"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 28

In Ravenscrag's Shadow

By

Davis L. Bigelow

Copyright 2010

Chapter 28

The analog display on Stan’s scuffed watch read twenty minutes before six o’clock. Humidity hung in the tranquil air of Green Canyon. It wasn’t suffocatingly hot, just a mild summer’s afternoon at 4,500 feet above sea level. The big man gazed up at the obscured sky, trying to block out his intense pain with any kind of distraction. The travois lurched for what must have been the one millionth time in the last four hours. “Argh!” The big man grunted through clenched teeth.

Shadowless, but still moving at the head of the litter, Glen McPherson’s good leg swung forward the last few inches. His foot touched the dirt of the eastern edge of the woodland trail that gently snaked its way through Green Canyon. “At last!” He puffed, actually grinning for what felt like the first time in years. As Glen paused and glanced furtively up and down the trail, however, his smile quickly melted and his shiny brow creased. He gritted his teeth and surged forward once more. “Almost there big guy!” He panted.

It required another full minute of struggling for the determined Scotsman to drag the final remnants of the travois off the rough field of boulders. Glen’s muscles buzzed and ached. His lungs burned but the harried hiker was not about to stop before Stan was directly over top of the woodland trial.

The small man paused, cranking his head around and looking at his helpless passenger. “Ok Stan.” He wheezed. “We made it. I’m going to put you down now.” Glen lowered the laden litter to the flat ground that formed the fringe of the forest. Stan let out another suppressed moan. Muted moans and groans had been his predominant chant for the past four hours.

“Glen?” The big man softly whimpered. “I need… some more… Tylenol.” Still breathing hard, Glen hobbled to the rear of the litter. He unzipped a small pouch on the upper part of his pack and fished out the bottle of precious pain medication. It was nearly empty. Glen pulled out the water pouch and shambled to Stan’s side. The big man’s face was flushed. Glen placed three extra-strength Tylenol against Stan’s parched lips. Stan opened his mouth slightly so the pills could drop inside. A single gulp of water carried the white tablets into the big man’s system. Now all that remained was for the medicine to take effect. Potent painkillers they were not, but at least the Tylenol would dull the razor sharp edge of Stan’s pain.

Glen eyed the hydration pouch. It held only a half a cup of water. He looked into the big man’s eyes. “Are you thirsty?” Stan shook his head before speaking.

“You drink it.” He rasped. Obediently, Glen tipped the bottom of the clear plastic pouch skyward and the remaining water disappeared down his dry throat.

As Glen returned the Tylenol bottle and empty water pouch to his pack, he spoke. “We need some food from your backpack.” He said pointing northward to indicate the place where Stan’s pack hung in a tree. The big man’s eyes followed Glen’s outstretched finger. The pack hung motionless in the large Larch tree perhaps one hundred feet away. “Besides needing a good meal,” Glen said dropping his arm, “We have to make it to Maple Creek for more water.” He trailed off, thinking out his survival plan. “With that bear in the area, I really don’t want to split up again.” Glen paused again before continuing, still working at catching his breath. “I hope I’ll be ok going to get the food by myself.” He trailed off, still thinking out loud. “I’m definitely not interested in dragging you north to the pack and then south again to where we are now!” Stan’s chest heaved in short pulses as he continued to catch his own breath. The big man just listened while his friend spoke. Glen continued. “I think we can make it to the stream before dark. We have flashlights and it wouldn’t be the first time I put this tent up in the dark.” He indicated the orange rip-stop nylon under Stan. “I guess I’ll need the poles and pegs I put in your pack.” Glen’s thoughts were still swirling, his mind attempting to make sure he covered any contingency. Several seconds of quiet solitude passed before Stan offered his extremely concise opinion.

“Ok.” He whispered and with that, the big man resumed his meagre attempts to mentally manage his pain.

Glen nodded and pulled himself up on his crutch. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 27

In Ravenscrag's Shadow
By
Davis L. Bigelow
Copyright 2010

Chapter 27

Tired of waiting for the frail-looking human to drag the odd-looking contraption his way, with any kind of speed, the grizzly backed a few steps deeper into the foliage. Silver-tipped fur shimmered slightly as the 1,700-pound bruin settled his bulk onto the forest floor. Earlier, the massive bear had spent a few hours scraping in the dirt, locating succulent roots to supplement his diet. With the apparent excitement in the canyon on hiatus, it seemed to be an excellent time for a much needed nap. “Besides,” thought the bear, “My nose will jar me from sleep if that human comes close enough to smell.”

Unseen by the two dawdling hikers, the massive bruin licked its paws clean and then swiftly succumbed to sleep. The relaxed respiration of the grizzly contrasted sharply with the staccato breathing of Glen McPherson. The sweaty man struggled on.

As the hours passed, the smooth, dirt trail meandering through Green Canyon grew closer and closer. “Will we ever escape this field of jagged boulders?” Glen thought for the thousandth time as he pulled and yanked and jerked and tugged and wrenched and heaved and hauled and huffed and puffed. He felt like a zombie risen from a remote mountain tomb, but still the stubborn Scotsman would not give up!

Almost imperceptibly, Glen was, in fact, making progress. Now, finally, the inviting woodland was within rock throwing distance. Well, that would be true if Glen had felt strong enough to actually throw a rock. He didn’t. His whole world was caught up in dragging the heavy litter. Carefully constructed by his own hand, the rudimentary travois cradled his friend. Next to his sweetheart, Lillie, Stan Calderbank was his best friend in the world. Glen’s mind wandered from his burning limbs to a much more inviting prospect. The smiling face he could now see in his waking dream, belonged to that of his Lillie. “Will I ever see her again?” His wildly pounding heart longed to be in her congenial company—to hold her in his arms—to kiss her softly and tell her that he was safe.

“Glen?” Stan’s strained voice ruptured Glen’s delicate bubble of remembrance.

The winded Scotsman stopped. Turning his head he listened for the big man to finish his sentence.

“I have to… go to… the bathroom.” The big man sounded anything but laid-back and relaxed. The foot, belonging to his good leg, was pressed against the lower cross member of the travois. Stan’s big hands gripped the long poles that ran upwards past his sides and into his friends gloved hands. The big man’s face bore a thin sheen of sweat.

Glen frowned. He hung his head wearily. “I guess that was inevitable!” He muttered imperceptibly. “Ok” He conceded, this time loud enough for Stan to hear him. “I guess it’s better to take care of that on these rocks than on the trail!”

Twenty minutes later, Glen stood, once again, at the head of the travois, pulling. At his back, the big man lay on the lurching litter. The trail was less than one hundred feet ahead. The small man’s eyes focussed on a fleeting patch of smooth dirt. “Come on Glen!” He cried out within his fragmented mind. “Just a little bit more and then you can rest!”

“All that effort for one minute’s worth of relief!” Stan thought darkly, shaking his head. He was still wheezing and groaning from his restroom ordeal. Tears trickled from the tightly closed corners of the big man’s eyes. “How can I endure this pain?” The distressing dismount from the travois, the act of sitting up to relieve himself, the insufferable slide back onto the litter’s slippery surface—all the events had been excruciating. Ragged gasps attempted to quell Stan’s racing heartbeat. His head spun! He even felt nauseated! “I’m definitely ill and at the mercy of a merciless plague of pain!”

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 26

In Ravenscrag's Shadow
By
Davis L. Bigelow
Copyright 2010

Chapter 26

Beneath the gloomy, nimbostratus clouds a small figure travelled. The strange creature moved three of its limbs on or near the ground plus two more limbs that were higher up on its body. The distant human had a wide-brimmed hat on his head. Its movements were jerky, but then it stooped down. Next, the human hefted an odd looking contraption from the ground and began to drag it. A large, dark mound trailed behind the human, riding on the strange contraption. The cautious carnivore sniffed the air, but never took its black eyes off the unusual procession. Hidden in the fringe of foliage, the grizzly continued to stare. Scents of the human were not reaching his flaring, wet nostrils, but the big bear knew that that would change. The uncommon visitor, pulling the peculiar cargo in his direction, would soon reach a point where the wind would waft the scent his way. For now, the big bear would wait and watch. Now was not the time to approach. That covert operation would have to wait until later.

Glen McPherson struggled forward. His pathetically slow ground speed could have been measured in feet per second, but the mathematical notation would have fewer decimal points if expressed in inches per minute!

The wiry Scotsman looked ahead often. His progress was sluggish at best, but he had to formulate sound long range plans if he was to keep to the smoothest route. Putting both hands on the travois and leaning his armpit onto the top of the crutch, Glen advanced. Once his feet were level with the crutch, he dropped one hand from holding up the travois and used it to send the tip of the makeshift crutch forward a little. The cycle was labour intensive!

Behind Glen, Stan was having the ride of his life. As the tips of the travois slid over the rough rock, they bumped and jostled and shuddered and scraped. Of course, the tips didn’t just move in a synchronized fashion. The handmade travois sported the latest in off-road independent suspension, causing its distressed passenger to sway from side to side as well as to be jounced up and down. Agonizing minutes passed. If the big man were dreaming, he might have been enduring a nightmare about getting tumbled to death in a giant clothes dryer! At least he wasn’t wet.

One hour passed. Then two. “Come on Glen!” The small man muttered to himself, trying to rally his weakening will. Winded and sweating profusely, Glen would not let himself quit. He permitted himself second-long respites between lengthy pulls, but he would not quit. Not yet!

The spent Scotsman collapsed on a giant lichen-covered rock, panting. His hat was in his hand and his head was lowered nearly to his knees. Hot blood coursed through enlarged veins, pounding in his temples and at his throat. Thirst gnawed at him. He was hungry too. His closed eyes flickered open. Beneath his sweaty face grew a proliferation of lichens. Deep grey and rusty orange in colour, the lichens looked like a conglomeration of deformed brains that had taken refuge on the fragmented stone. Clustered on the rough rocks, the lichens gave the field of boulders a dappled appearance. When the small man had first laid eyes on the rugged heap of discarded mountainside, he had though the sight was beautiful. Back dropped by Ravenscrag Mountain, an enlarged photograph of the scene would have made a very challenging jigsaw puzzle. Glen smirked slightly at the thought. It was ironic. He felt like his efforts to keep himself and Stan alive were like assembling an elaborate puzzle. Alarmingly, however, the pieces of this puzzle needed to be assembled in a particular order. One miscalculation and the picture would not be pretty! Glen stared at the lichens. His brain felt like they looked; deformed and dappled and doomed to a marginal existence in the dismal, life sized diorama in which they were all trapped.

Still panting, Glen pulled off his leather gloves and then his wire-rimmed spectacles. The glasses were smeared with an unpleasant mixture of dust and sweat. He absently scanned the canyon while he polished the lenses on the underside of his shirt. “At least the inside of my shirt is a little cleaner than the outside.” He thought. Glen held up the lenses to inspect them. “Good enough.” he muttered, then put them on and prepared himself to rise anew.

“Here we go again Stan.” He announced, donning his gloves and gripping his makeshift crutch. Forging ahead once more, Glen elevated the litter and began to pull. He was definitely the designated packhorse of this expedition!

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 25

In Ravenscrag's Shadow
By
Davis L. Bigelow
Copyright 2010

Chapter 25

Before either man noticed, the hours of their third day had slipped imperceptibly past one forty-five in the afternoon. Glen and Stan already felt tired. From his two and a half mile hike in bear territory Glen was undisputedly the more exhausted of the two men―and that was definitely a bad thing. Stan felt wiped out from just lying there, worrying and feeling useless, not to mention enduring constant pain!

Glen tucked the nearly empty hydration pouch into his pack. He had already fastened the backpack to the travois. “Almost there.” He said, double-checking the lashings. The concerned Scotsman had purposefully left the bottle of pepper spray out so it could be easily gotten to should the need arise. Everything else was inside the pack except for the hatchet. The sharp, shiny tool was cinched in one of the pack’s exterior loops, just waiting for easy use should the need arise.

Glen paused, letting his eyes linger on the hatchet for a second or two. He recalled the moment, just ninety minutes before, when he had drawn it forth. “Would the undersized blade have saved my life if that grizzly bear had attacked me?” The unbidden question resounded inside his weary head. Glen had no answer. He silently shook his head. “I hope I’ll never know.” The injured hiker had taken solace in the weapon’s potential to protect him. “Perhaps my trust was misplaced?” He wondered, staring off in the direction the grizzly had charged. “In the end,” he thought to himself, fixing his gaze back on the hatchet, “The good Lord intervened. For that I’m deeply grateful.”

“Ok Big C.” Glen said, snapping out of his mixed memories and looking up at Stan. “It’s time for you to slide a little higher on this travois.” The small man limped over to assist his large friend. “I hope you’re ready.”

Stan had been mentally preparing for the ensuing ordeal, but knew he would never be ready. “I guess.” Was all he finally said.

Stan gritted his teeth for the inevitable torture. The fact that his good leg was free of the confines of the splints helped, but the pain was still extreme! Glen tugged on Stan’s broad shoulders. Stan pushed with his uninjured leg. Slowly, but surely, the big man moved higher and higher up the travois and onto the stretched tent. The topmost sleeping mat, that carried the big man, slid smoothly over the one underneath it. Glen strained with short bursts of power. Stan attempted to stifle his own frequent outcries. Every time the big man moved his good leg, however, painful bolts of sharp lightning lanced through his quivering flesh. With each miniscule movement, the sleeping mats produced tiny zipping sounds. To Stan, they sounded like distant screams. The comfortable mats were completely oblivious to the anguish they were cradling. “Ok.” Glen finally puffed. “You’re high enough.”

“At last!” Stan sighed.

I think you’re high enough to keep from smacking your broken leg on the rocks.”

“I hope so.” Stan wheezed.

Like a sinking ship reaching the soft sea bed, the big man settled into the supple sleeping mats, panting hard. Below his tormented body lay the soft, malleable mats, the taut tent and a lot of remorseless rocks—but Stan didn’t care anything about those facts. Beads of sweat highlighted his broad forehead. His ribs felt tight and constricted. He wanted to cough, but stifled the urge. “All this laying around and shallow breathing are distressing my lungs!”

Glen pulled off his hat and waved the wide brim though the alpine air to cool the hot sweat it had adsorbed. The plucky Scotsman was overheated too. Through sweat-speckled glasses he regarded Stan compassionately. His own travails were bad enough, but Stan’s were worse than he could imagine! The small Scotsman had never enjoyed a broken bone in his life. Now, more than ever before, Glen McPherson hoped to avoid the pleasure.

After several large breaths of mountain air, Glen pressed his hat back on and scuttled towards the bottle of pepper spray. The small man glanced up at the dark clouds overhead. ”Why it hasn’t rained yet is a mystery.” Glen’s words hung in the tranquility. “But I suppose we should be grateful.” Stan silently nodded his agreement. Glen retrieved the bottle of pressurized pepper spray from its resting place among the rocks. “Here Stan.” He said. “This is just extra weight I don’t want to carry on my belt.” Stan silently pressed the bottle next to him, patting it like he might the head of a faithful dog. Glen stood and hobbled to the front of the travois and positioned himself. Stooping down, the small man gripped the front crossbar of the litter. “Hang on buddy. Here goes nothin!”

Scuba Diving with the Record Spawning Sockeye Salmon Run - Adams River & Shuswap Lake

Since 1913, long before my birth in 1960, there have not been so many Sockeye Salmon in a spawning run than there are this year. The last count I heard was 25 million fish in the Fraser River system alone. For reference, that's nearly the human population of Canada! Last year there were 10 million fish heading up the Fraser River system, prompting a rowdy environmentalist outcry, but this year scientists and fisheries officers alike are scratching their heads and wondering, "What happened?" The Fish & Wildlife officer I spoke with, on the banks of the Adams River, told me that there were higher than normal nutrient levels in the Pacific Ocean this year, but other than that, no one really can explain the explosion in the salmon population. The officer also told me that the 2010 salmon run may in fact turn out to be the biggest in recorded history.

On October 1st, six of us journeyed to Sicamous, British Columbia and on October 2nd, four of us went scuba diving with the salmon at the place where the Adams River enters Shuswap Lake (an upper part of the Fraser River system) along the watery edge of Roderick Haig-Brown Provincial Park. For me, this was an event of a lifetime. I used two tanks of air in three dives, lasting about 90 minutes in all, and saw thousands of fish. What a sweet privilege it was for me to see this historic salmon run with my own eyes and from such a unique perspective. Here's my slideshow.

The following links will take you away from my blog to two nice articles - if you are interested:
Elizabeth May | September 16, 2010 - (Volume 22 Number 17 | Island Tides)
Adams River Salmon Run, Kamloops, British Columbia (their # facts are down a little from the actual salmon count, but the article is good anyway)

Big Changes at the "Hotel California"

This past Monday evening, the small trucking company I work for announced that the boss was retiring (after 51 years) and that they were selling off all their semi tractors to another company - effective Thursday night. Thursday night was last night, so I had three full days to prepare for the change over - while I continued to work my typical long hours.

Now this scenario, in our modern world of quick and comprehensive changes, may not seem very noteworthy, but the story does get a bit more interesting. It turns out that the company that bought out my truck, as well as my potential services as a professional driver, is the very same company that I used to work for five years ago. This particular company has an extremely poor reputation among its potential customers - the people I have been servicing for the past several years, not to mention the fact that I left this company for much greener pastures once already. I felt like I was trapped in the "Hotel California" - I checked out of this poor quality company years ago, but seemed destined to never leave!

Last night, however, I politely declined offering my services as a driver to this new/old company and cleaned out my truck. I felt a deep sense of loss. I have driven over half a million kilometres (over 450,000 of those kilometres in this last truck) since I began trucking in 2005 and I've enjoyed the majority of it. It has definitely been a grand adventure! I miss it already.

This morning, following my narrow escape from the "Hotel California", I find myself unexpectedly unemployed. It is a strange feeling! Things could be worse, however. I already have three tentative job offers and when I return from my weekend adventure of scuba diving with the spawning Pacific Salmon in British Columbia, I'll embrace the future - whatever it is. Life's too short to be trapped in a "Hotel" anyway!

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 24

In Ravenscrag's Shadow
by
Davis L. Bigelow
Copyrite 2010

Chapter 24

To the both men’s surprise, the bear’s entire body seemed to become fluid. Right in front of the riveted and reluctant spectators, the bear’s thick cinnamon-coloured coat began to shimmer surreal silver. The grizzly’s massive head swung back to the north and the large carnivore barrelled up the trail. In seconds, it vanished from sight.

Both men breathed a sigh of relief. “Glad I went to the bathroom recently!” Glen muttered, “Or I’d probably no longer need to!” Glen cracked a fleeting smile before looking skyward. “Thank you Heavenly Father!” Several hot tears pushed their way from the corners of the small man’s eyes and trickled down his ruddy cheeks. “It appears that I’ll survive for at least a little longer.”

“Why did the bear run?” Stan questioned in the silence of his frenzied mind. “Would the bear have actually run away from a small, limping hiker?” Stan frowned and furrowed his dirty brow. The fact that the big bear had come from the direction of Maple Creek was especially disturbing. The big man pictured Glen on the bank of the mountain creek being stalked by the mighty carnivore. “Steady Stan!” He scolded himself. “You don’t know what really happened out there.”

The helpless hiker mulled over the scanty information did knew for certain, but he couldn’t help but speculate. “Glen went to Maple Creek for water. He’s been gone for a long time. With a bear in the area, Glen might be waiting until it’s safe before he returns.” Stan nodded to himself, scratching an itch on his arm. Then a darker thought crossed his mind. “Perhaps a second, even larger bear killed Glen and just rousted this grizzly from the area so it could feed in peace?” Stan’s brow furrowed deeply at the thought. “Steady Stan! You’re being irrational!” He silently scolded once more. “But there has to be some logical explanation for what I just saw?”

Thirst gnawed at the big man. “If a grizzly had attacked Glen, he’s probably dead. Even if Glen’s just hurt, he probably wouldn’t return. That would mean a double tragedy!” Stan closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. Then he did all that was left for him to do. The stranded adventurer stared across the field of rugged rocks and continued to consider the problem and the options. “There’s no way I could endure the pain it would generate to crawl across this jagged field of stone by myself. The splints would help, but they wouldn’t be enough.” Stan felt himself sinking into despair. The reality was unavoidable. Their remote location would probably not see another hiker for weeks. “If Glen doesn’t return, I’ll most likely die a slow and painful death.” Stan closed his eyes again and let a shallow breath escape his dry lips. “Maybe I’m already lying in my grave but just haven’t accepted it?” The big man’s jaw muscles flared. “I’m not ready to die... but is anyone? Considering the pain I’m in, perhaps death should be looked upon as a welcome friend, not a feared enemy?” In the silence of his potential mountain tomb, tears flowed freely from the big man’s eyes, tracing tiny trails of silver down his chapped cheeks and finally splashing down on the surface of the sleeping mat.

The trembling Scotsman stood on the trail for at least thirty additional seconds. Finally, his ashen face began to regain its normal colour. His view northward was the same as it had been moments before—with one notable exception. The monstrous, menacing bear had retreated! Green Canyon lay open before him. Glen took his first full breath in what seemed like hours and used it to try to calm his gyrating nerves. Finally, the hobbling man began to move once again. Stan was still waiting and he carried the big man’s ration of life-sustaining water.

Stan glanced again at the trail where the grizzly had just stood. His eyes absently wandered northward to where, only a minute before, the bear had disappeared. The event was so bizarre! “Grizzly bears aren’t famous for their fear. On the contrary, they’re famous for their keen sense of smell and their aggressive demeanour!” Stan shook his head slightly. “I’m lucky that the big bear didn’t pay me an unexpected visit!” Imagined images flashed in his mind’s eye. There he lay, sleeping, while the bear drew near. At the last moment, Stan saw the eyes on his unsuspecting face pop open. Then, he was back inside his body and looking through those bulging eyes. The salivating mug of the predatory bear filled his field of view. “Ahhhhh!” Stan shook his head again. The disturbing thoughts threatened to make him shudder, but the big man fought the urge. “Steady Stan! Steady!” Then suddenly, Stan’s eyes caught movement.

Stan shifted his gaze. The big man sighed. A reprieve from death was at hand! Seven hundred yards away, Glen McPherson broke from the cover of the forest. Red backpack swaying, Stan’s faithful rescuer limped along the trail. A polished silver hatchet glinted wickedly in the small man’s right hand. More tears slid from the big man’s eye. “Thank you… Heavenly Father!” he rasped. “I might… yet live.”

Stan watched expectantly while Glen shuffled up the woodland trail and then began to clamour back across the strewn rocks. In spite of his parched lips and arid mouth, Stan felt relived. An additional hour of waiting for water, however, was a harsh assignment for the big man. “Come on Glen.” He thought as the small man approached.

For Glen, the trek was laborious. Inch by inch, yard by yard the two men grew closer and closer. The thin crutch tip caught repeatedly in the innumerable crevasses that haphazardly pockmarked the expansive field. The red pack jostled and squirmed against the small man’s shoulders. His tender ankle protested whenever his dangling foot bumped into a protruding rock—which was often. Occasionally, Glen looked up to orient himself, but mostly he just concentrated on the next few feet of jagged obstacles he was trying to navigate across.

Soon, the two men were reunited. Stan gulped greedily at a water pouch while Glen related his epic saga. “This is definitely a story our grandchildren will want to hear over and over again!” Glen concluded.

Big C nodded and swallowed again. A wet grin was all he could afford to offer to the one sided conversation! It was a grin that betrayed his real thoughts however. The big man agreed that his grandchildren would love to hear the story repeated over and over again. He knew however, that the tale would only be sweet if they both lived to tell it.

“Here.” Glen offered, interrupting the big man’s unspoken thoughts. You’d better take some more Tylenol before we go.”

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 23

In Ravenscrag's Shadow
By
Davis L.Bigelow
Copyright 2010

Chapter 23

A tiny droplet careened through the subdued daylight. Soundlessly it fell. Pure in character and teardrop in shape, the raindrop bore down on a single silver mound. The mirrored bump shimmered slightly. Dark and light patches of cloud reflected in its wrinkle-faceted surface. It lay out of place in the bland, dismal surroundings. An unfamiliar alien, lying motionless on a familiar landscape, a close encounter was inevitable. The raindrop struck. Its brief journey from the dark cloud was over, but now it began to run over the slick, silvery alien. Suddenly, the extraterrestrial began to move. The helpless raindrop rolled off and at last, landed on the familiar stone littering the canyon floor.

Beneath the shiny Mylar blanket, Stan stirred. His short-lived get together with sleep had been welcome, but now all his throbbings, tenderness and twinges were getting the upper hand. Once again he was forced from slumber by pain.

The big man looked around. From somewhere in his restless sleep he had heard something. “Was that rain?” He focused on the sounds around him. He scanned the dark sky. Only a light wind wafted his way. “It must be just my imagination.” Stan eyed a dark cloud that currently moved directly over his upturned face, hanging like a threatening death shroud. “That cloud looks like it should be letting out raindrops.” The big man thought. “Thankfully it’s still holding back.”

Glen McPherson trudged up the dirt trail. Large grizzly bear footprints littered the indistinct path ahead. Many of his previously created southbound footsteps were now obliterated by numerous ovoids and claw marks. The hobbling hiker swallowed hard. “I really can’t afford to stop and wait any longer than I already have.” The bold Scotsman continued to move northward. “I hope I’m not making a big mistake!” Wary, but resolute, Glen hobbled on. Each bend of the woodland trail harboured uncertainty. “I hope that bear is moving faster than I am.”

A peaceful breeze caressed Glen’s hind parts. He had been limping along for over thirty minutes. Maple Creek was far behind him. “I’ll be at the entry point to the field of boulders soon.” Nervously, his eyes swept the forest around him and the trail ahead. “This breeze is pushing my scent ahead of me!” He scowled. “Perhaps it’s better for the bear to smell me coming?” He shot a glance at the ground. The paw prints were still in the dirt at his feet. They still pointed northward, but he’d read about bears catching the scent of a man and circling around to initiate a surprise rear attack.” The small man’s throat tightened. “Don’t panic Glen.” He whispered to himself.

The limping hiker paused for a moment. Concetrating on slowing his breathing, Glen let the forest’s sounds penetrate. A few leaves rustled. Several birds moved but the sounds of their beating wings were just out of earshot. For several silent seconds, Glen listened. “If a bear is close by, it’s either extremely stealthy or not moving a muscle.” Finally, the small man resumed his erratic stride. In another minute, he limped around the final corner of the woodland trail. At last he could see several hundred yards down Green Canyon. Glen’s breath caught in his throat. He froze in place.

One hundred yards north of where Glen halted stood a spectacle the wide-eyed Scotsman would never forget. Standing on its hind legs, a huge grizzly bear stared down at the small man. The blood drained from Glen’s face. With a crutch under one arm, a red pack on his back and an injured ankle he could not yet use, Glen held perfectly still. His mind reeled for options. He stared on as the massive bruin sniffed for the wind-driven scent wafting from his sweating body.

“Oh God?” The trembling man faintly breathed the words. “Please help me.” For several prolonged and agonizingly slow seconds, the colossal carnivore stood upright. His brown snout poked at the mild air currents. Silver tipped cinnamon coloured hair shimmered like light frost on a ripe wheat field. Glen held as still as the cloud-covered summit of High Tor. “Let me be invisible.” At the top of the food chain, the bear was the undisputed monarch of Green Canyon – or anywhere else it happened to visit. Glen had no aspirations for prowess. If it chose to, the mighty member of the Ursus arctos horribilis family could dispatch him in a matter of seconds. “There is no escape.” Glen breathed out slowly. The vulnerable man held his head still, but his eyes shifted back and forth like a lame field mouse in pit of starving vipers. “The nearest tree, capable of harbouring me is holding Stan’s backpack aloft.” Glen scowled. The tree was on the opposite side of the bear!

Stan sluggishly lifted his arm to check the time. It was eleven thirty. “Where’s Glen?” The big man turned his head and scanned the field of boulders dividing him from his friend. Glen was nowhere to be seen, but Stan’s eyes widened in horror! At about the place where he guessed the poorly marked trail carved its way along the edge of the scant stretch of woodland ambled a massive creature. The animal was heading northward. At 600 yards away and obscured by several clumps of scrub, Stan couldn’t be certain of its exact species but the shaggy-looking, brownish creature was definitely a bear.

Stan stared in shock. He knew that their hiking adventure might lead them to see a black bear, or even a grizzly, but he hadn’t expected the meeting to be in Green Canyon. Stan’s heart began to pound! The extra blood pressure flooded his injured leg with additional throbbing. The big man winced, but continued to stare. “Steady Stan! Steady!”

In the subdued light the ambling bear’s fur had a glint of silver to it. Then, in an uncharacteristically quick motion, the huge bear swung its shaggy head and froze. It stared southward. After several seconds, its nose poked skyward, taking several tentative jabs at the cool alpine air. Then, the bear turned its entire body to face south and reared up onto just its hind legs. The bruin was enormous! Stan’s eyes widened. The big man’s throat constricted. The giant bear sniffed the airwaves again. Towering above the scant scrub that had been its partial camouflage, the bear was in full view. Stan’s worst fears were confirmed. “It’s definitely a grizzly bear!”

Eyes bunged out and unblinking, Glen’s good foot and the tip of his faithful crutch remained glued to the dirt pathway. The booted foot, attached to his wrecked ankle, rested uncomfortably in the middle. Glen’s breaths came in shallow gasps. “If that bear charges I’m a dead man!” Glen slid his shaking fingers down to his side. “But if I die here, this bear will pay dearly first!” Glen carefully unsnapped the polished hatchet and slid the sharpened blade out of its leather holster. Careful not to slice himself, his right hand tightened around the carbon fibre handle. His blood pounded though ready veins. Glen drew in a slow and deliberate breath. White-knuckled, the small man was about as prepared as he could be. “All that remains now is for me to wait and wonder.”

Just out of Glen’s sight, Stan Calderbank lay trussed and helpless on the field of boulders. He too stared with wide eyes. Simultaneously, it happened. For both men, it was as if time stood still. Each shallow breath of the two transfixed men was like the ticking of a time bomb, counting down the final few moments before detonation. Then, with frightening speed, the grizzly bear dropped to all fours and charged.

The Essence of Photography

Jack - frozen in time & hoping for some food to fall.

Scuba bubbles in Waterton Lake - slow exposure makes the image blur.

To me, still photography is irrefutable evidence that contradicts the accepted space/time theories of physical science. Still photography makes time stand still - a feat nixed by modern-day  pure physics, but much appreciated by every photographer I know of. To me, still photography is miracle. The essence of photography is time on hold! Say "Cheese" Albert Einstein!

Diving a wreck in Waterton Lake

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 22

In Ravenscrag's Shadow
By
Davis L. Bigelow
Copyright 2010

Chapter 22

For the fourth time since arriving at Maple Creek, Glen McPherson drank deeply from a hydration pouch, washing down the final remnants of a mint chocolate protein bar he had been feeding on. The cool mountain water gurgled as it went down. The solitary man pressed a hand against his chilled belly the way a pregnant woman might caress her abdomen. His eyes bulged out and he drew as much of a breath as he could fit beside the pressurized water and then blew the air out. “I feel like a tanker truck!” The water gurgled from the small chuckle as Glen grinned at his own joke. His smile was fleeting though as a serious expression quickly took its place. He scooted back to the edge of the creek. “Time for the last refill.”
The wary Scotsman scanned his surroundings again before refilling the water pouch one final time. The marginal respite Glen had afforded himself, as well as the food he had downed were desperately needed. Most unwelcome however, was the tense atmosphere. Glen lifted his eyes from watching the pump do its work. “At any moment an ornery grizzly bear could wander out of the woods and attack me.”
As Glen rested quietly near the bank of the lazy creek his mind had been anything but lazy. “We are making progress.” He told himself. “The travois is built and mostly ready to go. All I need to do, upon my return to the rock field, is to give Stan water, help him back onto the travois, tie the backpack onto the lower wooden crossbar and drag the big man towards the trail.” Glen had complete confidence in accomplishing the first three objectives, but the final one was daunting. Glen drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It remains to be seen whether or not I have enough power in me to cross the finish line in this race.” Glen began to stretch in anticipation. “Stan can’t lie prone for too much longer. By now, his lungs will already be badly stressed.” More of Glen’s first aid training came back to him. “If Big C’s lungs fill with water, my friend will drown in his own fluids.” The small man sighed and shook his head. “If that happens, all my efforts to save the big man will be in vain.” Glen pulled his backpack closer. “Maybe it’s good that Stan’s body is a little dehydrated?”
The small man placed both hydration packs into the bottom of his pack. The purifying pump followed. Glen struggled back to a standing position. In spite of stretching, his body felt stiff. A glance at his digital watch revealed that the morning was nearly gone. “Come on Glen.” He encouraged. Shouldering the red backpack, Glen faced north and stared up the trail. It was devoid of life, but somewhere out there lurked a large carnivore.
Glen pushed the padded crook of the crutch under his armpit, muttering to himself. “I just hope I’ve rested long enough for that bear to get far away from me.” The intrepid hiker drew in a long, steadying breath and continued to address his audience of one. “One way or another Glen, if you’re going to save Stan, you have to travel the trail back to him.” Glen stared along the path, still unmoving; brow furrowed. Then the dirt-stained crutch tip led out and his uncertain journey was underway.
Under the dark cloud cover, Stan continued to enjoy his sweet dream. His grandchildren were the best! The big man adored them all. Smells of soft green grass filled his nostrils. He lounged in the shade of the giant poplar trees that had been waiting there when he and Alida moved onto their acreage four years before. His five grandchildren were gathered close. Juniata and Tyson sat on his lap while Tyner, Grant and Gerald leaned close as he read aloud from a Dr. Zeus book. The grinning grandfather paused in his narration. Looking at each one of the growing children, a lump rose in the big man’s silent throat. “I am the luckiest man alive!”
The wiry Scotsman pushed forward. The trail led slightly uphill from the creek. Glen’s sharp eyes were like radar, constantly sweeping the pathway ahead for any sign of danger. No shadows were present. No brilliant illumination was there to assist the injured man. A monotone sky cast muted light on the woodland trail. “At least it’s not raining.” Glen muttered under his breath. Dust stirred as his foot plodded, his crutch poked, and his unused foot dragged along in the swirling wake. “If I don’t have to stop for a bear encounter, I just might make it back to Stan by noon.”
Then, a tuft of brown hair caught Glen’s attention. He stopped short. Finger tips tentative, he plucked the little tuft from an outstretched branch and held it up in the grey light. The hair was fine and long. Silver highlights tipped one end of the small sample. As Glen examined the fur, his thoughts briefly visited his memory. He had read about grizzly bears. Their fur was brown with silver tips. The nervous backpacker looked behind him. He scanned the bushes on both sides. “The only living thing on this trail or in the woodland seems to be me. But that wasn’t true a few minutes or hours ago.”  Judging from the fur, Glen couldn’t tell how much time had passed since the big bear had passed this way. “Maybe the fur was already here when I passed by the first time?” His eyes dropped to the dirt, hoping to find some additional clues.
In the dust, he could see remnants of his own tracks as well as the bear’s. Scrutinizing the area, it appeared that the silver-tipped carnivore had been the last northbound traveller on the remote trail. “This is not good!” Came the harsh breathy whisper. “The bear was in this very spot not thirty minutes ago!” Glen shuddered. “If I had not rested for so long…” He didn’t finish the disturbing thought. “One thing’s certain. The only thing saving me so far is my timing.” A quiet prayer of gratitude slipped from his lips. Then, Glen McPherson silently squeezed the handle of the sheathed hatchet, set his jaw and limped onward.

“In Ravenscrag’s Shadow” – Chapter 21

In Ravenscrag’s Shadow
By
Davis L. Bigelow
Copyright 2010

Chapter 21

Nearly four hours of daylight had elapsed since Glen McPherson scuttled off to fetch water. Big C still lay where the smaller man had left him. After all, where could he go on his own? Stan shifted in his sleep. The jabs of pain, caused by the slight movement, pushed his mind towards consciousness. “Jam-pa! Jam-pa!” a young, exuberant voice drew Stan back into his dream. “Jam-pa! Come and hep me.” The voice belonged to Juniata, Stan’s two-year-old granddaughter. Just like Glen, Stan had just one granddaughter, but unlike Glen, the big man had five grandchildren instead of one.

A lone girl in a sea of boys, Juniata was a quick study. If she couldn’t keep up with her older cousins, she knew how to even the playing field. “Jam-pa!” Her blonde hair was flying as she ran up to Stan. “Jam-pa, hep me cwime up into da twee house wiss da boys!” Her breathless request tumbled out as Stan scooped her into his strong arms.

“Hello little one.” He boomed. “You’re all out of breath” The little girl looked small against Stan’s broad shoulders. An onlooker might have thought they were watching a giant and a midget putting on a circus performance. Juniata placed a tiny hand against each side of her grandfather’s broad face, attempting to get his full attention.

“Jam-pa!” She said firmly. “Gerwald won’t wet me up into da twee house and Gwant and Tyner and Tyson won’t hep me ee-der.” Gerald, Grant, Tyner and Tyson were Juniata’s cousins. The boys ranged in age from six down to four years-of-age. Whenever the family assembled, a favourite pastime of the four rambunctious boys seemed to be the tormenting of Juniata.

Stan grinned at her broken English. He knew all too well that the stage she was in would pass quickly – just like it had for his own children. It amazed him how fast growing up happened. “Ok.” He said, “I’ll help you.” He dropped Juniata to the grass and took her fragile hand in his. “If we are quiet,” he said with an air of conspiracy, “We might be able to scare the wits out of those boys!”

Across the lawn they stalked, a giant and a midget. If the two figures had been playing out a naval battle on the high seas, they would have been a battle ship accompanied by a dinghy. Juniata giggled in anticipation. Stan smiled at her bubbling enthusiasm.

They approached the tree house and Stan lifted the girl into the air. He held her up to the wooden ladder. The boys had stopped standing guard, and the infiltration was a success.

“Juni” Six-year-old Gerald lamented. “What are you doing up here?” Murmurs of descent rippled from the other three boys as well.

“We’re here to scare you.” Stated Juniata, her hands on her hips. Suddenly, Stan poked his head into sight growling ferociously as he did. Five startled grandchildren jumped and cried out.

“Grandpa!” four-year-old Tyson scolded, “You scared me!”

Stan smiled warmly as he climbed into the solidly built tree house. He was still young enough to do so, so why not? “Juniata told me that you boys forgot that she was your cousin.” Stan said. “She asked me to help her climb up here and I thought it would be fun to scare you all.”

Gerald hung back, but Tyson’s twin brother, Tyner stepped forward. Tyner was the daredevil of the group. He was beaming. “Scare us again Grandpa!” he encouraged.

Stan obliged and let out a ferocious growl. Squeals of delight rippled through the group. This time, even Gerald joined in the laughter.

“In Ravenscrag’s Shadow” – Chapter 20

In Ravenscrag’s Shadow
By
Davis L. Bigelow
Copyright 2010 

Chapter 20

Stan Calderbank lay motionless. His pain-induced sleep deprivation had finally given way to exhaustion and then, at long last, to slumber. Above his unprotected face hung huge hazy clouds. Beneath him, the double sleeping mats attempted to cradle his large, bruised and broken body. All things considered, he was about as comfortable as it was possible for him to be.

Stan’s waking world soothingly spun away as semi-consciousness slowly gave way to the dreams of all out slumber. From somewhere in the distance, Stan could hear laugher. “Come on Jam-pa!” One of his grandchildren called. “Come on!”

Glen stopped on the trail to rest and to listen. He pealed back the wrapper on a Mars chocolate bar and took a hearty chomp. The small man needed water, but, at this point, even a little dry energy would help. He felt calmer, since uttering his heartfelt prayer, but the limping Scotsman still knew that he had work to do if he and Stan were going to survive. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.” The words his mother had often taught him sounded inside his head. He could hear her voice as the oft-remembered track played. Glen smiled a little. His mother had been gone for six years now. It felt good to replay her kind voice.

Glen stuffed in the last of the chocolate bar before readjusting the pair of thick wool socks that protected his chaffed armpit from the full force of the top of his makeshift crutch. He longed to run free again, but the injured ankle would still not tolerate any weight whatsoever. Glen plodded forward. This was his second trip to visit the life-giving waters of Maple Creek and he was nearly there.

Suddenly, a sound brushed past his ears. It was faint. Glen stopped and held stock-still. To his right, he heard it again. It was a light rustling of bushes. Carefully, the alert hiker peered into the camouflage of green. He felt for any motion in the air that might carry his scent towards the sound. The slightest of breezes caressed his cheeks. The puff of wind was moving from the area where he could hear the rustling sound towards the place where his foot and crutch tip stood riveted on the meandering trail. “If I just kept on moving, I might pass undetected.” He couldn’t tell what animal was disturbing the tranquility of the forest, but from his recent encounter with the massive paw print and scarified tree, his conclusion was easily jumped to.

The trembling man quietly unsnapped the hatchet and drew it out. Breathlessly, Glen began to move. His pace, already slow from his dependence on the crutch, was now the speed of a small caterpillar. He could not afford to alert the unseen animal. After all, it was he who was the potentially unwelcome visitor to this place.

Several minutes of slow going passed. As each new second added itself to the next, Glen moved farther and farther away from the danger. Finally, the tense man picked up the pace. Seconds later, his alert ears picked up the sound of running water. Glen grinned nervously. “Maple Creek is just ahead.”

Glen McPherson quietly loosened the straps of his red backpack and slipped it to the ground, resting it in the emerald green grass beside the unsheathed hatchet. In another minute, the intake end of his water purifying system dangled lazily in the placid current. Glen pumped rhythmically. A tiny stream of precious water flowed into the hydration pouches; first one and then the other. Several times, the dehydrated Scotsman paused in his pumping to drink deeply. “I need to get as much water into my body as I can hold.” He swallowed again. “Stan will consume most of the water I carry back.” Glen scowled, wiping his dripping lips. “Dragging the big man across the field of boulders will leave me dried out in no time.” The sobering thought lingered for a moment before being replaced by another. “And then there’s that bear to worry about!”

With the water pouches replenished, Glen ate some dried fruit and gobbled down a granola bar. He rested near the edge of the creek, hoping that the short time he spent there would give the grizzly bear time to move on. So far the unseen bear didn’t seem to know Glen existed. “I hope things remain that way too!” Glen thought. “Right now, anonymity is my best friend!”

Glen rubbed at his swollen ankle. Held captive within his hiking boot, the tendons and muscles surrounding the joint throbbed mercilessly. Glen stared at the cool flowing creek. “It would be wonderful to soak my bruised ankle in there.” The idea promised some much needed relief. “No.” The Scotsman breathed, looking around for what must have been the twentieth time in the last five minutes. ”I don’t dare. Shedding one of my boots right now would be a very poor choice.” Instead, Glen massaged the swollen ankle through his boot and then dug his fingers into his shoulder and neck muscles. “I’ll just have to wait till later to find relief.” He told himself tilting his head sharply from side to side to stretch his trapezius muscles.

Chris Heimerdinger & Tennis Shoes 11: Sorcerers and Seers

Congrats Chris!!! I'm definitely anticipating the continuing adventure! I hope you get some sleep, but tuck an extra pen in your pillow case just in case you have too many autographs to create.

I have especially enjoyed the audio versions of your Tennis Shoes Series. I have twice listened to volumes 1-10 as I've driven my thousands of kilometres each month. I don't have lots of discretionary time for actual reading of books, but in your case, that’s good. In my experience with audio books, your creative creation of audio storytelling is most unique and entertaining. To date (and it's rather tough to pick just one scene from so many great ones), my favourite scene is the armed battle between the warriors Apollus and Gid. I would venture to claim that that clash of those undefeated titans - from two different continents and cultures, is the finest battle ever penned on paper. Legendary work Chris! That scene is certainly the most heart stopping one I have ever read (or heard)! My question now is, “Will you outdo yourself in Volume 11?” Perhaps I’ll have to pull over and park my semi again! (Blaming your pen for an accident just wouldn't seem fair!)

Noble Pursuits and Mundane Necessities

"There's five in the bed and the little one said, 'Move over! Mover over!' So they all moved over and one fell out!"

What can I say? That's the story of my life too Nancy. Noble pursuits and mundane necessities all duking it out with savage sibling rivalry for strategic head-on-pillow placement on the mattress of my life. I need a bigger bed! I need more pillows! Hey, someone turn off the light so I can get some sleep! (Maybe tonight I can dream up a more efficient plan to tame the tangling troops!) Ew! Who ate crackers in bed? Listen you two - stop talking and go to sleep – you can visit in the morning! Ok, ok, go get one last drink of water before you go to sleep!

Am I inconsistent? Sometimes. Am I lazy? Never. Yes, I’m often exhausted but there is a silver lining… I am never bored! I am, however, often frustrated!

I’ve found it helpful to do what Steven Covey suggests: Write down the 6 most important things I think I need to do tomorrow. Rank them from 1-6. Then, in the morning, start on #1 and work until it’s done. Then I proceed to #2 & so on until I finish #6. If I only get #1 accomplished – or even worked on, then I will have at least worked on the most important thing I had to do & can feel somewhat satisfied.

“In Ravenscrag’s Shadow” – Chapter 19

In Ravenscrag’s Shadow

By

Davis L. Bigelow

Copyright 2010

Chapter 19

Ominous clouds continued to creep into Green Canyon. So far, no rain had escaped their dark clutches. The lichen-encrusted rocks, covering the majority of the canyon floor were dry. No dew had fallen this morning. Vast and rugged, the fractured, irregular meadow of boulders was anything but warm and inviting. Gloomy cloud-cover brooded over High Tor’s iced summit. Even the much lower peak of Ravenscrag Mountain was under attack. In just minutes, thick rain clouds would swallow everything over seven thousand feet in elevation.

Big C scanned the sky. From his prone point of view, it wasn’t pretty! The clouds were descending more rapidly than they had been earlier. The helpless man could almost smell the inevitable rain. He peered longingly in the direction his hiking partner had taken nearly two hours before. “Where is Glen?” Stan’s lips were dry, but, thankfully, he was warm enough. “I hope that tough Scotsman returns with water pretty soon.” The big man ran his tongued over his chapped lips. His body was dehydrated. “At least the sun isn’t beating down on me.”

In spite of his lack of hydration, a pleasant and much appreciated event had taken place in Glen’s absence. The lowering murk had driven the shrill marmots back to their burrows. The silence was a welcome relief. Now Stan just had the normal things left to endure – his throbbing, broken limb, the stabbing pain with each breath, his cuts and numerous bruises, his dry mouth and throat, and the deteriorating weather conditions.

Glen McPherson suspiciously eyed the trunk of the large tree. It towered just a few feet from the trail where his motionless body stood. Ragged claw marks scarred the bark some ten feet from the ground, perhaps even higher. Only two or three feet above the scars hung Stan’s backpack, still suspended safely where Glen had left it the day before. “I’m glad I had the foresight to tie the rope to a neighbouring tree.” Glen muttered. The angle of the rope had kept the inviting pack out of the focussed reach of the curious bear. Of course, with the remainder of the food in the dangling pack, the bear had probably been more than just curious.

The worn out Scotsman shot worried looks up and down Green Canyon. His earlier search had revealed only one set of bear tracks, but he didn’t want to lower the hanging backpack if a member of the Ursus arctos horribilis family was anywhere nearby. Glen knew that Grizzly bears had relatively poor eyesight and only a fair sense of hearing, but their noses were keen enough to compensate for both limitations. Only Grizzly cubs could climb trees, and the bear whose footprints he has discovered a quarter of an hour ago were certainly not those belonging to a juvenile.

Cautiously, Glen untied the heavy pack and eased it to the ground. He hobbled over to it and sunk to his knees. In seconds, Glen loosened an exterior lash strap. His trembling hand closed on the comforting carbon-fibre handle of Big C’s hatchet. Unsheathing the polished stainless steel head, the vulnerable man nervously glanced around again. He pulled his index finger across the honed blade at a right angle – just to be sure. Stan made an art out of sharpening blades, and the uneasy Scotsman was not disappointed. The polished cutting edge was razor-sharp.

Snapping the ready blade back into its oiled leather sheath, Glen threaded the fastening loop onto his belt. “If a bear encounter does become life threatening, at least I have a fighting chance of surviving the attack!” The small man fingered the leather sheath. “The short handle won’t give me very much mechanical advantage.” He clenched his teeth together. “The hatchet is probably sharp enough to split the skull of a charging bruin and hopefully save my fragile life.” Glen shuddered at the image that popped into his distressed mind. “At a maximum weight of 1800 pounds, a full-grown grizzly bear, charging at nearly 30 miles per hour would be a formidable opponent! Even if I killed the bear, the sheer inertia of the massive animal’s lifeless body would probably crush my insignificant carcass!” Glen continued his distressful anticipating. “The bear’s salivating jaws would have to be just inches away before the axe could effectively strike!” Glen shuddered again. “What if I miscalculate the swing of the hatchet?” Glens wits were unravelling fast!

“Get a grip Glen!” He growled to himself. He was trembling all over. His breath was ragged. “You will be OK!” he muttered, attempting to steady himself and push the disturbing images from his head. Feeling quite helpless, Glen knelt next the backpack.

In desperation, Glen bowed his head. “Heavenly Father.” He prayed aloud, “Please help me to be spared from any animal that I may encounter.” He paused to consider his next words. “Please help me to be able to defend myself should that need become inevitable.” Tears quietly made their way to the corners of the weary hiker’s eyes. “And… if I am to die here…” Glen trailed off, choking down a sob before continuing to speak to his God. “Please help me to accept thy will.” Thoughts of Lillie gently paraded across the stage of his consciousness. The Lillie he might not see again in this life. His tears were flowing now, spilling unchecked down his soiled cheeks and onto his scuffed pants. The tough Scotsman spoke from the depths of humility. “Heavenly Father… Please help me to live with honour for as long as thou seest fit that I should live. If it be thy will, please help me to have the strength and protection to be able to save the life of Stan as well as my own life.”

For long moments, Glen lingered; keeling; crying. Raw emotion pulsed through the muscles in his face, twisting at his lips and twitching his chin and neck muscles. Several silent seconds passed. Finally the injured hiker opened his bleary eyes. His scratched leather gloves lay beside him in the soft, dry dirt. The anxious squirrel had long since ceased its cry of alarm. A few, nearby birds flitted among the bushes and branches. Overhead, the dark, descending clouds approached in profound silence. Not a breath of wind rustled even the smallest leaf. The world was tranquil. Within the breast of the small, kneeling hiker came a soothing puff of peace.

In spite of all his worrying, Glen knew that everything was as it should be. “I will try my best to live. I will try my best to save the life of my broken friend. I will try, but whether my immediate future carries life or death, I know that God is watching over me.” A passage of scripture flowed through his mind, [1]“Therefore, let your heart be comforted … for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God.”


[1] Doctrine and Covenants | Section 101:16