This could be it for Pierre and Don. How can they possibly get away from this disaster in the making? Here they are, burdened by a failure to communicate, rushing towards the precipice of the mighty Niagara Falls. (the Canadian Falls cause they’re more dramatic.)
How are they to be saved, if at all?
(Piano playing the silent movie theme for a train coming down the track towards a maiden tied hand and foot to the rails1Actually, they never seem to be tied to the rails; these maidens just lie there. Couldn’t they roll off or do something and save the train passengers considerable inconvenience? Just asking. struggling to get loose.)
Don, not only quick footed but quick witted, sized up the options; Pierre did the same thing in French: (option in English is option f. in French)
- Die (why not? Don’s been paying into life insurance for years; should at least get a tombstone out of it. Pierre, maybe not.)
- Somebody could turn off the falls (Timing could be the issue here; it’s happened before – 1969)
- A sight-seeing helicopter could drop a line (“Hi! Have a nice trip.”)
- Go over the Falls and not die. (It’s been done already.)
- They could go over the Falls and land on the Maid of the Mist[i]2 A tourist boat that travels below the falls. (Don’s already been saved by one boat, show some creativity.)
- God will save them. (Puh-lease)
- Deus ex machina (Ah, the great Greek cop out. We’re above that.)
- No idea
- None of the above
So Don & Pierre, committed to metric, held out for #10. They furtively looked about the dinghy. Every great lakes’ support vessel must have 4 oars, water, knife, flare and a first aid kit. Don ripped open the first aid kit to find: bandages, disinfectant, rolls of tape, nice scissors (Don quickly exchanged them with the pair in his nail kit) and a coupon worth $1.00 on the next order.
Taking the knife, Don started to scratch out a plan on the floorboard so that Pierre would be on side. Nothing like scratching and nodding to clearly and quickly agree on how to save one’s life.
“Before we start, and we have a minute here,” cautioned Don, “back in 2008 John Daly hit some golf balls, or tried to hit some golf balls, over the gorge. So keep an eye out, there might be some around here.”
“T’es completement fou,” screamed Pierre.
“Not sure what you said but I think they’re Callaways3A brand of golf ball. ,” instructed Don.
Now our daring Don, the sun blinging off his gold incisor, took charge.
“How do you say, ‘scuttle the boat’ in French?” pondered Don out loud. Not waiting for an answer, Don, knife in hand, quickly started to dig out a hole in the bottom of the dinghy.
“T’es completement fou,” screamed Pierre.
“Thank you, glad you’re on side,” complimented Don, well remembering his grade IX French and what his teacher always said to him.
The dinghy quickly took on water and started to settle and soon became lodged in the rocks just above of the falls.
Step 1 mission accomplished. Now Don (Pierre is doing the same thing only in French.) assesses how far they are from the shore.
“A good 28 yards, what do you think?”
Pierre has no idea what Don is saying and shakes his head.
“Oh, you’re right, we’re committed to metric: 20 meters.”
“Start pulling the dinghy apart,” directs Don and demonstrates by un-gunwale-ing the gunnells.
“T’es completement fou,” repeats Pierre.
“I appreciate your support but we’ve got to start hewing.”
Quickly the two desperate victims of chance start to break down the dinghy and as each piece breaks free, Don tapes the them together and adds them to the oars he’s already taped together.
With a good 25 metres of wood bound together, Don slowly directs this pole of many pieces (tempted to say a 10 foot pole but that wouldn’t be good enough nor metric) upstream so that the current doesn’t take it away.
“Here’s the plan,” Don animates with his hands and lower extremeties.
“We’ll step on the first plank and carefully start walking towards the next. The current will slowly turn the planks to shore and then we can dash across the remaining planks to safety.”
“T’es completement fou,” screams Pierre.”
“I’m glad you agree, let’s go.”
And just as Don drew it up (scratched it up), once they started to walk onto the first plank, this patchwork boardwalk caught the current and started to slowly rotate. Don, with Pierre close behind, started to dash.
Now the astute reader will start to relax, lean back in his chair even, knowing all will be well because of Don’s skill with riding the logs in the river. (Please refer to A golfer’s saga – Chapter 3).
But, and well you may ask, what about Pierre? Poor marooned Pierre, caught up in a good deed that could end his life? (should be some sort of music here)
Well, lo and behold, Pierre was a star; he almost passed Don to the shore. Hardly a splash marked his Doc Martens.
The two companions collapsed on the shore, hardly believing their good luck and watched what remained of the First Aid kit tumble over the falls.
“You know,” said Don giving Pierre a good natured slap on his back, “I never did get your name.”
“Comment?”
“Votre nom?”
“Ah, Pierre.”
“Et” … thinking hard … how do you say surname? … “votre nom famille?”
“Dallé. Pierre Dallé.”
(amen – April 2020)
| 1. | ↑ | Actually, they never seem to be tied to the rails; these maidens just lie there. Couldn’t they roll off or do something and save the train passengers considerable inconvenience? Just asking. |
| 2. | ↑ | A tourist boat that travels below the falls. |
| 3. | ↑ | A brand of golf ball. |