Doggone It!

Announced by Andrew’s young friend, Pierce, in a breathless and upset tone, as the two boys burst into our living room on  Saturday afternoon:  ”Mack hurt Andrew’s dad a lot and my dad’s fixing him now.  It’s looks really bad, but I didn’t see any bone.”

Hmmm.   Coming from a seven or eight-year-old kid, you’ve got to wonder.  The dog probably scratched Scott, and Pierce’s dad, who happens to be an EMT, is probably putting a Band-Aid on it.  However, when Pierce continued to tell me the details, I decided should probably call Scott and see what was up.

I called and got his voice mail.

The boys had run back outside, so I figured maybe I should drive over to their house (just a couple doors down) and see if Scott needed me to do anything.  The Honda was in the driveway, but the Honda keys were gone.  Rats.  Okay, so I’d walk over there.  Just as I headed out the door, Scott called.

“Are you okay?”

(slowly, as if he were a bit light-headed)  ”Yes, I’m okay.”

“The boys said the dog bit you.  Do you need me to come and get you?”

(again, slowly, not his usual speaking voice)  ”Yes, that would be good.”

“Do you have the Honda keys?”

“Uh. . . yes, I have them right here.”

“Well, I can’t come get you without the keys. I’ll run down and get them and then drive the Honda over to get you.”

“No, Michael said he’d bring me, but we have to go to the E.R. to get stitches.”

“Okay, as soon as Michael brings you home, I’ll take you.”

I quickly changed clothes, grabbed a few things, and met Michael at the door.   Michael was very, very apologetic, and offered to take Scott to the E.R. or to follow us there.  I told him we’d be fine, and off we went.

There were spots of blood on Scott’s jeans, and blood seeping through a long gauze bandage that Michael (or maybe his wife) had wrapped around Scott’s upper arm.  I asked if they’d cleaned the wound, and he said no, that they had just wrapped it up and said it would definitely have to be stitched.  He was talking better now, and his color was good.  I was glad of that, because Scott has a history of fainting at the sight of blood, especially his own.

On the way, he told me what had happened.  He had gone to their house to invite them to a home group we’d be hosting the following night.  Michael’s family has two dogs, a large dumb brown female named Molly and a Great Dane named Mack.  Mack is quite enormous and quite dumb.  He used to run loose all over the place digging up the neighbors flowers and tomatoes and stuff, so months ago, Michael installed an underground electric fence and put him on a shock collar.

Now, Jessica runs and prays on Coffee Road every morning, and Mack is a real nuisance to her.  He tries to chase her, and he’s especially obnoxious if he’s off his shock collar.  She either carries a big stick (like a brookstick) to beat him off, or she carries rocks, which she has to throw at him to persuade him to leave her alone.

So, when Scott went into their yard Saturday afternoon, both dogs were out, and he called to Pierce to “call his dogs off.”  Pierce called to them, and they followed him up onto the porch.  They were almost into the house and Scott was following them toward the porch, when Mack turned around and attacked Scott.

He’s so big that he didn’t even have to jump.  He started biting at Scott’s chest and then grabbed his arm, biting down hard and slinging the arm back and forth like a piece of meat.  Scott was trying to beat him off and finally got free.  Michael heard the commotion and came out to help Scott into the house, at which point Scott was just about to faint.   Seeing Scott’s condition, Michael called 911, and they were just about to dispatch an ambulance when Scott pinked up a bit.

Being an EMT, Michael was thankfully not unnerved by the extent of the injury, which was pretty severe.  He and his wife wrapped it up and Michael drove Scott to our house, along with many apologies and assurances that Mack would be put down.

Dreading the probable wait at the E.R., we opted for Urgent Care (also located at Skaggs Hospital), where we were immediately given an “Animal Bite Report” form to fill out.  Before I had even completed the form, a nurse came and got Scott.  It was the quickest we had ever been served at Urgent Care.

Vitals were taken and Scott was seated in a throne-like chair in the treatment room.  He had a very pleasant nurse named Noemi, who was a native of Puerto Rico and had arrived in Branson some 11 years ago via New York.

Dr. Max Goodwin, who moved here from southeast Iowa a couple years ago, came in and introduced himself.  He’s the director of the clinic, so we figured Scott would get great care.

To this point, no one had actually seen the injury, and to get to it, the gauze Michael’s wife had applied would need to be cut off.  As Nurse Noemi approached with scissors, Dr. Goodwin said, “I think you’ll need to cut his shirt here, right up the middle, to get to it.”  I was stunned.  Scott would be appalled to have his favorite Cardinals T-shirt sliced.  However, it turns out that the good doctor was joking.  He’s a big Cubs fan.    = )

Once the gauze was removed and all could see what Mack had done to Scott’s arm, I was shocked and much more than slightly embarrassed.  I had never seen such an injury in my life.  It was huge.  It was shaped like a very large mouth.  It was deep.  It was raw flesh, and I could not conceive of any way it could possible be sewn back together.  (Update:  I had mentioned in an email that it was 7″ by 2″, but I am pretty sure it was actually more like 3″ wide.)

I asked the doctor if I could take a picture of the wound before he sewed it up.  He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “If you want to, I guess so.”  I wanted to.  I did.

Scott was asked to roll onto his right side to give the nurse and doctor better access to the back of his left upper arm.  Scott can’t lie on his left side right now, because his four broken ribs are all on the left, so I guess it’s a good thing Mack attacked his left arm instead of his right.  Once thus positioned, the fun began.

First, Scott got to endure a series of injections to deaden the area, and since the area was so large, it took a LOT of injections.  Next came the cleaning.  A lot of pink soapy liquid was poured repeatedly over the whole mess, and then it was all swabbed quite a bit with sterile gauze.  Watching that, I realized that if they hadn’t deadened it, he would have been in agony as they cleaned it.  It made me think of what all those Civil War soldiers went through.

Then the stitching began.  It was quite the needlework project, let me tell you.  I couldn’t see so well from where I was sitting, so after the first stitch was in, I moved around to the other side of the room where I could see Scott’s face and rub his right hand and head.

It took Dr. Goodwin a long time to sew him up.  We got to the Urgent Care at 2:45 PM, and they took him in less than five minutes.  There were maybe 15 or 20 minutes of preliminaries, and we left at 4:10 PM, so it’s fair to say the stitching took about an hour.

It was a long, dog-leg (no pun intended) shape, and partway through, the doctor asked me to go out in the hall and call a nurse in, so that she could hand him additional sutures.  I guess he had under-estimated how long the incision would end up being.  When he finished, he measured the end result:  13 cm (about 7 inches).  He had put in 13 stitches, purposely widely spaced because he said the risk of infection with dog bites was very high, and if it became infected, part of the incision might have to be re-opened.  Widely spaced sutures would make that easier to do.

Noemi slathered on some antibiotic ointment, covered it with a Telfa (non-adhering) pad, and wrapped it with Coban (that stretchy, tan, mesh-looking stuff that sticks to itself).  Dr. Goodwin brought us a prescription for generic Augmentin (antibiotic) and told us to change the dressing twice a day, washing the wound with warm soapy water, letting it air dry, for the first three days applying Neosporin, then covering it with a clean Telfa pad, and wrapping it with Coban.  We were also to find out immediately whether or not Mack had had all his immunizations, and if not, to call the police.

While the doctor was out writing the prescription, Nurse Noemi quietly handed me several Telfa pads and the rest of the roll of Coban she had used, and told me to put them in my purse.  I did, with much appreciation, and we were good to go.

At the checkout desk, we were unsure how to pay.  Normally, we’d have them run it through our insurance and then pay the balance remaining, but in this case, it would seem that the medical costs would be Michael’s responsibility.  In fact, a couple people had told us that his homeowner’s insurance should pay it.  We had Scott’s Blue Cross card with us, but we didn’t happen to be carrying any proof of Michael’s homeowner’s insurance.  For better or worse, we sent it to our insurance, and hopefully Michael will reimburse us, or his insurance will reimburse Blue Cross, or something.  (Note:  I do think that in the past 18 months, Scott has gotten his money’s worth out of his VERY expensive Blue Cross policy – the policy that he has complained about and has wanted to cancel for some time:  an ambulance ride; a dislocated hip and subsequent reduction; a serious concussion; a night in the hospital; all the follow-up appointments, X-rays, and physical therapy from that ski accident; four broken ribs; and now a severe dog bite.  I’m glad he still has the insurance!)

We headed to Walgreens to get his antibiotic prescription filled, and while waiting I learned that although Urgent Care may have access to 6″ wide Coban, mere humans cannot buy it; at least not  at Walgreens or Wal-Mart.  I did manage to find a Curad substitute for the 3″ by 8″ Telfa pads, so we bought those and the drugs and headed home.

Now it’s Tuesday, and this morning Scott went to his family physician, Dr. Salmon, for the follow-up exam that Dr. Goodwin ordered.  We are very thankful that there is no sign of infection and it’s all healing nicely.  Dr. Salmon thinks we should now apply Neosporin only to the suture holes (not to the incision itself), and he plans to take the stitches out on Friday and replace them with Steri-Strips.

Meanwhile, we have heard nothing from Michael or his wife, and they didn’t come to the home group.  We have assumed that Mack is no more, but Pierce told Andrew yesterday that, “We took Mack to Uncle Shane’s house.  He’s gonna stay there for a while and then come back here.”  I am sincerely hoping that the seven-year-old doesn’t have his story straight.

Update:  Tuesday night May 17, a friend emailed me this post from Michael’s facebook:

“He was trying to play with ***** and ***** got scared and raised his arms up jerking one of them out of mac’s hold causing a laceration. Mac is at a friends house right now playing with lots of kids. Never shown aggression. Don’t know of a Great Dane that has though……Maybe thinking of taking him to a trainer and then bringing him back…..”

What Scott said

I spent most of the afternoon gardening.  At this stage of the game, it’s mainly a matter of hauling, mixing, and dumping potting soil to fill various containers, so Scott did the hauling and dumping (nice guy that he is), and I did the mixing, largely with my hands.  I have read that true gardeners don’t use gloves, so I usually don’t, and today was no exception, with the result that as I was changing to get ready for our date tonight, I bemoaned the dirt in my nails and cuticles.

Scott heard me and said, “Well, maybe on our date we should get you a pedigree, or something.”

I told him that was probably my grandfather’s responsibility!   = )

All the zippers zip

Scott is one of those unique people whose love language is NOT gift giving and who cannot be shopped for, but who feels slighted if he has no gift to open on special days.  Rather than each of us giving him some small something that he wouldn’t really care about, we decided to pool our resources and give him one gift that, even if he didn’t care deeply about, he would at least use on a regular basis.

We five went in together and bought him a laptop bag. The man has needed a new bag for YEARS. His old one is totally falling apart, and various compartments can no longer be zipped shut because the zippers are busted.  This means that if the bag has to be put in his back seat and then tips over, stuff falls out and slides under the seats, where it sometimes remains lost for weeks at a time.

The girls window shopped for bags and then Research Consultant found a nice one online.  It has plenty of pockets and compartments (some even labeled with pictures of what should be stored within) and a feature that supposedly lets you go through airport security without removing the computer from the bag.

We told him we paid extra to make sure all the zippers zip, and he seems quite pleased with his Father’s Day gift.

Happy Birthday, Scott!

Well, I think we accomplished the goal, which was to show Scott in a big way how much he is loved and appreciated.

A number of his friends and family members sent cards with great messages, and he received several VERY special and wonderful gifts.

Having decided that shopping for Scott is a completely futile endeavor, this year I invited a number of people to email me their thoughts of encouragement, humor, and/or appreciation for Scott.  I then printed them out and put them into a booklet, which I presented to My Hero on His Big Day.  From the very first page, it was a significant Kleenex event.  He was really touched by all those words of affirmation, and even those the tears were dripping off his face, I know he was blessed.

However, all that was small potatoes compared to Jessica’s gift.  She created the most amazing video for her dad.  She knows that he really likes one of her piano pieces (I think it’s called “Sundown”).  She recorded herself playing it, and then laid video and text over the music.  Oh. My.  (BTW, she used Josiah’s wireless head phones INSIDE the piano to do the recording.  Creative lady.)

She put together an incredible collection of crazy, tender, and funny pictures and videos, some going back more than 15 years.  Superimposed over them she wrote the sweetest comments to share her love for her precious dad.  Well.  I don’t know what else to say, except that I’m honestly not sure that I have ever see Scott so deeply moved. WHAT a remarkable and treasured gift!

Side note:  It was heartening to realize that I had taken many of those pictures.  = )

So, when all was said and done, although our celebration of Scott’s #46 was a bit unconventional, I think he truly felt our love for him.  It was a very teary-eyed, very happy birthday.

Normal

For perhaps the first time in his life, Scott is now officially normal.  He saw the orthopedic doctor for his six-week follow-up, and he was told he can now do “anything normal.”  This would include walking without crutches, traveling, driving a standard (hallelujah!), and everything else “normal” people do, but no sports.

His left hip is still somewhat uncomfortable, and his left knee is still quite painful.  In addition, the knee won’t straighten out completely, and the doc indicated that this is a significant problem which must be corrected immediately.  Now that the magic six weeks have transpired, it’s time to do “gentle physical therapy on the hip and aggressive physical therapy on the knee.”  This is expected to hurt a lot. One of the therapy providers I called referred to it is “medieval torture.”  Hmmm.

Physical therapy begins tomorrow, but in the meantime, Scott is utilizing the locally available and very inexpensive option of sitting on the floor and having Josiah push down on the knee to try to get it straight.  I have not personally observed the procedure, but I can testify that it results in unique and interesting sound effects – none of which come from Josiah.

I’ve never had a normal husband before, so this will be a new experience all around.

“Not deemed medically necessary”

Some people spend lots of time doing fun things like playing football, or listening to music, or even writing in blogs, but we have entered into that newest form of recreation called, “Ante Up.”  It involves trying to get your health insurance company to cover your accident expenses at the highest possible rate.

We think that we will eventually be on a first name basis with at least 60% of the friendly customer service representatives at our local Blue Cross Blue Shield call center.  Today, Scott had the opportunity to talk with one of those fine folks about Blue Cross’ determination on one of the claims pertinent to his recent ski accident.

When his flesh experienced a severe and unplanned impact with one of the slopes at Breckenridge, his left hip was dislocated.  The ball was thrust backward out of the socket, fracturing the socket.  Scott was knocked unconscious by the fall, but once he had been stabilized and had taken a rather pricey ride (of which he has no memory) in an ambulance to the Summit County Medical Center, he came to enough to moan about the terrible pain in his hip. There were some x-rays and a number of CT scans.  Then they wheeled him into surgery to sedate him before reducing the hip (shoving the ball back into the socket).

In yesterday’s mail, we received a very nice bill from Colorado Surgical and Critical Care Associates for those services, and, as a bonus, we also received Blue Cross’ Explanation of Benefits (EOB) for those same charges.

I found it very interesting that Blue Cross approved the $132 for “Moderate Sedation >5, ” but denied the $1056 for “treatment of displaced hip,” because the latter was “not deemed medically necessary by the payer.”  So what’s with that?!? It seems like everyone agrees that reducing a hip is an extraordinarily painful procedure, and that the patient must be sedated in order to do it, but evidently actually putting the ball back into the socket is not really essential.

Now tell me, how would one be expected to get around on a dislocated hip? We shall appeal, and I’m sure Blue Cross will see it rationally, but I thought it was funny enough to laugh about.  A merry heart does good like a medicine, right?

Lost and found?

News Flash!  Scott’s glasses have gone AWOL.  If you see them wandering aimlessly, kindly return them to us ASAP.

Wiggle room

Here’s an amazing fact.  I have been married to My Hero for 22 years, and I just learned that he’s never been able to move his toes inside his tennis shoes.  Can you believe it?!?!

It turns out that all these years, he’s been wearing shoes that are too small for him.  Ever since I’ve known his, he’s worn a size ten, but in recent months he’s been having a lot of trouble with one of his heels, and the physical therapist recommended a certain type of shoe.  When he went to buy the shoes, the salesperson sized him at eleven and half – the same size boats that cover the toes of Jo!  Scott eventually talked his way down to an eleven, but he came home shaking his head in unbelief and saying, “I’ve never been able to move my toes inside my shoes before!”

My toes can’t imagine being that cramped for 22 years.  I’m so glad his are finally free.  = )

Handy husbandman is repairer of the leak(s)

So Scott set about to definitively diagnose the source of the attic toilet leak.  He is by nature an excellent problem solver, and he was soon able to determine that the leak was caused by the toilet having two screws loose.  He tightened the screws and voila:  no leak!

While up in the attic bathroom, he also gave Andrew a crash course on how a toilet works and why.  At first Andrew wasn’t all that interested in the lesson, but there was a whole lotta’ flushing going on, and he did learn it well enough to explain it all to me.  Ah!  Homeschool hours.  Let’s see.  Maybe that would fall under “General Science.”

A bit later in the evening, a damp and well-showered, towel-enshrouded Andrew trotted out of the boys’ bathroom.  He does that all that time, but something was different – or, to be exact,  sounded different.  It took me a minute to realize that . . . the shower was still on!  Just as I was about to holler at Andrew, “SON!  Shut the shower off when you’re done with it,” Andrew called for Josiah to come help him.

I was in the office at my desk, which places my ears only 30 inches from the back wall of the boys’ shower.  I overheard Andrew telling Josiah he couldn’t turn the shower off.  Then I heard Josiah deep sigh, mumble, and mutter.  Next I heard Josiah thump down the stairs to find Scott.  With three males now working on the problem, I decided my wisest course of action would be to stay out of the way and say nothing, which I did.

A few minutes later, I heard the shower stop running, so I assumed all was well.

BUT, shortly thereafter, a pajama-clad and somewhat disgruntled-looking Jessica emerged from her room to comment (to no one in particular) that, “I think they really should give you some warning before they turn off the water.”

Me:  What do you mean?

Jessica: Well, I went to turn on the water in my bathroom, and there’s no water.

(Enter the Handy Husbandman.)

Me (to HH):  Did you shut off the water?  All the water to the house?!?

HH:  I had to shut off the hot water because there’s something wrong with the boys’ shower and the only way to turn it off is to shut off the water.   So no, Jessica, you don’t have any hot water in your bathroom tonight, but the cold should work fine.

Okay, whatever.  We’d have Josiah take his morning shower in the attic – (where he could also use the toilet if he so desired, thanks to the HH).

Today after church, we had a wonderful lunch of steak fajitas, quesadillas, cheese dip and chips, and rice (with carrot cake for dessert) at the home of the D family in Battlefield.  After we ate, we stayed and played games and ended up not leaving till (gasp!) 5:00 PM.  On the way home, Scott asked to stop at Home Depot to get a washer.  He had disassembled the shower faucet for the hot side and found that the boys had been turning the hot off so forcefully that the washer had cracked.  Once home, he replaced the offending washer, instructed the boys to be kindler and gentler to their aging plumbing fixtures, and all was well.

That’s two significnat leaks repaired in less than 24 hours, and I’ll let our readers in on a secret:  Mr. HH is also in the process of repairing the broken doors of TWO kitchen cabinets.  They are resting comfortably in clamps in the playroom as I type.

Handy Husbandman, your skills and willingness are greatly appreciated!

A rousing good time

With the water so high yesterday (Sunday), Scott could not resist the urge to canoe.  With some coaxing, Josiah was persuaded to accompany him, and 5/6 of us headed out in two vehicles.  Katie was watching the Cardinals game.

It was like this.  We canoe Bull Creek a lot, because at three to six miles away, the put-ins are very convenient.  The take-out is even more so; it’s basically right at our house, and you can’t beat that.  However, there are numerous other float streams in the area, some of which are ONLY navigable during a flood.

Swan Creek is not exactly in that category.  It empties into Bull Shoals Lake at Forsyth, and the lowest part of it is probably floatable most of the time.  We just don’t go there much because it’s ten or twelve miles from the house, and I guess we’re lazy.  With the flood raging, however, Scott wanted to hit Swan Creek.  He did a bit of research and found that there was a put-in at Dickens Road, some eight miles up from the mouth.  Then there was a take-out about three miles up from the mouth at road that was not labeled on our map, but which we assumed was Casey Road.

We had had a couple meetings to attend right after church, so by the time we got home, got the guys packed and headed out, it was 4:00 PM.  But the water would be fast and a five-mile float should be about right, in order to be off the water well before dark.

The canoe was loaded onto the van, which Scott drove, with me as an observer (photo shoot opportunity, you know) and Josiah as his canoeing compatriot.  Jessica drove the 95 Toyota, with Andrew along for the heck of it.  We had to have two cars because we planned to all drive up to the Dickens Road put-in and drop off Scott, Josiah, and the canoe.  Then I would drive the van, with Jessica following in the Toyota, down to the take-out point.  We’d lock the van and leave it there for the guys, and we three would go on home in the Toyota.  Scott tied a van key inside his swimsuit.

So we headed to Forsyth and turned down Casey Road only to find (well, I already knew and told Scott, but living in the Show-Me state, we looked anyway) that Casey Road is under construction and “closed to local traffic.”  Figuring that Walnut Shade is local to Forsyth, we drove past the sign (Jessica following) and continued cautiously on gravel till we came to some good old boys who looked like construction workers.  I’m not sure why they would have been there on a Sunday afternoon right after the biggest flood in fifteen years, but we asked one guy if Casey Road went down to Swan Creek.

“I have no idea,” was his offhand, but polite response.

We tooled a bit further down the road and passed a man walking.  He had on a dirty T-shirt, his hair was stringy, and most of his teeth were missing.  The remaining ones were mounted sideways, yellow, and rotting.  I rolled down my  window.

“Hey, does this road go down to Swan Creek?”

“Try no bridge,” he hollered back.

“Try no bridge?”  I was confused.  If there’s no bridge how do you try it?  We need to park the van near the water, but surely not on a bridge.  And if we’re taking a canoe out of the water, why would we need a bridge anyway?  Canoes generally run on water, not bridges.

“TRY NO BRIDGE, I SAID!  Why do you think there was a sign back there saying Casey Road detour?!?!?”

“Oh.  Well, thanks.”

We inched a little further along and the road literally ended.  Well, so much for being able to take the canoe out at the Casey Road bridge.

I asked Scott about the man’s odd response, “try no bridge.”

“He was insulting you, and you were too naive to realize it!”  Well, I guess that’s nice.

We turned around and tried to explain to Jessica what was going on, then we went back out to the highway and went on down to Shadow Rock park, which is where Swan Creek runs into Bull Shoals Lake.  What I saw there was totally astounding.

Shadow Rock is a big park, with camping areas, a playground, a ball field, a concession stand, several pavilions, etc.  It was all under water.  The only things visible were the tops of some electric light poles and the roofs of the pavilions.  The light poles only stuck up maybe six feet out of the water, and the supports for the pavilions were completely hidden.

There’s an old bridge across the mouth of Swan Creek that Scott and the kids jumped off several years ago.  It runs right next to the new bridge; or, more accurately, the new bridge runs next to it.  I guess Highway 160 initially went across that old bridge.

Anyway, the under-support arch of the old bridge (which is where they jumped from) is about 25 feet above the water, the deck (road surface) is probably ten feet above that, and the concrete “rail” along the sidewalk of the bridge is at least three feet above that.

If we hadn’t already known that that the old bridge existed, we would have had to assume that the existing (new) bridge was the only bridge over Swan Creek.  There was absolutely no sign of ANYTHING related to the old bridge.  That entire huge structure was under water.

We drove across Swan Creek (on the newer, higher 160 bridge) and began looking for a take-out point where we could leave the van.  We turned down the road that runs along the creek, and were stopped cold in fifty feet.  The road went straight down into the water.  Hmmm…  ?

There was a restaurant on the corner there that goes in out out of business with some regularity, and on its porch sat a man in a rocker.  We asked if he lived around here and turns out he did.

Scott asked if he knew where we could put it and take out to float the creek.

“Well,” he said, “Most of ‘em been parkin’ and takin’ out right here.”

“But where do they put in?”

“Oh, you’ve got to go up around through Taneyville and take a road off the left called Dickens”

We knew about Dickens Road.

“Okay,” said Scott.  “Can we put in there?”

“Cain’t get there now.  Road’s under water both sides of the bridge.”

“Hmmm. . . well right here it just looks like a lake.  How far upstream do you think this is backed up?”

The man paused and thought a moment.

“I’d say near about three mile.”

“Three miles!!!!  So you mean even after we floated the creek, we’d have to paddle across a lake for three MILES just to get back here.”

“That’s right.  That’s what most of ‘em been doin’.”

Well, I can tell you that Scott is not “most of ‘em,” and he was not ABOUT to paddle any three miles on a lake!  Especially into the wind.  So we left Forsyth and headed home, but instead of good old Bull Creek, Scott wanted to try Bear.

Bear Creek starts in western Taney County, crosses under Highway 65 a couple miles north of 160, crosses under 160 less than a mile from our house, runs behind the cemetery, and flows into Bull Creek just below our house.  Even a fairly heavy rain is not normally enough to make Bear Creek floatable.  It takes a flood, and this we had.

We drove up Bear Creek Road a couple of miles and put them in at the very lovely low water crossing at Reno Springs Road – a dirt road that is crying out to be investigated by my camera.  Another day (sigh).

The water on the upstream side of the bridge was exactly level with the concrete pad, and there was about an inch flowing over it.  However, on the downstream side, there was a HUGE drop-down and the “waves” were several feet high.  It was raging.  Scott wanted to run that part, but Josiah wanted to walk the canoe down past that, which they did.  And they were off.

We headed home.  There was no need to leave a vehicle anywhere, because they’d just get out behind the barn across the road and walk home.  In fact, Scott said that if Andrew wanted to, he and Josiah could switch out at the house, and he (Scott) would float with Andrew on down to Bull Creek Village (where F Highway crosses Bull Creek; Bull Creek Village having been half flooded the day before).

As Jessica and I drove our two vehicles back down Bear Creek Road, we could see the creek through the trees from time to time.  Just a quarter mile downstream, we saw color through the trees; the T-shirts of our men.  They were standing in water near the bank, hanging onto the canoe.  What had happened?  It seems that Scott had jumped out of the canoe to keep it from tipping, and it tipped and filled with water.  They were dragging it to the shore to dump it.  Males consider this fun.  They urged us to stop on the creek road bridge up (downstream) ahead just a bit and get pictures of them at the bridge.

This was a good idea.  Being the resident canoe transporter and photographer, all my shots of canoers are usually of their backs as they head off down the stream.  The bridge was great because it let me get a couple shots of them from the front.  Canoers with faces – what a concept.

So home we went, and I cooked supper, and at 6:15 PM, Scott showed up across the road.  The boys switched out, and Scott and Andrew left about 6:30 PM to head to Bull Creek Village.  I calculated that it would take them about 1.25 hours to get there, so I planned to drop Josiah (to help Scott lift the canoe) and the van there at 7:30 PM.  However, at 7:00 PM, the phone rang, and Jessica hollered to me that they were ready to be picked up.  It turns out that they did that whole run in about 20 minutes!  Then they walked to a house to use a phone.

There were evidently some pretty scary moments, and I’m very glad I required Andrew to wear a life jacket.  They didn’t actually tip, but they bounced a lot, with the front end up in the air several times.  The waves came over the front almost up to Andrew’s head!

Scott also had a really tough time beaching the canoe at Bull Creek Village.  The current there was tremendous, and there was a tree sticking out into the creek that he had to negotiate as he tried to get to the shore.  He overshot the mark and ended up having to walk/push the canoe back UPSTREAM a ways – with Andrew in the canoe and the raging water pit-deep on Scott – but they made it.  Scott has a couple parallel cut on an amply bruised shin to show for it, and his right hand is kind of achy, but all is well.

Suffice it to say that the guys made a memory (Scott’s goal), we will always remember the day they floated Bear Creek in a flood, and survey says they had a rousing good time while doing it.