Searching for Benjamin

 Should I, or shouldn’t I? Now, or later? In the end, I decided ‘now’, because of the newspaper article.

Jan. 4, 2020. We woke up to the sound of a helicopter, flying low.

Not unusual; once in awhile, a medivac helicopter thumps overhead on the way to the Civic Hospital a few kilometers away in Ottawa. This was a bit different, though, because it was lower and slower, and the sound didn’t really fade away.  

Sunday morning, predawn murkiness. By the time I made morning tea, first light was beginning to brighten the sky. I heard the helicopter again, close enough that I could feel the thump of the rotor. We live in a heavily wooded neighborhood, but through our front window, I caught a glimpse of it a few hundred yards off, moving very slowly, just above the trees on the edge of the woods one street over.

It was low, very low. It went one way, then the other, hovering a few meters over the tops of the trees. I grabbed some binoculars for a closer look, and saw the insignia of the Sûreté du Québec. Search and rescue practice? Looking for a bad guy? There was a jail a few kilometers away, and maybe someone slipped away during the night. 

If so, I didn’t envy him: it was wasn’t frigid, but it was still -6 C, cold enough.

On-line, I tapped in a simple search term: Gatineau Police. Got a hit right away. It wasn’t an exercise, and they weren’t looking for a fugitive: the previous evening, a 17 year-old with autism had wandered away from home. His name was Benjamin, and the police were scouring the forest that separated his neighbourhood from ours. He was non-verbal, and occasionally prone to wandering, but had always come back, until now.

Through breakfast, my wife and I heard the helicopter working back and forth. And it gnawed at me. ‘The forest’ isn’t huge, but once you’re off the various pathways threading this way and that, you can’t see more than 50 yards in any direction, even in winter with most of the foliage gone. The thing is, I really know those woods, having walked or run through them four or five times a week for years.

I usually do it in the afternoons, when things are a bit warmer. Besides, it was chilly and I was warm. I decided that when I went out later in the day, I would keep an eye out for young Benjamin.

But that would be then. And I remembered something from an article I had read the day before. Under the headline ‘Happiness is doing something you hate’, the article had this line, from George Bernard Shaw: “choose the line of greatest advantage instead of yielding in the direction of the least resistance.”

So why not step up my walk and do it now, instead of later? Keep an eye out for someone who might need help. Not a big deal, but it wasn’t yielding in the direction of the least resistance.

And I know those woods.

Nina the superdog was a bit confused - walking so early? What up, human? But she’s always game, so we geared up and headed out, down the street to the edge of the woods.

A soon as we got into the forest, it was obvious that things were a bit different. There were ATV tracks in the snow: the police had been here, even on this small back path.

A hundred yards later we hit one of the main trails, and almost immediately I ran into a trio of other walkers. Turned out that they were neighbours of the missing teen, and they showed me his picture. They had been looking for him since first light, which made me feel lazy and shiftless and prone to yielding in the direction of the least resistance. I told them I would watch for young Benjamin on some of the little-used back trails.

The first back-trail was easy to miss, especially if you didn’t know was there, and it was far too narrow for an ATV. Nina and I set off down that trail, which meanders in a big loop before hooking back up with one of the larger trails. I stopped occasionally to look around. Everything is stark contrasts, grey and black trees against layers of snow, all in winter dormancy. No breeze at all, which was good, because I was looking for movement. Looked all around, everything absolutely still, not a hint of motion anywhere. I checked a little lean-to along the trail, and looked for footprints, anything different. Nothing, and eventually I came back to a main trail, and turned deeper into the woods.

After awhile, I came to what I knew was one of the three main trails which more or less trisect the forest. They are a few hundred yards apart, and this one had ATV tracks in the snow.

Standing there, I wondered- left or right? But then I realized: both directions were pathways of least resistance.

I had been walking these woods for almost 30 years. A few times, feeling adventurous, I had set off between trails, because there were deer in the woods, and I wanted to see them. The next trail was maybe 250 yards over, but once you’re off the path, it feels like you are in the middle of wilderness. No chance of really getting ‘lost’; as long as you walk in a reasonably straight line, eventually you’ll come out on a trail somewhere.

Nina was watching, waiting for me to decide, left or right.

“Nope”, I actually said to her, and pointed into the woods, perpendicular to those paths of least resistance.

So we set off, Nina excited because everything was new, and the occasional fat squirrel skittered across the snow, foraging for a long winter. A few yards in, the trail was already out of sight, as I knew it would be. We crunched on for awhile, ducking under a fallen tree or two, skirting broken branches. Very quiet, very peaceful. And very empty, except for those squirrels.

After a few minutes I stopped and did a scan, looking around for any movement. Nothing, really, until I saw another searcher who obviously had the same idea, cutting through the woods instead of sticking to the trail. He was twenty or thirty yards over, looking under a fallen tree, and I called out a greeting.

He looked up, then right back down again, doing nothing. And I realized…

Goosebumps, real goosebumps. Maybe… could this be our guy? I wasn’t sure, but I headed toward him, Nina cocking her head as we poked through the snow. When I was close enough, I asked,  “Benjamin?”

He looked up again, and click, it was the face I had seen on the neighbour’s phone.

It was a weird feeling. I had come into the woods to see if I could help, maybe point out a few of the hidden trails to the police, keep an eye open as I walked. But to stumble across him, to realize he’s standing in front of me, doing…

What was he doing? He turned back to the fallen tree and began working it again. It was apparent that he had been methodically brushing the snow off the tree, in discrete little motions. And he had been at it a long time; much of the tree was clear of snow, and it was a big tree.

I looked him over. He didn’t seem like he was on the verge of collapse, or even particularly cold, although he had to have been chilly because he had been out all night, in minus 6 weather. He hadn’t said anything, didn’t appear apprehensive, but I knew one thing: he was going to be safe. Even if he took off when I got closer, I would follow him, and eventually we would wind up one trail or another, closer to rescuers.

But he didn’t take off, he just went back to meticulously cleaning his tree.

Calling 911 is a bit odd, because you only do it when there’s distress involved and someone needs helps. The operator answered in French, not my strong suit, but I plowed ahead. “I think I’ve found the missing kid.”

He immediately switched to English and said, “I’m sorry, 9-1-1. What are you saying.?”

“The autistic kid who’s missing. Benjamin. I think I found him.”

You could hear it in his voice: instant focus. “You found him? Where are you?”

“In the woods between des Grives and Parc Champlain. Not on a trail, in the woods.”

“You’re not on the trail?”

“No, maybe a hundred yards in. Between trails.”

He asked my name, and said “Can you hang on for a moment? Don’t hang up.”

He clinked off for a few seconds, I assumed to notify others, then was right back. “Okay, are you with him now?”

“He’s right in front of me. And it is Benjamin, I’ve seen his picture and he reacted to his name.”

“How does he look? Is he okay?”

“Seems fine. Maybe a bit cold.”

“And you’re not on any trails. Can you see anyone?”

Looked around again. In the middle of wilderness, but not really. “No one. Can’t hear anyone, either.”

He paused to talk to someone, then he was back: “Okay I have your GPS. There are lots of people coming. We have your location, so you can hang up.”

Two minutes later, he called back. “We have the helicopter coming. You’ll hear it soon.”

I knew the sound and fury of the helicopter would be disorienting to Benjamin (probably) and Nina (for sure), so I pulled Nina closer. I also wanted to make sure Benjamin saw her, hoping that it might relax him. He looked at her, then calmly went about his business. I hoped that wouldn’t change when the helicopter arrived.

It was peaceful waiting. I scanned the woods again, no movement, no sound, even though ‘lots of people are coming’. Far off, I heard the thump of a helicopter, and gradually it got louder. Usually they pass far overhead, but of course this one didn’t, and the heavy thump got louder and louder. It flew right over us and kept going, then banked and did a slow circle a couple of hundred yards away, just above the tree tops. Another slow circle, a bit closer. Benjamin looked up briefly, but seemed okay with it. I found a relatively open spot a few yards away, close enough to keep an eye on Benjamin, but now more visible to the helicopter.

When they spotted us, the helicopter slid sideways and hovered maybe 75 feet off the ground, just above the tree tops. It kicked up snow, so I patted the tree near Benjamin and made a show of sitting down. Benjamin nodded and sat next to me to avoid the snow blast. Nina was a bit agitated, and sidled closer. I realized what was happening: the helicopter was hovering over us to give searchers a point of reference.

After four or five minutes, the helicopter started to slide backwards, and that’s when I saw a helmeted police officer working his way through the snow. He saw me, he saw Benjamin, and the relief on his face was obvious. They had been looking for him for hours, in the dark and as the sun rose, possibly expecting the worst. There are creeks in the forest, and in early January they were only covered with a light skim of ice.

By now, three or four other officers were approaching from different directions, all of them wearing the same expression of relief. They were consummate professionals, approaching slowly and talking to Benjamin soothingly, not overwhelming him with their presence. He was shivering, and realized that yes, he was feeling the cold.

They quietly offered to walk him out, and after a few seconds he began to follow, although not before taking a few last swipes at his fallen tree. That’s when I saw how meticulously he had cleaned it off, something that would have taken hours.

One of the officers took a few details from me, the where, when and how, then headed back with Benjamin and the others. I looked at Nina, she looked at me, and one of us grinned. That was cool.

I headed off in the direction I had been going, and a few minutes later hit the main trail, feeling good. You think it, you know it’s a possibility, but then it happens, and it’s a bit surreal. Soon enough, I heard the sounds of engines behind be, coming down the trail. Three ATVs, with Benjamin sitting on one of them. The cops gave me a thumbs up, and headed out of the woods.

I followed, and a few minutes later stepped back into my neighbourhood. That’s when I saw the command post, with a communications trailer and half a dozen Gatineau Police cars. There was also an ambulance, doors open. Benjamin sat inside, rocking slightly, wrapped in a blanket. I was glad that I had taken a different path into the woods: if I had seen all the resources already set up to find Benjamin, maybe I might have shrugged off the search and headed back home.

But then again, I knew the woods, and I had already figured there wouldn’t be any “yielding in the direction of the least resistance.”

Note:

In George Bernard Shaw's Man and Superman, the Devil asks Don Juan why he expends effort to learn about himself and what motivates him. Don Juan replies: "Why, to be able to choose the line of greatest advantage instead of yielding in the direction of the least resistance. And there you have our difference: to be in hell is to drift, to be in heaven is to steer."

 -Tom New