Lake Granby

Lake Granby

τὰ δὲ πάντα οἰακίζει κεραυνός—All is governed by the lightning strike. Heraclitus Fragment 28

Senior year had finished and a change was in the air. With the end of summer approaching and the desire to create lasting memories at an all-time high, the two young men set off for adventure with a tent, a few days worth of food, and a canoe strapped to the top of a borrowed 2000 Acura RDX.

             On their drive through Rocky Mountain National Park, they found themselves arguing about the existence of the soul. The boy who was to become a biologist said, "There’s zero scientific evidence that anything resembling a soul exists. In fact, there isn’t even a methodology for testing such a thing."

            The young poet replied, "Well how far can science take us? Define life and death scientifically for me."

            "Death is the lack of vital functions. Your heartbeat, respiration, and brain activity cease. While life is the presence of these faculties."

            "But you'll agree that activities like the heartbeat or respiration are circadian and unconscious."

            "There’s no argument there."

            The poet rolled down his window and looked out at the grove of young aspens which had sprouted from the ashes of a recent fire, then said: "And the scientific explanation for the circadian rhythm is…?"

            "Genes code the brain and the brain listens to their instructions."

            "And the genes code this way because…?"

            The boy who was to be a biologist took a sip of coffee, when he returned his grip to the steering wheel his knuckles shone white. "I don't think you’re asking a scientific question any longer. Why genes code a certain way is beside the point. We have trouble enough understanding what they code for, but what can be tested empirically. Why is beside the point."

            "I thought we were discussing the existence of the soul."

            "Don't patronize me, I know what we’re talking about."

            "Well, don’t you think this matters for our present topic. Astronomers measure odd and inexplicable occurrences in the way gravity functions on a cosmic scale and give credit to dark matter. We can’t see it, yet scientists agree it exists."

            "It’s not the same; scientists observe the effects of dark matter, that’s why they say it exists."

            "And I say being witness to life is synonymous with observing the effects of the soul."

            "No," the biologist shook his head, "You're saying you can’t test any further so you may as well create a metaphysical notion to fill in the gaps where logic can’t reach."

            The poet finished rolling a joint, sparked it and passed it to his friend. "I don't disagree with you. But, I didn’t attribute any magical qualities to the soul. I simply stated that I believe it exists."

            The lead voice of the Grateful Dead began singing again and the driver turned the Acura’s sound system up. "Jerry might have had a soul, I’ll give you that much," he said, taking the joint. And the two drove on into the clear day. They took backroads and became lost in a thick pine forest. Cell phone reception failed them and they didn’t reach Granby until late that night. They slept without disruption into the morning and got a late start in their Canoe.

            The biologist had several tabs of LSD with him and once they were out in open water with the warm sun above them and nothing around but mountains he said to the poet, "By Jove it's a perfect day. I think we ought to drop right now.”

            "Let's get to the other side of the lake and set down our gear first."

            "Why? You afraid?"

            "Afraid of what? No, I’m not afraid."

            "Let’s take them now then, I think it’ll be immaculate out on the water."

            "No, let’s set our gear down first. I don’t want to be tripping in the dark without a place to sleep."

            "Fine, we can wait till we’re across."

            The air was clear and the day was fine. They were alone on the calm waters and the lake stretched out in front of them like a long flat mirror. The adolescents were in no rush to get across and set up camp near a cluster of oaks which guarded the base of the mountain they planned to summit the next day. They talked idly of the past but thought of the future.

Then, dark heavy clouds rolled in behind them and the biologist said, "Those look pretty mean. Maybe we ought to pick up the pace."

            "We’re at least three quarters of the way there. I think we'll be fine."

            "I hope," said the biologist, and they both looked behind them.

            The two paddled quietly for five minutes before the poet said, "Those clouds are moving fast and you’re right about them looking mean."

            "We’ve got to get the tent up before the rain comes."

            "Should we land on one of these islands? I know it says they’re protecting wildlife, but we might be the ones in danger."

            "No, we can make it to the other side, let’s just pick up the pace."

            The two began to move but the clouds moved faster. Then the biologist said, "Did you see that?"

            "No, what?"

            "Lighting."

            The poet turned around and watched an angry silver bolt ripple through the sky and reach down to touch the mountains. "I saw that one."

            "The canoe is metal, we’ll conduct. We’ve got to get out of the water."

            The poet nodded and put his sore wrists and biceps into gear. "We’re not going to make it. We have to get to land."

            Thunder roared out like a wounded lion. "The shore to the left of us has osprey nesting signs."

            "We have no other choice."

            The biologist turned the canoe to the left and they rushed forward not daring to look at the black sky behind them. Then they felt the first drops of rain.

            "Shit, shit, shit. This is not good!" the Biologist shouted.

            They saw and heard lighting and thunder at the same time. The bolts battered the rocky outlet they were heading toward.

            The biologist said, “When you get to the rocks, run." And the poet nodded.

            They landed the boat with the worst of the storm heading right for them. The biologist sprinted to shore, not even securing his paddle. The poet grabbed it from the water and tossed it to the rocks as his friend ran to shelter. Quickly, the poet threw his tents tarpaulin over his gear and prayed that the boat would not float away in the storm.

            When the poet met the biologist he was on the phone pleading frantically, "But we have a metal canoe and we’re stuck in a lightning storm!"

            As the person on the other end of the phone responded the boys watched lighting begin to bend towards the water. It was so close they felt the ground shake every time hot blue exploded on impact.

            The poet said, "If it’s our time, it’s our time. Nothing we can do about it now."

            "That's what the 911 operator said too," the biologist replied, trembling with fear.

            So they put their bodies flat with the rocks and a few times the lighting was so close that it was blinding and they were both sure they’d been struck. Then, the storm lessened and quit. The sky remained starless but the rain settled and the lighting disappeared .

            The biologist asked, "What should we do?"

            "Let's get back to the canoe, we can’t be more than an hour out. I think our best bet is still to camp in the grove of oaks tonight."

            "My stuff is soaked."

            "I’ve got a newspaper we can start a fire with, we’ll be alright."

            "No. We’re soaked through."

            "It's already 8 o’clock, you don’t want to take the canoe all the way back across do you?"

            The biologist shrugged, "I wouldn't want to sleep in a wet bag tonight. I wouldn’t want to hike the peak tomorrow in wet clothes."

            After a long silence the poet said, "I guess it’s back to the Acura in that case."

            So the two paddled along the shore line, thinking the whole time that the lighting would resume. Later the moon cut through the clouds, the night became late and the water was dark like the sky.

            The poet said, "I wonder why we didn’t die earlier."

            The biologist responded, "We just got lucky."