Highway 10, just south of Cuprus Mine, at that small lake with the beaver house in the middle, when Jack asked me if I was sure that there was no chance of Bill and Fred still being alive. I told him I was sure. I remember Connie Francis was singing “Who’s Sorry Now” on CFAR Radio. To this day, every time I hear the song my mind flashes back to that day in the car with Jack. Back in town they took me straight to the company hospital for observation. They thought I could still be in shock or there might be some after-affect of spending a wet, cold night in the bush. There was concern for my hands, which were a mass of cuts filled with sap from breaking down trees and pulling branches off prickly spruce trees. My feet were also a mess, as I had spent most of my time walking barefoot over rocks and pine needles. My thighs were bruised from breaking the dead tree and branches over them. But I suffered no lasting physical effects, and I was released from the hospital a day later.
As soon as I was released they asked if they could take me on a plane to fly over the lake. They had no information as to where the boat actually capsized and their dragging efforts had produced nothing. The plane ride proved fruitless, as I was unable to give them any help. First of all, I had never flown in a plane before. Secondly, I did not know the lake, and even if I had, everything looks different from the air. So I made an “x” on the map where I thought we capsized and flew back to town. The next day they came again and asked if they could take me back to the lake by boat to show them exactly what happened. By then, I was deathly afraid of water and boats and did not want to venture out on one. My brother Jack assured me that I would have a lifejacket that would made it impossible for me to sink, so I agreed. Once we were back on the lake, I showed them the path we were on when the accident occurred. I kept watching the east
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