dreary. During a break in the weather I went to the river. It was running huge, nothing like the river we had started on. I wasnât surprised. Our ground canât absorb much rain. A few feet below the surface itâs permafrost, frozen year-round.
Ryan had talked about swimming across to my side, but that wouldnât be possible anytime soon. The rain was moving in again. I hustled back to the trees.
Twelve hours after it had started, the deluge stopped for good. The sun came out, and so did the mosquitoes. I went to the river and caked my face and neck with mud.
To my surprise, Ryan emerged from the trees on the other side. He looked awful, all scratched up. As for bear protection, he didnât have any. Both of us had lost our pepper spray off our belts when we went under the ice. Heâd also been stripped of his bear banger pouch. Mine was packed away on the boat.
âDIDNâT FIND THE RAFT,â my brother roared over the raging river.
âWHAT IF IT GOES ALL THE WAY TO THE OCEAN?â I hollered.
âITâLL GET CAUGHT ON A ROCK! LETâS GO FIND IT! TRY TO STAY IN SIGHT OF EACH OTHER!â
âGOT IT!â I yelled back. He was right, there was nothing to be gained from staying putâeverything we needed was on the raft. But what were our chances of catching up with it?
The mosquitoes were bad. Ryan took his bug juice out of his pocket and dabbed some on. I took my gloves off and knelt to rub more mud on my face, neck, and scalp.
We started walking. On my side of the riverâthe eastern side, the right-hand side as we headed north to the seaâthe going was fairly easy for the time being. The terrain was much rougher on Ryanâs side, with steep slopes crowding the shore. With no trails it was slow going, especially for him.
The mosquitoes were getting to my eyelids, where I had no mud. Their high-pitched whine was making me crazy. In Aklavik we spend most of June indoors. Then we head for the windy coast, as much to get away from bugs as for the fishing and whaling.
Here and now, the coast was eighty miles away.
Come midnight, the low-hanging sun was blocked by a mountain but gave plenty of daylight. When it rose over a ridge around 2:00 a.m. we were still trudging downriver. The Firth wasnât brimful like before but was running way too high and fast for Ryan to swim across.
Less than forty-eight hours since weâd eaten, I already felt like I was starving. I thought of my ancestorsâtheir legendary endurance during times of starvationâbut couldnât convince my stomach to stop whining. I thought about throwing rocks at the ground squirrels standing sentry at their burrows. Sik-sik , we call them, after the sound they make. From experience I knew that my chances of nailing one were worse than poor.
I came upon the site of a bear dig where a grizzly had bulldozed the ground-hugging tundra vegetation with its enormous claws and massive forelimbs. The excavation was eight feet across and a couple deep. That grizzly was a picky eater. The bear had left behind the heads of five ground squirrels, eyes open with terror. The sight made me lose my appetite for sik-sik .
Some places I came to, the valley floor was riddled with clumps of tussock grass. Afraid Iâd break an ankle, I picked my way carefully among the hummocks. As much as possible, I walked the riverbank so my brother and I could keep an eye on each other. Whenever I lost track of him, I stayed put. Soon as he located me, it was time to start walking again.
Around 8:00 a.m. I came to a side stream with a pool deep as my chest. It was holding a few char, five-pounders or so. Too bad I had no way to fish them out.
I needed to find a shallow place to wade this creek. I turned upstream and immediately ran into grizzly tracks in a mud patch among the man-high willows. My hackles went up and I backed away from the bushes, keeping to the tundra. Across the river, Ryan had caught sight of
Ryan had talked about swimming across to my side, but that wouldnât be possible anytime soon. The rain was moving in again. I hustled back to the trees.
Twelve hours after it had started, the deluge stopped for good. The sun came out, and so did the mosquitoes. I went to the river and caked my face and neck with mud.
To my surprise, Ryan emerged from the trees on the other side. He looked awful, all scratched up. As for bear protection, he didnât have any. Both of us had lost our pepper spray off our belts when we went under the ice. Heâd also been stripped of his bear banger pouch. Mine was packed away on the boat.
âDIDNâT FIND THE RAFT,â my brother roared over the raging river.
âWHAT IF IT GOES ALL THE WAY TO THE OCEAN?â I hollered.
âITâLL GET CAUGHT ON A ROCK! LETâS GO FIND IT! TRY TO STAY IN SIGHT OF EACH OTHER!â
âGOT IT!â I yelled back. He was right, there was nothing to be gained from staying putâeverything we needed was on the raft. But what were our chances of catching up with it?
The mosquitoes were bad. Ryan took his bug juice out of his pocket and dabbed some on. I took my gloves off and knelt to rub more mud on my face, neck, and scalp.
We started walking. On my side of the riverâthe eastern side, the right-hand side as we headed north to the seaâthe going was fairly easy for the time being. The terrain was much rougher on Ryanâs side, with steep slopes crowding the shore. With no trails it was slow going, especially for him.
The mosquitoes were getting to my eyelids, where I had no mud. Their high-pitched whine was making me crazy. In Aklavik we spend most of June indoors. Then we head for the windy coast, as much to get away from bugs as for the fishing and whaling.
Here and now, the coast was eighty miles away.
Come midnight, the low-hanging sun was blocked by a mountain but gave plenty of daylight. When it rose over a ridge around 2:00 a.m. we were still trudging downriver. The Firth wasnât brimful like before but was running way too high and fast for Ryan to swim across.
Less than forty-eight hours since weâd eaten, I already felt like I was starving. I thought of my ancestorsâtheir legendary endurance during times of starvationâbut couldnât convince my stomach to stop whining. I thought about throwing rocks at the ground squirrels standing sentry at their burrows. Sik-sik , we call them, after the sound they make. From experience I knew that my chances of nailing one were worse than poor.
I came upon the site of a bear dig where a grizzly had bulldozed the ground-hugging tundra vegetation with its enormous claws and massive forelimbs. The excavation was eight feet across and a couple deep. That grizzly was a picky eater. The bear had left behind the heads of five ground squirrels, eyes open with terror. The sight made me lose my appetite for sik-sik .
Some places I came to, the valley floor was riddled with clumps of tussock grass. Afraid Iâd break an ankle, I picked my way carefully among the hummocks. As much as possible, I walked the riverbank so my brother and I could keep an eye on each other. Whenever I lost track of him, I stayed put. Soon as he located me, it was time to start walking again.
Around 8:00 a.m. I came to a side stream with a pool deep as my chest. It was holding a few char, five-pounders or so. Too bad I had no way to fish them out.
I needed to find a shallow place to wade this creek. I turned upstream and immediately ran into grizzly tracks in a mud patch among the man-high willows. My hackles went up and I backed away from the bushes, keeping to the tundra. Across the river, Ryan had caught sight of
Similar Books
