GANNON
A FEW HOURS BEFORE DUSK
FEAR FACTOR: HIGH
Princess Royal Island rising above the clouds
Okay, Wyatt and I are all set. Our packs are under a tarp and the kayaks are near the edge of the boat for an easy drop. Our fingers are crossed that Liam and Joe won’t notice. Now, all we have to do is wait for them to disappear into the bowels of the ship. As soon as they do, we launch for Princess Royal Island!
GANNON
10:02 PM
About two hours before sundown, Liam and Joe finally disappeared into the engine room and Wyatt and I went to work sliding the kayaks over the side of the ship and carefully climbing aboard. A pretty strong wind blew over the water making the surface really choppy with white-caps breaking over the front of the kayaks and knocking us around and we had to work hard to keep from getting dumped into the Pacific.
Within minutes of leaving the Pacific Yellowfin, we were totally surrounded by fog and what we had been able to see of the island disappeared. In that fog, it felt like we were all alone, paddling in the middle of the ocean, but we knew that if we continued moving west we’d eventually run right into the island, so that’s what we did.
Getting to Princess Royal took a lot longer than we thought, mostly because a strong headwind and rough conditions made for slow going. There were times where it seemed like we weren’t making any progress at all, or were even going backward, but eventually we broke through the fog and the rocky shoreline came into view.
As we got closer to the coastline, I spotted a lone wolf staring at us from atop a boulder field that spilled onto the beach. I turned back to Wyatt, pointing to the wolf, and we both stopped paddling and sat patiently in the gently rolling waves, hoping that he would eventually move along.
The wolf was thin, a trait Alu had said is common among the coastal species, but his scrawny figure didn’t make him any less menacing, that’s for sure. His gaze alone sent this wave of fear right through me. As intimidating as they are, wolves really are beautiful animals. This one had a mostly gray coat with some streaks of black on its belly. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it almost looked like the area around its mouth was covered in blood and that kind of freaked me out.
For a while the wolf didn’t move. He just sort of stood there, staring, like he was guarding his territory or something. Wyatt and I kept drifting closer, carried by the current. The wolf didn’t seem to appreciate the fact that we were invading his personal space and eventually gave a great howl that sounded like it came from the depths of his lungs. I paddled backward a few strokes and was seriously thinking about going back to the ship, when the wolf turned and trotted off into the woods.
We didn’t know if the wolf was rounding up his buddies or hiding in the trees, ready to attack when we came ashore, so we paddled in the opposite direction to put a safe distance between ourselves and this top-of-the-food-chain predator. A little ways north we found a tributary and just beyond that a beachhead of small boulders and it was there that we came ashore.
Along the shoreline we found a few fresh salmon carcasses scattered about the barnacled rocks.
“Notice that the heads are all missing,” Wyatt said, pointing at the salmon carcasses. “That means that they were eaten by wolves.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I said.
Wyatt rolled his eyes.
A salmon carcass left by a wolf
It seems that there’s really no way to avoid wolves on this island, so we continued ashore. Getting ourselves onto the island was tricky with the slimy, algae-coated rocks making it almost impossible to get any traction, especially when dragging a heavy kayak. Wyatt took a hard fall, rolling backward into a shallow pool and was soaking wet and cold, but fortunately he wasn’t hurt, well, except for his pride.
Not sure how high the water would reach when the tide came in, we’ve dragged our kayaks up a hill a good distance and stashed them inside the forest.
“We need to set up camp right away,” Wyatt said. “We probably have a half an hour of light left, at best. Let’s go further up this hill, underneath those trees. You put up the tarp, and I’ll get a fire going. I’m going to freeze if I don’t dry out these clothes. And maybe Mom and Dad will see the smoke.”
I took the tarps and a line of rope and Wyatt went around gathering whatever dry wood he could find. I walked into the forest and looked for a soft bed of moss with a good canopy of trees overhead to keep the rain off. The light was almost gone from the sky by the time I found a decent campsite—a patch of flat ground between two fallen spruce trees, about seven feet by ten maybe, with good tree coverage.
I was in a race with the dark and strung the triangular tarp between two trees and staked the third corner of the tarp to the ground, driving the stake deep into the soil with a rock. With the tarps in place, I cleared the rocks and fallen tree branches underneath and padded the ground With extra moss and then placed the second tarp over the moss and spread out our sleeping bags. The last thing I did was to string our food over a high tree limb, beyond the reach of bears and wolves.
I figured Joe and Liam had noticed we were gone, so I called them on the radio to let them know we were okay, but all I got was static. Wyatt showed up with an armload of twigs and branches and I told him that I couldn’t get through to the ship.
“That’s strange,” he said. “I tested the radios before we left the ship. Let me try mine.”
Wyatt tried his radio, too, but he got the same. Static. He checked his GPS and it wasn’t working either. There’s been all kinds of thunder rumbling overhead and Wyatt thinks that maybe the electricity in the storm is scrambling the signals or something.
“Forget the radios for now and get that fire going,” I finally said. “I need to thaw out.”
We both sat underneath the tarp, cold and shivering, while Wyatt went about starting a fire. Or attempting to start a fire, I should say. The rainforest is so wet it makes the otherwise simple task of starting a campfire really hard and despite Wyatt’s best efforts, he couldn’t get one going. Match after match burned to the end and went out without as much as a glowing ember in the pit. I could tell his patience was wearing thin, so, naturally, I made a joke.
“How many Wyatts does it take to start a campfire?”
Wyatt turned to me, his jaw rippling as he waited on my punch line.
“Obviously more than one, bro.”
“If you’re such an expert,” he yelled, veins bulging from his neck, “why don’t you try to start a fire?”
“Fine,” I said. “Step aside and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
I reached into my backpack, removed a Quick-Light Fire Starter (never leave home without one), lit it, tossed it into the kindling, blew softly to fan the flame, and just like that, we had a warm, crackling fire.
Voila!
“Ah, this really warms the old digits,” I said wiggling my fingers over the flames.
“Don’t talk to me right now,” Wyatt said and went about changing into a dry set of clothes.
Here’s the problem: I only brought one fire starter. And it’s in the fire. I thought there were more in my kit, but when I searched for another, I realized there aren’t. It’s supposed to get colder after the storm, so if we’re not back to the ship tomorrow before nightfall we’re going to be in deep trouble.
Wyatt
SEPTEMBER 22, 1:47 AM
PRINCESS ROYAL ISLAND (UNABLE TO TAKE COORDINATES)
9° CELSIUS, 49° FAHRENHEIT
CLOUDY WITH A STEADY WIND
Okay, so I broke the third law of exploration. I’m not properly equipped. What kind of explorer sets off into a rainforest without everything he needs to start a fire? I’m so angry with myself I can hardly stand it, and Gannon acting like a know-it-all only makes it worse.
I’ve been shivering most of the night. Chilled to the bone. I changed out of my wet clothes and have been sitting close to the fire, but this cold damp air is making it impossible to war
m up.
Since dark, the rainforest has been alive with noises. Buzzing and screeching and gruffs and howls. Fortunately, we’ve had no visitors. None that I have seen, anyway.
Okay, just glanced at my expedition watch. It’s time for Gannon’s shift.
GANNON
MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
This so-called predator watch has to be the most boring job ever. I’m not even sure why we need to keep watch in the first place. I mean, really, what are we going to do if a pack of wolves comes waltzing into camp? Fight them off with our pocketknives? It would probably be better if we both just slept. The predators are more likely to ignore us that way, and I’ll be honest, if a grizzly does materialize out of the darkness I’ll probably let out a scream that would shake the needles off a Sitka spruce. And what’s that going to do but get us both mauled?
Oh, jeez, what was that?
Something’s moving out there.
I can hear leaves rustling. Branches cracking.
This is crazy!
We’ve burned all the dry wood we collected and the fire is down to a few small flames, but I’m sure as heck not going out to look for more. Not when there’s something lurking out there in the darkness. I’ve got the flashlight next to me, but I’m way too scared to turn it on. I’d probably see twenty glowing eyes right in front of me and there’s no way I could handle that. I’d keel over with a heart attack for sure. Definitely keeping the flashlight off. I’d rather not know what’s out there watching me.
WYATT
5:56 AM
7° CELSIUS, 46° FAHRENHEIT
CLOUDY, WINDS CALM
At 4:00 AM sharp, Gannon got me up for the final shift.
“This predator watch just about drove me insane,” he said, slipping into his sleeping bag. “So, don’t wake me until it’s light. And by the way, there are all sorts of animals walking around our camp. I suggest you keep your flashlight off. If you shine it in their eyes, it’ll probably just provoke an attack. Okay then, I’m going to catch some Zs. Enjoy your shift.”
At that he pulled the sleeping bag up over his head. Within a minute he was asleep. Within two minutes, he was snoring. I had to keep hitting him and plugging his nose and doing whatever I could to stop him. The kid sounded like a wild boar rummaging his snout through the mud. I thought for sure the wolves would come running to devour him, if not for the meal he would provide, then just to shut him up so they could have some peace and quiet.
I took Gannon’s advice, put the flashlight away, and sat still next to the dying fire. After adding some wet pine needles and twigs, I stoked the fire and after a while brought back a small flame. The wet clothes I had left on the rocks to dry were still damp. I moved them closer to the pit, hoping the renewed fire would dry them before morning.
Staying dry is critical. Even in September, temperatures at this latitude can drop below freezing. Add wet clothes to the mix and hypothermia becomes a serious threat.
A dim light is just now penetrating the dense canopy overhead. A thin mist floats upward through the trees. The noises that have persisted throughout the night are silent.
Wow! A bald eagle just leapt from a branch and flew directly over our camp. A tremendous “swoosh” could be heard with each flap of the eagle’s powerful wings, which must have had a span of six feet or more. What a beautiful creature!
My superstitious brother would probably say that an eagle flying over our camp was a sign of good luck. I hope it is. We need some luck to find everyone and get back to the ship safely. A lot of it.
The majestic bald eagle
GANNON
MORNING
When we set out this morning, I was whipped and my head was in a fog and I felt totally uncoordinated as we hiked and was pretty much just staggering down this bear path with my eyes half-closed when we came to a wide tributary. On the other side was a field of sedge grass and in the grass just up from the bank of the river was a family of grizzly bears, a mother and two cubs.
You can tell a grizzly from a black bear by the hump located between a grizzly’s front shoulders, and these were grizzlies, that’s for sure. We were upwind from them and it didn’t take long for the mother to pick up our scent. Obviously, the mama griz wasn’t too thrilled about us being around and stood up on her hind legs to check us out. Talk about intimidating!
“Don’t make any sudden movements,” Wyatt whispered.
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said.
A mother grizzly can be really aggressive if she thinks her cubs are in danger. Remembering what Alu had taught us, Wyatt and I crouched down and backed away slowly, hoping she would understand that we didn’t mean them any harm. I guess she got the message because pretty soon she settled down and went back to eating, uprooting long stalks of grass with her powerful jaws. Once she had a good mouthful, she’d sit back on her hindquarters and chew with her paws dangling limp over her belly. I didn’t know grizzlies eat grass, but Wyatt told me there’s protein in the sedge grass here and the bears apparently love it. Her cubs didn’t seem too interested in eating, though. Instead they wrestled, smacking each other with their paws and rolling around playfully on the shore.
Grizzly cubs love to play
After a while, they tired themselves out. Now they’re just lounging around near the stream not doing a whole lot. To watch these bears, even when they’re doing nothing, is totally mesmerizing. I just wish I had my video camera with me. This footage would be epic, but as a rule you only bring the essentials on a search and rescue mission, so I’m just resting against the rocks and taking it all in.
Wyatt
9:52 AM
Looking through the binoculars gave me a good idea of just how big a grizzly can be. The mother bear’s paws were probably the size of a kid’s baseball mitt. Her claws were every bit as impressive, extending three full inches from her paw. She was lean, with strong muscular legs that bowed out slightly at the lower half. Her coat was long and light brown. Her two cubs had slightly darker coats and were probably a third her size.
We were about to continue our hike when we noticed the mother’s attention turn upstream. All of a sudden she looked disturbed, snorting and nodding her head. Following her line of sight, I saw why. A massive male grizzly had lumbered out of the woods and was crossing the stream. Sometimes the strongest male grizzlies will attack and kill the cubs of other males, a survival instinct that ensures its genes carry on the grizzly bloodline, and not the genes of a weaker male.
Mother grizzly assessing threat of male
The mother grizzly was agitated by the approaching male. He was definitely a threat to the cubs. She knew this and as soon he came across the stream the mother bear charged.
Both bears went up on their hind legs, swinging their immense paws at one another. Even though she was smaller, the female fought hard and seemed to be holding her own. Then the male caught her under the jaw with a powerful blow. She fell backward into the water, rolled onto her side, and struggled to get back to her feet. The male ran after the cubs.
“Run!” Gannon yelled to the cubs. “Run!”
The cubs didn’t need to be told. They saw the male bear coming and took off for the cover of the woods.
“Go! Go! Go!” he kept shouting.
“Shut up, Gannon!” I said. “You’re going to attract the male’s attention and then he’s going to come after us!”
“Sorry,” Gannon said. “I can’t help it.”
Again on her feet, the panicked mother ran after them. When the male stopped just short of the forest, she attacked him again. Even more ferocious than the first attack, the mother was willing to fight to the death to protect her cubs.
Gannon was like a diehard boxing fan cheering on his favorite heavyweight fighter.
“Give it to him, mama bear!” he whispered through clinched teeth. “That’s it! Don’t let him get your babies! Show him who’s boss!”
This time the male wanted none of it. He knocked the mother away with another hard jab be
fore walking back across the creek. The mother limped along the edge of the forest looking for her cubs, growling into the woods in the hope that they would hear her call. I started to worry that she would never find them. If the cubs got lost in the forest, their chance of survival would be slim. Then, suddenly, the cubs appeared at the far end of the sedge field. The mother ran to them and they all tumbled around in the grass. I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a happy reunion. The bear’s affection, I think, is further proof that certain animal species really do experience love.
GANNON
MID-MORNING
Not wanting to cross paths with the grizzlies, we hiked in the opposite direction and followed the path along the shoreline and had been going for about an hour or so when we found Mom and Dad’s tender anchored in shallow water just off a sandy beachhead. Oh, man, seeing their boat rocking back and forth in the cove gave me a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. I took this huge breath and yelled out as loud as I could:
“Mom! Dad! Can you hear me?”
I kept this up until I was hoarse.
There was no response.
Wyatt and I waded into the cold water to check out the boat. All of the supplies were gone. So were the keys. It was totally empty, which makes us think they came ashore, but we’ve found no other sign of them anywhere. No footprints. No clues. Nothing!
Wyatt tried to radio Liam.
“Wyatt to Pacific Yellowfin,” he said. “Come in, Pacific Yellowfin. We found the second tender.”
Again, there was only static.
“I can’t understand this,” Wyatt said. “I’ve tried every channel, but no radio transmissions are getting through.”
Frustrated, I picked up a rock and chucked it into the woods.
Great Bear Rainforest Page 6