Finding the North Star

CHAPTER 10 THE RAPIDS

The sun was setting behind them when Maurice gave the order to go hard over. They sat in the shallows watching the river.

There was little to see. The water seemed a bit rougher as it rounded a bend up ahead, ejecting a fine spray that caught the low sun in a dancing, ever-changing rainbow. Although the river was running with some speed now there was no sense of danger; Becky took some long, careful looks at all the faces to be sure there was no fear hiding there then checked that Kip was safe between her legs.

"All right boys . . ." Maurice called, "let's take her out."

Just as they almost reached their take off point near the middle of the river, a 'whoop' came at them from behind and they had to back paddle hard to keep the canoe more or less stationary. They were just in time. The hollering came from three young men standing aboard a timber raft that was bearing down on them out of nowhere. The crude craft was simply made and didn't look sturdy enough to withstand the river let alone rapids. It was a large flat deck – nothing more, nothing less – with no sides and nowhere to sit. A few logs lashed together then finished off with a central pole to hang on to was all that separated the boys from the rage of the river. Two of them had a long oar apiece, and the third had both hands on a large tiller which he used all his strength to guide them.

It barely missed the canoe, then within a matter of seconds the raft was into the turbulence where it suddenly dropped and disappeared from view.

Becky's shoulders rode up around her ears she was that tense. She thought for sure the cataract had swallowed the raft – boys and all, and would spit them out in pieces at the bottom.

"Don't worry Becky," said Maurice from behind, "we have all done it in our time. Just watch."

Sure enough, the raft appeared further down the rapids, unharmed and upright, with all three lads on board. Becky could still hear their excited cries, drifting back over the noise of the rapids. She exhaled – unaware she had been holding her breath all this time.

Maurice let out a great boom of a laugh. "Remember our dram Arlen? We had more fun on that thing . . .!"

Arlen nodded back over his shoulder. "We should go before anymore young fools come down. They think 'cause it's the evening, it's a good time to practice."

"Practice makes perfect . . . or die trying." Maurice again set his oar to direct them out and head-on with the top of the rapids.

Within a hair's breadth, it was the exact same spot the raft had just taken; and they must have disappeared in exactly the same way, because Becky felt the world being pulled from under her as the bow dropped and the stern came up. For a brief second that felt like an eternity, she was looking down on to the top of Arlen's balding head. Her arms flew out from her sides, rigid with fear. One hand found Mary's sleeve, the other the port gunwale – and she would let neither go for the next half hour. If Kip was in any danger, he would have to fend for himself, for he was completely forgotten.

With Maurice barking orders from the rear and Arlen shouting just as loudly from the front – John, Lively and Ed responded by paddling faster; sometimes more to one side, and then switching to the other. Becky desperately wanted them to slow the canoe, but Maurice told her earlier they must keep up with the current or be overcome. It seemed they were already at the mercy of the waves which strove to drive them under at every opportunity; and all was a confusion of whiteness and noise and spray.

There were brief calm interludes when the canoe bobbed up and down less violently, but these were few before they again fell into another set of rapids.