The long, cold, harsh, Colorado winter had passed and the springtime was beginning to blossom in the small town of Craig. I was not much different than any other boy in the 60's, and I could not wait to get outside and enjoy the bright springtime sun. My best friend Andy lived several miles east of town. So we didn't have much time to explore together unless we planned ahead. On this particular spring day, I buddied up with a school mate named Joe and we were off to find something adventurous to do. I'm not sure if we were headed for Sherwood Forest or to the playground, but ultimately we ended up at the Craig City Park.
It was still early spring, so the grass was still brown, and the trees were still bare. Under the bridge of the main drag Victory Way, there was still several feet of ice that had built up under Fortification Creek bridge where the creek flowed under Victory Way. The creek was very high with the onset of warm weather and the snow pack rapidly melting in the mountains above Craig. There was no shortage of snow in the rugged Colorado Rocky Mountains. Throughout most of the year, Fortification Creek was merely a slow moving trickle of water about 6 feet wide and about a foot deep. In the spring however, it became a monster of muddy water about 20 feet across, and was several feet deep where it flowed through the Craig City Park. Certainly, it was no place for a couple of elementary school boys to be playing. But we played at the park all the time. For that matter, we played near the creek all the time. Today seemed no different to us than any other day, and besides, we had been bottled up in the house all winter, and this was our chance to explore.
To make matters worse, or more adventurous, if you're one of those boys, there was a shortcut across the creek. Yes, about 100 yards North of the Victory way bridge, there were two water lines that crossed the creek from East to West. We crossed the creek there all the time. It was really simple, and kind of fun, because there were 2 pipes that went across the creek, and they were right next to each other. In fact, they were attached to each other by braces that made them quite secure. One of the pipes was about
6 inches in diameter, and the other was maybe 3 inches in diameter. So, all it took was a little balance and it was quite simple to cross the creek by shuffling across the 2 pipes in our cheap 1960 sneakers.
This day, probably would not have been any different from any of the other crossings, except for these large sections of logs that were floating down the creek that day. Each section was about 4 foot in length and maybe 2 feet in diameter. They were floating by about one every 200 yards or so. We watched them float by for a while and then one of us (not sure which stupid kid it was) got this brilliant idea that we were going to stop one of these Lincoln logs. I have no idea why, but I guess we thought it would be cool.
So we rummaged around and found a large tree limb to use to stop the log so we could inspect the log?? I, being the braver of the two boys (hey, it's my story)had the stick in hand, standing on two narrow pipes, over a rushing springtime creek, patiently waiting for my first victim log to arrive.
Here it comes. It was meandering down the creek with no particular purpose. I braced myself to stop the log. I studied the laws of inertia in the 6th grade. Trouble was, I was now in the 4th grade. To make a long story short, as soon as my stick hit that log, my butt hit the water. That log knocked me off the pipe and into the raging creek in a micro-second. Oh, did I tell you I learned to swim in the 6th grade too.
So, here I am...thrashing around in a raging muddy creek, unable to swim, and an ice flow about 100 yards away that was forcing all the water under the ice and under the bridge. I came up out of the water fighting for my life. There was the log. Grab on to the log Clint, grab it! I tried grabbing the log, but all it did was spin, round and round. Panic abounding, I was thrashing, spinning the log and rapidly floating downstream toward the ice trap. I distinctly remember Joe running along the East shore of the creek yelling something at me. A video of my face would have been priceless I'm sure!
This is the part of the story where I say, God must have had a plan for my life, because I really should have died that day. I couldn't swim. The creek was about 75 yards away from pushing me under the water and ice and taking away any chances of breathing any air for another 100 yards at least. The only thing close was a spinning log that was of no use whatsoever. Somehow, I'm sure by the grace of God, I was able to grasp a bush that was near the bank and pull myself to safety.
Soaking wet. Thankful to be alive. And a lot wiser about inertia. Thank you Jesus!
It truly is a wonder that more kids don't die in childhood. I know I should have died that day. We went home and I changed into some dry clothes.
What should we do next?
