Another beep.
Hey you! It’s Oliver.
I send one last message to Lucy: His Insta rocks! Speak later, Oliver’s messaging. Then I send Oliver a clip of the scenery outside the window, panning to myself and showing off my five layers of clothes, one by one. I’m the abominable snowman!
Oliver replies, Haha. You look adorable. Check this out.
My phone beeps again and I open the clip.
I see Oliver’s dog Tiger running in the park chasing a ball. The camera goes all jiggly. I see grass, Oliver’s hand, and what’s that? Another ball. Someone’s playing fetch and this time it’s …
You’ve taken Bella to the park? I text. OMG!
Oliver and I share an obsession with dogs. And animals in general. I went veggie when I was twelve, but Oliver’s been veg his whole life because his mum raised him and his sister like that. My mum was an animal lover too, not just dogs, and was super supportive, although she didn’t change her diet like me. Oliver still eats free-range eggs and drinks organic milk, and Lucy is crazy for steak and burgers but wants to cut down. It’s all okay. I know everyone is on their own path and everyone has to start somewhere. And I know it’s not easy—I slipped up and ate chicken a few times because I was trying to blend in at my new school and not stand out like a ‘hairy-armpit-veggo’. as Marissa called it.
Animals are actually how Oliver and I first connected, way before I moved from Sydney to West Creek and found him sitting in front of me in Year Ten. We already followed each other on Instagram; his profile is WildRider and mine is VeggieGirl. It was insane that we commented on each other’s posts, shared animal memes and veg tips, and eventually direct messaged without knowing we were in the same town, let alone sitting in the same class. WildRider gave me support and advice after I took Chirp and freaked out. I had no idea he was the same person I was crushing on in real life. When I found out, my brain erupted like a volcano and then melted into lava. We are meant to be.
Ran into your uncle Dave at the shops, he writes. He said the ‘poor scrappy mutt’ is pining for you. So, I picked her up for a play date.
It’s only been a few days since I left, but I miss Dave.
But you know she’s beautiful! I write.
On the outside?
In and out! I add a laughing face. But, seriously, thank you for taking her to the park!
No worries. She’s making progress bringing the ball back—I think the treats are helping. How’s it going over there?
Good so far, a bit weird though. We’re off camping, in the snow, but it feels like the North Pole, minus a trillion degrees. Snow camping! Am I one tough chick or what? I send a couple of emojis—a flexing arm and a little chicken.
The toughest. The cutest too. It must be intense with just the two of you. Hope you and your dad get along great.
Me too. I don’t mention Jaxon—the situation is too complicated to describe in a text.
Better hit the sack, Oliver replies. Chat tomorrow.
I won’t have coverage for a day.
Next day, then.
At traffic lights a little further on, Adam’s phone beeps. He taps back a message. I wonder if he has a girlfriend. There was no sign of one in his house. I try to peek at his phone, but the angle’s wrong.
The traffic light turns green.
‘How’s that playlist coming along?’ he asks Jaxon.
‘Still working on it.’
My father slides a CD into the stereo and I catch the name, Mozart Piano Concerto in D Minor. I would never have guessed he was a fan of classical music. Hardly matches the beard, denim and monster truck.
An entire orchestra fills the car and I stare out the window into the dark, frozen landscape.
‘Hey, Adam, what if my dad calls when we’re out of range?’ Jaxon asks.
‘I’ve got the sat phone; why don’t you text him the number, just in case? Anyway, we’ll try him again tonight.’
Mozart, strangely enough, is the perfect soundtrack as the scenery engulfs me. Concrete, parking lots and shops are quickly replaced by giant trees and snowy fields. Soon we’re in wilderness proper. The sun rises and the air is so saturated with colour, violet and lavender, it looks like it’s been put through an Instagram filter.
I see forests full of what my father tells me are hemlock, cedar and spruce trees, blanketing the landscape like an army of ghosts. Couldn’t be more different to the scraggy eucalyptus forests I’m used to.
The mountains are a mix of jagged ridges and smooth curves. Some gently cradle paddocks of snow, and others drop into sheer cliff faces revealing their angular bones. Many do both, making abstract patterns in black and white. The lakes are frozen still and reflect the scenery like an upside-down canvas. Double the beauty.
Every wooden cabin wears a white hat. Hansel and Gretel.
It’s crazy, stunning, unreal. I want to hold the pictures and keep them forever.
Every few minutes, there’s a yellow road sign with a moose. Just like in the Australian bush, only back home they’re kangaroos. Adam’s so focused on getting where we’re going, I don’t want to ask him to stop so I can get out to take a picture—instead, I take a hundred from the car window.
‘There are three million lakes in Alaska,’ he tells me, ‘and one hundred thousand glaciers. Plenty of time for pictures.’
Mozart turns into more slouch rock from Jaxon’s phone. We’re all lost in our own thoughts, and my father and I are not making progress in the getting-to-knowyou area.
I haven’t told him about Oliver; he hasn’t asked. He hasn’t told me what he does. I haven’t told him about Mum, and he hasn’t asked about that either. Why did he leave and why has he never bothered to show up in my life? I can’t go home without these questions answered.
But I’m still tired and my period cramps hurt. There’ll be time to talk later.
We stop at a small store, and I walk down an aisle with thousands of snacks I’ve never seen before, like Twizzlers and Twinkies, and beef jerky in weird flavours like teriyaki and bacon. I buy some stronger painkillers and my father fills up a big cup of filtered coffee, pouring in two packets of sugar. While I use the toilet, I wonder how people live here. I mean, the inconvenience of so many layers of winter clothing. Snowsuit, pants, thermals—it’s exhausting pulling them off and on. I wash my hands and swallow another pill. The water from the tap feels like ice and turns my fingertips crimson, but tastes fresher than from any bottle.
Back in the car, Jaxon tells us all about wolves and how researchers put out wooden boards with barbed wire and coated in a scent that attracts them. The wolves rub against the boards and their fur gets stuck. Then the scientists collect the fur, look at DNA markers and make an assessment of the species and different individuals. It’s so cool.
We pull off a small road and Adam lurches the truck into four-wheel drive. After half an hour of bumping through the snow, me clutching my stomach, we stop.
‘We’re here,’ my father says. I open the car door and the frozen air pricks my exposed skin like the spines of a cactus. I quickly zip up the snowsuit.
Jaxon helps my father unload the truck.
I take a moment to look around and can’t help but smile: this is a living fairytale, an illustration from a storybook. I take out my phone to capture the beauty, but the screen is black.
‘Dead.’ I shake it.
‘Too cold,’ my father says as he pulls out a huge bag, which I assume is the tent.
‘Take a mental picture instead,’ Jaxon says, blinking dramatically. His face scrunches up like a raspberry, which makes me laugh.
Jaxon and I grab the remaining gear from the truck. The pills have kicked in and I’m feeling much better, in my belly at least. ‘Feels like my feet are being stabbed by icicles.’ I stomp in the snow.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Jaxon says. ‘Try wriggling your toes nonstop for a few minutes; it gets the blood flowing.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I grumble, jumping up and down madly,
now making Jaxon laugh.
‘Want some coffee, kids?’ my father calls. ‘Or make that tea and coffee!’ He’s already built a little snow wall in a semicircle, lit a fire and created a tripod of long sticks. A blackened kettle is hanging from the centre.
We’re not kids, I want to say. You missed the years when I was a kid. But instead, I lean against the truck, massage my toes and squeeze on another layer of thick socks.
We join my father, warming our hands by the flames. He takes out another huge topographical map and starts discussing latitudes and longitudes with Jaxon.
‘Let’s get going, what you think?’ Adam says finally, once I’ve finished my tea.
‘Where do I go to the loo?’ I ask.
‘Loo? That’s right, ha, I remember that word. Nature’s your restroom here. Let me help you with the snowshoes,’ he says.
‘Snowshoes?’
Turns out the snowshoes look like miniature skateboards. He straps them onto my boots. ‘When you’re walking, keep your legs wider than usual, otherwise the shoes bump into each other and—’
‘You’ll end up with a face full of snow,’ Jaxon adds. ‘Lucky the grizzlies are sleeping.’
Ha ha. I stomp across the icy terrain, and when I return my bottom’s freezing.
We start walking and, despite the snowshoes, my feet sink deep into the snow.
It’s hard keeping up with Jaxon and my father, and my heart is beating fast from the exertion. I thought I was fit, but this is way harder than school sport and hillier than the paddocks around Paula and Dave’s house where I walk Bella. I unzip my snowsuit to allow cold air to enter. At least my toes aren’t hurting anymore; Jaxon was right, the blood flow really helps.
‘It’s so quiet,’ I remark, more to myself than anyone else. Trillions of trees surround us, the hemlocks the only ones keeping their green leaves, now painted with snow.
‘If it wasn’t winter, we’d be making a lot of noise to keep the bears away,’ my father explains.
‘Don’t need the gun or bear spray or bells either,’ Jaxon adds. ‘You know, a kid at my school was killed by a bear last year?’
‘Seriously? That’s terrible.’
‘He was running on a track through the state park next to town and sent a text to his mum saying he saw a bear. She tried calling, but there was no answer. The park services found his body.’
‘Far out.’
‘Yeah. You know what we say in Alaska? “If it’s black, fight back, but if it’s brown, lie down.” He did lie down, but it didn’t matter in the end.’
‘You mean black bears versus grizzly bears?’
‘Right.’ Jaxon nods. ‘And I haven’t even started on the moose—the females with young are the most dangerous of all.’
‘Stop scaring her,’ my father says.
We continue walking, every so often stopping, and as they huddle over the map I catch my breath.
Adam takes out one of those thingies that tell you which direction you’re going in. He squints at the sky, scans the horizon and then drops his gaze back to the map. His face is relaxed; he looks in his element, at home. And he and Jaxon are tuned into each other.
‘Back this way,’ my father says and we U-turn, retracing our steps. I want to ask, Are we there yet? but stop myself. The last thing I want is my mountain-man father to think I’m some useless city girl, even if I am.
‘A little more to the west, over that hill.’ Jaxon points.
‘Do people ski here?’ I ask.
‘All the time. Do you know how?’
‘Nope.’
Another fifteen minutes go by. Or it could be fifty. The hemlocks have given way to what I learn are birch—bare bodied and thin in the trunk, their branches make geometric shapes, nature’s art. My legs aching, I’m almost in a trance, trudging along behind them, my breath making clouds, snowsuit whooshing rhythmically in time with my steps. The sun’s out and the snow now twinkles like diamond dust. A slight breeze rustles the branches, scattering more snow around us. My mind wanders to Oliver, kissing my favourite freckle next to his left eye, and I get tingles. Then I see my best friend Lucy making her coconut cupcakes, me licking the bowl. My dog Bella, the two of us spooning in bed. Knowing she’s pining for me is horrible. I can’t tell her when I’ll be home or even reassure her I’ll be back at all. I see Chirp in her enclosure at Lucy’s family bird sanctuary. How’s her lame leg? I hope it’s not bothering her and she’s not in pain; Lucy promised to message me if it got worse. Is she giving Chirp her favourite summer treat, watermelon? Probably … Lucy loves Chirp almost as much as I do. Chirp looks so cute when the feathers around her beak are dyed pink with juice. And how’s Paula feeling today? If she could only see me now, she’d laugh herself silly. I can’t wait to have a little cousin. Although, Oliver’s ballet-obsessed sister, Sabine, has almost become a sister to me too; she looks up to me and hangs on my every word. I wonder if a first cousin will be the same, and if she’ll be a girl. I really hope—
‘Shhh!’ Jaxon stops dead and squints through his binoculars.
‘A deer?’ I whisper to my father. He puts his finger to his lips.
I desperately want to see one, a little spotty foal, how amazing would that be? My toes are icing up again so I start wriggling them.
‘This is the mother’s den,’ Jaxon says. ‘The alpha female. The female and male heads are called the alphas; they are parents, leaders of their family and the pack. Take a look.’ Jaxon hands me the binoculars, the same type Lucy and her dad use for birdwatching.
I focus the lenses and a figure takes shape. Shaggy with grey and white fur, a hint of honey. She’s climbing down into a hole in the snow. A wolf.
‘Wow,’ I breathe. ‘How big is the den?’
‘About ten feet. She has to dig deep enough so predators can’t hear them. I mean, wolves are at the top of the food chain but occasionally there’s danger from grizzlies. You can’t be too careful.’
‘Are there really cubs down there?’
‘Pups, not cubs. Hold on, you’ll see.’
We stand quietly, watching. I think of Jane Goodall and the years she spent observing chimpanzees, studying their behaviour. I can’t imagine living out here for weeks, let alone months. I wiggle my toes in my boots some more, trying not to make any movement. Wildlife research is such patient work, I don’t know if I have it in me. For a while now, I’ve thought journalism may be the right path. I could get a job for one of those animal sites or even be a National Geographic reporter, like the ones who covered all of Jane’s amazing work.
‘Look now,’ Jaxon whispers.
I see the wolf reappear, holding a pup in her mouth.
‘Oh my God.’
She is so pretty. But not like other dogs. This isn’t some cute poodle or even a mutt like Bella. She’s wild and she knows it. I can tell this is her world where she’s boss, not us.
I watch, my eyes stuck to the binoculars, transfixed. She puts down the pup and goes back for another. The pup follows her and then changes his mind and turns around, sniffing the snow curiously. Soon, there are three pups, four and five.
‘Their coats are so thick, they look so comfortable in the snow,’ I say, wiggling my toes again, more with excitement now than cold.
‘They’re at home,’ my father says. ‘It’s us who are defenceless out here in these temperatures. Without all our clothes and equipment, we’d get hypothermia and be dead in an hour. The wolf belongs here; this is her land.’
He said what I had just thought. Her land. He truly sounds like a kindred animal lover.
‘They only weigh a pound when they’re born,’ Jaxon says, ‘and they stay with the parents until they’re two. Hold on, there are more.’
We watch another pup appear. The six of them start romping around, biting each other playfully. Jaxon notes down all his observations in a small pad.
‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’ my father says.
I smile. ‘Beautiful isn’t enough to describe i
t—I can’t even think of the right word. Magnificent?’
‘In nature,’ my father says, ‘experiences often can’t be described in words.’
I look at him. I can’t think of the right words to describe being here with him either. It’s full of opposites: right and good, yet wrong and unfamiliar. He’s my blood, the DNA behind my one brown eye, but he’s a stranger. We are family, or I want us to be family, but I have no idea how. Are we family already, or do we have to become it?
After a long time, Jaxon finishes writing.
‘Better start getting back before nightfall,’ my father says.
‘The wolves will come out in the full moon and that’s when things go downhill fast,’ Jaxon says.
‘Seriously?’
‘No,’ my father says. ‘Wolves aren’t dangerous.’ We start walking again and, after a while, my father says, ‘See the strands of fur on the tree, Sky? A grizzly used this as a scratching post last summer.’
‘They have really powerful claws, right?’ I ask.
‘Powerful but delicate. They can pick fragile berries from bushes; their paws are designed like scoops.’
Later, we see tracks in the snow: two large bean-shaped marks with two smaller ones. Adam takes out a book and shows me how to identify them.
‘A female caribou?’ I ask.
‘Right,’ he says.
I smile like a little girl making her father proud.
It’s not even 4pm, but it’s already dusk as we set up the tent. It’s big and sturdy; a little hole in the roof releases the smoke from a small stove hung inside. My father promises me it will burn all night and I’ll be so toasty I won’t even need my second fleece. Plan B, he says, there’s always the heater in the car. That reassures me.
I bring more wood from the boot of the car, and the sky’s black as we rekindle our fire into a roaring flame.
‘Do you know the most dangerous animal in the world?’ my father asks, cooking the dehydrated rice in a pot.
‘Crocodiles, red-bellied black snakes, lions …?’ I wrap a potato in aluminium foil and throw it into the embers.
‘A mother protecting her cub. Never get between them.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ I say, thinking of Mum and all she sacrificed to raise me alone. I wrap another potato, smashing the foil tightly, and throw it too hard into the fire. It misses the flames. What would he know about being a good parent, or even a parent at all? I kick the potato into the fire.
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