We entered the board room on Monday morning; to find S.O.S spelled out in rocks next to a deflated raft, lying on the conference table. Our colleagues filled the room with lafter as we sat in the vacant seats, relieved to be alive after being stranded on an Alaskan river bank for five days. We were lucky to be alive after losing our raft in the boiling rapids, of the glaciated water flowing from Mount Mckinley. Had hypothermia set in, i would not be writing this and the Grizzlies would have made a meal of us. Each morning when we woke, the massive tracks surrounded our shelter and showed sign that they were there. It wasn't until this trip did I truely understand how my father must have felt fighting a war in the jungles of Vietnam. Every waking moment, knowing they are there, seeing all the signs of them but hearing nothing but the sound of war.