Tinman

by Karen Black

  Jack joined the conversation. “Yeah, it’s been called the Mt. Everest of Kayaking.”

  “Have you ever gone down it?” I asked, paying closer attention to the well-defined muscular build that adorned a tall, well-proportioned frame. I could imagine that Jack was quite a hit with the ladies, and probably could handle himself quite competently in any athletic endeavor if push came to shove.

  “Yeah, I’ve done it…twice. I figured if I was going to take tourists around this area, I ought to be able to give them a first-hand account of what that monster is like.”

  I heard a click. Hennie spoke. “Okay, I know you guys are all jocks, even Corky is whatever you call a female jock–perhaps a jockette–but you’re talking about something that I know absolutely nothing about. What does class five whitewater mean?”

  I nodded for Jack to respond. “Rivers are rated, for rafting or kayaking purposes on what they call whitewater rapids, so the jock, as you call him or her, has a good idea what to expect from the river. All whitewater rapids are rated on a scale of I to VI. The ratings are based on a combinations of difficulty and danger. Class I and II aren’t much. Most beginners and occasional rafters or kayakers usually stick to no more than a Class III which has some rapids, high irregular waves and a few narrow passages that may require precise maneuvering.

  “Class IV has long, difficult rapids with constricted passages that often require complex maneuvering in turbulent water. Good idea to scout this out before you try it and you should have quite a bit of experience.

  “Class V is described in the manuals as extremely difficult, long and very violent rapids, with highly congested routes; rescue in case of an accident is often difficult or impossible. This is the upper limit for a commercial rafting companies, though most, for liability purposes, try to stick to the Class IV. Only the most experienced kayakers should even attempt a Class V.

  “Class VI is what they call ‘unrunnable’ meaning it shouldn’t be attempted. It’s essentially like going down a long, rough waterfall.

  “So, bottom line, the highest rated runnable river is a Class V–and that’s what Devil’s Canyon is and has been for as long as I’ve been here. Actually, ratings can fluctuate, usually depending on water levels. Events like landslides, ice storms or floods can change the shape of the rapids, thus altering their classification.”

  I heard another click from Hennie’s mike. “Thanks. That explains a lot. I think what you said is, even for a jock, it takes a set of big ones to go down these rapids.”

  Jack rubbed his chin, his hand partially hiding his grin and covering his mike to mute a chortle.

  Chuckling, I turned to Jack. “So, back to your runs. How was it?”

  “Scary as hell–both times. But, each time in a different way.” Jack spoke into his mike so everyone could hear. “The difficulty on any given day is dictated by unpredictable weather, ever-changing water levels and the large volume of water that is forced through those rapids. It’s an eleven-mile ride over powerful rapids and ever-steepening bluffs. At Devil’s Creek, it drops 265 feet in a two-mile stretch, and here’s what’s hard to believe: it pushes a hefty 6,750,000 gallons of water per minute down through those narrow gorges. You can hear it and feel what’s coming long before you see it around a bend. Down in that gorge, it sounds like a couple of 747s taking off.

  “But when you’re not struggling just to stay alive, it’s a beautiful trip. Most of it is dense vegetation along a cliff-walled canyon. Then in other places, it’s sheer rock. As each side grows steeper, you are confronted with spectacular standing waves. One, on my second run, I swear was over twenty feet high. Then powerful cresting holes where all of a sudden the bottom drops out. It’s like free-falling from an airplane. You just fall, and feel yourself going deeper and deeper into the abyss. Then the river converges on top of you, covering you and the kayak, and you have to fight your way back to the top so you can face another spectacular wave. Ideally, you try to keep your kayak upright, but I had to right myself several times, on both runs. Those sheer cliffs at Devil’s Creek form a gorgeous cage from which the only escape is downstream. Once you start, there’s no turning back. It’s the longest runnable whitewater in the world.”

  As his gripping account ended, Jack banked the helicopter as he made his final approach. We hovered, swaying a little from side to side before Jack set the helo down on a clear area next to the river, upstream of Devil’s Canyon. I could see multiple helicopter skid tracks and several different animal tracks. The view was awesome.

  Walking around the area, Corky picked a pretty blue flower, and asked, “What is this called?”

  “Oh, those are Arctic Lupine. You’ll find an abundance of wildflowers up here.”

  Hennie pointed. “Look.” We watched a beautiful bald eagle land gracefully on the other side of the river, apparently looking for a tasty fish morsel, the silvery shape of a sockeye salmon swimming upstream to lay its eggs probably having caught his keen-sighted eye.

  “What will happen to that gorge when the dam is built?” I asked Jack.

  “The dam will be here, about twenty-two miles above Devil’s Canyon, but it will still probably change it quite a bit. I know that the recreational aspects of the Big Sue–that’s what they call the Susitna River locally–and Devil’s Canyon in particular, along with the damage to the salmon, are the main reasons for the strong opposition to the dam.”

  We spent about an hour looking around the area where the proposed dam would go. It was strange, being in a place that could be so fundamentally altered. Corky called our attention to a herd of caribou on the other side of the river, some grazing on a patch of glistening grass and others out on a gravel bar island. I tried to ignore the fact that all we could see to the north would be submerged, disappearing under 700 feet of water, about 40 miles long and at least a mile wide. The reservoir would impede the fall and spring migration for the caribou and other wild animals. Many animals could swim the river, but the reservoir would be too wide.

  Corky suddenly seemed to be reading my mind. “This reminds me of an Ansel Adams quote: ‘I have thought about the land while traveling through it and observing the precarious status quo: beautiful, yet on the verge of disaster.’”

  I felt her shudder as I hugged her close. She exhaled fiercely, then pulled away.

  It was clear that there wasn’t much–hell, there wasn’t anything–up here to help us in our quest for information about who killed Charley. I don’t even know what I expected to find. And if Hennie was right about that drawing, this wouldn’t be the place anyway, since clearly there was going to be a dam here, or at least that was the plan. That damn drawing was going to be of no help, even if it had related to whatever Charley found. I’d read somewhere that Alaska has almost ten thousand named rivers. Talk about finding a needle in a haystack!

  Before I let my vexation spoil my enjoyment of this beautiful area, I asked Jack to make one more run up the Canyon, so I could take some pictures. I had been so enthralled with his narrative of kayaking that gorge, I had failed to take a single picture. I gazed downstream toward Devil’s Canyon as it sliced through the bedrock of the Talkeetna Mountains. Flying 2000 feet above, the river was intoxicating to watch. With its nearly indescribable colors…a silvery brown glacial flow, bordered on each side by a rolling expanse of green…it snaked its way through ever narrowing gorges, with crests of the river exploding like a white spiral serpent into spray, foam and fury. A boat below was but a speck in the wilderness as the angry river clawed its way toward the sea.

  From this vantage point, it was clear that the dam was going to disrupt a lot of wildlife habitat, and change the river flow, which would affect the salmon. Corky couldn’t hide her agitation as she perceived the environmental damage that would be done. She didn’t have to say a word, it was written all over her face. Although I’d never given it much thought, I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable as I realized the changes–actually the damage–it would cause.

  A
s we headed back to Talkeetna, Jack added, “Alaska is well known for its largely untamed and undeveloped wilderness. The Big Sue currently runs its entirety unimpeded, with only two road crossings and one rail crossing. If the politicians and corporations prevail in building the various mines, roads, pipelines, oil platforms, bridges and dams in areas previously devoid of human development, then Alaska becomes like the rest of the world…a wild place in memory only.”

  “You support the Environmentalist movement in opposition to the dam?” Corky asked, the tone of her voice conveying her delight at finding someone else she thought shared her concerns.

  “I can actually see both sides. Alaska needs to find alternative energy sources. There has been interest in building a dam on the Big Sue since 1948. By 1983 the Alaska Power Authority was ready to apply for a hydroelectric permit from federal authorities, but for some reason that application was withdrawn. Interest has been rekindled with the high price of alternative fuels. Alaska is trying to find ways to provide at least fifty percent of its energy from renewable sources by 2025. Clearly, this dam would go a long way in helping meet that goal. But, yeah, I would really hate to see the incredible beauty of Alaska’s vast untamed and remote wilderness destroyed.”

  Buddy Lee, noticing that Corky was visibly distressed, changed the subject. “Greg, what did you expect to learn from this area?”

  “I don’t know. And, after seeing this, I’m not sure it’s going to be of any help. You know, I’m simply flailing. I want to find Charley’s killer, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” My voice rose as my frustration rang out loud and clear.

  Jack eyed me obliquely. “Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

  “No, I just hoped something would jump out at me,” I answered in a calmer voice. I wasn’t ready to mention the core drilling to anyone up here…certainly not yet. Then I added, “But somebody killed my friend. Just before, he had sent me a ticket to Alaska, so there had to be something up here he was going to show me or wanted me to find. There has to be a connection.” Oops, I was letting my frustration seep out again. I could see out of the corner of my eye Jack watching me carefully. Was I that out-of-control?

  After the beautiful scenic flight, we landed back at the airport and agreed to meet at 7 p.m. at the Wildflower, a restaurant Buddy Lee suggested. I walked over where Jack was tying down the helo and asked, “Would you like to join us? Our treat.”

  He gave me a strange look, probably wondering if I would start yelling again, then said, “Thanks, but sorry, I have to go to Anchorage to finalize a flightseeing tour with the travel agent for a group coming in from somewhere in the Midwest next week.”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Monday evening, Talkeetna, Exciting Discovery

  By the time we got back to the cabin, my frustration meter had risen again. I walked into the cabin, grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. “Dammit!” I shouted. Corky came in behind me, picked up the pillow and tossed it back on the bed.

  “Greg, Honey, relax. We’ll find something. I know we will.”

  I sprawled across the bed wishing I had bought a bottle of Jack Daniels. Maybe a nap would help. When I heard a knock on the door, I heaved an annoyed sigh and opened it.

  Hennie, breathless, rushed in. “Okay, I don’t know where it’s from, but I know what it is, and I understand why Charley was excited about it.” He ran all his words together without a breath, then inhaled sharply.

  Corky stood beside me. “What is it?” we both uttered at the same time.

  “Rhenium.”

  “Okay, but what is that?” Corky asked.

  I was still adjusting. This was mind boggling. I tried to explain to Corky, “Rhenium is one of the rarest elements in the Earth’s crust. It has a very high melting point, so it’s very much in demand for jet engine construction, the exhaust nozzles on jet engines. Because of its low availability relative to demand…there are few sources in the U.S….Rhenium is one of the most expensive rare earth metals in the world, costs about the same as gold.”

  Hennie bobbled his head in agreement. “Yes. Yes. As soon as I heard its name, I recognized its value. But where was this core drilling from? I didn’t see a thing up where that dam is supposed to go that would give us a clue.”

  “Let me think. What do I know about where Rhenium has been found?” I scratched my head, and dug deep into my memory bank, trying to dredge up long-forgotten knowledge. “It’s often a by-product of the extraction and refinement of copper ore. But I don’t think we flew over any copper mining areas.”

  Hennie commented, “Well, they used to have a huge copper mining area east of here. They even have a Copper River a couple hundred miles east. Kennecott Mining took out millions of tons of copper ore. It closed down prior to WW II, late 30s I think, but Kennecott made lots of money until the ore ran out. If there was that big a vein just over one mountain range, perhaps Charley found one while doing some research on the Susitna Dam project. Perhaps that’s what his drawing depicted–where he found it. And the ‘no dam’ must mean that it isn’t directly in the area where the dam is going. I wish to hell he’d have put in more identifying markers.”

  I recalled some research on copper mining I had once done in my master’s program. “Kennecott and surrounding areas are now in a national park preserve, I think it’s Wrangell something or another. I remember Wrangell because that’s the mountain range nearby. So Charley would have known he wouldn’t be able to mine near there. We’ll have to look at privately-owned land.”

  Corky snapped her head in my direction. “We should check with the County Recorder or tax collector–whoever keeps records of land ownership. Maybe Charley bought the land where he found this rhenium or whatever you call it.”

  I pulled her into my arms and kissed her excitedly. “Corky, that’s brilliant. And, it would make sense that he would do something like that. But there are several different possible county recorders…or, as you say, whatever they call them here…so we need to start tomorrow. Perhaps Buddy Lee could lend us the helicopter and Jack, or another pilot, tomorrow.”

  Looking at my watch, I realized it was time to join Buddy Lee for dinner, and it was already nearly 10 p.m. in Minnesota. “You guys go ahead; I’ll join you shortly. Order me a cold beer.” As soon as Corky and Hennie left, I called Mike.

  “Well, my wandering nomad friend. Where are you now?”

  “A little town called Talkeetna, up north of Anchorage. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I’m lucky if I get to bed before midnight most of the time. But, what gives?”

  “I was checking to see if you had any report on Jazzy.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I do. The Captain…and by the way…it’s Captain Granger, called me just last evening. And another thing…by the way… you should know. He really went out on a limb for you. He contacted the police in Anchorage, said he had the necessary signed affidavit, which of course he does not, but they put out an arrest warrant for Jazzy, and she was picked up before her show last night. Anchorage P.D. is holding her for extradition to Minnesota. But, unless they get a signed statement from your friend, what’s her name…Corky…they don’t have anything to arrest and hold the woman you refer to as Dragon Lady. But I do have a name for you. Stella Johanssen. She’s wanted on some minor drug charges in Minnesota, mostly misdemeanors, maybe one could be charged as a felony, but that’s all I could find. So, when you return to Anchorage, you might have Corky go meet with a Detective Swanson of Anchorage P.D. and give him a sworn statement. Chances are she’s already gone underground since her songbird was arrested. And, while you’re there, you can sign whatever they need for Jazzy.” I jotted down all the relevant names and headed over to the restaurant.

  As soon as Hennie had identified the element in Charley’s core drilling, another thought planted itself in the back of my once-again-fertile mind…barren since my concerns about my suspects, Buddy Lee and Leonard, had been essentially satisfied. Could this
have been the nine-figure subject Charley was talking about? Could this have been what he wanted to bring me to Alaska to see…instead of the dam? Maybe we’d been concentrating on the wrong reason for his murder! Who stood to gain if the discovery of the rhenium were kept secret? Damn, that opened up a whole new list of suspects.

  As I turned into the restaurant, the sun was just dropping behind the hills, turning the beautiful thin, wispy cirrus clouds a fiery orange.

  When I told Buddy Lee we wanted to search for a deed to some property we thought Charley might have purchased, but we didn’t have a clue where, he graciously agreed to lend us the use of the helicopter again tomorrow. “Greg, I suggest you start in the Matanuska-Susitna Borough, which covers this area, and that office is in Palmer, about 85 miles southeast of here. I’ll give Jack a call and arrange for him to meet you at the airport a little after ten in the morning. If you don’t find anything there, then he’s at your disposal for the rest of the day. He’s familiar with this whole region.”

  When we returned to the room, I told Corky what Mike had said. “So, we may want to give a call to the Anchorage Police and ask where we can find this Detective Swanson and arrange to meet with him when we get back. I’d rather have Dragon Lady behind bars than Jazzy. I think she’s more dangerous.”

  “Are you going to press charges against Jazzy?” She kept her head lowered, but I sensed her internal battle. She liked the woman and she supported, more than I had realized before, a lot of the environmental movement’s goals–a discussion I was not prepared to engage in at this time, but one for which I had acquired a new-found understanding, if not respect…as long as it didn’t involve illegal activities, like killing dogs and people.