My Rush Home Begins
My trip had changed. There was urgency now. And there was a long way to go. I continued on my trek downriver until, about July 1st, I came upon a third problem I hadn't counted on—a canyon with waterfalls and dangerous rapids. Oh, I would have conquered them all with an empty kayak of sturdy construction without any supplies, but I didn't dare damage the light kayak I had. To repair it would be too difficult with the few patching tools I had. To lose my equipment and supplies would be even worse.
So, I decided to portage around the canyon. There was a steep, rugged trail—mostly an animal track—around the high side, so I took that track with my pack. It took me a day to get to the other side of the canyon, and then another day to backtrack to where I left the kayak. I then broke down the kayak and carried it and the remaining gear on the trail again on the third day.
I arrived back where I left my pack, high in a tree about sundown, to a lot of activity—grunting and growling—as I came down the steep, rocky trail carrying a very heavy load. A mother black bear and three cubs had discovered my pack and seemed determined to get it. I carefully put down my load, grabbed my paddle, and begin running down the trail waving the paddle and yelling at the top of my lungs. The cubs, two of which were already in the tree, fell out and ran after their mother, and the whole kit and caboodle took off down river. I was glad that I had chased them off so easily, but leery of staying the night there. I had no choice though, so I made camp up against a big rock wall and built a fire, hoping that would keep the mother bear away until morning. By the time I climbed the tree to retrieve the pack, it was dark and I had to fumble around to get ready to go to sleep with the pack tucked in behind me. I grabbed some cold food out of the pack and ate it. And then, I stumbled around in the dark, gathering up firewood so that I could build a perimeter of fire to protect me.
It took me a long time to get to sleep, worrying about the mother bear. But I was exhausted from the three days of hiking with heavy loads and eventually fell asleep. Just before dawn, something woke me and I noticed that the fires had all burned out and the mother bear was about 15 feet away shuffling about trying to figure out what I was with her nose in the air checking me out. I doubt if she had ever seen a human before I yelled at her the night before. I yelled and waved my arms again, and she bolted, ran back a few steps, and then turned and came back, more curious than ever. I could see her cubs with her in the background and I was very scared.
I pulled out the 357 Magnum and aimed it about a foot above her head and pulled the trigger. The recoil snapped my hand back and the butt gave me a bloody nose forgetting that it's a two hand gun. Not the best position for firing from lying down. But as the report of the pistol echoed up and down the canyon and the bullet passed her ear, she bolted again, downriver, with her cubs in fast pursuit. I wasted no time getting out of camp that morning and didn't stop paddling until around lunchtime to have anything to eat. I made camp early that evening, assured that I was miles from her ability to smell me again.
It had been three days of struggle without contacting Julie. As soon as I had something to eat and a fire to last until morning, I called her. The reception was bad but we got through to each other. She looked very worried as her face kept breaking up on the screen.
“I'm sorry, Julie. I haven't called because I had to portage around a canyon and it took me three days—late every day. And then, I ran into a bear with three cubs yesterday and she bothered me no end until I left early this morning without breakfast. I'm downriver about 30 miles, so she shouldn't bother me tonight. How have you and Frank been?”
“We're okay. We've been working like crazy trying to make sure that this place is secure and that we have plenty of food for the long haul. We've got a huge garden and plan to can as much food as we can before winter. Uncle Frank is busy digging a bigger root cellar and also one that we can hide in if someone comes. No word from the folks. While I worry about you when you disappear for three days, I'm really worried about them. I sure hope they're somewhere safe. I know they'd come here if they could. I'm afraid they're lost. The news is so bad. Hard to even look at what's going on in the news.
“Here I am with a garden that I only have to water twice a week or so with pails from the lake and occasional rain. Were lucky. The drought has reached the entire Midwest way up into Canada. Every time we catch the news there are more fires and it seems like the entire Midwest is burning along with the Southwest and much of the West. If this keeps up, and there's no indication that it won't, we are going to have a dust bowl greater than the one in the mid-1930s. Every once in a while, we smell smoke from fires out West. By August, we may be as dry as it is there. It's scary, but I feel good being here with Uncle Frank. He is so relaxed and calm and it calms me down too."
“It's best to stay as calm as possible and prepare for the worst. I'm glad that Uncle Frank is digging you a hide out. Do you have a dog to warn you?”
“No. Frank's old terrier died last year and he just didn't have the heart to get another one. We’ve haven't been to town since I got here, so there's little chance we can find a dog unless we can get one at The Corners or from one of the area farmers. We talked to a few of them, and everyone is scared like us. Trying to come up with some kind of early warning system when they come. And we know they'll come." She sighed.
"The news is full of stories of marauding bands of men raping and killing and taking everything from people before they kill them. Uncle Frank has found a place to hide my car that is about a quarter-mile from the cabin here and deep in the woods. He has also hidden his truck. Frank has also taken the batteries and gasoline—buried nearby—out so that no one can drive them if they find them. We are keeping the batteries charged.”
“Do you still have electricity?”
“Yes, off and on. We try to charge up all our devices when the power is on, and so far, we haven't lost any frozen meat. But it looks like, very soon, we will. In the meantime, our windmill and solar panels are working quite well until they'll get vandalized by somebody.”
“I'll be there as soon as I can, Julie. I'm making very good time on the river. I tried to call my bush pilot, but got no answer. I'm afraid I may have to paddle all the way there. Bye for now. Love.”
“Bye. I love you.” Julie's picture, that had been popping in and out all session, disappeared from the screen entirely. I felt lonely. It was the first time I felt lonely on the trip, but it wouldn't be the last.
With an urgency I hadn't planned for the trip, I moved down river. As I planned, I lived off the land. I found duck eggs for breakfast. Blueberries were plentiful and easy to harvest. I ground-up cattail root and let it dry to make a kind of flour. Fish continued to be plentiful, allowing me to catch a three-meal size northern with a single cast of an artificial lure. I saw more bear, both black and grizzly, but gave them a wide berth and protected my camp each night from their nosy inquiries. I saw moose, deer, lynx, wolverine, fox, beaver, squirrels and many other animals and birds by the banks of the river. I saved my bullets for a greater need and caught ducks, rabbits and squirrels in traps and snares to avoid having to continually eat fish. It was amazing how bountiful the boreal forest was. Every time I ate, I thought about those starving in the States. But I didn't dwell on it. Too morbid to think about—starving to death. Fighting to get food.
There were periods where there were rapids and periods where the river was quite calm. I was amazed how large the river got so far north. So far, I hadn't seen anyone and didn't think anyone ever came this way. It was hard for me to believe that there were untouched places like this where no one ever went except by bush plane, canoe or kayak.
My kayak, made of canvas, strengthened with dope, held up quite well, and I only had to make minor patches after running some pretty rough rapids with sharp rocks. If I had a fiberglass kayak, all the sharp rocks would have destroyed it. My mentor, the professor, I told you about, had warned me about aluminum canoes and fiberglass kayaks. Old systems, proven over centuries, were often better for long journeys like this. Amid all this abundance, I tread lightly. I was sharpening my survival skills. Finding new things to eat like forest mushrooms, inner bark, watercress, devils club fiddleheads, miner's lettuce, dandelion greens and nuts from pinecones. Pinenuts were something I hadn't tried before, but were plentiful and tasty to eat. The Internet was a big help in determining what was edible and what was not.
