Stroking the silver wings of his father’s green-eye tied nymph, Dalton reminisced about why he had never wanted to fish again after that summer holiday collided with winter tragedy. It wasn’t the pain of remembering while wading out into the river alone. Sure, in the beginning, it might have been that. But after, it was the fly itself; he couldn’t bear to risk losing that last touch with his dad. How his paternal instincts had used it to pick up his boy’s spirits, how he transformed it into something special, how his words rang true in a golden moment, how seeing his son safe he didn’t intervene, how Dalton got to land the Chinook without anyone else helping proved it was the spirit link uniting between.
It was how he stroked it just over six years ago. His senior year had ended; the summer was coming to a close. He had taken his team all the way to win state with his tight end and best friend, Jeff Albright, also from Holy Cross. They were both heading off to full scholarships in the fall; four years before they saw each other again seemed like forever. It was Jeff’s idea, one last blowout in Anchorage followed by a road trip, fishing up the Kenai River, until their beer and gas money ran out. Dalton remembered well what he had said; something about the closest he had been to salmon in years was tuna with mayo on toasted wheat bread. But a longtime friend bringing along his Thai girlfriend, who had a cute Anchorage cousin eager to join them, as inducement, definitely had his sway. Coach was even willing to lend out his plane, even though Jeff was three years away from earning a pilot license. Like farm kids driving tractors and pickups young, he had learned to fly, after turning fourteen, with coach at the controls, guiding him every step of the way.
After skimming the pontoon Cessna along a city outskirts pond, Jeff taxied up to a waiting pier as Mali’s cousin, Winnai, rushed down the hillside cabin steps to greet them. Both girls, slender and petite, blessed with sheened black hair down to their waists that accented flirting big black eyes under bang danced lashes, cuddled and giggled like the Bobbsey twins while Dalton and Jeff smirked, unloading the plane. Winnai was the first to come up for air, pointing at a camper parked on the hill, before disappearing up the steps, holding hands and chatting with her cousin.
About the size of a UPS truck, with a kitchen, shower, and convertible couch, their ride had a full tank of gas and smelt of jasmine but otherwise was scantly supplied – silverware, one frying pan, a salt and pepper shaker. Without even a map to plot or beer to chug, after stowing their gear, Dalton settled for scoping his dad’s 30-odd-6 over the hood, while Jeff sat content, polishing his new 357 Magnum in the driver’s seat, until the girls finally showed up, still cuddling and giggling, almost an hour later.
“Expecting trouble?” Mali asked, giving her cousin a playful nudge, as Dalton turned around, and Jeff bounced down the steps to join in.
“Boys and their toys,” Winnai nudged back.
Jeff’s eyed narrowed as he poked Dalton about to have some fun. “Ever see what a brown bear can do? One swipe and there goes your head.”
“Well, if I see one coming, I’ll just have to put my head between my legs,” she said, giving him a playful look.
Jeff stared at Dalton who could only shrug.
“To kiss my ass goodbye…,” she suggested.
Jeff rolled his eyes, wetting his lips. “Yeah, you could do that, but I’d rather you just lie down and play dead. He might poke you a couple of times, but then after that, he’d just get bored and leave you alone.”
“That would never work,” she protested.
“Why not?” he sighed.
“I’m ticklish.”
“What would you do, Winnai?" Dalton interrupted, anxious to break the ice.
For the first time she took a good long look at him, then blushed. “Out there on bush safari, you boys had better not leave our side, not even for a minute. Around here, I chase the black ones out of the garbage cans with a baseball bat.”
“No shit.” Dalton nodded.
“No shit.” She smiled.
Mali poked Jeff whispering something in her ear.
Next stop an all-night supermarket.
"I figure our best bet is to skip the crowds at Ship Creek and head straight on down Cook's Inlet until we meet up with the Kenai River," Jeff said through the rearview mirror of the driver’s seat, taking one last look at a road map, as Mali lit him another cigarette. “The coast highway bordered by marshland could get us there in just over two hours. But, better to waste an hour, going cross country, and take in the scenic route with places to pull over and creeks to fish. Or not, says here, locals still use them to prospect for gold.” Dalton grunted from the camper couch lost in Winnai’s pooled black eyes as she cuddled up closer and whispered something about cleaning smelly fish and getting her nails dirty.
Dalton held them up to his lips, sensing she missed her family as much as he did his. A star quarterback’s football career meant no lack of love-struck girls, but this one, the way she talked, there was so much more to her. She had been plucked from her village when only ten, sold so that the rest of her family would have enough to eat that month. Three sisters and four brothers, a loving mother and a drunken father, a shack on the river, a cow and a dog, two best friends to run barefoot, picking flowers and berries in the forest, six gold stars on a classroom wall, never again would she be that young. Just that slobbering old man, with an invalid, deformed, and retarded son, who wanted her properly Swiss educated before a widely-acclaimed arranged wedding, he spared her from a life of humiliation but made one unaccounted for timely mistake. Her green-card cousin was already in the states and plotted well her eventual escape.
She had teared up; there was no way back; only one crumbled picture was left of a life once cherished. In that moment, Dalton knew, their lives were tied together. Their pain festered one and the same. Somehow, some way, he would make her longed for dream come true and in turn give his loss meaning. Her family reunited was as close as he could get, besides Kate, to having again one of his own.
Screeeech…..”Son of a bitch, check this out.” Jeff was more surprised than pissed. “Look at that big fucker.” The camper bounced, getting butted from behind. “Assholes!” He was armed with a middle finger, craning out the window. “Kiss my ass, you jerk. What are you a New York mother fucker? You better have insurance asshole.” Mali pulled him back. “What? Where’s my gun? One in the butt will move that sucker.”
Mali grabbed him at the door. “Don’t you dare.”
Dalton yawned. “Now what?”
Winnai snuggled. “Are we there yet?”
By the time they all bounced out of the camper, Jeff, gun in hand, ready for a bit of target practice, an Alaskan traffic jam had formed, all of six cars with trailers back. The spastic gyrating cow was the biggest one Dalton had ever seen and her antics proved funnier than hell. With a confused calf in tow bobbing and weaving, the twelve foot moose crouched, pawing the pavement, then rolled over and scratched in frustration, before trying as if to write her name all over again. Winnai pointed; there in its left front hoof was lodged a protruding stick. Jeff gripped the revolver with both hands and took careful aim. Mali grabbed his arm. “No, you might miss and hit her baby.”
“Son, if I were you, I’d do what your cute girlfriend says and put that damn gun away before you hurt yourself,” a grunting voice suggested as heavy boots closed in from behind. It was the guy built like a lumberjack, who had just rear ended him, armed with a scoped rifle.
“No way, you with that cannon can shove it up your… yes sir, ranger sir… about what I said before…”
“Forget it. You were right. I grew up a bad-ass Brooklyn mother fucker; how did you guess? We’ve been trying to catch up with this old girl all week. She’s been stampeding through campsites, raging bloody hell; time for her and her calf to take a short nap so forest services can yank that splinter out, and I can get a decent night’s sleep.”
“Can I do the honors?” Jeff asked, taking a second to look back around from the front of the camper. “Come on, no one will be the wiser. Hell, they all saw the uniform with a gun and know it’s safer just to stay put.”
The ranger looked at Dalton yawning with his arm around Winnai as Mali pleaded with folded hands like she would never hear the end of it if he didn’t. “We’re going to forget about the insurance claim?”
Jeff nodded, hell it wasn’t his truck.
The ranger pulled out two darts and handed Jeff the rifle. “The mother first, make sure they’re both flank shots.”
The dart gun swished like a blow gun.
The mother dropped to her knees. The calf went to sniff. The ranger’s radio crackled. The crew was enroute, ETA ten minutes. “The calf, boy, drop her.”
“Can’t get a flank shot.”
Mali picked up a rock and threw it.
The calf startled.
Jeff dropped it.
Taking back the rifle, the ranger checked the chamber and rubbed his bearded chin. “Any older sisters?”
Jeff cleared his throat and cupped a hand, looking around, before whispering in his ear. “Widowed moms are cute, definitely.”
He rolled his eyes and walked away. “You kids take care now…”
By the time their camper pulled in and parked on a Kenai campsite, it wasn’t so much Jeff’s interpretation of the previous encounter replayed over and over, mutating into a rabid charging stag, as it was, after spraying on mosquito repellant, kamikaze swarms still determined to snort up a nose that annoyed to distraction. Winnai, pinching hers, brought over Dalton’s aluminum tube and leather satchel, looping his arm, while he assessed a flood of wading anglers.
“There’s one thing you never told me…” Momentarily distracted from the activity under the overhanging bank, she looked back at Mali trying to get Jeff’s mind on something else. But getting tangled up in the picnic table tarp didn’t seem to be having the desired effect.
“What’s that?” he asked, sniffing her hair.
“Thousand Island or Italian dressing?”
“You want to come along?”
“We both know this is something you have to do on your own.”
Dalton nodded, stroking her cheek. The way she had left herself unguarded and opened up so freely, exposing her vulnerability, had put him at ease, drawing out feelings never before shared with anyone else. Not even with Aunt Kate had the subject ever been approached. Just how she cradled that crumbled picture of her family, as if it was her last hold on their memory, broke down his defenses. He wanted her to know that he understood; how he too coped with loss. Showing her his father’s fly, he found himself not wanting to stop until every repressed emotion had had an airing. She was the first to see that side of him. She was the first girl to ever get that close. It was the bond that pulled them together right from the start.
“Well, come on.” She pushed him. “I’m hungry.”
Dalton was halfway across a single-plank rope footbridge swinging precariously in the wind, thirty feet over the raging river, before glancing back at hands folded to pink-glossed lips with a fidgety finger tapping her Cartier watch. ThousandIsland he mouthed and then walked on. The opposite bank was crowded and noisy with a buxom ranger trying to break up a fight. She was just about to call for backup when he headed into the forest. An old trail, he leaned down to smell the droppings. It headed up into the hills away from the river roaring. Twenty minutes must have passed by before, a stone’s throw across, swirling pools and dancing rapids invited him to sit and enjoy their solitude. Not daring to hint of a destined reckoning, they waited, hoping their allure would be his awakening.
But that day was yet to come. Rows of tail and dorsal fins massaging the current meant only one thing. Corralled just out of sight, spawning salmon waited their turn to vault the tributary steps far upstream until nearing exhaustion they released their burden with a dying breath. No longer was there the pang of hunger. All that drove them was their pilgrimage bliss. Their gaping mantra, as if mumbling the last rights, left one last chance for a Hail Mary snag. There was no need for bait, but the hook had to be weighted just right to drift at depth, leaving that cherished memento of his father no longer at risk.
When Dalton’s cruel snare bounced off the bottom in perfect sync, she was out of breath, frenzied waiting her turn in this swelled bottleneck, with a bulging belly of roe tickling the sandy bed, relieved her long journey from exploring northern seas was almost over. Its jarring death-grip sting yanked her from a swirl of memories, thinking about all the places she had been and marvels only she had seen. All the grand oceans she had swum; all the mighty yachts shadowed; the daring escape from a Japanese fishing troller when its net broke in a storm. She had seen the Aurora Borealis lights. She had seen the glaciers. She had seen the blue ice of the icebergs and smelt the sulphur from the Saint Helena volcano. In five years, she had witnessed nature in all her splendor. And now she was on her final journey. This was what her life had been all about. Everything had been leading up to this moment. This was her grand quest. It was what she was destined to do. How could dark forces, when she was so close, try to steal away her life's purpose, corrupting her pilgrimage by tricking her into waging this one last nightmarish fight? Didn't fate know how tired she was, needing to save all her strength for that one last important thing she had left to do?
She resisted with the determination of a leashed Great Dane scenting a female in heat when Dalton reared back, setting the hook, before shooting off downstream at a blistering pace. Whipped bamboo bent over on command almost down to the grip, straining not to shatter, as its vibrating tip slapped his knuckles raw. Spinning dizzy, the take-up knob drummed his thumb while a frantic reel screamed, singed of line. A minefield of underwater potholes and branches demanded homage, bringing him to his knees, as rapids slapped sideways. Beavers were either diving off logs to fish or rolling off laughing. Blue jays mocked; he knew whose side they were on. Even the mosquitos seemed more encouraged to torment his downfall. There was no way to keep up except to head for shore and pray for a break. Running in two feet of water was a one-sided potato sack race.
But the bank was a ready-made gauntlet, all its own, as Dalton soon found out, getting dragged almost a quarter of a mile through that witch’s enchanted spell, facing every demon she could throw back at him, before he had a chance to stop and catch his breath. Was the ordeal over? She had rolled over on her side with gills slowing and mouth gasping. Her tail, barely flapping, was wrapped in his line. Backtracking, she had tangled herself. Without even bothering to reel up the slack, he sat down on the sand, feet away from her chest-high expanse, nursing his split lip, thanks to a low-hanging branch willed in his way. A breeze pick up. He gulped it deep. Mountain air felt like peppermint. No longer under a tree canopy, sunny side up, a golden yolk dressed a cloud white, signaling time to head back with a Thousand Island breakfast.
His bewitched prisoner had other ideas, least of which was being on the menu sautéed in pepper and lime without first having fulfilled her longed for destiny. As soon as Dalton untangled her tail and grabbed her by the gills, seeing him off balance, she made one last attempt to dunk and drown him. But his grip was tight and he rolled over holding fast. Coughing and choking, he dragged her up onto the beach, still wondering how she almost got the best of him. So close to nature, it almost felt disrespectful to treat her that way. Her black spotted, silver with red overtones coat could have been a runway design by Versace, a haunting thought, as if he had just fought and overpowered a wilderness princess. If not for Winnai being so sincere and supportive, trying to sympathize with his lingering apprehension, he might have released his trophy and mouthed the split lip as winning on points. Eskimo lore was never a faraway echo, not since his father’s advice.
Besides catering to his insecurities though, there had been something else, her playful side; sweet and sour or spicy and hot, the connotation of which always left him guessing. Maybe now he’d get a hint. Edging up to the cutting board with Japanese kids looking for yummy raw free handouts of roe in the best open-air Tokyo restaurant this side of Ginza, Dalton laid out his catch, slitting open their desire, as Winnai strolled up.
“Rough night?” she asked, squinting to dab his lip.
“Split decision,” he said, wincing a bit.
“Did you…?”
“Not yet. It’ll take a trip inland for trout to resolve that. Anyway, what did you have in mind? Sweet and sour or spicy and hot?”
She fingered the fish, curling her nose.
Dalton rolled his eyes.
“Really, I’m a great cook, just ask Mali. But, yuck, cleaning them. The way they look back at you and their guts oozing through your fingers.” She shivered as her hand went to her lips about to gag.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Where the hell is Jeff? I’m going to grab a nap.” He slammed his knife into the table. “Piss ant, he can dress it for you. In the meantime, care to join me?”
“Sweet and sour, spicy and hot, first your catch.”
Dalton smiled. He could live with that.
Barely an hour later…
“Hey Dalton, are you in here? What’s this I hear about some knee-high bitch kicking your ass?” Jeff opened the shades and banged on their only frying pan, after swinging wide the door, yelling back to Mali, something about he couldn’t find his lighter. “Yooh, wake up bro. I caught two more. The grill is sizzling. Winnai and Mali are cooking. And the beer is chilling.”
Dalton rolled over, squinting and scratching, and rolled back again, muffling, “Fuck off.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it, I’m not going to tell you what I heard Winnai tell Mali when they didn’t know I was listening.”
Dalton’s eyes wedged open.
Jeff sat down, leaning in close. “She thinks you’re gay.”
“What?” Dalton rolled over, bouncing Jeff onto the floor, laughing hysterically.
“Okay girls, he’s up.”
“Asshole.”
That bit of slanderous hazing led to an afternoon round of light-hearted ribbing and three coolers loaded with an impressive catch. But when Winnai discovered their fender bender had punctured the water tank, so she couldn’t take a shower after, all hell broke loose with Mali joining in to double team Jeff. There was no way either of them would agree to stripping down and jumping in the river; even this late in summer, the water remained cold as ice. They weren’t going to settle for anything less than Anchorage and a hot bath that night.
Maybe Jeff was used to it, the way he stood there and took it, not bothering to defend himself. But Dalton had never before seen an Asian girl lose her temper. The surreal scene reminded him of a kitten purring in his lap, before suddenly jumping up and trying to scratch his eyes out. He had the gear loaded, the camper started, and was heading out to the highway by the time they cooled down enough to notice. At least that maneuver gave his buddy a moment’s reprieve; even if now, only Mali was left, fussing with him.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Winnai said, glaring back at Jeff, as she hopped into the passenger seat.
Dalton nodded. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“It’s just so stupid. I know the accident wasn’t his fault. But he was so excited about playing Davy Crockett, he didn’t even check for damage or get a number. My uncle is not going to be happy about that.”
“So, we don’t tell him. I checked out the damage while you guys were brawling. It’s just a split seam. Ten bucks and ten minutes for a spot weld when we get back to Anchorage and it will look as good as new. Jeff will be happy to fork that up if it gets you off his back.” Dalton flipped on his turn signal about to pull into a trading post parking lot.
“Why are we stopping?”
“I’m starving.”
“But we have so much fish…” She caught herself as soon as she said it. “Oh yeah, but they’re not clean and we’re out of water.”
“They taste better after fresh-smoked and seal-packed anyway. Even if we had water, without any more coolers, that was our limit.”
“And it wasn’t brawling; I didn’t even scratch him,” she added with an elfish grin. The same grin she was giving him over burgers, fries, and shakes while he and Jeff explored post brochures, looking for new ways to risk never being heard from again.
“Here we go. Check this out. Rainbow trout fishing immersed in the wonders of the virgin outback… brown bears, moose, caribou, wolves, wolverines, waterfowl, and game birds… nature's skyscrapers and mysterious curiosities… balding mountain-top tundras above the tree line left to spawn life-nourishing rivers threading bloated with trophies through blankets of animal-rich forests… ice-blue glaciers, her stealth army moving in slow motion, announcing their arrival with a thundering crash into the ocean… tight-lipped extinct volcanoes, an ominous reminder of her violent past… lakes pregnant with northern pike dot the landscape… hills roll in a take your pick variety of berries… blah, blah, blah… completing her canvas, enticing you with her siren call… three days in a survival raft, paddling down a rapid-filled river, from a bush plane drop-off. Hey, no problem, I could fly in there and set down on this pond,” Jeff said, tracing the map.
“So tell me genius; if we’re doing this together, who is going to come pick us up when we reach the lake? Do you have a drone joystick, I don’t know about?” Dalton rolled his eyes, reaching under the table for Winnai’s hand already rubbing his leg.
“My Uncle Vit can fly you both in with us along for the ride. That is if a certain ruptured water tank is fixed in time as good as new,” she said, glaring at Jeff, who ignored her, getting up to stretch, before coming around the table to paw at Dalton.
“Jeff, what the fuck?”
“You, bwana boy. Me great white hunter. Must check teeth and muscles before safari. Make sure you biggest buck in village. Your woman, she can cook? Too ugly for anything else. Ten cents a day. You carry bags. Good pay. Big bonus if she washes my clothes. Maybe I bring other woman. She not eat much. Strong as bull.”
And with that, he was off the hook.
But off the hook didn’t mean kicking a habit. As soon as they were airborne the next day, Dalton noticed his friend was nervously fidgeting with his pocket while Winnai sat sidesaddle on her cousin’s lap up front, both kidding around, trying to make her uncle laugh.
“How many do you have left?”
“Half a pack.”
“Did you clean up on the pool table last night?”
“About fifty bucks.”
“Forgot, didn’t you?”
“Dalton, don’t bust my balls.”
“How much of that payout would an extra pack be worth now? No, you still have a few left. Better to wait until you’re down to your last one, wondering how long you can hold out, before I ask that question again.”
Jeff was still too hung over from doing tequila shots with Vit the night before, while the girls took their time, taking a bath, to get into a pissing contest. Time out to arrange a camper fix, drop off the fish for processing, swim clean in Winnai’s pond, and gulp Chinese takeout sobered him up a bit after, but playing pool for beers, when not for cash, had taken its toll. Luckily, Dalton had just been dancing all night. Six bars later, Jeff passed out on the convertible couch where he woke up with a screaming headache nursed by Mali offering coffee and aspirin. The remedy barely dragged him out of bed, staggering. But when that Marlboro pack flopped into his lap, he erupted with an adrenaline-charged hug.
“Get off me you dumb shit.”
Mali and Winnai jerked around.
The plane rolled a bit with a high pitched whine.
Winnai’s uncle cursed in a guttural growl.
Jeff fluttered puppy dog eyes back at them, pursing his lips. “Sorry girls, but this hunk is all mine. I’ll never give him up.”
Dalton pushed him aside, straightening out the wrinkles on his red flannel shirt. “Piss off, you nicotine psychopath; who said I did it for you? The last thing I need is to be stuck for three days with a whiny PMS bitch moaning and groaning and driving me up a wall. You’re enough of a pain in the ass to put up with as is without putting me through a withdrawal rant.”
With a hand on his friend’s shoulder, Jeff, in a low voice, replied, “Anytime, anywhere bro, I have your back.”
Winnai’s smile lingered. It was as if Dalton felt a tinge of family.
But that tinge of feeling barely registered compared to the pulse of excitement building as Vit circled to make his final approach. After over an hour cooped up with gear cramping every muscle, just the prospect of skimming across the pond to get a chance to stretch his legs had Dalton’s heart racing.
“You kids hold on; there’s a bit of a crosswind picking up. Jeff, for your sake, I hope Mali didn’t feed you breakfast.” Vit coasted in with the wings rocking and slapped the water like a skipping stone, before edging up to the muddy bank, throttling down. Leaning back over the seat, “You boys see this lily-pad mud puddle we just touched down on? Some of the best northern pike fishing you’ll find in Alaska. I figure I’ll take a break before heading back. No sense in rushing off before you’ve had a chance to blow up the raft and test for leaks. It’s been sitting in the garage all winter and no telling what critters have been nibbling on it. So spend some time with the girls and wake me up in an hour. You can all take turns between fishing and blowing.”
As Jeff followed Vit out, balancing onto a pontoon, Dalton unstrapped the raft to pass out first. “You sure there are fish in this place? It looks like storm drain off that will probably dry up in a week.”
“Want a stick of gum?” Jeff nodded, watching Vit unwrap and eat his last piece before rolling up the wrapper into an aluminum foil ball. “Watch, eco-friendly.” It had barely hit the surface before the water erupted in a sharklike frenzied attack. “What do you think, three, maybe four pounds?”
“How… How did you know?”
“Son, I’ve been taking bush tours up here for the past sixteen years. See that hill over there covered in red berries? Those are called currants and brown bears love them. That’s your three mile walk to the river. I suggest when you get the raft blown up, load all your gear with guns on top. Pull it like a sleigh and be ready for anything. Not that there will be a problem, but it’s better just to play it safe all the same.”
Jeff was still taking it all in after Vit held up a brown paper bag, hopped to the shore, and strolled over to lie in the knee-high grass. Seeing the pudgy, greying squirt smirk back, he had to ask. “Anything else I should know about?”
Vit propped up on his elbows with a contemplative gaze. “Except that you can’t drink tequila worth shit and dress like an L.L.Bean wannabee…can’t think of a thing.”
Dalton pushed out the raft as he pulled Jeff back in. The girls took over, tickling. “Okay, okay, enough, I’m gonna puke.”
“Mali, you believe him?”
“Winnai grinned back at Dalton. “I don’t.”
“Suit yourself.” Dalton crawled out over the impromptu roughhouse grapple and was sitting on the bank, sorting tackle, before Jeff managed to break away. From the look on his friend’s face all distorted with his hair tousled, he was sure the girls had gotten their way. “You want to blow first or sort the rest of this out?”
Jeff looked back at Mali and Winnai grinning about to sit down and fill her uncle in. “What’s with those two? How come they didn’t go after you?”
“I suggested they be the first to fish but assured them you’d take some convincing; just a bit of bwana boy payback to give the great white hunter a ritual village sendoff. Ugly… strong as bull… serves you right.”
“Kiss my ass Kimosabi. You can have first dips, giving the damn raft a blow job; time to tame the old west with a bit of target practice.” Jeff mouthed but hesitated to light his first cigarette, before walking away with the muddy bank sucking at his boots “I’ll unload the rest of the gear; have to sort through it all first to find my shells anyway.”
Dalton called back to the rising plume of smoke. “Check out the 30-odd-6; shells are in the side zipper.”
“Got it.”
Before Jeff could sort and figure out what he wanted to shoot at, breaking the still with a thundering crack, the girls had caught and released more than twenty pike, given up, and helped Dalton finish, blowing up the raft. With the gear already loaded, they were sitting with Vit, sharing M&M’s and Coke, when, rubbing his shoulder, he finally showed up.
“Damn your old man’s gun has a kick. The way it snapped a branch off a tree, you’d think it was an RPG. This 357 Magnum is bitchin’ too. Damn near knocked myself out with the recoil until I got used to it.”
“Now you know why I let you do the test firing. But don’t think for a minute a sore shoulder is going to get you out of paddling. It’s going to take both of us to manage the river, especially after the horror stories I’ve been hearing from Vit.”
Mali coaxed Jeff over for a sympathetic massage while Vit stretched, checking his watch. Dalton and Winnai cuddled up close. “Well, I guess there’s time enough for one more, before heading back with the girls. Those cumulus clouds are just starting to stack up, so it will be a while yet until there’s any cause for concern about knifing through any sudden downpour.” Vit stroked his stubble, recalling the details. “They were two overweight, middle-aged lawyers from Trenton, New Jersey. Damn arrogant bastards, they spent the whole flight over bragging and boasting, as if any advice from me came out of a comic book series. The only joke was the price tags still attached to their packs; that’s how I knew not to believe a word they said. Boy Scouts, they had more beer than gear and pop guns more suited for rabbit hunting. Who goes hiking in brand new boots, wearing only silk socks? They even left their mobile phones at the hotel, saying to bring them along would have ruined the wilderness experience; must have thought GPS stood for ‘Grandiose Prosecutor Status’. Three days later, after repeated attempts, flying low upriver, I couldn’t find hide or hair of them, so had no other recourse except to hand the matter over to search and rescue. Two weeks later, I got a lawsuit in the mail. Turns out, drunk, they flipped the raft, which, of course, got away from them carried by the current. Groping around barefoot and blistered with bloodshot eyes in tattered rags, they staggered out onto a sandbar and hitched a ride with one of the locals sometime after, not even bothering to let search and rescue know their whereabouts. Damn boys had quite a scare. I figured they gave up once they discovered there was no toilet paper. The medical charges in the alleged lawsuit laid it all out. Extensive anal rashing… infected heel and toe blistering… gastric dysentery complications from water parasites of unknown origin… chiropractor therapy… torn ligaments… neck whiplash… post-traumatic stress disorder counseling… you get the picture. Talk about running for their lives, those morons never got more than ten minutes rest.”
“So what happened with the lawsuit?” Jeff asked as Mali frowned, stopping her massage to inspect a chipped nail.
“They should have just licked their wounds and swallowed their pride. Not only did the case get laughed out of court, search and rescue presented them with a bill and, on top of that, a fine for trying to skip out.” Vit stumbled as he went to stand up. His left leg had fallen asleep. “Well, I’ll leave you kids to it while I get the plane turned around. Ten minutes girls, that’s it, and then we’re out of here.”
Minutes after their rushed goodbye, just time enough for a hug and a kiss, Vit was circling low overhead, rocking his wings three times as a reminder; he would be back in as many days to pick them up, thirty miles downstream, where the river emptied into a sprawling lake. Barely out of sight, Dalton and Jeff inspected the rutted path, a foot wide and six inches deep, flanked by an overgrowth of red briar berries, brown bear M&Ms. Like a couple of Geisha girls who had their feet bound since birth, taking stunted steps in high-heeled clogs, they quacked along with the raft over their heads until Jeff tripped, sending it off the path in an abandoned surfboard skid. His mock folded hands and brandished buck teeth, bowing repeatedly “so sorry… so sorry”, just added fuel they should pull it instead.
Then the eighty-foot river embankment with a ski-slalom pitch, neither of them had realized, they had signed up for white water rafting. One misstep meant no gear or choice but a long dangerous hungry walk through bear-infested forests, hinting of an undesirable lawyer-reminded outcome. Each gripping a side, they slowly edged down to the water. But Jeff dangling his feet over the bow with the raft spring-loaded on the bank as Dalton held it back, trying to balance the gear, wasn’t a confidence booster. One good bump and over the side, he would reach the ocean before being able to paddle ashore and turn around to rescue his friend.
Barely off down the river, dodging around boulders, ducking under branches, and cowering to spray, “Shit Jeff, what is that smell?”
“Smells like you before I pushed you into Winnai’s pond,” he laughed, trying in vain to light a cigarette.
“Trust me bro. Holding on for dear life, we both knew who needed that bath the most. It was the least I could do for Mali before she passed out from trying to hold her breath.”
“Dalton, there on the bank.”
“Holy shit, I’ve never seen one that big.”
The golden colored grizzly, now just a mound of curled up fur, had come down to the river for one final soothing drink before death’s pending grip. Filled with a lullaby churning in the current, she took in the sweet scent of roe one last time. The tundra-topped mountains where she had been born looked down, reminding her, she was once a three-cub runt. How her mother had taught them to scale the falls for the sweet nectared taste of vaulting salmon was her fondest memory. She had been the first, sharing it proudly with her sisters. The catch was everyone’s prize. Hunting for berries together, they discovered a fallen tree trunk filled with a honey pot. She could still taste the gooey dessert sticky in her paws. Then the hunters came and she was all alone, running for her life. She longed for her cubs, gone, grown up and on their own. Scratching her nails on bark, she missed the most. Her last berry she sucked and then succumbed.
Dalton was still imagining her noble life when Jeff broke the meditative silence an hour downstream. “Earth to Dalton, there’s a creek up ahead. What do you say we set up camp for the night? We can catch grayling for dinner and then get an early start.”
He nodded; his arms too were sore.
The grayling, in only ankle-deep running water, proved to be just as hungry, plentiful, and easy to catch as the northern pike that had worn out Mali and Winnai hours earlier. Mixed with generous helpings of reconstituted mashed potatoes and teriyaki sauce Jeff had pocketed from Chinese takeout, the lightly grilled fish fillets lulled a soundly sleep. Hugging a security blanket of guns, there were no worries, just visions of grandeur about the next day’s adventure. Sore as their muscles were, there was no greater motivation to carry on than imaginative previews of coming attractions. But during the night, their dreams got a bit too real.
“Jeff? Wake up. Did you hear that?”
“Third and two, hit me flank out on the three,” he mumbled.
“Jeff? Forty-seven hut.”
“That bitch cheerleader… can’t be mine; I used a condom.”
“Mali, what are you doing here?”
“What?”
“Jeff, are you with me yet?”
He scratched and yawned. “What the fuck?”
“So you did sleep with her.”
“Who?”
“Never mind, check this out.”
Gun ready, Jeff took a peek through the barely lowered zipper, but didn’t expect to see a spotted owl fighting with chipmunks over leftover fish. Someone was going to have to tell National Geographic to print a retraction. “Aren’t owls supposed to eat chipmunks?”
“Maybe this one just has a fetish for grilled salmon teriyaki steak and onion-garlic mashed potatoes. Amazing…”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s amazing anything would fight over what you cook.”
Before Jeff could come up with a witty retort, a looming shadow shuttered their igloo-size tent with a growling scratch, sending the now hysterical owl screeching for a treetop, while chipmunks chirped and scattered in every direction. Dishes got kicked up in a clattering barrage. Their raft moaned with a pounding thud. He loaded his pocket with shells and handed Dalton his knife to split a back door out of the tent. “In case we get separated, meet back here in an hour. There’s no way I’m going to hang around and die in defense of our garbage.”
“You told me you were going to bury that shit,” Dalton whispered, slipping shells into the 30-odd-6 chamber.
“So shoot me. I was planning to do it before we left. The damn mosquitos were driving me crazy and I figured the fire would keep the scavengers away.”
“Don’t tempt me. But anyway, remember what you told Mali about playing dead? If we run there’s no telling what that bruiser will do. At least from here, we’ve both got a clear shot. Just be still and quit talking. Give it a chance to get bored and move on.” Dalton was just getting into a secure seated position with the muzzle trained through the near-downed zipper for a head shot when Jeff, as usual, couldn’t help himself. “Now what are you looking for?”
“My phone.”
“Calling in an air strike? There’s no reception out here.”
“Video… If we make it out in one piece, this will look great on You Tube. Something to show off to the girls, you know?”
“Mali was right about you… Davy Crockett, my ass.”
The grizzly growled and nuzzled until a lick of sweet teriyaki set it back on its haunches, exploring the plastic-sealed garbage, as if nibbling a bag of chips. The owl screamed in protest, diving down, as chipmunks nosed out to watch, with Jeff and Dalton still wondering if they were next on the menu. Talons out right into the bear’s back, she screamed obscenities before retreating to her loft. No way was she going to give into a neighborhood thug. Two, then three sorties more riled him enough to take out his frustration on her treetop launch. But when it didn’t budge, and the owl didn’t relent, he howled and disappeared back into the forest.
Dalton and Jeff just stared at each other for a moment frozen.
“Did you get all that?’
Jeff nodded, pressing replay. “This is golden. I’m going to get an Emmy, definitely.”
“Up for an early start?”
“You pull up camp; I’ll take care of the garbage.”
Dalton grabbed Jeff’s arm as he was about to crawl out of the tent. “Leave it. I think this one time that old girl deserves our thanks.”
Only they weren’t about to get away unscathed, as the reality of their situation made all too clear moments later.
“Dalton, come here quick. We’ve got a problem.”
He never would have guessed what was instore, walking down a wooded embankment to the creek bed, tucked out of sight, minutes from camp. Their six-man raft was as flat as a pancake swirled up from its anchor rope lodged in a tree. That moody grizzly didn’t appreciate getting chased away empty-handed and had settled for a bit of anger management therapy.
“Think we can patch it?”
“The kit was made to fix punctures not gashes. Roll the damn thing up. We’ll take it with us. Maybe Vit can still salvage what’s left.” Dalton sighed, fingering the three parallel rips. One swat was all it took. “How far do you think we made it downriver?”
“Vit said the end of the rapids was the halfway mark. We paddled maybe another three miles after that before the creek. I’d say we’re in for a twelve mile walk.”
“How are you doing on smokes?”
“Dalton, this is a hell of a time to be asking me about smokes.”
“How many left, Jeff?”
He thumbed his pocket. “Six.”
“I was going to save these until you were crawling up the walls. But now that our situation has changed, better to give them to you now so your mind is only on getting out of here.” Dalton reached in his pocket and threw Jeff his last reserve pack. “And don’t get any ideas about giving me another hug or I’ll finish off what that damn grizzly started.”
“No hugs, I promise. Just help me get this raft out of the tree so we can get moving. No telling if and when that bear might come back.”
Figuring it was safer to remain as flexible as possible, Dalton shouldered his rifle and Jeff holstered his revolver, after loading their gear unto a stretcher they could take turns pulling through the pine-bed forest. They made good time, just stopping twice for canned sardines and peanut butter crackers, before, after a full day of hiking, coming across a tributary sandbar that put the river at their backs and provided ample room for a front door firewall.
Jeff had just finished framing logs around the tent to secure the pegs in the sand when Dalton dropped a pile of firewood and rushed over, tearing at his pack in between pointing upstream. But not until he reached for his aluminum tube did Jeff holster his revolver and bother to look, getting his first glimpse at a rainbow trophy jump. Dalton could only smirk with a plastic fly box in his mouth, trying to get into his waders and put his pole together all at the same time. With the reel still unattached, he was already in the water, stringing the leader to attach a nondescript wisp. Jeff nodded; he too knew what was at stake. He’d overheard the girls talking. This was for Dalton a defining moment. One only Winnai could have encouraged, privy to the truth.
With seven flies in that case, Dalton could work up to facing his past. As the stream narrowed his trophy ignored every one, every perfect cast. It was as if she was toying with him. Only when he was ready to put it all on the line would she gamble with her own life. If he wanted to move on with his own, this was what she demanded in kind. It was nature’s way, how ancestors cloaked themselves in memory, using the purity of wilderness simplicity to teach and guide. Just trust enough to let go. She had only jumped to reveal her purpose. Now his was the next step to be free at last.
Dalton emptied the case into the lazy current, watching all the flies float away, save the one still in his grasp. He hadn’t noticed before, but the green eyes were the same color as his mom’s, a shade darker than his sister Rachael’s. The barb drew blood easily still sharp. His father goggled like a meticulous jeweler had worked at his bench to sharpen and angle the hook so it set just right, before weaving the magic of a wilderness cloak. That day on the river, when they were all together, was wrapped up in a fading memory. This was all he had to remind him of one last magical summer still haunting his dreams.
Looping the eye with his father’s favorite knot, he bit off the extra line, drew a deep breath, and before it hit the pool twenty yards away between overhanging branches, the water exploded. The rod strained. The reel sang. He let her run, dancing on her tail as if she was having fun. For a full ten minutes they twisted and turned in a waltzing tug-of-war until she tired, wanting to sit the next one out. He obliged, letting her catch her breath between his fingers, before watching her flap off in a smooth running glide. Her release was also his own; so many bent up feelings finally let go laid to rest.
Jeff understood, but still would have preferred not to get stuck with eating more sardines and stale crackers. Not running out of cigarettes was poor consolation. At least the rest of the trip was uneventful and they made it down to the lake on time with the bush plane and anxious girls waiting. They had conquered the wilderness with nary firing a shot and had a great escape story to tell. How they nearly ended up as freshly filleted tenderloin in Yogi's late night picnic basket but for the heroics of a teriyaki crazed owl.
After six years of waging a more deadly encounter overseas, as if another summer holiday had collided with winter tragedy, Dalton’s fond memories surrounded by friends – Jeff, Mali, Winnai, even Vit – were still never far from his thoughts. He wondered what had become of them, what they were up to now, and if there was a chance to pick up the pieces to start over again from where they left off.
At her uncle’s dock, Winnai had kissed him long and hard, looking forward to his first semester break. Vit had promised to fly her up to Holy Cross without delay. Mali was excited about having a roommate and already making plans. Jeff was sure he’d be back in plenty of time. How could he expect them to understand it was family duty that called? He could only hope that coach intervened to explain it all.
