The White Crow

The White Crow

Daniel Meyer pulled the blanket over his wife Anna as she lay sleeping. It was 4:30 AM, the silent still time of the warm August summer on a Saturday morning when being awake was generally reserved for fishing trips.

"Wish me luck. Dan whispered. Taking care not to disturb his sleeping wife as he kissed her on her forehead. Anna continued her peaceful slumber as Dan made his silent exit from their bedroom.

Daniel owned his own company and in the course of business had met Frank, a former US Army Officer and Paratrooper. Through the years, Dan and Frank had become inseparable fishing friends. On this trip, the men were to put into the Colorado River and drift downstream for two days of fishing and camping along the Colorado River.

Dan parked his truck at the spot well downstream along the river where the two men intended to end their trip. They were now in Frank's white Ford van, loaded with the fishing gear, canoe, and tents, approaching the location where they were to begin their extended canoeing trip.

"Check out the river Dan. Frank said, as the van crept through the choking dust along Yarmony Road. "The water's way down, do you think we'll do any good in this stretch?"

"Hard to say, the current looks pretty slow. Guess we'll find out when we get down here. Dan replied. "Where are we putting in?"

"Up above Pump House was the best place I could figure. Frank replied pointing to the map Dan held in his hands.

"So are we using the standard fishing rules? First fish landed, biggest fish and most fish caught, is that the bet? Dan asked. In fact, the men were about equal in their ability to catch trout and in their propensity to brag about it. Dan was more adept at landing brown trout with his spinning rig; Frank was prone to hunt the larger rainbows with his fly rod. "I need to piss; can you pull off for a minute?"

"Yea, same as always. If you're lucky, you may catch one, so keep your wallet dry. I'm already thinking about that cold beer you'll be buying me on the trip back. Frank replied as he stopped the van. Neither men were serious drinkers; however, the bragging rights and prize of the other man having to pay for the beer on the return trip was part of the ritual.

"Hey, check those ropes and make sure they are tight. Frank shouted from the driver's window. Frank, always the perfectionist, had a tendency to bark orders. His years in the Army had honed his ability to fret over every detail of caring for the equipment. Dan, having a generally easier approach to things, ambled to the rear of the van as he puffed his cigarette.

"Yep, doing that now. Everything looks okay. The canoe has slid back a bit, I'll tighten it up. Dan shouted. Not satisfied, Frank stepped from the van and walked to Dan who continued to puff the cigarette dangling from his lips. The dirty nylon ropes holding the long green Old Town canoe to the rack on top of the van had loosened during the trip allowing the boat to slip slightly backwards during the long drive to the river. Dan held the loosened ropes as Frank pushed the canoe forward on its rack.

"Pull that down tight. Frank said.

With the canoe back in its' proper place, Dan wrapped the cords around the bumper and finished them off with a tight secure knot.

"Shit! Frank said.

"What? Dan replied.

"I forgot the life preservers."

In silence, the two men stood, staring at the Colorado River.

"Are you sure? Dan asked. Opening the rear cargo doors of the van, he began sifting through the gear.

"Don't bother, they aren't in there. I took them out of the garage and sat them on the driveway. I was gonna to put them in the van when you pulled up. It was dark and I forgot all about them. Frank explained.

"So, the life vests are sitting in your driveway right now?"

"Yea, sitting on my driveway."

"Not going to do us any good there. Damn. It will take us six hours to drive home and get back up here; it will be this afternoon before we can get on the river. Maybe we should just drive to Steamboat and buy some new ones. Dan said.

"Yea, we could do that. Frank haltingly replied.

Both men gazed at the Colorado River. The river in August was at a typical low level. Most of the mountain runoff had occurred by mid-July. The Colorado looked more like a creek than a river, a puny creek at that. The water was shallow and the current unimpressive. In fact, they had chose August for the trip for this reason. The men continued to stare at the river. It grew smaller and less dangerous with each passing second.

"Hell, we don't need no stinking life preservers. Look at the River; it is only two or three feet deep. If the canoe flips over we'll just walk to shore. Frank said laughing. "If we stood in the middle, it wouldn't even get our shoelaces wet."

"Yea, we don't need no stink'n life preservers. Dan repeated with his pseudo Mexican accent. "We're manly men, we do manly things. Dan continued as he thumped his chest, flipping his burnt cigarette to the dirt and smudging it with his boot.

Both men returned to the van and they proceeded along the road, now free of the choking dust left in the wake of the bus. Keeping one eye to the river, they continued their drive towards Pump House, another fifteen miles upstream. The white crow took to the air as the van began moving, flying ahead of the van in the direction of Pump House.

"I think we'll be fine. Look, the rivers calm all the way up, we'll just take it easy. Dan said, pointing his finger at the river through the windshield, trying as he might to assure himself of the safety in the decision to continue.

"Yea, I don't want to drive all the way up to Steamboat. We'll be okay. Just one thing though, if we do turn over; remember, always' keep your feet in front of you as you float down stream, that way you can kick off the rocks."

"I'll try to remember that. Dan replied.

The road wandered away from the riverbank and the men were unable to maintain their view of the water flow. They passed through another ten miles of winding canyon and eventually the road swayed back towards the slow and lazy river. Five miles further, they pulled into a gravel lot and parked next to the baby blue bus that had preceded them. Hidden from their view in the trees above, sat the white crow.

The tourist's from the bus were a class of beginner kayakers and were following the orders of their two young, buff, and barking river guides. Each rafter donned a bright orange foam life preserver and safety helmet. One by one, the tourists put their rubber kayaks into the river, huddling together like baby ducks to their mother guides, oblivious to Frank and Dan's unloading. The two men watched with patience as the class of rubber kayak trainees drifted downstream and slowly out of sight. The crow flew to the opposite side of the river and remained obscured among the scrub trees.

Frank and Dan unlashed the canoe and lifted it from the roof, placing it along side the bank of the Colorado. The coolers and camping gear were packed neatly into the canoe and secured tightly with nylon cord. Frank then pulled the van to a shady spot beneath the cottonwood trees at the edge of the gravel parking lot.

"You got the keys to your truck? I'd hate to get all the way down to McCoy and find you left them up here. Frank asked.

"Yea. Actually they are with the truck, I stuck them under the bumper in one of those little magnet cases. I have an extra set with me though. Dan replied, patting his pants pocket.

"Let's hit it then. Frank said.

Dan climbed into the front of the canoe as Frank shoved from behind. With a gentle bounce, the canoe began floating as Frank leapt into the back. Grabbing the oars, both men paddled with muted strokes until the canoe was pointed downstream and in a gentle glide. Ahead, the early morning sun glowed across the sparkling blue waters of the Colorado River. A steep hillside to the north of the river was punctuated with a rise of 150 feet to a railroad track that ran along the side of the canyon wall. They paused for a second to admire the sight.

"I'll keep it in the middle while you get your gear out. Frank said.

Dan retrieved his spinning rod and attached a small lure to the end of his line. Frank followed by preparing his fly rod, attaching a dry fly. The canoe continued to drift in the soft lazy current beneath the clear August morning sunlight. Each man watched the gentle ripples of the river about them for signs of trout feeding at the surface as they cast their lines.

"Check it out Frank. Dan pointed to the right hand shoreline, towards a clump of small trees amongst the scrub brush. Sitting atop a small tree was a large white bird.

"What kind of bird is that? Frank asked.

"Don't know. Dan replied. "It's a crow."

"Crows aren't white. Frank replied as both men halted their casting and observed the magnificent white feathered creature. As the canoe continued to drift downstream, the crow once again lit and flew for fifty or sixty yards downstream. The process was repeated each time the canoe passed. With each landing, he emitted an obnoxious caw, attempting to draw the attention of the men in the canoe.

The floating anglers paid little attention to the bird at first. With each of its relocations, making its presence known, they could not help but be distracted.

"He's following us. Dan said.

"I think he wants a fish for breakfast. Frank replied.

"He's interested in something, that's for certain."

The bird again cawed and lifted from his perch; his flight direction now towards the drifting anglers.

"Wow, it's coming towards us. Dan said.

"What a creature, that thing is huge."

The white crow soared across the river and over the heads of the two boaters. Cawing as it passed over Dan's head, it continued in flight, crossing the river, and out of sight beyond the rock cliff walls as the echo of his piercing "caw caw caw" rang through the canyon ahead.

Dan turned his head to the rear of the canoe, gazing at Frank with a toothy boyish grin.

"Don't see that every day. Frank chuckled as he once again drew his rod and cast his fly. The instant the fly touched the water a clapping splash emanated from the point of contact.

"Fish on. Frank shouted.

"He told us where the fish were, as soon as he swooped us you landed one.

"Awesome. Dan chuckled. Dan drew his rod and flipped his spinner in the opposite direction as Frank continued to fight his hooked fish. Dan's spinning lure struck the water and was instantly seized by a fish beneath the ambling waters surface, both men reeling and tugging and whooping it up as each trout alternately leapt from the water.

Cawing as it dove, the crow skimmed the waters surface, dragging its talon's, snagging a feeding trout and pulling it from the river. Flying directly upwards, it dropped the trout to the river, producing a sharp echoing splash.

"Dan. Look up ahead. We've got rapids downstream. You need to stow that pole and grab your oar. Frank had reverted to his Army training, barking an order, and expecting an immediate reaction. Dan hesitated for a second after reeling his line in, and then placed his pole beneath the nylon cord securing the tent to the floor of the canoe.

"I didn't see that driving up here. Dan replied.

"We're coming into a canyon; this must be where the road separated from the river."

"Hold the line while I stow my rod. Frank said.

Dan placed his oar laterally in the water attempting to slow the canoe. The oar's pressure against water caused the canoe to spin.

"Don't get us sideways meathead. We need to stay straight when we hit the white water. Frank was loosing patience with Dan's navigation skills. Frank, having a need for control, preferred to operate the boat from the stern, never trusting another to properly steer the craft. With a hasty flip of his hands, he stowed his fly rod and immediately took charge of the canoes direction.

"If we keep it to the right there is less current up there. Dan said. From the center of the canyon ahead, the bird reappeared, gliding above the water's surface towards the pair, cawing with each flap of his wings as he veered upwards passing within feet of Dan's head. Circling the canoe, it continued gliding toward the canoe. Both men were now frantically alternating their stare from the river to the crow and back to the river as the canoe approached the swirling turbulent waters within the steep canyon walls.

"That damn bird can go away anytime. Dan said.

"Forget the bird, pay attention to the water, watch for rocks, and keep paddling. Frank replied.

The white crow lit upon the bow of the canoe and perched directly on the frame before Dan. Standing on the bow with its talons clasped round the frame, it spread his wings and shrieked. Looking Dan directly in the eyes, the crow waltzed back and forth along the edge of the canoe, cackling, and posturing, its head bobbing to the rhythmic dance. Dan attempted to brush it from the bow of the craft but it pecked at Dan's fingers and hopped, continuing the macabre waltz, gazing at Dan with his old dark eyes.

Dan continued his failing attempts to scare the bird away as the canoe entered the canyon. The waters current velocity increased to a violent torrent. Awash in the undulating river water, with each brutal jerk of the canoe the men thrashed their oars as the squawking creature clung to the front of the canoe, flapping his wings in relentless refusal to abandon his mysterious task.

"Quit playing with the damn bird and paddle. Frank shouted.

"It won't leave. Dan shouted back.

Frank aimed the bow of the canoe, now engulfed in the churning water, in the direction of two large rocks. The boat nose dipped beneath the surface of the water, soaking Dan and swamping the canoe as the two men struggled to keep the canoe pointed forward. As the bow popped from the water, Frank struggled to keep the stern from smashing against the partially submerged rocks. The crow, soaked with freezing water, held fast and refused to release his grasp on the frame of the canoe.

The seconds stretched to eternity, as both men continued to paddle and push with their oars in frantic abandon. Stretch upon stretch of treacherous water was navigated as the cold river waters sprayed the bird and the men. Violent eddy currents spun the canoe; jagged rocks scraped the hull as the crow's cawing punctuated each perilous foot of the hazardous peregrination, until smooth water was reached.

The crow flew from the bow of the boat, squawking as it made gliding loops one hundred feet above the boater's heads.

Dan turned and looked at Frank, exhaling with a sigh of relief.

"That was hairy."

"Yea, that was pretty damn hairy alright. Frank replied. Frank gazed at the wailing white crow circling above them.

"That damn bird rode the rapids with us. Frank said, still looking up.

"What's he trying to do, kill us?"

"He's sure interested in me. Dan replied.

"I think he was warning us. Frank said.

"What the hell was that dance he was doing? I've never seen anything like it in my life. Dan added.

The calm water stretched for one hundred yards through the canyon ahead. The men were out of immediate danger, but the river appeared to bend sharply in the distance and a canyon wall hung menacingly in their path. Keeping the canoe pointed forward and paddling with caution, they approached the bend, which was at nearly a ninety degree angle to the left. The solid rock wall grew larger as the canoe approached the splashing pool surrounding a nearly submerged boulder before the wall.

Dan reached with his oar to push the nose of the canoe away from the submerged threat. Immediately, the bow of the boat veered left and the canoe tipped to the right, sending both men into the freezing current of the Colorado River.

The flowing water carried them downstream and into more rapids. Dan was floating in front of the drifting capsized canoe and could hear Frank shouting behind him. As Dan gathered his senses, he noticed floating debris from the canoe, drifting along side of him in the icy river water. His baseball cap, a tackle box, a pack of cigarettes, each destined for oblivion and out of his reach. The crow glided to the capsized boat and sat on the exposed hull. From its perch on the boats bottom, it observed the hopeless situation.

The canoe was pushing on Dan's head as he kicked his feet forward, bounding off submerged rocks. Frank grasped the stern of the capsized boat and attempted to pull it away from Dan but the pressure from the uncontrollable craft on Dan's head was too much. Dan realized he must submerge himself long enough to allow it to pass over him. The white crow hopped from the boat to the top of Dan's head. Taking a deep breath, Dan submerged himself as the canoe and Frank careened past.

The crow lifted and fluttered in a hover above Dan's submerged form. Popping to the surface, the boulders beneath the violent river surface were slamming against Dan's body as he attempted to place his feet forward to ward off the blows. While moving for a more secure posture, his right foot lodged in a cluster of rocks on the river bottom.

Dan gazed helplessly downstream as the white crow hovered in front of him a few feet above the waters surface. Frank and the canoe continued their uncontrollable glide through the jagged rocks of the rapids before him. Pinned to the bottom of the river, the freezing water was draining the strength from his body. Tugging with all his might, Dan was unable to dislodge himself from the freezing watery trap. Unable to pull his foot free, his body began drifting forward, snapping his ankle. The sharp and sudden pain coursed through his leg.

"Frank, I'm stuck. Dan was able to yell with garbled success. His last words.

With his strength at its end, Dan made one last desperate attempt to dislodge himself by submerging and reaching for the rocks around his foot. The excited crow flapped above Dan's head, squawking and fluttering momentarily, finally landing on his partially submerged head. Dan knew his only remaining hope would be to pull himself under with his hands and release the river pressure against his body. Perhaps he could free the entombed foot. Pulling with all his remaining strength, Dan submerged himself. Stretching his arms, he reached for the rocks that trapped his foot to the rivers bottom. The birds grip was tight to Dan's head as he lost consciousness beneath the rivers surface. In a final involuntary quest for oxygen, his lungs sucked in the freezing water. A moment later, it was over. Dan's limp body was lodged by its foot to the river bottom, limply swaying in the violent current.

Daniel opened his eyes and stared directly at the stranger before him, a man dressed in a white linen suit.

"Why didn't you listen to me? He asked.

"Am I dead? Dan replied to the man in white.

"No."

"Is this a dream? Dan asked.

"It was a dream. This is not a dream."

"Why are you here? Dan asked. You are my Dependent. I have been with you throughout."

"You are The White Crow?"

"Yes. He replied. "You must come with me now. We have one last thing to do."

"I don't understand."

"You will. Now we go."

Frank was unaware of Dan's condition until he managed to swim to a small rocky beach at the base of the cliff wall. Drained of his energy and barely conscious, he looked upstream, only to notice that Dan's final attempt to rescue himself had failed. Frank could see Dan's limp body bobbing in the river. Atop his head sat two birds, The White Crow and a Black Crow. Realizing his friend was gone; Frank closed his eyes and laid his head on the rocky bank of the river. The two birds lit from the body bobbing in the river and flew out of sight beyond the rock walls above.

Emerging from the tall grass along the pathway at the base of the hill, the man was dressed in white. Anna, sitting on the opposite bank of the stream, withdrew her feet from the water and stood to greet him as she thought; perhaps she should wade the stream to meet him. Stepping towards the water's edge, she noticed that the calm stream of moments before had transformed into a flowing torrent of rushing water. The white clad man stood on the opposite bank and waved with a halting gesture.

"Dan? Is that you? Anna shouted.

"It's alright Anna. Everything is going to be okay. You must stay on that side. There is no place for you here right now. The man replied with a soft reassuring tone. "I will be on this side waiting for you. I love you."

Anna raised her head and turned towards her husband's voice. Opening her eyes, she was startled to find no one there. She must have been dreaming, he is already gone. A sound from beyond the bedroom window caught her attention. A car door slamming. Thinking Dan was outside; she grasped the cord of the blinds and pulled. A blinding ray of bright morning sunlight pierced the room. Anna pulled the bed covers back and placed her feet on the floor. The carpet beneath her feet was soaked with cold water. Anna looked to the floor, spying a most curious puddle of water on the carpet beside her bed. She then noticed a string of wet footprints leading from the puddle to her bedroom doorway.

Confused, she turned to look out the window. Her eyes were drawn to the yard where she spied the blurry contour of two large birds a white and a black crow, sitting atop a tree. The white crow gazed directly at her and cawed once. Flapping their wings, the two birds took to flight. Directing her glance towards the driveway, expecting to see Dan's truck, she saw instead, a police car and an officer standing in her driveway. She continued to stare as a second officer exited the car.

The two officers walked along the driveway as they looked upwards to her window. With sudden realization, her vision further blurred as a bright white light flashed in her eyes, her mind spinning as her body relaxed and fell to the floor.

Anna was unaware, moments later, when the doorbell rang. Lifting his fishing vest and tackle box from the living room floor, Dan opened the door and greeted Frank.

"Let's go fishing."