The story is read by Sandra Loomis.
By twilight the mining road faded out and the game trail went up toward the hills even farther away from the creek. Making camp, we chatted about what we saw today, wondering what the story was behind the cabin on what we named Grayling Creek.
The sky was a gray mass overhead with a chill in the air as we donned our packs the next morning at daybreak. The decision was made to head home before the brooding storm caught up with us.
Hiking two days from our cabin we were a good twenty five miles from home, taking us that long to backtrack. Steve felt the fastest to get home was going overland instead of back along the creek the way we came, having his compass he felt confident in getting us home before the worst of the storm overtook us. Cresting the ridge I wondered if it was going to snow. The smell of the air was heavy, damp with a whisper of wind; it seemed a foreboding of what was to come, not a good feeling to start the day with.
Shaking off my melancholy I followed Steve along the ridge, a misty rain began as I gazed at the hills around us. We were at the tree line with a few dead scrub trees visible, the tundra under our feet was soft, spongy and difficult to walk on. The trail we traveled on was gone, lost somewhere in the soggy shrubs and mosses that stretched across the plain in front of us.
Noticing a ravine off to our left we decided to follow the edge for better footing. Brut was having fun no matter what the trail was like. As a four legged creature he was nimble and sure footed wherever he trod.
By midday the soft rain of the morning turned into a steady drizzle. It was chilly when we stopped walking to rest. Starting a small fire to warm up the beans and rice left over from the night before it was obvious that the storm was upon us. Even squatting by the fire I felt chilled, the rain gear I wore was damp and my feet were wet.
Steve pulled out his trusty compass for directions and discovered it wasn’t working. No matter what way it pointed the needle just kept spinning around wobbling not able to make up its mind on where true north was. This was not a good sign; there must be magnetic rock in the ground to make the compass go haywire the way it did. Trying to get a sense of what direction led home we shouldered our packs and headed down the ravine.
A game trail along the bottom of the ravine made our footing easier until a short time later the ravine faded out and we were trudging through a small stand of spruce just below the tree line. As we plodded onward the rain became mixed with snow.
Daylight was fading fast as the cold wet snow felt as if it was seeping into our pores. Shelter and a fire were becoming a matter of survival. Looking around nothing appeared promising.
“I see a large spruce with low hanging branches over there, Kris” Steve said in a shaky shivering voice.” Let’s make camp under it, I should find some dry needles and twigs to start a fire under them.”
Too cold to answer with more than a nod and a weak smile, stumbling I took off my pack feeling as if it weighed a hundred pounds, I crawled under the low hanging branches dragging my pack after me.
“There is room in here for a camp Steve; I’ll clear out the branches. Some of them look dry enough for a fire.”
Pushing his pack in front of him I was able to grab it and pull as Steve crawled in our semblance of a shelter with Brut following right behind bringing snow with him.
While Steve attempted to start the fire I unloaded our wet soggy packs. Everything was heavy with water from the snow that fell as we had wandered looking for a trail. I took an inventory of what food was left and found rice, and beans with no salt to cook them in, and the dog food was gone, obviously what we thought was a weeks’ worth of food was not accurate. Laying out our sleeping bags shivering as I worked realizing each were damp I began to wonder if sleeping in them was any comfort.
Glancing over at Steve and noticing no fire was started I saw how bad he was shaking with the cold.
“We have three matches left and even the wood shavings I made are damp”
I said a silent prayer as I crawled over to him and held his hands to help keep them from shaking as he struck the match. It was to damp and just crumbled in Steve’s hand. I was scared and frightened if Steve couldn’t get the fire started I worried about our survival, the need desperate get out of here. With the unforgiving elements of the Alaska bush not having a fire can be drastic I knew hypothermia was waiting to set in with a vengeance.
No one knew to look for us because we did not share with our neighbors that we were even going any place. With all the wildlife here in the bush our bodies never to be found, my mind was conjuring up one awful scenario after another. Another prayer was sent for our survival.
The next match was an answer, the flame a God send as it licked up the shavings burning bright and hot. It was a hungry little fire that ate up all that Steve put in upon it.
It did not take long before the small fire began to bring some warmth to our shelter. After melting snow we cooked the beans and rice eating what we could, and sharing a portion with Brut. He was not impressed with the poor fair I put in front of him. I had to agree with him, beans and rice minus salt or seasoning was tasteless and hard to gag down for anyone.
Putting the sleeping bags together to conserve as much heat as possible we stuffed ourselves in together. Even this close, it was still cold, both of us shivering. Brut was our savior, crawling on top of us his body heat penetrated the bags as we finally fell into an exhausted fitful sleep.
The next morning the snow stopped yet left a decided nip in the air. Reloading the packs we put almost everything in Steve’s pack, all that was left for mine were the sleeping bags. Feeling a hundred pounds on my back as I hefted the load and chalked the heaviness up to lack of good hot food and little sleep; I was used to carrying a lot.
Steve again tried consulting the not trusty compass and found the same problem persisted as before. Only God knew where true north was. You couldn’t consult the position of the sun because of the heavy cloud cover. Even if the sky was clear I was not sure it would help.
In the far north the sun did not rise in the east and set in the west as it did where I was raised on the Hudson River. Here in the summer it appeared to twirl around the sky never setting, although in the winter you never saw the sun above the tree line.
Realizing the compass was worthless for directions we decided to find a flow of water and follow it downstream knowing that all water on this side of the divide eventually ran into the Susitna River.
Hearing a noise Brut took off as a rocket racing down the stream we were following after a moose we saw standing in the water in front of us. Throwing his head up snorting in anger at being disturbed, he twirled and ran into the trees, antlers sweeping snow from branches as he headed downhill with Brut hot on his heels.
Calls, whistles hollering or screaming showed any affect, Brut was single minded after his quarry. No we way to keep up with him let alone catch him as we continued downstream turning in circles often through the day calling his name and whistling. We were worried to say the least, a moose is a formidable opponent, and may turn and trample a dog in a single breath.
By late afternoon Brut was nowhere in sight even after calling and whistling as we walked he still did not appear. The stream we followed grew as it merged into others; it was hard to be upbeat and positive. I was still chilled even after hiking all day, no ravens were seen circling overhead to reassure me I was convinced Brut was gone; I was heartbroken.
The one positive thing; the stream came out in a familiar area where we were four days earlier long before being lost. It was just too much I sat down on a log by the trail and just cried for a while. Right there in front of me as I looked up stood Brut, tail wagging eager to please. I was overwhelmed at seeing him and just started crying again.
Just down the trail we came upon our friend Rich’s camp noticing smoke curling from the stovepipe sticking at a haphazard angle from the side of his wall tent. Calling as we got close, Rich came out to greet us. What an incredible relief to see another human being. It felt as if a heavy boulder rolling off my back as Rich took my pack. To sit by that fire and finally get some good food in me and get warm was a taste of heaven.
“I can’t believe this,” Rich commented as he helped take my load off my back, “Kris your pack must weigh a hundred pounds, what is in it?”
“Only the sleeping bags, everything else is in Steve’s pack” I replied.
Going over to Steve’s pack Rich picked it up to see how heavy it actually was. “For crying out loud Steve what were you thinking Kris’s pack is twice as heavy as yours .”
“All I put in it were the sleeping bags, it shouldn’t be heavy at all, and I was trying to give her a light pack because I knew how exhausted she was.”
“Well it didn’t work,” Rich replied “the bags are almost wet enough you to ring them out.”
I was too tired and sore to even comment as I fell asleep sitting in the warmth of the fire realizing how close we had come to dying out there in the bush, thanking God and his angels for watching over us.
