“This looks like a good place to cross.”

Brook, our trail guide and bachelor extraordinary, planned the weekend’s bachelor party. He used 50-year-old US Forest maps that had been digitized. The satellite images Brook downloaded to plot the course were from the most recent winter months. The areal pictures showed a dry creek bed with an easy slope to our destination in Ashdown Gorge. But today, before our very eyes, is a raging river of snow melt run off from the historic winter of 2019. Ratttlesnake Creek is a raging monster.

A skilled Pacific Northwest hiker and backpacker, Brook’s knowledge and expertise enveloped the expedition’s preparations. Mothers and fathers, wives and daughters, sons and secretaries relied on his back-country training to bring everyone home safe. What was billed as a fun three-day trip quickly turned chaotic. Tragedy besought us from the first steps into the rapids.

An ill-informed person might attempt to place fault at Brook’s feet — I am not them. I am one of three eyewitnesses to the events on the banks of Rattlesnake Creek. Rest in peace James. Rest in peace.

“WE LOST JIM!” Screams Sean as he is the first to see James tumble into the rapids.

Sean, Brook’s childhood friend, recently came to terms with his own tragic loss, which he came to the mountains of Southern Utah in hopes of pacifying; with a restful weekend of connecting nature and self. An urban man, Sean’s nature consisted of golf courses and over seeded softball fields.

The separation from his first true love still weighed heavily on his heart… Seattle Thunderbird major junior hockey team. A year removed, He relocated from his beloved Seattle to Spokane for a woman. At first glance I did not take Sean a sick pervert granny chaser. His on mother-in-law to boot. To make matters worse, the SOB took his wife and family to seize control of her business. A sick twisted love triangle of money, power, and family business. It better be a hostile take-over you two-bit mouth breathing hustler!

Come to find out it was the wrong Sean; that other Sean spelled his name with a tilde over the “a” like a pretentious Spaniard. Our Sean is a damn fine model American. His mother-in-law is quite pleasant too. As I would discover later, Sean moved from Seattle to assist with his in-laws’ family business. However, the loss of the Thunderbirds can be heard in his voice as he screams at the sight of James in the water.

“JIIIIIIMMM!!! Noooooooooo.”

Brook turns to witness the horror unfolding before Sean and me. I see in Brook’s eyes the quick risk assessment.

“NO BROOK!… You can’t save him.”

Then all of a sudden, James gets caught in an eddy. There is hope. Time stands still. James looks oddly at piece with his fate. Brook lunges forward. I am frozen. Sean retreats back to a primitive space in his subconscious; arms out and swaying back and forth like a majestic bald eagle soaring over Lake Washington. The moment is both terrifying and patriotic.

“Hold on Jim! I’m coming for you, brother!”

Brook’s determination to save Jim was only matched by the sheer volume of undergrowth tangled in his backpack. Not to be swayed by vegetation, he makes one last effort to save James. Then the eddy released him.

“Brook! Broooook! BROOOOOOK! There is nothing we can do. Jim is gone. Gone.”

Seeing the fatherly instinct to protect in his eyes fade to bitter resolve is a sight I will not soon forget. The eternities now hold tight to the mysteries of why a tragedy blanketed Sean and Brook. It did not bother me much. I had no ties to James. Don’t get me wrong, I was sad to see Brook lose a Nalgene bottle. But, Sean and Brook were devastated at the thought of a camping trip without some good Kentucky bourbon. I have been sober since 2003, and even then, I preferred Jack Daniels over Jim Beam. TENNESSEE FOR LIFE!

To be continued.