Rescue Thwarted, Delayed and Failed

While at the lodge, I caught some fish and trapped and snared a few animals, not wanting to waste the guns and ammunition stored there. I dried and smoked the fish and game to preserve it.  I pared down my equipment so that I would still only have to make two portages between bodies of water: one for my kayak and the other for my food and shelter, even though I was carrying more food for the long haul… Not knowing if there was any to be found further south. I couldn't stop to fish, hunt or trap, anyway, in my hurry to beat winter.

After making sure the sheets were washed, folded and put back in place; the kitchen and the room I slept in was clean and everything was in order, I left Little Pine Lake about 11 am, making for the rivers and lakes that would take me south. I made 10 miles that day back to the river, walking 30 miles in order to get my kayak and pack there.  At that pace, I would get to Indianhead country about Christmas. I really didn't have winter gear, but had to try anyway. I hoped there would be someone or something left for me to arrive to.  That evening in camp, I called again to be sure.

Julie was sobbing on the other end of the line, coughing and choking between words. The view behind her face was devastating.  “Oh my God.  It was unbelievable.  It got so hot.  And the smoke was so bad. We got in the canoe with as much as we could grab and put out on the lake to avoid the flames. Animals of all kinds were fleeing past us, many headed for the lake to swim. Huge flights of birds flew over with the smoke.  We had to put wet cloths over our mouths to keep from choking and wet our clothes to keep from being cooked alive. Lying down in the canoe helped fend off the radiant heat that dissipated from the aluminum sides in the water.

The wildfire burned through very fast and burned our cars, the boathouse—everything!”  Julie sobbed and choked uncontrollably for a while, and then came back on the phone.  There was no picture by then.

"We are still in the canoe and it's getting dark.  They shot at us from the other side of the lake. Fortunately, we saw the bullets ricocheting off the water and turned the canoe away from them, paddling as hard as we could until we were out of range completely, keeping a narrow profile.  I hope the damn bastards burned in their own pyre!”  I had never heard my sister talk like that—so angry.

“At least you're still alive.  Remember that your stores are probably safe from the fire underground.  You may also be able to salvage some timber from the water to build a shelter for the winter and provide you with firewood.  Keep your wits about you.  I know Uncle Frank knows how to survive.  You just have to be strong.”

“We will.  We will.  I just don't know how.”  She cried again, but came back on the line.  “We are drinking lake water already and that may be poisoned soon by runoff from all the burned forest.  We will have to sleep the night in the canoe because the ground all around is still too hot to land anywhere.  I guess we're just lucky to still be alive.”

“You sure are.  Others without a lake to retreat to are probably dead.  One thing is certain.  Most of those marauders will stay away from scorched earth.  If you can make it through the winter… Build a house of mud and burned wood, it will protect you… and add snow when there is snow for insulation. The stove in the boathouse probably survived the fire. Use it.  And then, next summer, grow a crop or two.  I know you can do it!”

“I hope so.  We are exhausted and have to sleep now.  Call tomorrow.  Okay?”

The next day I made 30 miles downriver toward the Hudson Bay.  Up ahead was 25 miles to the big water, so I stayed the night and called as soon as I got camp set up.  Julie's phone was dead. I don't know if it was her inability to charge the phone or if the satellite could no longer carry the signal.  I just don't know.  That was the last I heard from them.  I wished for the best, but expected the worst.  The next thing I hoped to tell them was to try to gather as much supplies as possible and then try to make the nearest unburned forest where they would stand a much better chance of survival than staying in the burned area. On the other hand, they did have their stores in the burned area that would give them some security from further fire, marauding and food for the winter.  My only hope was that they would survive until I arrived.  And then I wasn't sure what I could do to help except be of some support and another mouth to feed. But it was for naught. They couldn't hear my thoughts as I worried. 

Four days later, along the shoreline of Hudson Bay, the smoke got so intense I had to retreat. I had to be careful where I camped each night along the Bay, I saw several polar bears along the shoreline before I got to where it had burned, still miles short of Churchill, a polar bear hang out during the summer, now engulfed in deadly smoke. From the looks of the bears I saw, they were very hungry and were scavenging for anything they could find to eat. Maybe me. And I wasn't being funny.

It was a struggle paddling upriver, but I made it back to the lodge in record time.  The sky had turned a dusty gray from all the smoke and dust, creating only a half-light at noon that continued day after day.  It was now late August and the nights were getting colder along with the cold, muddy, smoke-smelly rains.  Two days after I arrived back at the lodge there was 2 inches of dirty snow on the ground in the morning.  By afternoon, the snow had melted, but it foretold of the long hard winter to come.  I made use of every bit of the short and dingy Indian summer to gather and preserve all I could.  Much of the world was in flames and anarchy. And here I was in a warm lodge with ample stores for ten people, electricity and clean well water. I felt very fortunate.  Very fortunate, indeed.

I spent the long winter of dirty snow at the lodge and shot a moose to sustain me through much of it. Even had power for refrigeration from the windmills that needed cleaning often.  Spring came late and the clouds never seemed to go away.  It was a short, cold summer that was welcomed because the year before had been unbearably hot at times.  There was rain… Always cold dirty rain and snow, and a smudge on the sky from smoke and dust.  With no Internet and no communication with anyone, I could only surmise what had happened based on what I heard from the last stories that crossed my smart phone on the Internet.  And that was that much of the world's forests had burned or were burning, along with cities, leaving the soil exposed to the winds and rain.  There may have been wars because they were eminent in the last messages I got.  I wasn't sure if nuclear war that erupted are not, for now…

But the urge to move south overwhelmed me. I had learned from that first trip and provisioned myself a bit differently for the long haul.  In early June, I set out once again, eastward to the Bay and then, along the shore, south. Watching for polar bears, at first I saw none. But then, the second day on the Bay, I made out a dirty gray gaunt bear foraging grass. From the looks of it, the winter on the ice had been hard on the polar bears.  By June 10, I came upon where the fires had reached, and the barren land ahead looked too formidable for even me, now seasoned as a survivor and able to survive on almost anything. 

The only good sign was that seedling trees had already sprouted in the burned-out areas and flowers and grass were popping up everywhere in the half-light. There were bees and butterflies in them. I expected that mice and other rodents had survived as well.

That day, a great storm came up out of the north. Lightning was flaring everywhere as it approached. Out on the water my kayak was a sitting duck, I pulled into the shore just as lightning struck so close that I felt splinters of the burned skeleton of a tree strike me. One stuck in my cheek. I pulled the kayak up on the bank and pulled the tarp over me as I lay down in the kayak keeping as low a profile as possible. Digging for my first aid kit, I pulled the splinter from my cheek, grateful that it didn't strike my eye two inches away. It still bled profusely until I got a band aid on it in the dark.

The storm raged on for over two hours. The lightning was so intense I thought I was going to be hit several times. I could feel the concussion of the strikes and smell the burning wood and acrid nitric acid in the foul dirty air. I couldn't see going on under those conditions.  I turned tail and returned to the lodge by the 20th.

In all, I saw a few polar bears like the first one, so I knew they had survived, but not well. On the river, it was more encouraging. I saw black and grizzly bear out foraging, moose and deer, I also saw lynx and wolverine by the water drinking and otter in the river. Above the burn, wildlife was still abundant, if stressed. There were also ducks and geese in smaller numbers arriving from the South somehow, miraculously. 

Sensing that this summer would be truly short, I began foraging for food immediately to try to stock up with as much as possible for the coming winter. I already had at least three years preserved. Didn't know how long or when all that food would disappear.  My second trip failure left me rethinking provisioning as well.

The second winter was even lonelier, colder, longer and darker, and dirtier than the first.  After holing up for a couple of months, I got cabin fever and went out into the dark, dirty cold to hunt.  I found a grizzly bear in a state of hibernation and killed it with an ax, thus saving a shot from my rifle.  The bear meat wasn't much good.  She had a couple of fetuses that were very unappetizing, so I threw them to the wolves. Wolves came around the lodge often.  Their howling scared me.  It was a good thing that all of the buildings had sharp nail protection on every window and door, or hungry bears would've broken in during the night. I often heard them outside.  The lodge had been very well stocked, so even after so long, I still had stores of rice, flour, mixes, cereals and preserves of all kinds.  But weevils were starting to develop in the gunny bags, so I removed portions of them into plastic containers and zapped them briefly in the microwave.  I was fortunate to still have electricity to supply power to the microwave. 

Had to take down the windmills every month or so and clean and grease them so that they would continue to rotate in all the dust.  My potatoes, kept cool in the root cellar, started to sprout, so I planted them and produced a minimal crop of potatoes the second summer without sun.  I also gathered seeds from canned tomatoes and grew some of those, mostly inside.  I set up snares and caught quite a few arctic hares that tried to eat my garden.  

Sitting a few evenings on a raised platform by the lake I also bagged a couple of deer with a bow and arrow.  I had more meat than I knew what to do with, so I smoked them and made jerky.  With my food stocks growing, I felt good about facing a third winter that appeared to be as bad as the second.

In the third spring, after a brutal winter where my cabin fever and loneliness almost drove me to suicide, like a miracle, the sun came out.  Oh, there were still dust storms to deal with, and violent thunderstorms, but the smoke was gone and it was warm, much warmer than any April in that latitude had ever seen in a historical time.  I decided that it was time.  Time to head south again and try to make it to where Julie and Frank were by fall.  I knew I could do it with the forest burned, making walking over land easier.

All that time thinking and planning brought me to the conclusion that while my trusty kayak had served me so well in the past, the idea of making three trips on every portage, some of them maybe 50 miles or more, I had to come up with a way to portage in one trip like the voyageurs often did. I definitely needed something to cross the many lakes and to take advantage of the rivers in my long trek. Walking the whole way without crossing water was impossible.

There were inflatable boats at the lodge used for fishing and swimming. Some even had outboard motor mounts. I chose one that was small and streamlined and could be pumped up with a foot pump or even by just blowing into it. I then found an aluminum snow shovel that I extended with another attached to it by skillful hammering and soldering into an aluminum skid.

Thankfully, the skid fit nicely in the bottom of the front of the inflatable boat with room for me behind. In addition to a pack on my back, the skid that I made could carry additional supplies and the deflated boat to the next body of water without having to backtrack.

There were patch kits for leaks. I didn't know how hard it would be to paddle upstream on rivers and I would have to stop and portage rather than risk the boat on sharp rocks or dangerous rapids. I was able to rig a sail from some aluminum tent poles and a tarp. I figured that would make the trip a lot easier when the wind was in the right direction. I didn't think that I could tack but I set it up to try and took some trial runs on the lake as soon as it started to breakup from winter.

I packed very carefully, based on my experience, equipment and stores. I had to lay everything out several times, pack and repack until I got the weight right and even tried out the rig a couple of times. The heaviest items were a hatchet and the guns. There were many guns at the lodge to choose from. I holstered a 357 Magnum to ward off bears, wolves, and any other hungry predator I might encounter. I also carried a 22 pistol with many rounds for small game. I would've liked to have had a shotgun and a 22 rifle, but they were just too heavy.

That  first trek to the river heavily loaded would be the test. From there to leaving Hudson Bay would take many days and would lighten the load for beyond, so I didn't care if the load wore me out that first day.  I left on April 15 with the lodge as tightened up against the onslaught of nature as I could, not sure if I would ever be back. But making sure that if I did, or if anyone else found the place, that it would provide for me or them as it had before—shelter from the odds.