The water of Lake Irene inundated the canoe and my heart plummeted. 3 foot swells breached the gunnels and it was all over. My three participants thrashed about in the water, attempting to keep the boat, our packs and themselves afloat. While I knew they were relatively safe, the sight was still terrifying. The day had started out calm, with no wind to be felt, and not a single cloud on the horizon. In the matter of an hour the leaves began to sway and the crests of the waves began to break. All we had to do was make it around the point, but Mother Nature had gotten the best of us.
I looked back with a glint of desperation in my eyes. I decided to take two of my strongest swimmers with me on the rescue mission. We plunged into the water and gasped for air as soon as we surfaced. We swam, and swam and swam, and reached the capsized boat not a moment too late. The bruises forming on the arms of the victims made me cringe, but together we all swam the boat to shore. Exhausted and soaked, the crew was all standing on shore. That was all that mattered. We hunted for any bit of land the sun was shining on to obtain some warmth, but the search was futile. My scouts looked at me with pleading eyes, and asked what we were going to do next.
“Wait,” I said. “It’s all we can do.”
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