“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” — John Lennon
Ok, picture this: You’re sitting around with friends, sharing appetizers and a bottle of wine. The conversation is easy, stories are flowing, and then someone says, “Tibor, do you have a good story to share?” My wife jumps in and says, “Tell them about how you lost your wallet!”
This is one of my favourite stories to tell when the setting and atmosphere are just right, so I gladly obey the request.
It was late September, maybe early October. My wife had flown to Europe to visit family, and I was home alone. Business had been busy, and I needed a break. So, I decided to take a short hike out at Cascade Falls, about a forty-minute drive from Abbotsford. The weather was perfect: cool, bright, with a bit of sun shining through the trees. I packed my hiking clothes and a change for later, since I had a listing appointment in Maple Ridge at noon. Sunday morning, I left around eight.
Cascade Falls never disappoints, with water tumbling a hundred feet down into a pool surrounded by towering cedars. I hiked up the trail, stopped at my favourite lookout, then made my way up the river to a small island in the middle. You have to hop across a few large boulders to get there, not too difficult, but tricky enough to keep most people away. The rocks block the view from the trail, so once you’re on that island, you feel like the world has disappeared. That’s where I usually sit to meditate.
After about an hour, I headed back to the car, changed into my business clothes, met my client, and was home by mid-afternoon. Everything fine, right?
Until I reached for my wallet to order some dinner.
It wasn’t in my jacket. Not in my pants. Not anywhere in the car. My pulse quickened. I always keep my wallet in the same place. I checked the side pocket of my hiking pants, my jacket, my backpack, and my car again. Nothing! Panic was setting in, so I sat down, took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes, and visualized my movements during the day.
I suddenly saw myself back on the trail. It must have fallen out somewhere up there, and I narrowed it down to two spots. One of them was that island in the middle of the river. I had a couple of hours of daylight left, so I decided to go back. I changed again, grabbed a headlamp and flashlight just in case, and headed out.
When I reached Cascade Falls, the park gate was already closed for the night, so I left the car outside and jogged in. Dusk was falling fast. The forest darkened quicker than I expected. I searched the first spot, the bench-like rock near the hilltop, but found nothing. That meant it had to be on the island. My heart sank. The river below was louder now, swollen from recent rain, the kind of sound that makes you hesitate even before you see the water. Still, I wasn’t giving up.
I hopped from one boulder to the next and made it to the island. I searched every square inch of the approximately 10-square-foot island with my flashlight, but no wallet. With night approaching fast, I decided to go back home and make new decisions. I scrambled over the first few rocks, balancing my flashlight between jumps. The island was maybe fifty feet away from the shore. The water shimmered faintly under the fading light. I took a deep breath and leapt for the next boulder. Too far. My foot slipped; the next thing I knew, the river swallowed me whole.
The cold was a shock that stole my breath. The flashlight vanished. The headlamp came off. I tumbled in the current, arms and legs flailing, every muscle in full panic. I tried grabbing at the boulders as they blurred past, but the current was too strong. Then I remembered: not far ahead was the waterfall, one hundred feet straight down. I kicked and fought, adrenaline doing all the thinking my brain couldn’t. Then my foot brushed gravel, shallow ground! I pushed off with everything I had and reached for a branch sticking out of one of the rocks. My hand closed around it, slippery, half-broken, but I held on. I pulled myself out, shivering uncontrollably, soaked to the bone, sitting in the dark with the river roaring beside me.
Somehow, I made my way back to the trailhead. My phone still worked, thankfully, and the car’s heated seats felt like heaven. I drove home, half laughing, half shaking. “What a rush!” I thought to myself.
Back home, showered and dry at last, I sat at the dining room table. I decided: first thing, cancel the credit cards. I found a statement, and with a pen in my hand, I looked for a piece of paper to write down the credit card details. I picked up a piece of paper on my table and froze.
There it was. My wallet. Right underneath it.
By Tibor
Assisted by AI
