The next morning began with quiet, homey sounds: the creak of wood on wood, a mildly reverberating clang, the snick of a cupboard door opening and closing. Each one brought me closer to full consciousness, so when I heard the soft pop of a plastic lid opening and smelled irresistibly delicious coffee grains, my eyes finally unstuck themselves. Alex was standing at the counter, scooping fragrant brown grounds into a metal pot. He was already dressed neatly in his light green uniform shirt and khaki shorts, with the mirrored sunglasses propped on top of his head.
“Good morning,” I said.
He glanced my way with a smile. “Morning. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I sat up and leaned back against the wall at my head, wrapping the sleeping bag around my waist and yawning. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
I groaned. “Nothing like sleeping in when you’re on holidays.”
“Ah, but I’m not. I want to try and find that carcass today. It’s already been almost a week since the hikers saw it.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, then gave it up as a bad job. Flipping open the bag, I slid my legs out, snagged my shorts from the floor beside the bed, and in one swift motion pulled them on while getting to my feet. Turning my back on Alex, I did up the zipper and buttons, tried to remove the worst of the wrinkles from my T-shirt with my hands, and turned to face him.
“Will you make enough for me?” I asked, pointing to the coffeepot.
“Already did.”
“Be right back, then.” Grabbing a plastic Ziplock bag from my packsack, I headed out the door.
I found a convenient tree to lean against, then moved to the rain barrel to brush my teeth and wash my face in the soft water. I also dipped my hairbrush in, and managed to remove the tangles from my hair. Tying my bandanna around my neck, I twisted the knot to my nape under my hair, and deftly pulled the pointed end up and over. Feeling much more human, I headed back into the cabin, where the coffee was just beginning the perk.
“So, how do you plan on finding the bear?” I asked as I tucked my bathroom bag into my pack and grabbed my mug from the counter.
Alex carefully poured steaming coffee from the metal pot. “I’ll follow the directions from those hikers as best I can, and keep my eyes peeled. There’s probably still a fair bit of the body left, so there’s a chance I’ll spot ravens or eagles scavenging.”
I thanked him with a smile, and took a cautious sip. “What’ll you do if you find it?”
He pointed to his pack, leaning next to the door, ready to go. “I’ve got an evidence kit in there: bags, tags, camera. I’ll get as much information as I can from the site. Anything could lead us to the people responsible.” He ripped open a high-energy protein bar and took a bite. I found a cereal bar of my own and we munched in silence for a moment.
“What are your plans?” Alex asked.
“Footloose and fancy free,” I said.
“How well do you know this area?”
I made a back and forth motion with my hand. “Not bad,” I said. “I have an aunt and uncle with a cabin down below, and we used to hike up here once and a while when we came to visit. I haven’t been up for a couple of years, though.”
“I could use the extra pair of eyes, if you want to head out with me.”
I considered it as I chewed. “Sure,” I said. “Why not.” After all, I’d still have the rest of my holiday on my own.
Alex set a brisk pace as we followed the faint trail down the north side of
Longworth Mountain. “The callers said they’d hiked about an hour from the lookout before they saw the carcass,” he said before heading out. “It was in a narrow crevasse off to the left of the trail. They didn’t stay to look too closely, as they’d just noticed the time, and realized they’d have to hurry if they were going to get back in before dark.” He hitched his pack into a more comfortable position on his shoulders. “We’ll just keep our eyes open.”
On this side of the mountain, it was easy to believe we were the only people for thousands of kilometres. The ever-present breeze sang through the grasses, underscoring the intermittent melody of birdcalls, a subtle chorus to the crunch of boots on rocks and the rustle of swinging arms. The track itself descended at a shallow angle with the occasional steep section, sometimes dodging around large boulders and switching back on itself. We were focused on the job at hand and there was little chatter. Our hiking paces were evenly matched, and after about 45 minutes we found ourselves deep in the wide valley with the trail hugging the south side and a brilliant sun beaming down on us.
Alex halted, slung his backpack to the ground, unclipped a water bottle and took a long drink. I copied his actions, settling onto a rock. “We should be getting close,” he said.
I nodded. “Look.”
He followed my gaze further down the valley. Three or four black figures flapped lazily against the cerulean sky, and a rusty, raucous calling drifted on the increasingly heated air. “Good,” he said in satisfaction. “Ready?”
I nodded again. “Let's go.”
The trail here was relatively straight and level, and it wasn't long before the fresh scent of wildflowers, dust and leaves became tainted with the stench of death. The squawking of the ravens grew louder, and a low, growling buzz raised the hair on my neck. Alex raised the palm of his hand to me, and I stopped. He took a few more steps forward, then motioned for me to join him.
The grizzly's carcass was covered in a moving sheet of glossy black flies, thousands upon thousands of them. Hundreds more hung like fog in the narrow crevasse. It wasn't long before they began to swarm around us, drawn by our salty sweat. We stepped backwards, out in the relative openness of the valley floor, in an attempt to avoid the onslaught.
“What do you do now?” I asked.
Alex pulled out a small digital camera. “Try and get some pictures,” he said. “First, with the flies.” He snapped a few shots, moving around to get different angles to show the body in situ. “Let’s see what we can do about those flies, now. Cut me a couple switches, would you?”
I dug a small hunting blade from my pack, and hacked off a few of the leafiest branches from a nearby willow. Then, armed with the switches, Alex and I headed into the rocky cleft.
At first, it was a buzzing, foul-smelling hell. Flies shrouded us, blundering drunkenly into us like tiny, black hailstones. My eyes watered, my skin crawled. The stench clung to the back of my throat, no matter how shallowly I tried to breathe. After a few minutes of determined flailing, the worst of the insects were gone, and we could see what remained of the bear.
Its head was missing, leaving only a gory stump on which a few persistent flies still gorged. All four paws had been roughly amputated. And it had been disemboweled.
“If you can stand it, keep moving those branches.” Alex handed me his. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
While I waved willow boughs to keep most of the flies from returning, Alex took a few more pictures then slipped on some thin, latex gloves. He began searching meticulously around the carcass, including the pile of entrails. Despite my efforts, dozens of insects droned about us, irresistibly drawn to the carnage. The back of Alex’s sweat-stained shirt was swarming, and I could see the tiny beasts crawling in his hair. He appeared to be oblivious to their attentions, and calmly continued his inspection.
His search spread in ever widening circles, and finally he motioned for me to step out of the fissure. I backed out quickly. The relief was enormous. Alex stripped off the bloody gloves.
“Thanks,” he said. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, scattering the few remaining flies. “That was pretty awful.”
“Are they usually this bad?” I asked.
“The bugs? It depends when you find the body, and where. It didn’t help, tucking the carcass into that narrow space.”
“Tucking it? You mean the bear wasn’t shot there?”
He shook his head. “I could see dirt piled up against the shoulders, as if it had been pushed or pulled in. Which means more than one poacher, and probably three or four. There’s no way one person could move that bear. It had to be at least four hundred pounds.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“Well, you saw the obvious bits. And the gall bladder was missing, of course. Other than that, not a damn thing,” he said.
“Will you catch them?”
He paused in rearranging the equipment in his backpack, and sat back on his heels. “Not a chance,” he sighed. “Not from any evidence here.”
Now that we were at a distance from the remains of the bear, I could catch other scents. Fresh, alive scents like warm dust and peppery wildflowers. A movement on the far side of the valley caught my eye - a rabbit, hippeting from under a bush to nibble on succulent new grass. As soon as he came to rest, I lost him, camouflaged as he was in his mottled brown coat.
“Is it really worth it?” I asked. “For the poachers, I mean?”
Alex laughed shortly. “Worth it? Almost no risk, and extremely high returns. Do you know why they take the gallbladder?”
It’s used in traditional Chinese medicine.”
“They believe bear bile is a cure-all. It’s been used for thousands of years. And do you know how much buyers will pay?” I shook my head. “Each gall bladder can net a poacher up to ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand! Per gram, that’s more lucrative than cocaine. The paws are used for soup. It’s supposed to cure respiratory and gastrointestinal problems. In Asian restaurants in the US, you can buy a bowl of bear paw soup for about sixty dollars. Overseas, a bowl can cost as much as one thousand dollars US.”
I stared at him, aghast. “I had no idea.”
“Most people don’t. Poaching rarely makes the big city newscasts, and even when we do manage to catch someone, the fines are so small they don’t even warrant coverage. It is possible for poachers to be sentenced jail time, but . . .” He shrugged tensely. “Canada has the largest wild black bear population remaining in the world. China has topped one billion people, and that doesn’t include the rest of the Asian world, where traditional
Chinese medicine is just as popular. You figure it out.” He stood up abruptly, slipped his arms through the straps of his pack and jiggled it into a comfortable position on his back. “We should header. Ready?”
I nodded slowly, and we began our return.
We were scrambling up a particularly steep section of the path about halfway back to the lookout when the first shot rang out. I flinched and whipped my head around. Alex, a few feet below me on the slope, grabbed me roughly by the hand and jerked me to the ground beside him.
“Stay down,” he said.
I saw a bright flash on the opposite side of the valley and pointed. “There. Close to that fissure in the valley wall.” Another shot boomed through the still, mountain air. Another glint as the sun reflected off a recoiling rifle barrel. I scanned the area intently, then heard the rattle of gravel and jerked my gaze away. Alex was racing down the slope. I hustled after him.
We left the trail and dashed across the bottom of the valley, dodging brush and boulders. As we neared the far side, the crack in the mountain wall became more obvious, and Alex picked up speed. The pack on my back jostled up and down, digging into my shoulders. Sweat beaded my forehead and ran between my breasts. The floor of the gully was strewn with rocks, hummocks of grass, and small, wiry bushes. Out of necessity, our pace slowed, and I drew along side of Alex.
“What are we doing?” I hissed.
“Seeing what we can see.” Alex kept moving, picking his way carefully forward.
“There’s no one here.”
“Keep looking. There can’t be too many places to hide.”
We followed the ravine deep into the mountain, until the sky was only a bright blue gash in the air high above us. We saw nothing.
I slumped against the rock wall and slid to the ground. Alex sank down next to me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess whoever it was didn’t come in here.”
“It was just a chance.” We unclipped our water bottles and drank. “They probably know the area better, and knew there was no way out.”
Alex poured a small amount of water over his head, letting it run down the back of his neck, then poured some of the tepid liquid into my cupped hands. I splashed my face. After using the hem of my t-shirt as a towel, I tilted my head back against the rock wall and stared up into the narrow slice of cloudless sky framed above the gully’s edge.
I asked the question that had flashed into my mind at the first sound of the rifle. “Do you think whoever it was, was aiming at us?”
Alex shook his head and took another sip from his flask. “I wouldn’t think so. In fact, I’ll bet they didn’t see us until we started chasing towards them. But I’m also willing to bet it was the same poacher. This area is perfect: reasonably accessible yet remote, and teeming with both blacks and grizzlies. If the hunter that killed our bear is feeling lucky, he might be back. But repeat offenders, or serial poachers I suppose you could call them, don’t often return to the scene of the crime, so to speak. Why risk it?”
I rose to my feet and slung my pack carefully to shoulders. The skin under the straps felt raw and tender. “I’m starving,” I said. “Let’s try this again, and see if we make it back to the lookout this time.”
In the wider space of the valley floor, Alex and I walked side by side, our strides matching easily. “We haven’t really had a lot of trouble with bear poachers recently,” he said, “it’s mostly ungulates, like deer, elk and moose. And a lot of the time it’s just some trigger-happy hunter who shot the wrong animal: big bull without a tag, or cow moose out of season. If our dead grizzly and whoever we saw just now are connected, then I’m afraid we might be into something bigger than usual.”
“What do you mean?”
“Potentially, a poaching ring. A highly organized group out to make the most of the black market.” We’d reached the other side of the valley and had begun our climb to the lookout. “When are you heading back to town?”
“Couple of days. Saturday probably. Why?”
Alex was leading, and when he stopped I had to lean my head back to look at him because of the grade of the path. He was silhouetted against the bright sky, and I couldn’t read his expression, especially with his eyes shrouded behind his sunglasses.
“Be careful,” he said slowly.
I answered him seriously. “I always am.”
“Well, be more careful,” he repeated, then turned to continue the climb.
We made the rest of the ascent in silence. At the summit, Alex headed straight for the helicopter, still securely fastened down. He opened the bubble glass door and tossed his pack in, then turned to me.
“Well, I should be getting back.”
I nodded. “Have you got everything?”
“Packed it all this morning before you were up.” He smiled. “You do sleep soundly.”
“As long as I wasn’t drooling.”
He laughed, tilting his head so the cords of his sun-browned throat stood out. “No,” he said, “and you weren’t snoring either.” He stepped into the “censored” pit and began to buckle himself in. “Why don’t you stop by the office when you get back to town?”
“Do you want me to give a report of what happened today?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt for me to have corroboration, but I was actually thinking you might enjoy meeting some of the other people around the place, take a look around. You were kind of helpful today.”
I chuckled. “Thanks, I think.”
“Think about it,” he said, then shut the door and reached up to lock it in place. I backed away to the cabin, and waited for the few minutes it took to go through the pre-flight checks and warm up the motor. The engine pitch rose to a whine as the rotors reached the correct speed, and then suddenly he was off, a little clumsily, like a dragonfly lifting from a reed. He hovered for a moment and I saw a brisk wave from the window. Then he was gone.
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