JANUARY 16, 2024 – My family and friends cautioned me to be wary when they heard that I’d been hitch-hiking deep into inner-city Buffalo in the morning and back out in the evening. If I had reason to worry, I was never afraid. Ironically, where I faced the most imminent threat—by far—was in the wilds of Letchworth State Park following a Sunday regional sales meeting.
Among the cache of letters I recently uncovered (see 1/14/24 post) was a draft of a letter that I rewrote in more presentable handwriting and sent to “Cynde.” The letter captured the details of the harrowing adventure at the park:
On Sunday morning, Rodger and Robbi [two of a handful of friends I’d made among my fellow salesmen] drove by to pick me up for the Sunday meeting. The ride was one of the best times of the whole summer. Together we sang at the tops of our lungs and laughed our entire way to Letchworth State Park, where the meeting was held—120 miles from Buffalo.
The meeting was a drag. For another time I heard those sly, smooth-talking salesmen brag about all the thousands of dollars worth they’d sold last week. I groaned silently. When the meeting was adjourned, the three of us took off for the woods.
We crawled along a spring-fed creek and followed it for nearly two miles through the thick dark green forest. It was beautiful. Later we discovered a river and a veritable grand canyon—ala New York. Upstream roared a tremendous falls over 60 feet high. We thought it would be fun to crawl along the canyon wall and sit near the base of the falls. A beautiful idea, but Robbi and I nearly died because of it.
We decided to approach the falls from the opposite side, and thus we had to ford the river a ways below. The current was incredibly strong, and swimming was ruled out by whitewater rapids and boulders below us. We waded across, a human chain, fighting like hell to keep our footing in the turbulent four-foot-deep river. The rocks on the other shore were slippery, and it took us a good 10 minutes to climb just 20 feet up the canyon wall.
We found a narrow ledge, and in single file we edged our way toward the falls. One false move and it would have been over. Each of us was thinking the same thing: we couldn’t turn back now. I didn’t look down but just moved ahead, step-by-step.
Finally we found a large flat rock not far from the white cascade. We lay down and opened our mouths and let the fresh cool spry quench our thirst. It felt like a gargantuan shower had been directed at us to cleanse our weary souls. It was great. We sang our version of the Star Spangled Banner, but the roar of falls drowned out our voices.
Half an hour later we decided to head back along the canyon wall. We helped each other along and reached the water safely, but then near disaster struck.
As before we stepped into the swirling water, fighting like hell to keep our feet on the river bottom. But then Rodger let go and headed alone for the other shore. He slipped just a few feet from the rocks, but he grabbed onto a boulder and dragged himself onto dry land.
Meanwhile, Robbi and I were still midstream, edging along, our backs facing upstream. Suddenly Robbi went down and pulled me along with him. The current took us for a real trip and the deadly rapids and boulders drew frighteningly close. I found a rock to grab onto, but my grip was only temporary. The current swept me along behind my unfortunate buddy. Rodger, however, thinking fast, fetched a long strong vine. He threw it into the water just as Robbi went sailing by, and by the will of Zeus, Robbi managed to grab it and hang on. A split second later, I went flying by, farther out in the swift current. Somehow I reached for Robbi’s ankle and clutched it with all my might. Rodger, our friend and rescuer, dragged us up to shore. We jumped to our feet, shook hands solemnly, and then laughed—laughed at the river, laughed at ourselves, and laughed at the world. We were alive, and it felt great.
Act enthusiastic, you become enthusiastic.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
