I met LeAnn Demars in the summer of 1987 when she and her fiancee, Scott Minar signed up for a canoe trip I was leading for the Science Museum of Minnesota. A petit 30 year old, LeAnn looked almost too frail to undertake a whitewater adventure that included portaging heavy canoes and equipment over rugged trails. But beneath her wiry 100 pound frame was the determination of an athlete and the warm heart of a caring friend.
LeAnn's first love was downhill skiing, which she pursued with gusto. She was also a serious scuba diver. Indeed, the license plate on her compact sedan read CAMAN--a reflection of her dedication to the sport. When LeAnn read about the Fond du Lac River canoe trip (Saskatchewan) in the Science Museum catalog, she pestered Scott to sign up, knowing full well that participants must be capable whitewater paddlers. Aware that she and Scott had much to learn, the pair signed up for my "Basic River Canoeing" class, which I offered through the museum. As I watched them practice on that crisp spring morning, I realized that neither one had the foggiest notion of whitewater procedures. Deep down, I wondered if they'd never make it beyond the first rapid on the Fond du Lac.
Of course, none of my concerns phased LeAnn, who, with an ever-present smile, shrugged off the consequences. Indeed, the pretty lady laughed at everything, even when they nearly capsized. When I questioned her about her always upbeat behavior, she told me that her condition had been diagnosed as "terminal giggles"--a sadly incurable disorder.
The Fond du Lac is not a difficult river to canoe, but the rapids do require sober attention--a response that was out-of-the-question for LeAnn who, whooping and hollering, would power straight towards a rock then, by millimeters, miraculously avoid it. One man suggested that her giggles confused the currents. But the rest of us knew that it was beginner's luck.
I think it was after supper on the fourth day when Scott confided that paddling whitewater with LeAnn, though a very good time, was a life-threatening experience. Then, he asked if they could split up. Nothing permanent, mind you--"just teach her how to read rapids".
Next morning, I rearranged the crews and took LeAnn who, strangely enough, was soberingly quiet, with me. Ordinarily, she was an upbeat, quick learner who remembered what she was taught. But today she reacted sluggishly and barely cracked a smile. I wondered why she was suddenly so out-of-character. Perhaps she and Scott had had a fight.
As soon as we put up camp that night LeAnn retired to her tent without a word. Scott said she was simply tired. In the morning, I served breakfast--Red River cereal with mixed fruit and brown sugar--on a sun-splashed outcrop above a picturesque falls. Everyone was there but LeAnn who, always eager to help with camp chores, was usually the first to arrive. Now, I was really concerned, for here was a picture perfect breakfast setting and my new partner was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's LeAnn?" I called, curiously. "Still sleeping," apprehensively confided Scott. "You guys have a fight or something?" I asked."
"No, I think she's really sick. Threw up last night, says she doesn't want to eat. She can barely sit up."
I consulted with Jim and Cindy Leavitt, a doctor/nurse team from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, who had accompanied me on wilderness canoe trips before. The most probable diagnoses was the flu--hopefully, the short-lived three-day variety, for which rest was the only treatment. I had a supply of broad spectrum Keflex™ antibiotics which we could try if LeAnn's condition didn't clear up in a day or two. But meantime, serious travel was out of the question.
I looked at my map and date line. We were on schedule and could afford some down time. So I gave the command to "lay over", with hopes that LeAnn's condition would improve by tomorrow.
LeAnn never left her tent that day. And except for a a few sips of instant chicken soup which Scott managed to force down, she ate nothing. Her temperature was 102 and she was getting worse. At nine a.m. the next morning there was no change in her condition. A light south wind and high Cirrus clouds suggested that prolonged rain was on the way. I had canoed the Fond du Lac twice before and remembered the many long rapids which lay ahead.
LeAnn's illness had now become a two edged sword. On the one hand, if we waited another day for her to recover, we would be two days behind schedule and would have to press hard to make our chartered float plane. If the weather deteriorated--which seemed certain--we could lose another day or two as I would not subject LeAnn to the combined rigors of whitewater and rain. Admittedly, I was a skilled paddler and could probably pilot the boat through the bad stuff alone. But soloing a loaded Old Town tripper with a helpless person aboard was a scary proposition. Better to go now and get the rapids out of the way in good weather than to chance them later in a storm.
I discussed the scenarios with the crew then went to talk with LeAnn who, for nearly two days, had eaten nothing.
Courageously, the little lady rolled over in her sleeping bag and propped herself up on one elbow. "I can do it, Cliff," she assured. "I know we can't hang around here forever."
We took her temperature again: it was 101, down one degree from yesterday.
"Okay," I sympathized. Let's paddle.
An hour later, we were on the water and into our first easy rapid. LeAnn tried her best, but she had no strength. Her mind was sluggish and her muscles would not respond. Worst of all, she had no balance and I became fearful we would capsize. Fortunately, there was no wind or rain. The temperature hovered at 66 degrees, and the sun shown brilliantly between the slowly building clouds.
"God, if we can just get through these rapids before it rains," I prayed.
By the time we camped, it was obvious that LeAnn was too sick to continue, so we formulated a new plan. If, by morning, she was still too sick to travel, we'd rig a bed for her on the bottom of my canoe so she could sleep while I paddled. JIm and Cindy were proficient white water paddlers--they would lead me through the rapids. The rest of the boats would follow closely behind, ready to rescue us if necessary. It should go fine as long as we were very cautious and the weather remained stable.
Next morning, we bundled LeAnn in layers of pile and wool, and helped her into my canoe where, minutes later, she fell fast asleep. The plan worked perfectly until a cold, chilling rain began. I put ashore immediately and snapped down the nylon belly cover, which stretched from the bow seat to the stern thwart.
The temperature dropped into the forties and the icy drizzle continued. LeAnn began to shiver and I piled on more clothes, which weren't enough. So we stopped, threw up a rain tarp and built a gigantic roaring fire that blasted flames so high they fairly vaporized the rain! Minutes later, our shelter was a toasty 85 degrees!
For the better part of the day we drank boiling hot tea and napped in the warmth of the fire, hoping the rain would stop. It didn't. Indeed, the sky suggested the cold drizzle would continue for days. If we stayed here much longer, we would miss our airplane; if we pressed on, we jeopardized LeAnn's safety, and possibly our own. To make matters worse, the canoe length space where we had set up the tarp was the only flat spot around. There was simply no room for tents. If we decided to stay, we'd have to rough it under the tarp, a significant portion of which was occupied by LeAnn. What to do? It was a trip leader's nightmare!
By four p.m., I reluctantly made the decision to move to a nice camp spot below Brassy Rapids"--a narrow, twisting pitch that in good weather is a whopping good time. But could I pilot the canoe alone through Brassy's many turns and ledges? There was no choice: I would have to!
LeAnn drifted in and out of sleep as we carried her in her sleeping bag, to the foam pad on the bottom of my canoe. We covered her with a second sleeping bag then snapped down the nylon splash cover to protect her from the rain.
Momentarily, LeAnn peered between the folds of insulated nylon and deliriously questioned if she would be safe if we capsized in the rapid. "No problem! I affirmed: "First of all, we won't tip over. And if we do, I'll get you out. Promise!"
I stared at the trusting cargo in the belly of my canoe and said a silent prayer. I wondered, could I really keep my pledge if we tipped over? Vowing to take no chances, I snugged up to the center thwart and numbly pushed off into the mist and foam which defined the start of three mile long, Brassy Rapids.
Immediately, I put the canoe into reverse gear, and kept it there. Brassy was higher than I had expected, with powerful waves, well-defined eddies and confusing channels. A "draw" to the right, then "crossdraw" left. Hard back, then ferry right. Through a "vee", follow the slick, over a small drop, turn left hard, then right. There was no time to question the route, only to respond.
Just before the final drop the channel split three ways. The right looked impassable, as did the left. And dead ahead, barely two feet apart, were two small boulders. Instinctively, I leaned the canoe to the bilge, braced hard on my paddle, and miraculously slid on through. Then, an eddy turn around the rock into the slick below and I was home free. From here, it was simply a matter of picking and choosing my way down the rocky run-out at the bottom.
As I floated into the deep quiet water which marked the end of the rapid, I paused to watch the rest of my crew. It was a Laurel and Hardy show as one canoe after another impaled on rocks. One canoe swamped above the narrow passage I had squeezed through.
Relieved at last from the responsibility of command, I just watched and smiled. LeAnn obliviously slept through it all, unaware of what might have been.
We set up our tents on a beautiful hill at the base of the rapid, then rigged two ten foot rain tarps and built a roaring fire in front. An hour later, we heard a shy giggle from beneath the rain tarp. LeAnn's temperature had broken. She was well and ravenously hungry.
I handed her a bowl of thick vegetable noodle soup which she devoured with a an elfish grin. "We paddle any rapids today?" She asked seriously?
Addendum: LeAnn Demars was killed in an auto accident on August 24, 1990, near Forest Lake, Minnesota. She was 33 years old. The driver of the other car was drunk.
Scott Minar told me that LeAnn regarded the Fond du Lac River canoe trip as the most wonderful experience of her life. I will always remember LeAnn's smile and enthusiasm, and her unwaivering confidence in me. I am proud to have known her and to have shared the wonders of a wild river with her.
XXX
