Being jutted into the rock’s nifty canoe-sized pocket abruptly halted the duo’s frustrated discussion about who was to blame for zig-zagging between the river’s banks. Blame didn’t matter at the moment; capsizing was imminent. Tarzan worked to protect his skull from slamming against the cliff’s face in rhythm to Nancy’s bouncy white-knuckle ride in the front. Each dip meant more water on board.
N—We’re gonna flip, aren’t we?
N—Would it help if we just rolled on out? Would that keep us from getting hurt?
N—Ok. I’m going.
T—Don’t lose your paddle! I’ll worry with the canoe. Make it to that gravel bar over there!
(Has it been mentioned that Tarzan could not swim? And that Nancy took lessons at the YMCA in a class of 5-year-olds when she was 12?)
She was already sitting in water so Nancy leaned over into the river making sure to hang on to her oar, kicking away as fast as she could toward the gravel bar ahead. About the time she was out of the main force of the current, she touched bottom, stood up and turned to check on Tarzan.
He was high-stepping toward her grappling with the canoe, yelling orders. Helplessly she watched the canoe’s contents bob by in the middle of the channel headed around the bend out of sight.
How he managed to get the canoe right-side up was a question for later. As he shoved it toward her, he almost beat it to the bank as he zipped across the gravel bar intending to catch their possessions as they rounded the bend.
Catch them he did, one by one, running to stack them on the bank in time to get back to retrieve another that could be tossed to shore. No doubt about it; he was quick-thinking, quick-acting and quick-footed. Only two items were lost – Nancy’s cheap sunglasses and their revered map of the scenic riverway portion of the journey. Both had been on top of the cooler; the map there for quick reference and the glasses there so not to lose them in the trees they had spent so much time in.
( Next week – Regroup, Reload, Relaunch)