CRUSHED BY TORNADO’S FURY.
Ontario man may never walk normally again
It was the start of their annual duck hunt on White Lake, a warm Friday afternoon of wild winds and alarming skies. And the eight young men did not sense the coming dread — something was hunting them: an EF-1 tornado that, against miraculous odds, bore a narrow path of mayhem right across the uninhabited island where they were just setting up camp. “I mean, what are the odds?” said Ryan Vincent, 25. “It literally crushed all our stuff.” And it literally crushed Ryan Vincent. He is recovering at his mother’s home 15 kilometres from Renfrew, Ont., where he lives in an upper-floor duplex, inaccessible because of his injuries. Of all the souls injured in the Sept. 21 tornadoes that ripped a swath through Eastern Ontario, Vincent likely suffered the most life-altering wounds — he may never walk normally again. Vincent broke the femur in his left leg, shattered his left heel and fractured several bones in his right foot. To this day, he has no feeling below his left shin because of extensive nerve damage, and there is serious doubt as to whether he will ever regain full use of his foot. He hasn’t walked a step in six weeks. A series of tests last week found his left leg was not reacting to electrical stimulus passing through the limb. They will know better in six months, but there is already talk of a permanent brace that will allow him to walk. “I make the best of it, even with everything. Nothing really gets me down.” It is a harrowing story, full of what-ifs. The eight young men, mostly high school buddies, were part of a group of 11 who were gathering for the fall duck hunt, the sixth year in a row. The other five years, said Vincent, they had used a different island on White Lake, one that was barely touched this time. Instead, the first group of eight began setting up at the island. Because rain was in the forecast, a tarp lean-to was first erected and much of the gear went underneath. Close to 4 p.m., with all his gear unloaded, Vincent said, he took a break, sitting in a lawn chair and cracking a beer. Then several cellphones went off with a tornado warning. “We pretty much laughed it off.” Within minutes, the wind tripled in speed, he said, the sky got very black and it began to rain, sending seven of them under the shelter and the eighth in his tent. There were now massive waves on the lake and the crashing of trees began closing in behind them. “When we saw those trees crashing down, we had nowhere to go. We either had to run to the water or toward the falling trees.” Vincent headed toward the lake. “I stopped, turned around and saw a big tree coming at me. I jumped as far as I could toward the water, and that’s where it gets blurry.” He remembers tumbling, not much else. When he gathered himself, he was in a sitting position and his left leg seem to be flapping below the knee. There was pain in his right foot. By then, the worst of the tornado, with winds reaching 175 km/h, was over. He knew immediately his leg was broken — so bad the sharp bone tip nearly ripped through the skin. Another hunter had a bloodied head; another turned his ankle. He was, by far, the worse hit. Within minutes, he was loaded onto a boat headed back to the ramp, the meeting spot for an ambulance and where the other three hunters, including his brother, Eric, had yet to depart. Once at the Civic campus of The Ottawa Hospital, it was hardly business as usual: The power was out and the trauma unit was dealing with multiple injuries, mostly from the Dunrobin area, hit with even higher winds. Because surgery could not be done immediately, doctors put a crossways pin below his knee and fastened a triangular frame. A titanium rod was later inserted, righting the femur. Six days later, he had a second surgery on his left heel. Now the recovery. He credits his employer, Deslaurier Custom Cabinets, for supplying the wood for a ramp quickly constructed at the home of his mother, Barb, and holding out the promise of a future job, whatever his physical challenges might be. And the doctors, nurses, his hunting buddies for getting him out of a bad situation. On the front lawn, visible out the window, sits a little ATV. He plans on tagging along during the deer hunt this week, hopefully able to toodle around a little on the four-wheeler, using his one good foot at a family camp near Griffith. He has hunted, after all, since age 12. He is determined to be walking with crutches this week. “They’ll find a good stump and just drop me off.” Out of the wind, one hopes, by a tree already fallen.