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Show 83 water spraying into the air like leaping white steeds. "Look for a piece of red calico tied to a tree," I said to Tip. "And then a sign which reads 'Cannon.'" "But what do we do?" "We beach and portage our raft and supplies around the canyon-about five miles through the forest." "We can't do that," Tip exclaimed. "Or," I continued, reading my notes, "hold to the crest of the current." "We'll do that," Tip said, confidently. "We'll hold to the crest of the current." We heard the rapids-like rolling thunder, but we could not tell how far away they were. After a turn in the river, Tip spotted the red calico tied to a leaning tree, then the board with Cannon scrawled across it. But it was already too late. The mighty river had lifted our craft like an errant twig and was carrying it recklessly onward. I leaned against the steering oar with all my strength, trying to guide the raft. It broke with a loud snap, and I fell to the deck. "Lower the centerboard all the way," I called to Tip. I grabbed the pole and plunged it into the raging water, though I knew it was a futile attempt, "Let's portage," Tip screamed |