I went to a uniformed Catholic High School in Rexdale, which I hated profoundly. My only respite was that around back of that slit-windowed 1960/'70s architectural monument to boredom was the Humber valley. It was, fantastically, somewhat un-parkized down there. It was the grounds of the Adolescent "Mental" Centre, a mysterious collection of equally '70s modern buildings. Around and through that mental centre there was a big hill down into the valley where the small road became gravel. Here there were cedars, and where there are cedars, there's privacy and you can disappear. So here, invisible, I made a camp right on the bank, with a small fire pit and a sitting log. I'd go there on the way home, every lunch hour and every gym class I skipped out on.

Spring break-up on the Humber, 1981. Two-and-a-half-foot thick slabs of ice crushing away hunks of earth and roots. You could feel it through your boots. So, on my way home after prison, I'm sitting there thinking I need to do something. I wanted to feel this. Feel the power of the river grinding at my feet. Just then a slab, bigger than my bedroom, presented itself to me, presented a challenge, just laid it out in front of me. It said "step aboard." So I did. Life is about experience... intensity... right?

This is deep, powerful winter water. I had made some considerations; it looked like this floe was heading towards the other bank, which had easy jump off points, but my side was clay cliffs. It was moving faster than I thought, but I had my walking stick (one should always carry a walking stick). It was amazing. I could feel the power. The floe cruised in the direction I was hoping, slightly away from the cliffs, but it was immediately apparent that the other bank was not going to happen: my floe was headed for the centre. The seriousness descended like a cool cloak - time to think - I have a problem. You die if you jump-off. Elimination. So time slowed down down down.

The Humber at this point is moving me and my vehicle east towards the Islington/Finch bridge (this does not exist anymore). I can see it ahead of me, and people start gathering at the edge. I was aware of them but it didn't concern me for some reason. I don't think I waved for help because it was apparent that under that bridge was a massive crush of these chunks of ice and I was potentially doomed. With my walking stick I got down on all fours, bracing for the tumult under the bridge.

The water began churning more, and I think I looked up to see 8 or so bus-waiters looking right at me as I went under the bridge. Chunks in front of me were colliding and pushing each other up and out of the water, smashing into pieces. Right between my splayed knees, my floe split and half of it surged up under my left. I shanked to the right and rose to ride it out, grabbing the edge at a few points.

Somehow I came out the other side and the water smoothed out. It looked like I was headed towards a bank. It looked pretty sure. I was crushed up beside another floe that was pushing mine towards one shore as mine was pushing it to the opposite. I jumped across to it and almost skidded over the other side. My right leg went in to the water - it was insanely cold. The collision put me on a hopeful course and I was inspired to stand up with utter confidence.

My new car took me home. The jump to the bank was far too easy and I was alive. I looked at the river and felt SO HAPPY. SO GLAD!! Also kind of cocky. I headed home west towards Islington through a field. A pheasant crowed. A crow cawed. The grass waved. I was very alive in the most romantic, cheesy way you would expect. I could hear sirens and considered they might be for me so I cut up through a hemlock grove beside a church and walked south along Islington to my parents, house. Our driveway. The breezeway. The side door. My father was making dinner, my mother was downstairs and the news was on. "A boy was spotted going down the Humber River on an ice floe." Cut to people pointing from the bridge to where I was "last spotted." My Parents called the police. 11 PM news. "He was found safely at home." I like how blasé the police were about it.

-- This Watermark was taken from the article "My Humber" in the June/July 2018 Issue of West End Phoenix