saw a sort of line, a change in the light. The wind was visible above it, and below it the air was clear and hard. As they passed under it, the atmosphere suddenly felt almost weightless. The wind—noisy as a passing train when upon them—now quieted, nothing more than a faint whistling.
Harry turned to look back at Gus in the stern. “Creepy, eh?”
It was ominous, all that shifting light and sound. When Gus turned back himself to study the lake behind them, he thought,
We’re gone. There’s no turning back. Not now.
They gently beached the canoe on talus black with rainwater. They heard the unmistakable hammering of a waterfall and followed the sound west by climbing a steep escarpment. The roar was soon imminent and everywhere and Gus expected to see falls at any minute, but they ventured as far north as they did west before they found it twenty minutes later. A pool of water the size of a baseball infield, rimmed with fallen trees and knifelike rocks, caught the water falling from thirty feet above. It was beautiful. The mist rising. The cedar trees lining the falls and drooping under all that wetness. The wind forgotten in this seam of the earth.
Harry sat down on a rotted-out cedar half submerged in the pool. “Goddamnit,” he said, his voice hoarse. He coughed and spit and said “Goddamnit” again, as if maybe Gus hadn’t heard him the first time.
“What’s wrong?”
“This water’s flowing the wrong way.” He snapped a branch off the fallen tree and threw it into the shallow creek running from the pool, as though he expected it to flow up the falls instead of down. He watched it bounce between rocks for a moment and said, “Obviously.” He shook his head and added, “What kind of a fool would think a rise like this would go farther down the other side?”
“What’s the big deal?”
He shook his head. “I’m not thinking straight. We can’t have that.” He turned and looked up at the falls.
“We should still go look,” Gus said. He was rightly confused by his father’s mood swing.
Harry said nothing, just started wading around the edge of the water. It was hazardous alongside those falls, the rocks slick and sharp and given to shifting underfoot. The temperature must have fallen thirty degrees overnight, which made the water feel warmer but the air biting and cruel. When they reached the top, the ground flattened and spread out in a tangle of warped cedars. They stumbled through the grove in water up to their thighs, the wind back in their faces. When they came through the trees a lake opened wide and white with churning water. All along the southern shore the cliffs dwarfed the ones in the gorge below.
A look like panic came over Harry’s face—almost as if he’d been slapped—and he surveyed their surroundings like a simpleton for a few long minutes. But then his face lit up. He took the book of maps from his daypack and flipped between two pages, then studied these cliffs again. “This could damn well be Rouge Lake. That means we’re on track after all.” Now he looked behind them, from where they’d just come, and conjured with the maps and his memory for a long time. He nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir, I think this might very well be Rouge.”
Gus pulled himself up into the crotch of a cedar and sat with his back to the open water. The wind blew through his wet pants and burned cold. “It won’t be easy through here,” he said. “It’s like a ball of yarn, all these trees. Won’t be easy up those falls with the boats, either.” He pointed behind him. “It’ll take us all day.”
Harry squinted up at Gus. “We’ve been at this long enough for a day off, eh? What say we tackle this portage tomorrow? Maybe give this wind a chance to blow itself out?”
“I’m for that,” Gus said.
They started back down; in spots it was so steep that it seemed impossible they’d climbed it without aid of a ladder or ropes. Before returning to the canoe, they foraged in
Harry turned to look back at Gus in the stern. “Creepy, eh?”
It was ominous, all that shifting light and sound. When Gus turned back himself to study the lake behind them, he thought,
We’re gone. There’s no turning back. Not now.
They gently beached the canoe on talus black with rainwater. They heard the unmistakable hammering of a waterfall and followed the sound west by climbing a steep escarpment. The roar was soon imminent and everywhere and Gus expected to see falls at any minute, but they ventured as far north as they did west before they found it twenty minutes later. A pool of water the size of a baseball infield, rimmed with fallen trees and knifelike rocks, caught the water falling from thirty feet above. It was beautiful. The mist rising. The cedar trees lining the falls and drooping under all that wetness. The wind forgotten in this seam of the earth.
Harry sat down on a rotted-out cedar half submerged in the pool. “Goddamnit,” he said, his voice hoarse. He coughed and spit and said “Goddamnit” again, as if maybe Gus hadn’t heard him the first time.
“What’s wrong?”
“This water’s flowing the wrong way.” He snapped a branch off the fallen tree and threw it into the shallow creek running from the pool, as though he expected it to flow up the falls instead of down. He watched it bounce between rocks for a moment and said, “Obviously.” He shook his head and added, “What kind of a fool would think a rise like this would go farther down the other side?”
“What’s the big deal?”
He shook his head. “I’m not thinking straight. We can’t have that.” He turned and looked up at the falls.
“We should still go look,” Gus said. He was rightly confused by his father’s mood swing.
Harry said nothing, just started wading around the edge of the water. It was hazardous alongside those falls, the rocks slick and sharp and given to shifting underfoot. The temperature must have fallen thirty degrees overnight, which made the water feel warmer but the air biting and cruel. When they reached the top, the ground flattened and spread out in a tangle of warped cedars. They stumbled through the grove in water up to their thighs, the wind back in their faces. When they came through the trees a lake opened wide and white with churning water. All along the southern shore the cliffs dwarfed the ones in the gorge below.
A look like panic came over Harry’s face—almost as if he’d been slapped—and he surveyed their surroundings like a simpleton for a few long minutes. But then his face lit up. He took the book of maps from his daypack and flipped between two pages, then studied these cliffs again. “This could damn well be Rouge Lake. That means we’re on track after all.” Now he looked behind them, from where they’d just come, and conjured with the maps and his memory for a long time. He nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir, I think this might very well be Rouge.”
Gus pulled himself up into the crotch of a cedar and sat with his back to the open water. The wind blew through his wet pants and burned cold. “It won’t be easy through here,” he said. “It’s like a ball of yarn, all these trees. Won’t be easy up those falls with the boats, either.” He pointed behind him. “It’ll take us all day.”
Harry squinted up at Gus. “We’ve been at this long enough for a day off, eh? What say we tackle this portage tomorrow? Maybe give this wind a chance to blow itself out?”
“I’m for that,” Gus said.
They started back down; in spots it was so steep that it seemed impossible they’d climbed it without aid of a ladder or ropes. Before returning to the canoe, they foraged in
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