So here’s an amusing episode that lays bare how we as humans concoct stories to fit our own narratives. But before I go any further, Mom — I’m fine, everything’s fine, I didn’t get hurt, and I won’t do it again.

Tromping through one of my favorite haunts on the Raquette River this past month, I spotted a waterfall that was in partial shade. The frothing white water was violet, and the dappled sunlit areas popped with vibrant white and gold. I knew this was the scene of the day. I found the exact view I wanted perched on a rock jutting up parallel to the briskly flowing river on my left, set up my easel with the falls in front of me, and got to work.

I don’t know how much time had passed, but I heard a helicopter flying by pretty low overhead. Up here, in this remote location, that usually means a medical transport or a rescue is underway. Just a few weeks ago, the local paper reported about a kayaker who had to be airlifted to safety on this very river, near the very spot I was at. I sobered for a minute thinking about this, but quickly became absorbed in painting once again.

Not long after, I heard the scratchy blats and screeches of a megaphone. Someone was saying something on a megaphone not far downriver from where I was! I couldn’t make out most of the words over the roar of the water, but heard “river.”

"Well," I thought. "That’s not good. The helicopter must’ve been a rescue crew, and they’ve found the person and are shouting instructions."

I briefly thought about trying to make my way over in the vague direction I imagined this dramatic rescue was taking place, but then decided I probably wouldn’t be able to help and might even add to the problem if I fell in too. So I sent them positive vibes and carried on with my work, feeling somber about having this great painting session while someone else was in peril nearby.

Once more I became absorbed in my painting, focusing on blocking in the waterfall quickly since it would change the most noticeably in the shifting light.

Maybe about a half hour later, I heard the megaphone person again and thought, "Ah. They’ve got the person and are communicating how to get them out. Hope it’s going well."

I kept on, working on the water at the top of the falls. But oddly, I noticed that some of the rocks I had sketched out earlier were not there. Was my drawing really so off? Hmm. But whatever. We all make mistakes.

The sun was shining; I was in the zone, painting away.

And then it became really noticeable: The water was rising. The falls were swelling and the rocks that were initially in the scene were covered completely. The dry area to my right was suddenly not so dry anymore, and I soon found myself on a little island with a raging flow to my left, a rising water level to my right, and an advancing waterline in front of me.

Now, it wasn’t a wall of water like in that movie about the tsunami with Naomi Watts that will haunt me forever. It was more like the scene in Titanic, where Leo is chained to a pipe below deck and Kate Winslet is sloshing around with an axe. The water level rises slowly but steadily around his legs, and his panic is palpable. But still, I had my own moment of panic, envisioning the tsunami wall of water unleashed upon me!

I do seem to have an odd tendency, in these moments of danger, to focus on the most irrational things. Like when I got hit by a car on my scooter in Taiwan and went flying into the oncoming traffic lane – all I could think about was that I absolutely had to gather the beads of my mala bracelet, which had broken and spilled across the road. (I was fine, everything was fine, no one was hurt. Only my poor mala bracelet … )  

This time in my brain freeze, all I could think about was: should I pour my medium back into the bottle or just dump it and run?!? I carefully poured it back in the bottle. Then I hustled across the rocks to safety.

Looking back, that perch in the river was probably not the wisest place to set up. But I did figure out the mystery of the changing water levels. I packed up for the day after that little adrenaline rush and hiked back to my car. As I neared the dam at the trailhead, I saw a worker person putting something in a van and stopped to ask him if they had just done something to the water levels. Yes, indeed – they let out some water to lower the level behind the dam. Did I hear the siren? Up near the dam, it sounds like a siren, but the further away you go, it starts talking to you.

There went my tale of a heroic airlift! I told him I heard something but couldn’t really tell what it was, and then the water had risen dramatically. He gave me a smile that said, "lady – there’s no hope for you."

At least now I know — when I hear the scratchy feedback from a megaphone, it’s time to run.   

The end of Day 1, from a safe distance