Track 04 - Danger

04 Nov 2005

Everyone likes the taste of danger. Admit it.

Everyone doesn't like the real “my life is in mortal danger” danger, but everyone likes that sense of perceived danger. That adrenaline rush of jumping off a bridge attached to a bungee cord. That freedom of standing at the top of a mountain. That rush of blood as you speed along the highway. Those trepidatious and wild first steps of love.

Surely one of those, all of those, or something similar appeals to everyone.

I think that most young people have a part of them that “mortal danger” does appeal to. As you get older though, some would say wiser, you lose the taste for that kind of danger.

I've been in several dangerous situations in my life. At the time, they weren't fun. They were harrowing, adrenaline pumping, downright scary situations. Looking back on them now, since I lived through them, I wouldn't change them for anything.

They make for great stories. They happen to be wonderful adrenaline memories. They are defining moments. Over a cold beer with a friend that was there you can just look at each other and say “Remember that time…” and smiles take hold of your faces.

In most respects I consider danger and fear to be one and the same. If you were scared, then there was danger of some sort. Something took hold of you and made you wish that you weren't there. If you weren't scared, then you didn't think there was any danger.

Anything can be a source of fear/danger. Maybe it's spiders for you. It could be creepy crawlies or snakes. For a lot it is failure. For some it is success. It might even be staring at a computer screen with a writing program open with a blank page staring back at you that just terrifies you.

When I was in junior high and high school my father and I and several friends always went on a canoe trip on the May long weekend. Most of the time it was just a nice trip down the river. A few guys getting together and talking smack while getting drunk and living out of coolers and backpacks. A few times, it didn't go quite so well.

One time we decided to stop at a little island. Not uncommon. We usually stayed at this particular little island on the trip. We pulled up the canoes. Broke out the beer. Setup the tents. Cooked supper. Just a regular night.

Now, people made fun of me for what I did next. At least until the next morning that is. For some reason I tied our tent to logs that were half buried in the gravel and sand of the island. It was pure instinct. I also pulled our canoe way up onto the beach and tied it to a tree as well.

I have learned through my life to trust my instincts. I can only think of once, maybe twice, that they have been wrong. My father also simply noted what I did and though I'm sure he wondered about it, he never questioned it.

It was very late. Close to midnight I would guess. I never used to wear a watch in those days. Everyone was in their tents, fast asleep. I still couldn't sleep. Then instantly the wind picked up. From nothing, to something incredibly intense. The tent started being bent over by the wind. It was bending so far that it was pushing the roof of it, some six feet high, directly against our bodies. We were momentarily pinned.

This woke my father up and we pushed back against the wind. Lifting the tent as much back to normal as we could. Then we heard it for the first time. There was a horrible grinding sound outside. We just looked at each other. Neither of us had any idea what it was. Then we heard it again.

I dove for the zippers to the tent door and got myself outside to find out what was going on. I looked around and didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Then I heard the sound again and turned to find the source. One of the canoes was being blown down the beach. I heard a sliding sound behind me and saw a tent full of people start to blow down the beach behind me.

I yelled out at them hoping that it would wake them as I ran after the canoe that was heading down the beach. I grabbed a hold of it and slowly dragged it back along the beach toward where I had tied down our canoe. After I had it securely in place I rounded up the others as well and anchored them securely.

As I turned my attention back to the tents that were moving along the beach in short, wind-powered, slides I heard the tinkling of metal on rock. A lawn chair was rolling toward the fire pit. It rolled into it and then, folded like a sail and on fire, it flew over my ducked head.

At that moment it became deathly still. There was no wind and there was no sound save a few drunken souls stumbling out of their tents. I've only experienced such an eerie silence one other time in my life. It was like for an instant there was only our small band of people left in the world.

With a bolt of lightning and a crack of thunder the heavens opened wide. The rain fell in giant drops. It was like a wave falling from the sky. Instantly those of us outside were drenched. The fire was out. We ran around a little franticly securing the rest of the tents and then darted back into the relative warmth and dryness of them.

The wind went on for quite a while. The poles in my tent were bent to such an extreme that they actually broke. I remember falling asleep with the tent pushed down on top of me.

The next day we picked up the pieces and explored the island a little. You could see lines through the trees were the twister had ripped it's path. As we floated down the river we could see where it crossed and for quite a distance where else it had traveled.

Had I never gone through the experience, I would have never wanted to. However, having gone through it, I wouldn't trade that experience for anything. It was a defining moment. It was the kind of situation that teaches you about yourself and who you are.

It was danger.

Tune in tomorrow for “Crystal Baller”.