"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 31

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

Chapter 31

Aromatic evergreen boughs rustled gently in the fresh, late afternoon breeze. Birds scavenged among the bushes for seeds and insects. Green leaves danced and the long grasses, growing along the woodland trail, whispered to one another in what sounded like a distant sea of jubilant children. Daylight was westbound, bearing relentlessly for the distant horizon. The cloud dampened sun would dawn elsewhere on the planet, but here and now, dawn would have to wait until the darkness had its turn. Night would soon reign supreme.

Glen McPherson struggled onward. The gentle downhill slope helped immeasurably, but the weight he dragged behind his spent body felt heavier and heavier with each lurching stagger. Ahead, between ragged gasps for oxygen, the stubborn Scotsman could hear the promise of temporary relief. The sound was the cool babble of water in Maple Creek!

Several more minutes passed before the creek came into sight. Determined to get as far down the trail as possible, the stalwart Scotsman did not stop at the water’s edge. Scrapping his original plan, he lurched boldly into the shallow stream. His boot and crutch tip sloshed through the four-inch deep current. The small man’s hiking boots were waterproof, but that fact influenced him little. Even if he had been wearing ventilated court sneakers, he would not have slowed. The obsessed man just kept on tugging at the litter until he and his moaning cargo were safely on the opposite bank.

Glen panted hard from the final haul of the travois up the far bank of the narrow creek. A strange set of wet tracks trailed behind him. Wet boot marks were accompanied by an equal number of round, damp depressions in the alpine soil. Even the most bumbling of trackers would have had no trouble following the distinctive marks made by Glen’s makeshift crutch and the sole of his right boot. Of course, if the would-be tracker were extremely blind, the twin, continuous skid marks, made by the laden litter, were even more obvious.

“Where should we camp?” Glen looked around. He instinctively knew that when he finally set the travois down, he wouldn’t want to lift it again! After more than a few seconds of scrutiny, Glen turned and pulled the travois a few feet to his right. Then, with the sweetness that is only born of relief from pain, Glen set the laden litter onto the ground. “At last!”

The next few minutes were not minutes of rest for the worn out Scotsman. Oh no! The muted light was already beginning to fail. At best, the injured men had just under a half an hour of daylight remaining and Glen knew it. The small man rallied his failing muscles and quickly moved to the rear of the travois to attack the lashings of the backpack. He had it untied in seconds.

The determined Scotsman rummaged in his red pack. Before Glen could even think about resting, both he and Stan needed water. In seconds, Glen had a hydration pouch and the water-purifying pump at the edge of Maple Creek. “I’ll have a drink for you in a minute Stan.” He panted.

The big man just nodded and moistened his parched lips with a sticky tongue.

Once they were somewhat refreshed by the cool mountain stream, Glen set to work on their camp. He unloaded the backpack with anything he thought they might need before morning. That included a two energy bars, two freeze dried dinners, the pot, stove, fuel bottle and candle lantern as well as his own sleeping bag and the two flashlights. The rest got stuffed back into the pack for safe keeping – all except for the tent poles.

Glen McPherson glanced up at the darkening sky. The thick cloud cover would most certainly wring out some rain during the night. “If it helps,” Glen offered, returning his gaze to Stan, “I think we need the tent, even if it hurts. Things are bad enough without us getting wet!”

“I know.” The big man muttered and then scowled. Ordinarily, the big man could rise from the ground with relative ease, but his present condition was anything but ordinary! All day, he had suffered. He had done so as silently as he could, but the throbbing jolts of pain had been relentless! Stan longed for the secure, unconscious cocoon of sleep. He longed to receive a little respite, but it had not come yet. “A little longer.” He told himself. “Very soon now, you can rest, but first, you must endure a little more torture.”

Glen scuttled to Stan’s side. “Ok my friend.” He said, untying the tent from the travois poles. “Let’s get you off our tent.” Once the tent was free of the wooden framework, Glen lifted the travois out of the way and returned to Big C.

“I have an idea.” Glen said. “Instead of dragging you off the tent and my sleeping mat, let’s try to roll you off.”

“Ok”

“If the plan works you can roll one way while I stuff part of the tent and mat under one side of you. Then, you can roll the other way, and I’ll pull the bunched up tent and mat the rest of the way out.”

“Sounds painful.” Stan rasped.

“I’ll be a gentle as I can my friend.” Glen was already gathering up the fabric next to the big man’s side. “Before the rolling phase of this plan, let’s get you to sit up a bit so I can stuff part of the tent under your upper back.”

“Ok.”

The event went better that Stan expected―at least until it was time for his broken leg to rise off the ground.

“Argh!” Stan screamed out in unrestrained pain.

Glen grimaced. “Sorry!” He looked compassionately at his hiking partner. “Almost there.” Glen encouraged. Stan moaned again, but the tent and mat were already free. Glen carefully eased the broken limb on back onto the remaining sleeping mat. The small man’s face was stricken. “I’m so sorry.” Glen apologized.

“I know.” The big man wheezed. “It’s not… your fault.”

“So far, we’ve beaten the odds.” Glen said. “If you get hypothermia you can’t just do a little cardio to warm up.”

The big man nodded. Stan knew he was especially vulnerable to exposure. If he got chilled, he would probably die.

Glen looked up again at the lowering clouds. “Yes…” he mused, “Rain is most definitely our enemy tonight.”

Stan listened, but reserved his next comment. “Getting wet would be a bad thing, but rain’s not our only enemy!”

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 30

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

Chapter 30

Behind the hobbling hiker lurked the bear. He couldn’t see the small man especially well, but at only two hundred feet away, the carnivore could see well enough. Besides, the alpine air was thick with the man’s sweat-ripened scent. Even at this close range, the hiker didn’t seem to be aware of him. The human certainly didn’t seem to pose any immediate threat. The big bruin had lived through several summers, and had learned to be cautious—even when things appeared to be safe. If the grizzly had been human, he might have summed up his attitude by arrogantly stating that, “Only fools rush in… and he was no fool.”

The careful carnivore cast his dark eyes upwards. His best guess was that it would be dark in a little while. He was in no hurry anyway. His stomach was full. He could easily wait till nightfall to satisfy his mounting curiosity.

“Big C!” Glen called out. The big man lay motionless on the inactive litter; eyes shut and seemingly devoid of life. Glen had been observing his friend ever since beginning the trek back. Limping the one hundred feet to reach his hiking partner hadn’t taken that long, but in all the time it took, Stan Calderbank had not moved. Glen knew first aide, but he was no doctor. He had never before witnessed the full symptoms of a broken femur. Perhaps he didn’t even know all the symptoms? “I wish they’d taught me more in first aid” He panted under his breath. All Glen knew, from his first aid classes, was that a broken thigh bone could trigger sufficient shock to kill a person. He had been taught how to splint and how to treat for shock, but most of what he had learned about broken legs involved calling a paramedic and getting the injured person to a professional. Glen’s stomach growled and the small man glowered. “My first aid learning is like my stomach... practically empty!” Worry gnawed at the small man. “Perhaps, in spite of all my efforts, Stan will die anyway? Perhaps he will die from something I have no knowledge of?”

Glen McPherson shuffled closer. Apprehension built within him. “Big C!” he called again trying to quicken his pace. “Curse my ankle and this backpack for slowing me down!” He muttered, eyes riveted on his prone friend. “If Stan’s stopped breathing, every second counts!”

The big man pried his heavy eyelids open and stared up. His friend sounded anxious. Glen was a sight, too. In spite of his discomfort, Stan allowed a slight grin to flicker across his ashen face. Without the pack on his back, and with a patch over one eye, the dirty-faced, unkempt Scotsman might have passed for Robert Louis Stevenson’s fictitious character, Long John Silver. Glen hobbled up to the litter. Stan still made no sound.

“You weren’t moving!” Glen panted. “I wasn’t sure you were still with me.” Stan regarded the smaller man. Glen stared for a moment before beginning to unstrap the backpack from his shoulders.

“I’m ok.” Stan finally wheezed. “I just need… some real… painkillers.”

Glen smirked and rolled his eyes. “Well at least you haven’t lost your sense of humour!” he chortled, his worry dissipating a little. “We’ll get you some real medication soon.” Glen was serious again. “You just hold on until I can get you out of here!” The wiry Scotsman sounded fiercely determined.

Stan nodded, but didn’t reply. He only watched as Glen transferred the contents of the pack he had been carrying into the one fastened to the bottom cross bar of the travois. A lump rose in the big man’s throat. For two and a half days Stan had harboured the very real fear that he would not live through this adventure. This afternoon, however, he had reason to pause. Glen just might be able to save his life after all. “Thanks Glen.” He muttered.

Glen looked up from closing the backpack and squarely met the big man’s gaze.

"In Ravenscrag's Shadow" - Chapter 29

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

Chapter 29

Twin nostrils flared and then relaxed. Moisture glistened on the black tip of the brawny snout. Rhythmic slumber was the exclusive activity that presently occupied the silver-tipped bruin. Suddenly the grizzly’s beady eyes flickered open. Raising its enormous head, the bear sniffed at the gentle airwaves that wafted by its improvised bedchamber. The human’s scent was in the air!

The big bear eased effortlessly to its feet, scarcely making a sound. Its bushy bulk stood hidden by the low scrub that grew at the feet of the narrow strip of trees near the north end of Green Canyon. It moved cautiously forward, caressing the leaves of the low bushes with its soft hair. Its experienced senses were now on full alert. The grizzly was ready and willing to defend itself should the need arise. Its large nose poked into the grey afternoon light. Its dark eyes peered southward along the dirt trail. Then the big bear froze.

Glen McPherson shuffled up to the old Larch tree. Before he began the short journey, he had strapped the pressurized bottle of pepper spray as well as Stan’s hatchet to his belt. Not particularly well equipped to encounter a bear, at least he had two weapons at his disposal. Glen felt for the weapons and nervously looked around before uniting the rope that held the backpack aloft. Nothing moved in the canyon. Hand over hand Glen’s gloved hands controlled the decent of Stan’s dangling backpack. This would be the pack’s final partnership with the useful tree. The wary Scot eyed the claw marks that gouged the smooth, creamy white bark and looked around again.

The grizzly watched and wondered. “A strange creature is this human!” The man began to approach, but then stopped. “Why had he stopped?” Then the unimaginable took place. The unusual item, hanging from the large tree he had clawed, somehow fell slowly to the ground. The sight was amazing. The human had powers the bear lacked, yet the small human looked so puny.

Limping to the base of the towering tree, Glen tussled the pack onto its front so he could access the exterior zippers. On his trek from the travois to the tree, he had decided that some things would have to be left behind. The travois was already weighed down, and any extra load from the second backpack would only make Glen’s life that much more difficult.

The contemplating Scotsman unceremoniously spilled the pack’s entire contents out onto the ground. He scrutinized the cache. The two men had eaten little from the stock of food they had packed in. Glen’s mouth began to water. Both men were hungry, but Glen had expended considerably more energy than his friend had. “How much food should I take?” Glen wondered aloud, tearing open an energy bar and greedily gnawing on it. “We should make it back to the truck by tomorrow night.” The small man rubbed a dirty hand over his bristling moustache and beard. “But what if it takes us a little longer?” Glen shook his head and furrowed his brow. “For sure we’ll need one more breakfast and lunch plus supper tonight and maybe one for tomorrow night.” Glen selected four freeze-dried meals and set them apart in a pile. Next, he grabbed four packages of dry soup, four packages of instant oatmeal and four energy bars. “Ok.” He said, still talking to himself and pointing at the empty air, “I already have a pot on the travois, as well as our bowls and spoons.” Glen shed his hat and ran his fingers through the tangled remnants of his once-thick hair. He nodded and then pulled the tent poles and pegs from among the strewn equipment. Glen eyed the pile of food and gear and put his hat back on. “That’s not very much stuff.” Glen selected two pouches of instant juice and two packages of powdered milk and added then to the newly formed pile. “Ok. That should do it.” He said, stuffing the food and tent pegs into a mesh bag.

Still laying in the grass, slated to be left behind, was the remainder of the food they had thought to enjoy. The weary hiker placed the excess grub against the base of the Larch tree. He added their second pot and outback oven to the pile before scanning what remained. “We no longer need the folding saw either.” Glen paused to stare at the two piles, screwing up his face a little. “It looks like a peace offering to the god of claw marks!” Glen muttered sarcastically, looking up at the scarified the tree and then glancing around again. The small man frowned and blew out a breath. “I guess our lives are worth more than a bunch of replaceable stuff.”

The worn Scotsman stuffed the priority pile into Stan’s pack. The food and gear fit loosely. Glen gathered the rope from the tree and zipped it into the pack. Standing, the wiry man hefted the light pack from the ground onto his shoulders. He easily fastened the waist and shoulder straps and cinched them up. Then, sweeping the canyon with his eyes, he turned southward.

Beady, unblinking eyes continued to observe. The human rummaged on the ground a while. Then, suddenly, the small man arose and lifted the unusual item onto his back. With a fleeting backward glance, the human tramped away, leaving the bear to wonder what bizarre spectacle might next present itself. The grizzly sniffed at the air again. “I smell food.”

In Glen’s absence, Stan’s breathing had eventually returned to normal. The big man watched his friend hobble to the towering tree and lower the dangling backpack. The trussed man was tired, but not exhausted enough for fatigue to overcome his pain and send him into the blissful realms of slumber. In fact, his throbbing leg and ribs were making it difficult for him to even relax. Stan continued to stare after Glen. “My ordeal is not remotely near its conclusion!” The big man thought darkly. “Glen will return in a minute, and my pain will become unbearable once more.” In response to his thoughts, Stan let out a low groan. ”Steady Stan!” He tried to bolster his resolve. “Surviving takes precedence over pain right now!” The big man closed his eyes willing his thoughts to be positive. “You can make it Stan.”

After some time, Stan saw Glen rise from the dirt and put on the backpack. “My time to rest is just about over.” The big man closed his eyes again and tried to relax. “Dear God, please help me to survive this day!”

"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.