March• 2019 | 47READER’S DIGEST
trails made by mountain bikers.
Poitras hadn’t told anyone where
shewasgoing.Shedidn’tthinkshe
needed to – she was planning to be
gone only an hour. She let the dogs
out and began to walk.
SHAKEN FROM HER FALL,Poitras
began searching for her tiny charge.
“Bubba!” she yelled into the trees.
“Bubba!” Bushwhacking through
thebrush,shecontinuedshouting
his name. She was disoriented, her
head was throbbing, and darkness
was starting to fall. Under the thick
canopy of branches, it was hard to
workoutjusthowlateintheafter-
noon it was, and before long she’d
losttrackofwhatdirectionshe’d
initially come from.I’vegottofind
the power line,she thought.It will
givemealandmarktofollow.
She climbed over felled trees and
throughmarshes,branchesand
thorns cutting her legs so badly
they bled. Still no black lines criss-
crossingthesky.Whenitfinally
occurredtoPoitrastoreachintothe
pocket of her raincoat for her phone,
she came up empty – it must have
fallen out after her tumble. In the
throes of what felt like delirium, the
woman began to panic. She wasn’t
prepared to spend a night outside
on the mountain.What am I going to
do?Dwarfed by the tree trunks that
surrounded her, Poitras began to cry.MARCEL POITRASdidn’t know
wherehiswifehadgonewalking,
buthewasn’ttooworriedwhenshe
hadn’t returned by mid-afternoon.
“Hey,how’sitgoing?”hetextedher.
When she didn’t respond, he called,lettingitringuntilhervoicemail
messagekickedin.Shemightbe
dropping off Roxy and Bubba or get-
ting a few groceries, he guessed. But
afteranotherhourpassedandhe
stillhadn’theardfromher,heknew
something was wrong. He jumped
into the couple’s car and drove the
ten minutes to Burke Mountain, one
of the spots she often took the dogs.
Hedidn’tseehervanparkedinthe
carpark,sohedrovetoherfriend
Fran’s house. Nothing. It wasn’t un-
til his headlights swung around the
curveofthehydroaccessroadonEa-
gle Mountain that his heart dropped:POITRAS’S GRATITUDEWAS
TEMPEREDBY THE TASK AT HAND:GETTING OFF THE MOUNTAIN ALIVE