Marooned on Dog Island
Marooned on Dog Island
Copyright Feb. 12, 2011
Aaron A. Lehman
“Yiee!” Donald shrieked, as he splashed into the cold, clear water. With white sand curling around his toes, he waded into the shimmering ripples. Slave Lake, a beautiful Northern Alberta lake, felt extra refreshing today after the hot bike ride from town.
“Come on in!” he yelled to his younger brother Ricky. “Don’t be a sissy. Bert will never find out.”
Bert is Rick’s father and Donald’s step father since he married Donald’s mother. Bert and Rick are white, but Donald and his mother Mary are Métis. This means they are of mixed Aboriginal ancestry.
“Come on Ricky, climb on my shoulders and I’ll throw you in.” Donald, a dark haired thirteen year old, is much bigger and stronger than his blond ten year old step brother. Time after time, they pitched each other into the easy cresting waves of the waist high water. Ricky struggled to lift Donald on his slender frame and quickly became exhausted.
“You’re such a weakling,” Donald chided. “Come on, head for the beach.”
Pulling themselves up out of the water, the boys sprawled out on the warm sand. How good it felt to soak in the caressing rays of the warm summer sun.
“Snack time,” Donald called
“Great!” Ricky responded. “I’m starving.”
“You look it! Ha!”
“Look!” Donald shouted, pointing along the beach. “What’s that floating?”
The boys strained to see a dark green blob floating toward them.
“A canoe!” Donald recognized it first, but both boys were surprised to see an empty canoe drifting slowly by. “Let’s grab it and go for a ride!” he yelled as he splashed with his big feet in an effort to capture the run-away canoe.
“Bummer! No paddles. Come on in. Don’t be chicken,” Donald chided. “We don’t need paddles. We can just use our hands to move around.”
“That won’t work.”
“Okay, here is a big stick we can use.”
“Father wouldn’t like it”, Ricky said. “We shouldn’t be stealing a canoe and besides, we don’t have any life jackets. Father doesn’t even know we’re here,” Ricky whined.
“Father! Father! That’s all I hear,” Donald taunted. Bert is your father, but he’s not mine and I don’t have to listen to him! I never liked him much anyway and he’s not going to run my life!”
“I know he likes you,” Ricky offered. “You should give him a chance.”
“Why should I,” Donald snarled. “Come on get in, or are you going to be Father’s baby again.”
“Okay,” Ricky replied timidly, but don’t go too far from shore.”
It had been a hot afternoon in late August and the boys slipped away unnoticed for a last bike ride to the lake before school started. What a great way to spend a lazy summer afternoon.
“How did Dog Island get its name?” Ricky asked, pointing to the small, somewhat rounded island a few kilometres from Devonshire beach.
Donald always had answers for Ricky’s questions, even if he had to make them up.
“Well, I heard the Elders talking about that one time,” Donald started his answer, as the boys floated leisurely along the beach in the pirated canoe. “In the olden days, the trappers and the police used dog teams for transportation in the winter. During the summer, the dogs were kept on the island so they couldn’t run away. That’s how it got its name.”
Because Slave Lake is one hundred kilometres long, fifteen kilometres wide and only fifteen metres deep, weather conditions can change quickly, producing white capped waves in a matter of minutes. While the boys were relaxing in the canoe, they failed to notice the tell-tale signs of a major storm brewing in the east. Thunder heads billowed high above the scraggly Jack pine trees on the sand dunes. A strong wind was starting to blow the canoe away from shore.
“Paddle!” Donald screamed. “Paddle! The stick won’t reach bottom and we’re over our heads.”
The boys leaned over the side of the canoe and splashed with both hands, but they were still drifting away. With the wind becoming stronger, the waves were getting higher and the innocent ride in a stolen canoe was becoming a nightmare of a roller coaster ride on the white capping waves on an angry lake.
“We shouldn’t have come,” Ricky whimpered above the splashing and thumping of water on the battered canoe.
“Oh shut up!” Donald yelled back. “Keep paddling!”
Ricky was nearing exhaustion and Donald would soon give up as well. They could no longer hang onto the gyrating canoe. Bucking like a bucking bronco at a rodeo, the canoe was now completely out of control.
Clouds darkened the sky. A pall of gloom hung over the lake as evening turned to night. The boys were now at the mercy of the raging water. Tossed into the air, they bounced hard on the gunnels along the side of the canoe.
“Hang on!” Donald yelled to Ricky, whose panicked eyes were bulging from their sockets.
Ricky, the weaker boy, was losing his grip on the canoe. Just then, with a crashing blow, a huge wave swept over the boys catapulting them into the churning water.
“Grab the canoe!” Donald yelled between fits of spitting water and gulping air. He kicked his powerful legs and swam toward the escaping canoe.
“Ricky!” Donald yelled. “Where are you?”
I can’t find Ricky!
Panic crept into his chest as he thought about losing Ricky.
I can’t lose him!
He did love his brother, even though he was Bert’s baby. And Bert?
Bert is a good father and I usually start the arguments. Should have listened to Ricky. I’ll change my attitude. I don’t want to die!
Donald suddenly realized how much he loved his family.
“Ricky!” Donald yelled once again, into the darkness.
No reply above the pounding of the waves.
Desperately searching for his brother, Donald finally grasped the edge and pulled himself toward the overturned canoe.
As his legs kicked under the canoe, they struck a body.
Grab for the body! his brain screamed. Ricky is drowning! I can’t hang on!
Just as both boys were being sucked to their death, in the swirling, frothing water, Donald kicked against a rock.
“Bottom!” he shouted, as he made a last desperate lunge for Ricky.
“I touched bottom! Hang on!”
Slowly, Donald bounced his way along the rocks, dragging Ricky and the canoe toward shore, fighting the wind and the waves in the black of night.
“Cough! Cough! Choke! Choke!”
Both boys were coughing and spewing water.
That’s a good sign. Ricky’s still alive!
“Swim Ricky! Swim!” Donald yelled through the gurgles of water.
As the water became shallower, the boys were able to half walk, half crawl on the slippery rocks.
At last Donald pulled the swamped canoe up onto the rocks and both boys spit the last of the lake water out of their lungs.
“I think this must be Dog Island. Those lights in the distance are from Slave Lake. It’s a good thing we hit the island or we would be drifting for another hundred kilometres.”
“I’m scared.” Ricky began to cry. “Are we going to have to stay here all night? What about the dogs?” Ricky sobbed.
“It’s okay. We’ll be safe,” Donald reassured Ricky. “No one can look for us until daylight. Besides, there aren’t any dogs on the island anymore.” Donald tried to act calm, but he was scared too and then a shivering spasm attacked his body
“Come here Ricky. Help me get this canoe up to the trees.”
Rain poured down as Donald and Ricky positioned the canoe up-side down under the dense, overhanging spruce branches. With no matches to build a fire, it would be a long, cold night.
No matches, but at least we’re alive!
The moss under the thick branches was still dry. Donald piled some under the overturned canoe and the boys crawled in. In the pile of moss, the boys began to dry off. Snuggling close to one another, their body heat helped to keep them warm and sleep calmed the scared, weary boys.
The storm passed during the night and daylight started to break across the island.
“Wake up!” Donald called as he rolled past Ricky. “I hear a motorboat!”
Indeed, several motorboats were trolling back and forth across the lake.
“Over here!” the boys screamed.
They both charged down to the rocky shore, waving and screaming frantically!
“They spotted us!” Donald shouted, when the lead boat turned in their direction. As the boat came closer, the boys recognized Bert.
“Father!” Ricky yelled.
“Father!” Donald yelled.
Bert leaped from the boat and came splashing toward the boys, gathering them both into his arms as only a loving, caring father could do.
And both boys hugged their father, as only rescued, loving sons could do.
Both sons will have to do a lot explaining.
Posted by blcitours
at 3:52 PM EST
Updated: Tuesday, 15 February 2011 3:56 PM EST
