him out of here, he thought to himself. "The
medic should be here in about an hour. She's good. She'll be able to help
you."
Sara Larson was the medic, and, like
Lonny, had been in the war in Afghanistan. But she had adjusted to life back in
the states lots better than he had. She was grounded and settled. She was also
a good friend. "She knows her stuff," Lonny assured Mac. "She'll
take good care of you."
Mac rested for a few minutes and
then came to. "I'm not sure about this," he said.
Lonny had no clue what he was
talking about. "What?"
Mac made a movement with his left
hand. "All of this."
"I'm not following," Lonny
said. He looked at Mac, who seemed distant, like he was drifting away.
"If I've got a stroke, if I
can't move...man, I'm not sure I'm ready for that."
Lonny watched his patient, as he was
now thinking of Mac as. He kind of got what Mac was saying. Here was a strong,
healthy, in shape guy in the prime of his life, and now it may be that he would
spend the rest of his life crippled and unable to do the things he was used to
doing. Anything he could think to say sounded trite and dumb. So he just kept
quiet and patted Mac on the shoulder. In a few moments Mac closed his eyes and
drifted off.
Lonny had seen this kind of behavior
before in the war with soldiers who had been shot and wounded, or who had been hurt
in roadside explosions. Soldiers injured so badly that their lives had been
changed forever. And even though Mac's situation was not even closely related
to those he'd seen in the war, the end result was the same. No matter what
Mac's life was going to change. He was going to have to learn to deal with it,
just like Lonny had, and Sara had and Ted had. No matter what your expectations
are, life doesn't always work out the way you planned. You had to accept life's
challenges and hopefully grow from them and move on. Lonny knew that for a
fact.
He sat back on his heels and watched
the clouds building up in the west. They didn't look too bad. Maybe we'll get
out of here OK, he thought to himself. The more pressing issue had to do with
Mac and getting him safely off the lake. The plan would be for Sara to check
him out and make him comfortable. Then Lonny would transport Mac to the harbor
in Duluth which was about an hour's flight south. From there he'd be transported via ambulance
to the hospital. The staff there could deal with Mac's physical well being, but
his mental well being was something else again. Lonny thought about what he,
personally, had gone through after returning from Afghanistan. It had been
challenging to say the least, but he had preserved and was trying to make
something positive out of his life. He guessed that Mac was probably one of
those successful guys who had made a name for himself and in so doing was used
to having people do whatever he wanted them to do. Mac's life will change in a
big way, Lonny thought to himself, especially if he comes out of this crippled
due to a stroke. The more he thought
about it, the more he was starting to feel for the guy.
Just then, Mac regained consciousness.
"So what's your story, pal?" he asked, his words slurring a little.
"How'd you end up here flying an airplane?"
"Float plane," Lonny said,
trying to lighten the mood. "It's a Cessna 185." And Lonny told him
about Afghanistan, and how hard it had been coming back, and the drugs and
alcohol, and getting straight and sober, and finally how he ended up flying for
a living and working with Ted and Search and Rescue.
Mac was silent for a few moments,
taking it all in. "How old are you anyway?" he asked.
"Thirty eight."
"Married? Kids? Family?"
"No, no and no." Lonny
answered. Then he smiled. "Still looking."
Mac groaned, whether in pain or from
past memories, Lonny wasn't sure. "I'll tell you something, young man, you've
got your whole life in front of you. Don't waste it."
"I hear you." He was thinking about Sara.
"I'm richer than rich,"
Mac continued. "I've got it all." He then indicated the numb side of
his body. "But if this is what I think it is, I've got nothing."
"I disagree," Lonny said,
despite the glare he got from Mac, a guy obviously not used to being disagreed
with. "You got your whole life too," he said, "It'll just be
different."
Mac was silent, giving Lonny a
stare. "I'm not used to being talked to like that."
"Well, take it or leave it,
it's the truth."
Lonny sat back and looked out over
the lake to the west toward where Ted and his team would be coming in off the
portage. He wondered if he'd over stepped some invisible boundary. He didn't
mean to be a jerk. He just felt strongly that Mac should realize that things
could be a lot worse. He could still move parts of his body. He could still use
his mind. He'd seen people in lots worse situations.
"I suppose you're thinking it
could have been a lot worse," Mac said, breaking into Lonny's thought.
"As a matter of fact, I was
thinking that very same thing."
"You know before you got here,
I had a lot of time to think," Mac said. "Maybe too much."
"What'd you think about?"
Lonny felt it was good to keep Mac talking.
"About life, mainly," Mac
said with a weak laugh.
Lonny looked at him. "What'd
you come up with?"
"Not much." Mac was silent
for a few moments, reflecting. "Maybe this. This situation here," he
waved his good arm over his body, "It sucks." Then he held up his
hand to stop Lonny from saying anything. "But, yeah, maybe you're right.
Maybe it could be worse."
Lonny smiled at him. This guy was
not a quitter. "I could tell you some stories."
"I'll bet you could," Mac
said. "I'll bet you could." And he seemed to relax and fall in on
himself, as if he had come to some inner conclusion. Like maybe his situation
could, in fact, really be a lot worse. And he passed out again.
Lonny looked at Mac, wondering how
the rest of his life would play out. Would he recover from the stroke or remain
partially paralyzed the rest of his life? He'd probably never regain full use
of the right side of his body. How would that affect him? Would he mentally be
able to cope? Mac was a successful businessman and somewhat of an athlete. How
would Mac adjust to the changes and challenges ahead? Did he have someone close
to him who would help out? And the big question was this: Would Mac choose to
allow his life to get better or would he let it spiral out of control and get
worse? Lonny could tell Mac was a fighter. If he had to bet, he'd bet on him. He
just might make it.
Just then a shout came across the water. Lonny
looked up and saw Ted waving. The rescue team was through the final portage. They
would soon be here. Help was on the way. Lonny looked back at Mac. His face was
calm, almost peaceful. Lonny reached down and felt for his pulse. It was a
little stronger than when he'd first arrived. Lonny took that as a good sign.
He stood up and got ready for Ted and his team. There were already halfway
across the lake, hurrying to complete the rescue. He looked down at Mac. Maybe
he's begun to make some sort of peace with himself, Lonny thought. Maybe he'll
come out of this OK.
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