Nonfiction | July 18, 2025

Irretrievable  

On day nine of our family canoe trip toward the Arctic Ocean, we tipped over. We came around a turn in the river where the current gained unexpected speed, and before we could course correct, we were sucked in, headed toward a large tree hanging over the water. My parents tried to steer away but couldn’t avoid it. We all leaned a different way to avoid being impaled by tree branches, and everything went over.  

My brother and I, still wearing our life vests, emerged from the water buoyant and shocked as the current carried us downstream. We floated down the river with the contents of the canoe, and I grabbed anything I could reach: a fishing pole, compressed and folded into a plastic tube, our lunch bag, my hat. I held tightly to these items and watched helplessly as others drifted away and sank. My brother and I swam toward the canoe, and when everyone was ready, my father led us in a count to flip it back over. From there, he told us to hang on until we found a place to come ashore. Within a few minutes, the current abated. We rounded a bend and found a rocky beach, where we hauled the canoe on land and took inventory. 

We lost our gun, our ax, one of the paddles, the other fishing pole, and all our food except one package of rice and some beans. We lost all our clothes except for what we were wearing. Our camcorder and camera were ruined. Luckily, our tent and sleeping bags stayed wedged in the canoe. Our pot made it. Our map.  

The gun though. The gun. And the ax.