A paddle better forgotten
Recalling the search for a lost and loved young man
by David Rigby December 31, 2002 the last day of the year. New Year's Eve Day. The lakes and back channels rest, frozen solid. The main channel of the Illinois Fox River flows open and sparkling blue in the early morning
sunshine. The temperature climbs to near 30, but the rays of the sun radiate enough heat to give the illusion that it is warm.
Standing, I guide my kayak out across the ice-covered bay. Thirty feet from open water I check my equipment one last time and then squeeze into the cockpit. Using my knuckles like a short-legged monkey, I push off the ice and gain momentum. For a brief instant the boat teeters on the edge. One last push and it plunges into open water. I should be exuberant, but
I'm not.
I am looking for a body. Brian's body. Brian Carrick had been one of my students. Brian was 17, the same age as my son David. Three days before Christmas he left home for work and had not been seen since.
My family enjoyed a wonderful Christmas, one of the best ever. My wife, all four of my children and I celebrated our love for each other. Terry and Bill, Brian's mom and dad, were mired in a parent's worst nightmare: their benevolent Christmas wishes shattered by tortured
dreams. Despite 10 days of searching, Brian had not been found. I was helping the police by checking under piers and along the ice of the Fox River.
I paddled north toward Pistakee Lake bundled in my new Christmas gift, a bright orange kayak parka. My son David had given me this gift. He and Brian had shared many classes. A thin layer of ice formed across the bow of my kayak encasing it in a frozen wrapper. I reached the thick ice where the waterway transitioned from river to lake. Prisms
of ice crystals lay piled on the edge of the ice in sparkling beauty. I didn't notice.
Brian is one of 14 children. Most of them have been in my science class as had Brian. Every time I asked a question I could count on Brian's hand to fly up, waving; his body leaping from his seat.
I called his mother, Terry, on Christmas to offer help and condolences. With a prepared message ready in my hand, I heard her answer the phone. I couldn't talk. I lost control and could only mumble that
they had our love and prayers. Terry's voice quivered slightly, but she firmly proclaimed that God would provide for Brian. We hung up. I crumpled on the floor with tears streaming down my cheeks. She was a pillar of strength.
I turned the kayak from the white ice flows of Pistakee Lake and continued down the Fox towards the McHenry Dam nine miles away. Because of the winter drawdown, the piers stood high above the shallow, clear water. I maneuvered the kayak through the supports like a
rat running through a maze. I was focused on finding something I did not want to find. After several hours of paddling I beached the kayak on a sandbar under a bridge. Using the kayak as a backrest, I sat munching a frozen granola bar, hidden from the incessant traffic above.
Several years ago Brian had joined me on a canoe trip down the Current River in Missouri. Brian served as my canoe mate. He absorbed the experience like a thirsty sponge. After I caught a trout, his excitement was so
great he almost jumped in the river. Instead, I handed him my pole and guided him to a deep pool under a rocky cliff. Shaking with anticipation, Brian aimed and then launched the lure toward the awaiting fish. There was a problem. He not only launched the lure, but released the entire pole and reel as well. We both sat in stunned disbelief staring at the ripples where my equipment had disappeared. We paddled away in silence. A smile slowly crept across my face. I yelled, "Who taught you
how to cast!" Together we roared with laughter.
I slid the icy kayak back into the Fox River and continued my ugly search. The winter waters carried me past houses still dressed in their festive Christmas attire. The bridges of McHenry bustled with traffic. Everyone was rushing to get their business done early so that they could get home and prepare for their New Year's celebration. I persevered with my wretched business, hoping for failure. Large rocks, changes in color, and sunken
debris all were scouted. My anxiety rose, I almost wanted to find something! Those dreadful thoughts were erased quickly.
Shadows grew longer in the winter afternoon and the temperature began to drop. In the summer the tables on the deck of Vicki's Pub overflowed with boaters guzzling beer, shaded from the hot sun by large beach umbrellas. Climbing out of my kayak, I stiffly plodded between the snow-covered tables and the plastic Santa. I entered unnoticed through a back door and slid
behind a table. People were gathering to begin their New Year's celebration.
The people of Johnsburg, Illinois, would gather together for New Year's also. Ours had not been a celebration. We came together for a prayer vigil. Cars lined up for miles along the streets by Brian's house. Several thousand people filled the parking lot of the grocery store where Brian had worked. Parents, friends and total strangers gathered together in the sub-zero weather to pray for Brian. TV cameras
recorded the vigil. Holding hands, lifting candles and singing hymns, we shared Brian's family's grief.
I left Vicki's Pub warmed by hot chili and stuffed my body back into the kayak. The sun was getting low and the radiant energy was quickly disappearing. Large chunks of ice floated downstream past me as I continued paddling against the tugging current toward my truck. Darkness was closing in; the search was done.
Paddling hard, I increased my speed and rammed the ice covering the
sheltered bay. My kayak leapt out of the water and skidded toward shore. Slumping dejectedly in the motionless boat under the multitude of sparkling stars, I whispered a silent prayer for Brian.
Brian Carrick is still missing. A $25,000 reward is being offered for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of anyone involved in his disappearance. Any information should be provided to the Johnsburg Police Department, 815/385-6024.
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