The massive, humpbacked grizzly threw its black snout in the air and snuffled loudly. It rocked back and forth on its powerful forelegs, pushed itself up to a menacing two-legged stance and raised its huge head so that it towered above my own as I crouched, breathless, at the base of a scraggly willow. Its maw gaped open, and saliva dripped off lips hanging loosely from sharp edged teeth.
I held my position. The bear swung its head slowly back and forth, small, thick-lashed eyes half shut, glistening black nose twitching and moist nostrils flaring as it searched for the disturbance.
The whisper of a breeze poked a long strand of hair into my eye. I didn’t dare move to brush it away. A bead of sweat trailed down my spine.
The wild silence stretched out intolerably.
Another breath of air raced through the long grasses of the alpine meadow. It brought some relief from the heat...and with it came the grizzly's own scent, an acrid, wildly woolly cologne, salty and dusty. Above the trees edging the lower side of this high altitude pasture a hawk wheeled in the currents. Two smaller forms shot out of the tip of a pine and harried the larger bird until it soared out of their space. They returned to their watchtower.
Suddenly the grizzly dropped to all fours, lowered its head and shook, rather like a dog climbing out of a pond, the thick pelt moving loosely over taut muscles. It was late May, and this large male still had a long way to go to replenish the stores of fat used up surviving last winter. Finally satisfied that what had alarmed him was no threat, he returned to munching dandelions and clover, casually moving away from me with every scything bite.
The tumbled pile of boulders I huddled upon was barely 6 feet high and provided only an illusion of protection. Scrub brush rooted determinedly in cracks between the stones. Ever so slightly I shifted my cramping legs. A small heap of gravel rattled over the edge. I froze.
The grizzly ignored it.
After a couple of cleansing breaths to settle my pulse, I carefully raised my arms into position. This time, the small noise the camera shutter made didn’t disturb the placidly chewing bear.
Once the huge beast had moved a safe -- well, safer -- distance away, I slipped down the far side of the rocky outcrop, bent at the waist and scuttled deeper into the cover of the forest. Tucking my camera into the backpack I never went anywhere without, I moved quickly through the skinny spruce and pine and pumped uphill, following a track with fewer roots and loose rocks on which to twist an ankle. A couple of minutes later I broke through the tree line. A few metres further up, I stopped and turned.
The spiky tips of the trees through which I had just climbed were already below the level of my feet. All around me, uncountable shades and hues of green rolled up and down into the distance, blending to purple at the farthest reaches before fading into a soft indigo edge against the sky. Climbing away from the curve of the earth, violet lightened to a true sky-blue in which the globe of the sun burned. The air was so clear I could count individual needles on the trees below me.
I sat down on a sun-warmed rock. Far below, sunlight sparked off water as it struck the silt-laden, swift-flowing Fraser River and glittered off the roofs of the few houses in the tiny, isolated settlement of Longworth.
I rose to my feet, and began toiling uphill.
The backpack meant my hands were free, useful on this steep mountaintop. My feet, cushioned by thick socks inside my hiking boots, were beginning to ache, as were my calves and thighs. Daily runs while in town kept me in good shape, but nothing except real mountains can prepare muscles for these kind of hikes. By the time I reached the relatively flat top of my mountain I was puffing.
Bald mountaintops jutting up above the tree line pierce the green coniferous blanket that covers much of the northern half of British
Columbia. On strategically chosen peaks are lookouts, where men and women used to live throughout the summer fire season, using nothing but eyes and experience to discover and track potentially devastating wildfires. With the advent of satellite technology, these lookouts were abandoned, and are now inhabited only by squirrels, birds and other resourceful creatures, such as hikers like myself.
The lookout in which I was planning to spend a few days faintly resembled the top layers of a decrepit wedding cake. It was two squares on top of each other, the bottom box larger than the top one. The lower level was sided with vertical wooden planks, once painted blue, now weathered to a dull gray that camouflaged the tower against the rocks. A door, flanked by two small square windows, was set in the south side of the building, and other windows were set in two more sides. The upper level, where the telescope would have been mounted during fire spotting days, was pretty much nothing but glass walls and a steeply pitched shake roof.
I pushed open the warped and battered door, and propped it open with a stick jammed into the gap on the hinge side. Swinging my pack off my shoulders, I dropped it on the table just inside, unclipped my canteen and poured warm and faintly dusty water down my dry throat. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I lowered myself carefully into one of only two rickety chairs, and bent to undo the laces of my hiking boots.
Besides the backpack on the table, I had brought with me a large
packboard on which the smaller pack could be clipped. The larger carrier had everything I needed for a few days camping either in or attached to it - sleeping bag, change of clothing, matches, kindling, pot and pan, utensils, extra water, plenty of simple food like pasta, beans and fruit. The abandoned tower made things a bit easier, as I hadn’t bothered to pack my tent.
The lookout itself was dry and clean, if you didn’t count the mice and squirrel droppings I’d found in the bare cabinets. In the far corner, a plywood sheet attached to two walls with a 4 by 6 post supporting the outside edge made a rudimentary bed. I was glad I’d brought a thin foam pad with me. There was also a small wood stove where I could cook the few meals I would need to heat up. A trap door in the ceiling gave access to the second floor.
Just outside the door, a simple gutter system led to an old wooden cask, three-quarters full of rainwater. When I'd arrived at the tower this morning, I had cautiously poked the water with a branch, stirring it up in order to discover any drowned creatures. When none floated to the surface, I covered the barrel with an old piece of plywood discarded against the side of the shack. Padding across the floor in my sock feet, I slipped the bandanna off my head and undid the ponytail holding back my hair, dipped the cloth into the barrel and wiped the sweat of fear and exertion from my face, neck, and arms. Then I rinsed my hands in the cool water, and ran my fingers through the strands of my hair, untangling knots.
A cool breeze swirled through the doorway. Up this high, you never really have a chance to get too hot. Today the sun beat down with pleasant strength, but the warmth was an illusion that would vanish quickly when the sun faded below the horizon. Right now, however, I pulled my shirt over my head and let the wind ruffle goosebumps across my midriff and back. Stepping back into the lookout, I spread my foam mat and sleeping bag on the plywood bed, and lay down in my bra and shorts.
In today’s world, finding a place free of mankind’s sounds is difficult, if not impossible. Even isolated high on a mountain, I could sometimes hear voices from the homes below, floating up on mysterious drafts of air. And, of course, the rail line was still in regular use. The whistle of the train as it glided past Longworth echoed eerily many times throughout the day and night. But right now, all was peace.
I fell asleep.
Chuka-chuka-chuka. I woke up abruptly, took a moment to place the noise, then stumbled to the window. By this time, the helicopter pilot was delicately positioning the small machine just a few metres from the tower. Two quick strides brought me to the table where I had thrown my
T-shirt, and I pulled it on as I headed for the door. Halting a safe distance away as the rotor blades whirled slowly to a stop, I shielded my eyes from the sun, setting stunningly, directly behind the aircraft. All I could see was the outline of the pilot silhouetted inside the “censored” pit. He pulled off his headphones, reached up to open the door, and stepped smoothly out, turning back immediately to lean into the aircraft.
“Hello!” I called over the ticking of the engine and the humming of
The blades.
He spun quickly on his heel, ducking adroitly to avoid banging his head on the doorframe and stared. “Good Lord! Where’d you come from?”
“I hiked up,” I said. “Planning to spend a few days.” I pointed with my chin at the helicopter. “Nice ride.”
He grinned. The skin that crinkled around his eyes was a shade lighter than the rest of his face, probably caused by the mirrored sunglasses I could see on the dash of the helicopter. “Yeah, well, I’m here on business.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Alex Weaver. Ministry of the Environment - Fish and Wildlife. I didn’t expect anyone to be up here.”
“June Brandt.’ I shook his hand. “Sorry.”
“Hey, no problem.” He reached a long arm back into the helicopter and pulled out a pack similar to my own. “We had a report of poachers in
The area, so I came to check it out. How long have you been here?”
“Just since this morning. My truck’s parked down in Longworth. I haven’t seen anyone all day.”
“A couple of hikers phoned in. They’d seen a bear carcass, maybe a grizzly, somewhere on the north slope. Trouble is they were here last Saturday, and just bothered to call today.” He shook his head at the delay. Dark brown hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away with the back of his wrist. “Plus, their directions are kind of vague. They know they followed the main trail up here, and then went over the crest to the other side. Have you been that way yet?”
I gestured towards the tower, and we headed inside. “Once I brought my gear up here, I backtracked a bit down the trail to a meadow just on the tree-line.” He nodded like he knew the place. “I saw a grizzly there, but it certainly wasn’t dead.”
One eyebrow rose. “How close were you? See any cubs?”
We sat in the shaky chairs. “Close enough. No cubs. I’m pretty positive it was a male, if only from the size of him.” The pilot pulled a water bottle out of his pack and tilted his head back to take a drink. His neck was already darkly tanned this early in the summer, with a hint a paler skin showing at the collar of his light green uniform shirt.
“Isn’t it kind of late to do any scouting tonight? I would have thought you’d wait until tomorrow.”
He shrugged good-naturedly. “Well, I was planning on spending the night here. I figured it didn’t matter whether the helicopter came out tonight or tomorrow. Like I said, I didn’t think anyone would be here.”
“It’s not the kind of place you make a reservation.”
He laughed. “I guess not.”
The last of the sun’s rays streamed in through the western window, glittering with motes of dust. “There’s plenty of room on the floor,” I said, “so you might as well stay. I’ve got dibs on the bed, such as it is.”
Again one dark eyebrow quirked upwards. “You sure?”
It was my turn to shrug. “Have you got a business card?” He reached two fingers into the breast pocket of his shirt and fished one out. I looked it over, pulled my pack out from under the table and zipped it into the front pocket. “Good enough for me.”
“Great.”
I stood up from the table and crossed to the cupboards, where I had unpacked my cooking gear and the food I’d brought. “I was going to make myself something to eat. Want some?” The sun was still lighting the sky, but it was after 9 o’clock and I’d napped through dinner.
“I ate before I left, but I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
Using a minimal amount of paper and kindling, I managed to get the pot-bellied stove going in a reasonably expert fashion. The chimney rose for a couple of feet, then made a right angle and vented through the back wall of the cabin. I’d already checked it for birds’ nests and squirrel pantries, so I was fairly certain I wouldn’t smoke us out. Then I put some water for my macaroni on to boil. While it was heating up, I assembled my percolator coffee pot, scooping grounds into the metal basket and snapping on the lid, then placing it next to the pan on the stove top.
Alex excused himself to make sure the helicopter was secured for the night, but I saw him head first to the north edge of mountaintop, pausing on the brink to scan the valley below. The main trail from Longworth comes up the steep but relatively accessible south side. The north side is a more gradual slope, leading into a deep but wide valley, rising again to more mountainous peaks beyond. Dusk was definitely settling in now, and it would be no use looking for anything tonight.
The door of the cabin was still open, and the breeze blowing in was already noticeably cooler than half an hour ago. I mixed some shredded cheese in with the pasta, stirred it with my fork, and began to eat right out of the pot. Carrying it with me, I wandered out the door, turned in the direction opposite the helicopter, found a convenient spot, and settled down on crossed legs to enjoy the last few minutes of the day.
So much for my first night away from it all. I shrugged mentally.
Catching poachers in the act is practically impossible, so convictions are usually slowly and painstakingly constructed by working backwards from the purchasers of the illegal bear parts to the poachers themselves. If Alex Weaver could find the carcass tomorrow, he’d be gone before nightfall, and I'd have the solitude I was craving.
Finishing my dinner, I clambered to my feet and strode back to the darkened cabin. Treading through the gloom to my packboard, I pulled out a small, battery-operated lantern, placed it on the counter, and switched it on. It lit the tiny room nicely. The coffee was just perking, so I pulled my mug from the cupboard and rustled up some sugar packets. I hoped the pilot had brought his own necessities, as I hadn’t planned on entertaining.
Through the window over the washbasin I saw a dark shape moving around the helicopter - Alex still doing his tie-down. I dragged a chair closer to the stove, put my feet on the fender, and sipped my coffee.
The stove was centred to the back wall, about 3 or 4 feet into the room, and the remains of the fire still gave off a comfortable heat. I leaned my head back to stretch my neck, and glimpsed the steel ring of the trap door set in the ceiling. Tucking my coffee cup under my chair and standing on tiptoe, I grasped the metal handle and pulled firmly. It opened smoothly, dropping down on its hinges, and a small ladder slid towards me from its resting-place on the door. Retrieving my mug, I stepped lightly up and into the glass-walled room.
The sky was a blanket pricked with stars, cuddling the curve of the pale, watery moon, like a mother with her baby in the crook of an arm. It was easy to pick out the constellation all Canadian children learn first, the edge of its ladle pointing the way to the North Star.
I heard the muffled thud of the door shutting below, then steady footsteps climbing the ladder. A voice at my ear said, “Wow.”
Without turning my head, I smiled. “Easy to forget how many stars there are, when you spend too much time in the city.” We stood in silence, gazing at the cosmos before us. “Makes me wonder about those people who won’t even discuss the possibility of intelligent life out there.”
Alex moved from behind me and rested a shoulder against the glass, standing at an angle to me so he could see my face. “You must admit, it’s a very uncomfortable thought. Especially if they find us first.”
“Never really thought of it that way.”
I moved away from him and leaned my forehead against the window. A small oblong of light from the lantern in the room below escaped out the window and rested on the ground. Serrated tops of trees were a lighter darkness against the obsidian of the sky. The helicopter cast a metallic gleam as it slept under the moonshine.
I heard a rustle, and turned to see Alex with one foot on the top step of the ladder. “Any more coffee?” he asked.
I nodded. “I don’t have a mug for you, though.”
“Brought my own.” He disappeared gracefully through the opening.
I stayed where I was for a few minutes, tracing meaningless shapes on the glass. Then I, too, returned to the room below.
Alex stood with his hips leaning against the counter, cupping a mug in his hands. I lifted the chair I’d moved, carried it across the room and slid it back underneath the table, then smoothed the wood on its shoulders with my hands.
He drained his cup quickly, and placed it on the counter. “I figured
I’d spread my bag upstairs, if that’s alright.”
“Sure.”
“Guess I’ll head up then.” The awkward silence that descends when people don’t quite know how to say goodnight settled onto us. Alex grabbed his packboard and stepped to the trapdoor. “See you in the morning.”
“Sleep well.”
He climbed the steps, reached down, and lifted the door until it clicked into place in the ceiling. I heard his footsteps shuffling quietly around for a few minutes, and then all was still.
I clicked off my lantern, slid out of my socks, boots and shorts, then climbed into my own sleeping bag on the plywood bed. Crossing my arms behind my head, I allowed my body to relax into the warmth of the flannel. The lunar glow flowed through the window near my bed, and I lay awake for a few minutes more. Then, softly, gently, the breathing of the night wind lulled me imperceptibly into sleep.
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