Not all vacations bring as much risk or adventure as this one. Rita related the danger to the Thursday Friendship Group. This is what she said:
“After enduring a month of higher-than-normal scorching temperatures in Phoenix my husband, Dan, and I were off in search of cooler climates. Our brand new brown and white Ford pickup was only three weeks old, but everything was going well so far.
We believe in starting off each day with a prayer that God will keep us safe and show us His hand at work in our lives. And on the trip we'd conclude, “We're yours and this truck is yours, and Your Word says in all things You work for the good of those who love You.”
My main goal was to get to Seattle and hug Nick and Jill, my two grandchildren. And that we did. With our son Patrick and daughter-in-law Chrissy we saw the tourist attractions for several days. But Dan had always wanted to cross the border to say he'd been there.
Our little jaunt to Canada would be a scenic drive along the shores of Kootenay Lake, taking in the grandeur of the lofty snow-topped mountains. Armed with helpful brochures from the border crossing guard we were eager to sample this little corner of a “foreign nation.”
But before the day was over we'd be stalked by a sandy-haired stranger, our lives and property in danger.
Castlegar sounded interesting in the brochure. “And look,” I pointed out to my husband, “there's an island nearby, Zuckerberg's Island, reached only by a foot bridge. It has lots of history. Do we have time to see it?”
“Why not?” was his good -natured reply.
It was early in the morning when we pulled into Castlegar. Now to locate Zuckerberg's Island. The first sign was easy to find. Turning off the main street we found ourselves in a residential neighborhood. We drove a number of blocks before spotting the next small sign with an arrow, pointing to the left. This took us down past narrow roads lined with attractive, older homes. Finally a dead end convinced us that somewhere we'd missed another sign. Once on the main street we tried again.
This time Dan spotted a man walking up the road and said, “Ask for directions.” So I did.
“Nothing to it,” he replied with a kind, gentle voice, “just follow the signs.”
Well, of course.
We would have missed it again, except for my happening to glance back at the arrow sign as we drove by. “Hey, stop! The arrow doesn't mean turn right at the next block, you have to make a sharp turn right here.”
Sure enough there was a dirt lane that edged past big bushes and trees and led to a small parking lot. A sign next to a big rock at the water's edge announced, “Zuckerberg's Island.” And there was the walking suspension bridge, stretched across to a forested island.
Since it was so early we weren't really concerned that there were no other vehicles parked in the lot. We put up our sun shades in the truck windows and locked it, grabbing the camera to take pictures.
Getting out of the truck we were surprised to see there was a man now sitting on the large rock by the sign. The same man.
But eager to explore the island we started across the bridge, with Dan pausing halfway to turn and snap a picture of the shore. I'd hurried across, glad to step on solid ground and was reading the informative sign when Dan caught up with me.
“He's standing at the shore, looking this way. Walk over by the bushes.”
With sudden realization that we might be the only ones on the island, with a rickety bridge the only way off, and a stranger watching our moves I caught my breath. Dan peered through the branches and in a moment said sharply, “He's heading toward the truck. I'm going back.”
His feet pounding on the wooden slats Dan ran back to the parking lot and our new truck. As soon as he stepped off, I began cautiously making my way across the swaying bridge. Glancing all around I could see no one until Dan, now seated in the truck, removed the sun shades”
“Do you think we were in physical danger?” I whispered as I came around to his side of the truck.
“I can't be sure. I think he just wanted the vehicle. Get in; let's go.”
“Where's the guy?” I questioned, but the words froze on my lips as I turned. He stood behind me partially hidden in the thicket only a hundred feet away.
We got out of there promptly. And as we accelerated down the road Dan apologized. “No island hopping today. So, what else is exciting to do?”
“Well, here's the brochure. Let's see.” Pulling over we both consulted the pages and then decided to get back to the highway and head on to Nelson where we'd planned to stay for the night. Being a much larger city there'd no doubt be a lot of interesting attractions for tourists.
Looking back before pulling out into the flow of traffic Dan exclaimed, “There's our man!” Sure enough, walking back up the sidewalk was the sandy-haired stranger who'd stalked us in the parking lot.
“Shouldn't we tell the police?”
“Nah, too much trouble.”
“Probably a lot of paper work,” I agreed. “I'm still feeling a little on edge. That sure was strange.”
Later that night from the motel room balcony looking at a full moon across the peaceful bay we talked about how the Lord had answered our prayers. “Strange. That guy was so inept. A real pro would have just waited a couple of minutes longer and we'd have been out one truck.”
“I can't get him out of my mind, either.”
Our short stay in Canada flew by. We weren't disappointed at the sights, the food, or the tourist attractions. The people were hospitable, too, with that one notable exception.
Getting back to our son's home in Seattle we had a fistful of colorful postcards and trinkets to show for our excursion across the border. Over dinner we related our adventure.
Nick and Jill, at ages 7 and 5, were duly impressed as we told about Zuckerberg's Island and the sandy-haired stranger. But my son, Patrick's reaction was puzzling. “You say he resembled Cousin Ralph? Tall and thin, bushy blond hair, mustache?”
“What's up?”
“Hold on. I've got to make a phone call.”
Moments later he explained. “Sunday at church they asked for prayer for Alf Jorgenson's son, Ed. Been missing nearly a week. I met Ed once. He sure looks like my cousin.”
He paused, and Chrissy pressed, “How does that fit in?”
“Not quite sure. But Alf is calling the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and he'll get back with us when he knows something.”
Bedtime prayer with the grandchildren was a special time that night. “God,” Nick advised earnestly, “please fix all these problems. You know Ed's dad is very worried. Help them to find Ed. And don't forget that stranger on the island. Help that guy to stay out of trouble from now on.”
“And Jesus,” Jill added, “thank you for keeping grandma and grandpa safe. And also their new truck.”
A day later the loose ends were coming together. The sandy haired stranger turned out to be Ed, suffering from amnesia from a blow on the head. He didn't remember how he'd gotten to Castlegar. But with his gentle voice and friendly smile he'd probably had some help from passing tourists. Maybe others, like us, had questioned his bizarre behavior but hadn't taken time to pursue the matter.
By the weekend it was time to head home. Reluctantly we started packing up. When Patrick came home that night he brought news that made the story complete. Alf brought his son back from Canada; Ed was being treated in a local hospital. And the wrecked vehicle had been found at the bottom of a cliff north of Metalline Falls. It was a brown and white Ford pick up truck.
And Rita completed her adventure with, “Relating all this now still brings chills down my spine. Risk and adventure weren't on my agenda, but they were part of God's plan.
Dan and I still start each day with a prayer that God will keep us safe and show us His hand at work in our lives. And, our new truck is a constant reminder that His Word says that in all things He works for the good of those who love Him.”
The Thursday Friendship Group applauded with big smiles. + + +
by Elaine Hardt ©2004
