It was May 2018, and my partner, Gabe Rosescu, and I were taking a road trip in his little car from my home in Weyburn, Saskatchewan, to visit friends in Nelson, British Columbia. It was our first trip together after six months of dating, meaning it would be an adventure on so many levels.

At around 5: 30 p. m., we were driving along the Crowsnest Highway, a steep winding road that splits through the southern Canadian Rockies. I was texting my mother when I happened to look up in time to see an enormous tree in front of us on the highway —standing straight up!It was being pushed along by mud that was swallowing everything in its path.

Within seconds, our car was rolling 900 feet down the cliffside.

I don’t know how long we were unconscious, but I woke up to the sound of Gab e moaning. He was slumped over the steering wheel and his blood was everywhere.

The car had landed on a small rock amid trees that had come down with the slide. On one side of us was the mountain. On the other, a steep drop of about 3,000 feet into a river.

I tried opening my door and was overcome by sharp chest pain. I’d later learn that I’d suffered a broken breastbone. In addition, my left ankle had been crushed and my foot was practically turned sideways. Gab e had broken his cheek bones, as well as his orbital (眼眶) bones, leaving him blind in his left eye.

With the passenger and driver’s side doors crushed shut, and my window impassable, the only way out was through the driver’s side window. Neither of us remember doing it, but somehow we both managed to crawl out of that wreckage. We sat on a log and considered our options.

Rescue in a Bottle

Curtis Whitson had rafted down the Arroyo Seco, a river in central California, several times before.

This year, Curtis Whitson knew the water-fall was coming. He figured he would get out of his raft into the shallow water, get down the rocks along ropes on either side of the falls, and continue on his way, as he had on a previous trip.

But this year was different. Heavy snow and spring rains had turned the usually manageable falls into something fierce. And this year, instead of his friends, Whitson’s companions were his girlfriend, Krystal Ramirez and his 13-year-old son, Hunter. As the three of them approached the falls late in, the afternoon of the third day of their camping trip, Whitson could tell from the increasing roar of water in the narrowing canyon (峡谷) that they were in serious trouble. There was no way they’d be able to get down the rocks as planned.

“The water was just roaring through there with tremendous force,” recalls Whitson.

They had no smart phone service, and they hadn’t seen a single person in the past three days. And Whitson knew that they’d be sharing the ground there with rattle snakes and mountain lions.

As he was thinking what to do, Whitson hit on a bit of luck — he heard voices coming from the other side of the falls. He yelled, but the sound of the rushing water drowned him out.

“We have to get these people a message,” Whitson thought.

He grabbed a stick and pulled out his pocketknife to carve “Help” in it. Then he tied a rope to it so the people would know it wasn’t just any stick. He tried throwing it over the falls, but it floated away in the wrong direction.

“We’ve got to do something!” Whitson yelled to his son. “Have we got anything else?”

Then he spotted his water bottle. Whitson grabbed it and carved “Help!” on it. Ramirez also reminded him that he had a pen and paper in his backpack.

Whitson knew it was a slim hope. But he wrote “6-15 19:00 We are stuck here@ the waterfall. Get help please” and pushed the note into the bottle. This time, his throw over the waterfall was perfect.

“All right, that’s all we can do,” Whitson told Hunter.

It took 30 minutes to get back upstream to the beach where they’d had lunch.

The next morning, the helicopter returned.

The small school that I went to had a tradition during the eighth-grade graduation: a beautiful gold and green jacket （the school colors） was awarded to the student who had maintained the highest grades for eight years. The scholarship jacket had a big gold S on the left front side and your name written in gold letters on the pocket.

I had been a straight A student since the first grade and had looked forward very much to owning that jacket. My father was a farm laborer who couldn't earn enough money to feed eight children. I was given to my grandparents to raise, There would never be a school sports jacket for us. This scholarship jacket was my only chance.

One day in May, I happened to overhear in the office Mr, Schmidt, my history teacher, and Mr. Boone, my math teacher arguing out me, “I refuse to do it! I don't care who her father is, her grades don't even begin to compare to Martha's, I won't lie or falsify records, Martha has a straight A-plus average and you know it. ” That was Mr. Schmidt and he sounded very angry. Mr. Boone's voice sounded calm and quiet.

Look. Joann's father is not only on the Board, he owns the only store in town: “we could say it was a close tie and ---.”

The pounding in my ears drowned out the rest of the words. Shaking, I waited a few minutes and walked away. After school I went home very sad and cried into my pillow that night.

The next day when the principal校长）called me into his office I knew what it would be about. He looked uncomfortable and unhappy. “Martha”, he said. “There's been a change in rule this year about the scholarship jacket. This year the Board has decided to charge fifteen dollars, which still won't cover the complete cost of the jacket. So if you are unable to pay the fifteen dollars for the jacket it will be given to the next one in line. ”

Standing with all the dignity（尊严）I could find, I said, “I'll speak to my grandfather about it, sir, and let you know tomorrow. ” I cried on the walk home from the bus stop. So by the time I got home, my eyes were red and puffy.

I found my grandpa in the bean field. .

It was a very sad and withdrawn girl who dragged into the principal s office the next day.