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He brought me on all these Rivers. I had to write them down. I hope you enjoyed the trips with us in your comfy chair or on your pillow at night. He is gone now. The ending quietly in darkness. I was only able to see him for a few hours as Covid shut the doors to me and his wonderful dog, Kaya. The kidney worked very well, with the help of all the drugs for twenty one years. “Too many insults to his health” said the professionals. His time was up. Unplugged from the machines, the rest of us stand around. Useless. He whispers: “Is the truck close by? is Kaya with me? I have to get better,
I have to get out of here.”
The Athabasca River 1983
11:30 am. I am on shore ready to film.
My legs wobble on the uneven terrain of the stony shoreline. Nerves of anticipation.
We have borrowed the ‘Old Town’ from our Dutch friends. The ABS white water boat.
It has been stored in our garage. They are in Fort McMurray now. The Tar Sands Project.
The plastic canoe even a brighter yellow in the dazzle of noonday sun.
He has chosen to run the Athabasca where it careens around a tight right turn after churning beside the Ice Field’s Parkway south of Jasper, near Wapiti Campground.
At this corner, the river throws up a continuous line of rollers in a boulder garden.
Huge rocks tossed about willy nilly. Some you cannot see, as the white froth disguises the mass of the obstacles. How much boat can be cleared.
We shall soon see.
Here he comes, setting his line. Cool as a cucumber, sunglasses, bare head.
Sitting so straight in the centre of the craft, perfect trim.
Spray from the huge waves kicks up all along the boat.
The wide black blade held with authority, his long strong reach. The whirr of my camera. Swashbuckling freedom.
He is so beautiful.
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