This is probably a bad idea. I couldn’t help the thought; it made me turn around and look for my parent’s dark gray Subaru. But they had already gone.
* * *
“I think I’m going through withdrawal,” Chloe said. “I practically got the shakes.”
“Phone?” I spread the nylon tent out on the smoothest layer of dirt and leaves I could find, checking for stones and pinecones, then glanced over only to see that Isaac and Oscar had theirs up already. Wes and Jeremy were also done, now busy helping Chris gather rocks for the campfire.
Chris had let us send a farewell text to our contacts to let them know we’d all be incommunicado for the week. I sent one to my mom. No phones 4 the week. C u soon. Luv Em.
I figured she’d tell my dad. He wasn’t much of a phone person anyway.
Then we turned them off and put them in a blaze-orange waterproof zip sack, and that was that. It didn’t bother me too much. Nobody called me anymore anyway, and I dropped mine into the bag with a shrug. “Don’t feel like you’re missing anything, kiddos.” Chris smiled as if he knew exactly what we were missing. “You’ll survive without them for a few days.”
“Yep, total phone withdrawal. I miss my music.” Chloe snapped the telescoping rods into place, eyeballing the length of the two longest. “Does it matter which goes where? They both look the same.”
“Uh?” I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Chris had said that our first challenge was to put our tents up. No directions. Which would be easy enough if either of us had ever put up a tent before. “If they’re the same it shouldn’t matter.” I spread out a pile of six L-shaped metal stakes. “These must go in the straps.” I tugged on the black loops at the base of the tent. “Let’s do this part first.”
After twenty more minutes we had it done, more or less. The entrance was facing the opposite direction from the others, but neither of us cared. After we put in our sleeping bags and packs, I crawled out to see all four boys watching us, curious grins on their mouths. Chris sat across the site, marking something on his clipboard with a pen. Maybe he was grading us. Either an A for effort or an F-minus for speed.
“You girls sure are slow,” Isaac said.
I blushed and pressed a rock into the dirt with my heel. We were slow.
“What’s your point?” Chloe asked.
Isaac crossed his arms and bobbed his head, smiling like a slimy used-car salesman, as if his point were glaringly obvious.
“Have you guys ever put up a tent before?” Wes grinned, but it wasn’t the taunting one Isaac had plastered across his face.
“Heck, no,” said Chloe. “And no directions, either.”
Wes ran his hand through a thick shock of sandy-brown hair. “Well, then, you actually put it up pretty fast,” he laughed. He wasn’t very good-looking, not like the other guys, but he had an agreeable bulldoggish manner that made me like him instantly.
Isaac stopped grinning.
“Thanks!” Chloe flashed him a brilliant smile, transforming her face into something even more gorgeous than normal.
“No problem.” Now it was Wes’s turn to blush.
“Okay, campers,” Chris called out, waving the clipboard at us like a flag. “Time to go over a few small reminders.”
“Again?” Jeremy muttered. “I thought we went over all that at the outfitters.”
Back in Ely, we had stopped at the Big Loon Outfitting Company to load up our week’s worth of supplies, which were, in no particular order:
3 ultralight aluminum canoes
1 Kevlar kayak (for Chris)
7 life jackets and paddles
Camp stove and fuel canister
Eating utensils and a cookpot
Soap
Hand sanitizer
Toilet paper
Trash bags
Matches
Paper towels
Plus the huge cooler stuffed with three meals per person per day, including snacks. All packed according to park regulations, including everything from cereal and pancakes to pudding cups, hot dogs, marshmallows, and chicken enchiladas.
A massive map of the BWCA covered a wall inside the store. It was huge. Overwhelming, really. Hundreds of lakes dotted the green field in a constellation of blue blobs, an entire galaxy of trees and water in a universe of wilderness. How can this be? I knew there were still remote places like this, but it somehow seemed pretend, a fantasy you saw on television. Something that existed a hundred years ago, now replaced by an endless sea of strip malls and Walmarts.
But it was still here.
Standing there in the store with my expensive new backpack and hiking boots, the actual reality finally set in. This was the real outdoors. The end of civilization.
The wild.
Several route numbers decorated the map, arching up across the wide expanse of green, some extending all the way to the Quetico area of Canada. Chris said we would be signed in for Route #5—Fishing, Falls and Indian Tales. Whatever that meant. I found the spot on the map and read the little blurb underneath.
Days needed: 5+, Difficulty: Challenging. This route includes many lakes and several long portages.
Great.
“All right, let’s gather around the fire,” said Chris, snapping me back to reality. “Dinner’s almost ready. I hope everyone likes burgers.”
We all did. He could have said we were having fried cat with a side of squirrel, and I would have devoured it. I was hungry. Real hunger, not just ready to eat because it was a certain time of day, but hard-core, razor-blade-sharp-stomach-pains hungry. And we hadn’t even gone that far today.
Chris passed around the plates and utensils. No glass or aluminum cans allowed. Every piece of trash we had to carry out.
Chris slapped the meat patties onto the cookstove; the smell brought tears to my eyes.
“Who wants it Sconnie style?” Chris held up a packet of cheese slices.
Our hands shot up. “Good choice.” Chris laughed.
After a few minutes he flipped each burger and added a slice of cheese; we clutched our plates and drooled. “Y’all remind me of my dogs when it’s feeding time.” He grinned. “But that’s to be expected. We didn’t go far today—a few miles, but there were a few tough portages. And y’all did good your first day out. Real good.” Chris pointed his spatula at each of us in turn. “But you’re gonna be sore tomorrow, so I want each of you to drink at least one liter of water tonight. If anyone needs ibuprofen and doesn’t have their own, I have some. The important thing to remember is that we take our time. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” He looked back down at the cookstove. “Time to eat.”
Don’t want anyone getting hurt. I bit into my burger. Melted cheese seared the roof of my mouth, but I didn’t care. Nobody ever wanted to get hurt. But it still happened, didn’t it? No matter how careful you were, no matter how smart your plans. It happened anyway. It happened all the time.
Day 2
Morning
The mosquito buzzed by my ear, circling my head like an insect spacecraft. So much for bug spray. I was sweating like it was an Olympic sport. Beads of sweat ran down from my hairline, pooling under my chin, and dripped off like a leaking faucet with every step. I wanted to wipe it away. I wanted to swat that mosquito. Instead, I adjusted my grip on the aluminum canoe and took a slow breath. It seemed like we’d been doing this all morning. Walking with a canoe loaded with all our stuff. Like it was some sort of sick joke. Canoes were meant for water, right? Shouldn’t we be paddling across some clear ice-blue lake? Admiring the scenery? Looking for fish?
“Good God,” Chloe grunted from the front. “How much longer?”
We were the last ones in the caravan, trailing a good twenty yards back from Wes and Jeremy. Jeremy’s orange shirt vanished and reappeared between the trees like a warning light. It would be easy to get lost out here. But the trail was wide and fairly obvious, and we’d seen other people this morning (mostly families). I couldn’t imagine the Dodd family going on a trip like
this, no matter how much my dad would have enjoyed it. Maybe my mom would agree if we stayed in one of those fancy resort lodges that dotted the shore of Lake Superior. I shook my head, partly to deflect the mosquito. Maybe she would have agreed to that a few years ago, but not anymore.
Chris lead the way, carrying his kayak by himself, so I guess we shouldn’t be complaining. He told us last night around the campfire that people would get scarce by the morning of the third day, after we passed the waterfall and got into a really remote area.
I gripped my fingers along the canoe hull and breathed into the burn. If this wasn’t remote already, I had no idea what the word meant.
“Stop.” Chloe jerked to a halt, and I almost dropped my end.
“What’s wrong?”
“Log.”
“Another one?” I set the canoe down and shook out my arms, rolled my neck back and forth. I had a stash of ibuprofen and had taken three last night, then fallen into a dreamless sleep, a type of sleep I hadn’t had in a long time, which was definitely better than the dreams I normally had. Technically I would call them nightmares.
“Okay,” I said, getting a new hold on the canoe. “You go first, and then we’ll slide it over.”
Chloe picked up the front and slid it on top of the moss. This log was the biggest one yet, almost waist high, with the diameter of one of those giant semitrailer tires. I wondered how such a big tree could just fall down like that.
Chloe rolled to the other side, and I pushed the canoe to her before climbing over myself.
“That’s number six,” Chloe said.
“You’d think they’d have someone out here to clean up the trail.”
“Guess this ain’t Disneyland.”
I laughed. “You got that right.”
My shoulders ached. I wanted to sit down, just for a minute. Instead, I looked ahead for Jeremy’s orange shirt. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t even hear the others, not above the sound of my own labored breathing and grunting. A bubble of panic popped in my chest. Where did they go?
“Hey,” said Chloe. “I think I finally see some water.”
“Thank God.”
The trail twisted right, and we followed a winding switchback. The path narrowed so tightly our bodies brushed the papery leaves growing beside it. Better not be poison ivy. Or poison oak. Or poison something. Through the trees, flashes of silver and blue, then a flash of orange.
Around the last switchback the trail opened up onto a slim pebbled beach. Gusts of air hit my face, like I had just walked past an air conditioner set on high. The lake was huge, over a mile across. Sunlight bounced off the surface, making me squint to see the far side, which ended in a dark line of trees.
“Welcome to Loon Lake.” Chris smiled when we appeared on the beach. “We’ll be heading north along the shore for two miles, going through a little inlet that will take us over to the waterfall.” He pointed his finger up the shore. “You can’t see it from here, but there is a nice beach and a place to swim. The water is cold out here but not too bad for swimming. We’ll do lunch when we get there.” Chris refolded his map and tucked it into his pocket. “Make sure to reapply your sunscreen before we get out on the water. You can get a burn in twenty minutes, and I don’t want anyone keeling over with sunstroke. Wear your hat.”
* * *
The lake was a relief from the wooded trail, chilled with the smell of green plants and rusted iron. On the shore I exchanged my boots for Tevas, then waded in and dunked my head completely, cramming my wet ponytail into the baseball cap I’d borrowed from my dad, a faded baby-blue Brewers cap.
“Nice hat,” Isaac said.
“Thanks,” I replied, soaking my bandana.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
I looked at him, his forehead wrinkled with horizontal lines, mouth screwed up in a pucker like he’d smelled something bad.
What’s his problem? “You don’t like baseball or something?” I draped the bandana over my shoulder, debating dunking my entire body, clothes and all, but I was only wearing a light T-shirt. I didn’t feel like nipping out in front of a bunch of guys.
“Or something,” he said, sounding annoyed. He adjusted his own ball cap, curving the brim into a tight U with his hands, which appeared to be about twice the size of my own.
He’s not much for words, this guy. He’s probably a Twins fan. “Whatever,” I muttered, and helped Chloe put our backpacks in the canoe. When I coated my arms with sunblock, I saw Oscar watching me (or was he looking at Chloe?). I held out the bottle. “Need some?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” Oscar smiled and dropped his gaze, suddenly busy with his life jacket.
“Yeah,” Isaac interrupted. He winked suggestively while twirling his paddle like a baton. “I think he does need some.”
I wasn’t talking to you. I capped the sunblock shut, ignoring him, and shoved it back into my pack.
“What? Aren’t you gonna ask if I need some?”
“Nope.” I glanced back, glad to be wearing sunglasses, as if that could hide the expression on my face. “I think you’re good.” He had that milky pale skin that looked like it would burn in five minutes, and he also looked like the type of guy who’d rather fry than put on sunblock.
“That’s right!” Isaac laughed, before hardening his expression to a leer. “I am.” His voice was a low moan, and he gave me an obvious wink. “I definitely am.”
I think I’m gonna be sick.
Despite the sun, a shiver raced up my spine, and I climbed into the canoe, scooting hurriedly to the front, careful to keep my paddle balanced on my lap as the waves hit the hull with hollow metallic slaps. And with one quick shove from Chloe we were off the rocks, gliding out onto open water. I couldn’t help but sigh with relief.
Chloe heard me and agreed. “Now this is more like it.”
I turned around, grateful to be sitting. However long we had to paddle, I knew it would be a huge improvement over portaging. Chloe had her red bandana wrapped around her head, sunglasses on, and a paddle resting on her knees. “I looked online for days at all the pictures, but it doesn’t compare to actually being here.”
“I know.” I had to admit it was a pretty good view. I dipped my paddle in, taking a tentative stroke. “I’ve never been this far up north.”
“Like a whole other country.”
What skills Chloe and I lacked during the portaging portion of the trip we made up for on the water. It was a natural thing for us in the canoe. We seemed to know when to switch our paddles and when I should let her steer, and our matched strokes glided us like an arrow over the surface. This was the part that didn’t feel like work.
“What’s that thing?” Chloe pointed over my shoulder, and I adjusted my sunglasses, squinting.
“A duck?”
“Nah,” she said. “I saw it dive and come back up way over there. Do you think it’s a loon?”
“Well, we are on Loon Lake.” I scanned the flat water. The breeze was calm, the entire surface a perfect mirror of the sky.
The loon rose suddenly, like a miniature submarine breaching the surface, all bright black and glittering white, and so close I could count the speckles on its wings. It had a small silver fish pinched between its pointed beak; its blood-red eye blinked at us with reptilian detachment. I had never seen a bird this close; if I leaned over, I could touch it with my paddle.
The loon swallowed the fish in a slick gulp, and in another blink it was gone beneath our boat, black and white flashes reminding me of a swimming penguin.
I dipped my paddle back in and twirled it like a swizzle stick, my throat itching like I’d just swallowed a spoonful of sand. Something important had happened, but neither Chloe nor I spoke.
We paddled on. Chloe set the pace, maintaining a good distance between the kayak and the canoes, and we went along like that for a long while, enjoying the silence.
When the sun was overhead, we reached the inlet. I jumped out into waist-deep water, shocking myself to bre
athlessness, but after the long sweaty morning, I couldn’t say that the sensation was unpleasant.
“Oooh!” A plunk and screech behind me let me know that Chloe had just done the same. “That woke me up!”
“No kidding!” I exhaled, letting the cold bite into my legs, and we hauled the canoe up onto the sandy beach. I plopped down next to it, breathing as though I had just finished a race.
“A good swim will help,” Chris said as he watched the rest of the caravan angling toward the beach. Isaac’s canoe, I noticed with glee, was last, and a good distance off.
“Great idea,” Chloe replied. “My arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”
“You’ll feel a lot better after a dip.” Chris smiled. “Like brand new.” He turned back as Wes and Jeremy glided in, grinning good-naturedly.
“We kept trying to catch up.” Jeremy laughed. “You girls should try out for the Olympics.”
“Is canoeing even an Olympic sport?” Chloe asked, appreciating the compliment.
“Oh, it is, and I’m sure you’d make the team,” Wes said. “You sure you never did this before?”
“Pretty sure,” Chloe replied. “I must have a good partner.” She poked me in the arm, and I knew then if I’d met her as a kid, we would have been friends. Maybe we still could be.
“All right, who wants to go fishing with me?” Chris asked.
“Not me,” Wes said. “I’m going swimming.”
“Maybe Isaac will,” Jeremy offered, trying to be polite, but the look on Chris’s face made me believe I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like him. Strangely, this revelation didn’t make me feel better.
“Maybe,” Chris said, and nodded. He looked like he was two seconds from deciding to go by himself, but then Oscar and Isaac paddled in. From Oscar’s expression I couldn’t tell if he was exhausted or pissed off. Maybe both. He pulled the canoe up on the sand in silence, grabbed his gear, and trudged up the beach to the campsite, only flicking his eyes at me once, sort of a look of shared commiseration.
“Okay, campers,” Chris said. “Take a swim, cool off, settle down, and I’ll be back in a bit with some fish.” He pointed (more like jabbed) a finger at Isaac. “How about you come with me. I don’t like fishing alone.” The way Chris said it made it an order, not a question, and he put the tackle box and rods into the canoe before Isaac even had a chance to protest.
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