OUR RESCUER BEING RECORDED BY SON ROBERT
DAN LACROIX AND HIS MUSIC PARTNERS HAVE BEEN RECORDING SOME OF THEIR SONGS AT ROBERT'S STUDIO AT THE OLD MUSKOKA THEATRE BUILDING IN GRAVENHURST. IT'S A WONDERFUL SOUNDING GROUP AND ROBERT HAS ENJOYED THE GIG MAKING THEM A CD. IT IS A LITTLE STRANGE HOWEVER, RECORDING THE GENTLEMAN WHO SAVED HIS PARENTS LIVES THE RESULT OF A CANOEING MISHAP ON THE MUSKOKA RIVER. IN FACT IF DAN AND HIS DAUGHTER ANGIE HADN'T PULLED US FROM THE RAPIDS WE WOULD SURELY HAVE TUMBLED DOWN INTO THE UNDERTOW AND POTENTIALLY DROWNED. BOTH ROBERT AND ANDREW WERE YET TO BE BORN SO THIS RECORDING ENGAGEMENT WOULD NEVER HAVE OCCURRED IN THIS THEATRE BUILDING. WE'RE OBVIOUSLY PRETTY HAPPY TO HAVE DAN AND THE GANG NEARBY IN CASE WE RUN INTO ANY MORE TROUBLE.
TAKING THE RAPIDS SIDEWAYS - AND NEARLY DROWNING BEFORE OUR KIDS WERE KIDS
LEARNING TO CANOE THE HARD WAY - BY SUDDEN IMMERSION
MY NAME SHOULD BE ETCHED ONTO SOME MOSS COVERED TOMBSTONE, WITH THE INSCRIPTION, "TOO CRAZY FOR THIS LIFE," OR "HE TOOK CHANCES AND WASN'T A WINNER." OR "HE LIVED LIFE PRECARIOUSLY, AND HERE'S THE PROOF."
GENERALLY, I'M CAREFUL AS A DRIVER, AND AS A PEDESTRIAN. I SHOULDN'T EVER SWIM, BECAUSE I MAKE BAD CHOICES. I LOVE CANOEING, JUST NOT RACING THEM. I WENT FROM BEING AN OCCASIONAL PADDLER, FOR LEISURE, TO COMPETITIVE CANOEING WITH SOME OF THE FINEST ATHLETES IN THE PROVINCE. SO HOW THE HELL DID I COME TO JOIN REAL ATHLETES, IN THE PURSUIT OF EXCELLENCE ON THE WATER? I HATE TO BLAME PAUL RIMSTEAD FOR ALL MY NEWSPAPER FOLLIES, BUT IN THIS CASE, IT'S EXACTLY WHO I CREDIT FOR GETTING ME INTO THE RACE ON THE MUSKOKA RIVER IN THE FIRST PLACE. MY BID FOR PUBLICITY FOR OUR PAPER, NEARLY ENDED MY LIFE. I SHARED THIS TRAIT OF MISFORTUNE, WITH RIMSTEAD, WHO NEARLY DROWNED IN THE BEAVER RIVER RAT RACE, DOING A COMMERCIAL FOR O'KEEFE ALE. IT WAS A HAND-CRAFTED SORT-OF BOAT, WITH FOUR LANDLUBBERS AS CREW, INCLUDING RIMSTEAD, WHO LOVED PUBLICITY STUNTS LIKE THIS, EITHER FOR THE TORONTO SUN, AND THEN FOR O'KEEFE, AS A CELEBRITY PITCH-MAN FOR THE BEER BRAND.
THE UNSEAWORTHY CRAFT VEERED THE WRONG WAY, AND HIT A FALLEN LOG, STRETCHING FROM SHORE. THERE WAS A FAIR JOLT, AND WHEN THE CREW TRIED TO REGAIN CONTROL, RIMMER GOT TOSSED INTO THE FAST AND FRIGID WATER, WEARING A FOOTBALL HELMET, I THINK, WITH AN ADMIRAL'S FINIAL ON TOP. HE WAS WEIGHTED DOWN BY CLOTHES AND HELMET, AND BY HIS RESCUERS, ALSO FIGHTING THE UNDERTOW. THEY SAVED THE WELL KNOWN COLUMNIST, BUT HE HAD TO ADMIT IT WAS A CLOSE CALL.
WORKING FOR THE COMMUNITY PRESS, NEWS STAFFERS WERE ALWAYS WILLING TO COPY WHATEVER RIMSTEAD HAD DONE IN THE PAST, TO DRAW ATTENTION TO HIS PAPER AND HIS COMMITMENT TO THE PEOPLE OF TORONTO, AND CANADA….HIS FAITHFUL READERS. HE WANTED TO PROVE HE WAS THE GENUINE ARTICLE. THERE WAS NO FACADE BIG ENOUGH TO COVER PAUL RIMSTEAD. HE DIDN'T HIDE BEHIND HIS COLUMN. HE WASN'T AFRAID TO GET OUT THERE, AND DO WHAT WAS REQUIRED FOR A CELEBRITY WRITER TO KEEP UP A PUBLIC PROFILE. PEOPLE LOVED RIMMER, BECAUSE HE WAS STILL OUT THERE REPRESENTING THE COMMON, WORKING, STRUGGLING BUT HAPPY CITIZEN, AND THEY WERE LIVING VICARIOUSLY THROUGH HIM AND HIS DAILY, PAGE THREE COLUMN (THE ONE NEXT TO THE SUNSHINE GIRL).
WELL WE FIGURED THAT WE COULD DO THE SAME THING IN MUSKOKA, AND GET MORE READERS……AND MAYBE A RAISE, IF OUR STUNTS BROUGHT THE PAPER MORE RECOGNITION AND READERSHIP. IT DID, BUT OFTEN IT WAS A LITTLE ADVERSE. SO IN THE SPIRIT OF RIMSTEAD, THE NEWS AND FEATURE WRITERS OFTEN JOINED TOGETHER, TO PARTICIPATE IN INTERESTING EVENTS WHERE ONE MIGHT EXPECT A FAIR AMOUNT OF MEDIA COVERAGE. ONE SUCH EVENT, WAS A MUSKOKA SHIELD RACE, ON THE NORTH BRANCH OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER. SUZANNE HAD HER OWN WHITE WATER CANOE, AND HAVING LIVED ON THE LAKE SINCE SHE WAS A CHILD, I HAD FULL CONFIDENCE IN HER AS A PADDLING PARTNER. I HAD GONE INTO SEVERAL CANOE EVENTS BEFORE THIS, SO I WAS AWARE OF THE DEMANDS OF THE OUTING, BEFORE WE GOT INTO THE CANOE THAT SPRING MORNING. THIS WAS GOING TO BE A TOUGH EVENT. WE DIDN'T REALLY EXPECT TO WIN, BUT AS I WAS GOING TO BE WRITING ABOUT IT, IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, I MOST CERTAINLY WANTED IT TO BE AN ADVENTURE. OH BOY, WAS IT! I WAS ABLE TO COPY RIMSTEAD IN A MOST DANGEROUS WAY, MUCH TO SUZANNE'S CHAGRIN.
WRONG WAY, FIRST OF ALL
The event had some fundamental flaws. Some of the spotters from the Bracebridge High School "Outers Club," did not want to be in attendance. It was a nice, sunny Sunday morning, and yes, the flies were active. We started at the bridge in Fraserburg. We got the signal to start, and about six of the first budget of canoes headed up stream. We went until we encountered a waterfall, from the wrong approach, and a chase canoe approached from behind, to inform us we had gone the wrong way. We didn't do it voluntarily. This is where they pointed us. Up stream when we should have been going the opposite way. We lost more than a half hour doing this, and the fact we had been racing, geez, we were spent by time we got back to the Fraserburg bridge. So they started us again, the right way, but I think we suffered a time penalty for their mistake. Suzanne and I paddled like mad, and her white water canoe, was perfect for maneuvering the river bends. Now even though we had entered the race as a publicity stunt, as there was no way in hell we could actually win anything, there was still a flicker of competitive nature, that made us hustle more than we would have normally, on such a picturesque traverse on this historically important river. So we exhausted ourselves early in the event. The portages were killing us. As I had been over-consuming O'Keefe ale the night before, to put me in the Rimstead mood, I was in rough shape, but I didn't want Suzanne to think I couldn't handle the trip and my booze. I darted into the woods frequently, to exorcise my demons.
About three portages into the race, we came upon a young lady filing her nails. Her job was to tell us the way to go, in order to miss the rapids or the small water falls along the route. She could barely raise her eyes from the difficult job, of rounding her long nails, to give us, and other canoeists coming behind, the right path to follow to re-launch the canoe balanced on our heads. She pointed, eventually, and we went to the exact spot she had directed us to, and set about putting the canoe down, and then into the shallow water along the shore. We were just one of about eight canoes that took the same direction. Which was wrong by the way, but I'm sure the girl couldn't have cared less. So when we set out again, having been blinded by the encroaching evergreens, there was a bend we had to go around after only a few paddle strokes. The water seemed to be getting a little turbulent, and I thought I heard a rush of water somewhere in front. The sound was muffled by the forest canopy, and the bend in the river. When we rounded the pine and cedar shore, by golly, we found rapids and a small waterfall, with no chance of escaping the reality, we were going over the top. As we were back-paddling to slow ourselves down, we kept yelling back and forth, that the guide must have known this was here, and that it was navigable. Right?
Of those eight canoes, four didn't make it over, without flipping. Here's how it worked out for us.
We finally adjusted to the fact we were totally screwed, and would have to take the first part of the falls right down the chute, and hope the canoe could withstand the thumping of the rocks we could see exposed in the waterfall. Now it wasn't a huge decline, but it was enough to be called a falls, and not just an area of rapids. We did the best we could at staying upright. It was a real rush, if I hadn't been too scared to enjoy even one second of the ride downstream. The canoe made it over the first decline, and spun strangely into an eddy halfway down. We were the only canoe to have this happen. The other canoeists were swimming below, with their life jackets on, chasing after their cast adrift vessels, moving out into the large bay below. Suzanne and I couldn't believe our good fortune, having survived at least this far. The problem however, was that there was no place to haul the canoe on shore, as the rocks and pine thicket made it impossible. We might have been able to amble down the rock of the falls, but we would have to send the canoe on its own, and that presented some transportation problems. So here we sat in this eddy, trying to figure out what came next. A plan was hatched. We would try to launch the canoe back into the rest of the decline, and its whitewater, with such an angle that it would take us as if we were linked to a track below the surface, and spit us out into the bay, safe and sound. This was the point we should have put on our lifejackets. If there was a photograph taken of us at this junction of the event, it would have been "catastrophic failure inevitable."
All we wanted, was to get out of that precarious situation, as quickly as possible, to rejoin the rest of our group from Muskoka Publications. Suzanne was at the bow, and I took the stern, and we pushed into the current, hoping for the best. The current wrenched the bow of the canoe violently to the right, then left, and against a rock we hadn't known was just under the surface. We popped up in the air like two corks, and the canoe came crashing down on Suzanne's hand, jamming it against a submerged rock. I did a couple of summersaults in the white water, seeing the beams of sunlight through the turbulence, until my feet finally hit the loose rocks below. She was about thirty feet away from me, also standing in the current, on a rock she was able to secure her feet against. I remember looking at her, and the blood streaming off her injured hand, and then seeing our orange lifejackets and canoe floating downstream without us. We were both in about waist hight water, but it was pushing us so hard, we kept losing our footing on the slippery rocks. If Suzanne had slipped entirely, she most likely would have drowned, because her hand and most of her arm was numb after being crushed against a rock. She kept yelling at me that she wouldn't be able to swim if pulled free of the rocks. My own footing was not going to hold, and I knew that a fall into the water, would have meant an impossible distancing from Suzanne, now struggling to stay upright in the fast water.
Below us was a canoe, being paddled by an old friend of our family, Danny Lacroix, and his daughter Angela. I yelled for them to help us out, and that they should get to Suzanne first, as she was injured. Dan was a superb canoeist, and if ever there was evidence to prove divine intervention, it was at this moment of near disaster. He knew exactly what to do, and how to fetch Suzanne off the rocks….which was a challenge because of the current, and the white water tumbling over the side of their canoe. After considerable trial and error, Danny and Angie pulled Suzanne into the canoe, and took her safely to shore. They came for me, and it was even more difficult, because I was in the middle of the fast water. I didn't have much time either, because I'd been slipping further and further down in the rapids, to the brink of the deep water and the dangerous undertow. He got me coming down the rapids, and was able to back-paddle like a voyageur, to allow me enough time to grab the gunnel and just let the canoe pull me to safety. It was a wild ride. They got us settled on the shore, and brought back our canoe, paddles, and life jackets. We were able to paddle far enough down the river, to secure a safe place to land, to walk toward the road, and up to a nearby service station with a pay phone. We had been spared. Suzanne went to the hospital to get the wounds on her hand looked after, and I ate humble pie for the next year. I got about four or five good columns out of it, and I did take on the organizers of the event, for allowing an under-informed guide, to direct traffic at the portage areas. She had missed showing us the forks in the road. The right fork would have taken us to a re-launch location below the falls.
Just recently, one of our boys had an inquiry for music lessons, from a member of the Lacroix family. Strange about this, is the fact I had been planning this blog for the past two weeks. Is there a message here? As a person who writes and researches the paranormal, and who as a child, had an encounter with an angel, take from this what you may……that I'm still tying up loose ends of this near death experience. It happened in the mid 1980's. If Danny and Angie Lacroix hadn't been there, at that moment in time, there was no one left to rescue us. One of us would have perished. So it's a strange coincidence, that my son might come to teach one of the Lacroix kin, some time in the future…..when in real terms, Robert might not have been born as a result of a publicity stunt gone wrong. Robert and Andrew are on this earth, because we were saved from misadventure. I've thanked the Lacroix family many times in my life, and in numerous columns I've had in a variety of publications. I feel compelled, at certain points of my life, to acknowledge this act of mercy, that allowed our family to manifest normally, and two boys to have a turn on this earth. At a young age, they were taught about canoeing safety, and have both paddled hundreds of miles on Algonquin Park waterways in all kinds of weather. But then they'll probably never choose to participate in a publicity event like this……..because they don't write. They compose music, that doesn't demand death defying feats, to get a few readers onside.
Be careful boating out there. You just never know what might be raging, just around the next bend.
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