Whitewater Rendezvous

by Kim Baldwin

  “When do we get where we can see the caribou herd?” Justine asked.

  “Three or four days in, we should start seeing them. It’s a truly amazing spectacle. One you won’t soon forget.”

  “The picture of them on the brochure was awesome,” Yancey said.

  “Why, thanks!” Chaz beamed. “I took that last summer when I was scouting out the Odakonya for this trip.”

  Megan looked over at Chaz. You took that picture. The picture that was responsible for her ending up here. That brochure would have ended up in the trash, and I wouldn’t be here admiring how nicely those muscles in her upper arms move when she takes a bite of food. She forced herself to look out of the window again as Chaz continued.

  “We at Orion follow the Leave No Trace principle on our trips, like every other outfitter who leads groups into the refuge. The arctic ecosystem is very fragile—easily impacted by human activities. Are any of you at all familiar with Leave No Trace?”

  Pat and Linda nodded their heads.

  Yancey stuck a hand in the air. “I’ve heard of it, anyway. It’s packing out all your trash, right?”

  “That’s a part of it,” Chaz acknowledged. “There’s a lot more to it than that, though. It’s about choosing the right campsites to minimize our impact on the environment. Taking care of how we wash up and how we dispose of human waste and leftover food. It’s about respecting wildlife. Watching where you walk when you venture away from camp. And leaving behind souvenirs—no bringing home antlers or fossils or any artifacts we might find. And there’s a distinct possibility of that, I might add. This area has been home to the Inupiat Eskimo and Gwich’in Indian people for centuries.”

  Another page of the field guide she’d read popped into Megan’s head. There are more than 300 archeological sites in the refuge. That had really appealed to her. The idea that she might find some ancient relic. Her eyes skimmed over the wide expanse of tundra out the window. You’ll be walking where wooly mammoths and saber-toothed tigers once lived.

  “I’ll give you handouts to read tonight that explain the Leave No Trace principles in more detail,” Chaz went on. “And Sue and Paul have a number of books on the refuge if you’d like to study up on some of the animals and birds you might see on the trip. Sally and I will be pointing things out as well, of course, as we see them.”

  “What about fires?” Linda asked. “Part of Leave No Trace is not building campfires, isn’t it?”

  “We don’t get a campfire?” Yancey asked with obvious disappointment. “I love sitting around a campfire.”

  “The rule of thumb is to evaluate the wood resources and the potential impact to the environment,” Chaz said. “And if you do decide to build a fire, you leave no trace of that fire. We will be using stoves for all of our meals. But there are a couple of places on our route where there is ample dead wood and where we can have a small campfire in a fire pan that we’ll bring along.”

  “Great,” Yancey said. “That’ll do fine!”

  “The first stretches of the river are very mild,” Chaz said. “But when we get to the canyons and the water gets faster, I’ll be scouting ahead on occasion to look for obstacles or check the line.”

  “The line?” Justine asked.

  “The best route to take,” Chaz elaborated. “I’ll evaluate how you’re all doing as we go along, and when we get to the more challenging stretches, I’ll decide who paddles and who portages.”

  “Portages? You said that earlier. What’s that?” Elise asked.

  “You get out and carry your kayak. All of the tougher stretches can be portaged, which is one reason it’s a good river for all ranges of experience,” Chaz said. “You and Megan will definitely portage the class IV rapids and probably some of the III as well. We’ll see.”

  Megan bristled at the declaration. She’s already decided I’m not going to be capable of doing any of the harder stuff. I’ll show her. “You say definitely like it’s not open to discussion,” she said, glaring at Chaz.

  “It’s a precaution for your own safety,” Chaz replied in a friendly tone, meeting Megan’s eyes. “You said on your form that you’d never been kayaking before. Has that changed?”

  “I might pick it up faster than you expect,” she challenged, her stare unwavering.

  “I have no expectations at all about your abilities, Megan,” Chaz said.

  There was something about the way the guide said her name that made their exchange sound more intimate than it was. Megan was annoyed by how much she liked the way it sounded.

  “It’s just a policy of ours,” Chaz continued. “We don’t take unnecessary risks with our clients. The most difficult stretches of the river also happen to be the same areas where we are the most inaccessible to outside help.”

  “What if I think I can do it?” Megan asked.

  “That doesn’t matter. This has to be my call.”

  Megan wasn’t ready to concede. She opened her mouth to argue further, but the waitress interrupted.

  “Dessert, ladies?”

  *

  Over cappuccinos and raspberry cobbler still warm from the oven, Chaz touched on the chores that would have to be done at each campsite. “Sally and I will take care of the cooking. Though we won’t object if anyone feels inclined to pitch in any time.” She smiled.

  “You’ll put up your own tents and take care of your boat and gear. And everyone needs to help with cleanup and with collecting wood when we have a fire.” Chaz glanced at Megan. The woman was hard to read. After their brief exchange, she had gone back to staring out the window and seemed not to be paying attention. But Chaz had thought the same thing in the van.

  “We’re in bear country, which means we have to take careful precautions. We cook and eat well away from the tents. All food and trash need to be put into bear-proof containers and carried at least 200 feet away from camp each night. There must be nothing left in the tents that might attract them. No candy, flavored drinks, strong cosmetics, toothpaste, things like that. If you help with the cooking, or spill food on your clothes, change before you go to bed.”

  “Have you ever had any problems with bears?” Yancey asked.

  “No. We’ve seen them, of course, but if you give them a wide berth and take the proper precautions, they’re usually no problem.”

  “I’d love to see a bear in the wild,” Justine said.

  “Speak for yourself,” Linda chimed in. “I’d rather not get acquainted with any bears, thank you very much.”

  “I’m with you,” Yancey said.

  “Ordinarily, you want to travel quietly in a pristine area like this, to avoid disturbing the wildlife and to have the best chance of observing it. Bears included. And that’s what we should try to do when we’re on the river and hiking as a group to see the caribou. But…” she paused for emphasis. “If you’re off by yourself, especially in an area with lots of brush or uneven terrain, avoid game trails and make some noise. Not that we advocate you go wandering off by yourself without letting one of us know, but keep it in mind when you make a bathroom run and may be out of sight of the rest of us. One more thing,” Chaz said. “Please be careful to wear lots of sunscreen—don’t forget your neck and your hands—and good sunglasses, and I hope everyone brought a wide-brimmed hat?”

  There were nods or raised hands all around. Justine’s WNC baseball cap was hanging behind her on a peg on the wall.

  “Well, ladies, if we’re all done eating.” Chaz surveyed their empty plates. “Let’s adjourn down the hall and I’ll pass out your dry bags.”

  They trooped over to the conference room that Orion rented between trips, still in disarray from the aborted gear and food sorting session that morning.

  “You get two of these.” She held up a large dry bag. “One for your clothes and one for your sleeping bag and pad.” In her other hand, she held up a much smaller one, about the size of a large purse. “This is for the essential stuff you need to have with you during the day. Both of them should be lined
with garbage bags. They’re on the table over there, you can help yourself.”

  “I’m also giving each of you one of these.” Chaz put down the dry bags and held up a Ziploc bag containing a roll of toilet paper and a lighter. “When you need to use the bathroom, pick a spot 200 feet away from camp and away from the water. That’s about seventy steps. Dig a hole, six to eight inches deep, preferably in an area without vegetation. Do your business—and try to burn the paper when you’re done. Any remnants go in the hole, then you cover it and try to make it look like you were never there. Oh, and any feminine hygiene products need to be packed out with the trash. I can give you extra Ziplocs if you need them. Any questions?”

  There were none. But Megan gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher when she picked up her bags. She’s unhappy about something, Chaz guessed, probably the lack of bathroom facilities.

  Once all the clients had retired to their rooms to repack their gear, Chaz picked up where she and Sally had left off assembling their equipment and meals. She spread out the food on the long tables, allocating perishables for the first days out and freeze-dried and dehydrated meals for the later stops. She packed the ingredients for each meal into a large Ziploc, labeling it “Thursday lunch” or “Sunday breakfast” or whatever was appropriate. She also packed individual bags that contained drink powders, candy, and energy bars for each of the clients.

  She was finishing up when she felt eyes on her and glanced up to find Megan Maxwell watching her in silence from the doorway.

  “I need a couple more dry bags,” Megan said. “I can’t fit all my stuff into the three you gave me.”

  “We have a limit on what we can take with us on the raft,” Chaz explained patiently. “We generally only allow each client the three bags—that’s why we sent out detailed packing lists of what to bring. Can you leave some of your things back here at the lodge?”

  Megan frowned at her for a moment before she replied. “Well, I really don’t want to do that unless I absolutely have to.”

  Clients had asked this before, and she and Sally had always stood firm. But despite Megan’s abrasiveness thus far, there was something about her that touched a chord in Chaz, and she relented. Maybe this was her opportunity to improve their rapport. “I’ll give you one more bag.” She reached for one of the smaller ones she had left over on the table. “But you’ll have to limit yourself to that, all right?”

  “Just this?” Megan complained, taking it from the guide. “Can’t I at least have a bigger one if I’m only getting one more?”

  ”I’m sorry. That’s the best I can do. Anything you don’t have room for you can leave with Sue and Paul, and they’ll make sure it’s safe until we get back.”

  Megan didn’t try to hide that she wasn’t happy with the arrangement. Her expression said it all. She looked like a pouting child. “Whatever,” she harrumphed. Pivoting on her heel, she headed back to her room.

  Peachy, Chaz sighed as the woman departed. Royal Ice Bitch indeed. Why am I trying so hard to please the Queen of Rude?

  Chapter Four

  Chaz glanced at the bedside clock as she stretched awake and was startled to find it was already seven. She rarely slept that late, but she had found it more difficult than usual to fall asleep the night before, preoccupied with thoughts of Megan.

  She’d had rude clients before. Business tycoons who were full of themselves, spoiled rich kids who never had learned an ounce of common courtesy. She had always dealt with them easily. Kept on smiling. Killed them with kindness. But this one…this one really bothered her, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Craving coffee, she dressed and headed for the dining room. She was surprised to find Megan already up, sipping coffee and enjoying the view from one of the big comfy chairs in the lobby.

  “Good morning, Megan,” Chaz greeted her, determined to break her rude client’s distant coolness. “You’re up early.”

  “Force of habit,” Megan replied glumly. She glanced over at Chaz as she said it, but made no further attempt to engage her in conversation.

  Chaz took the hint and continued into the dining room. Damn. What the hell is her problem?

  Megan watched Chaz depart out of the corner of her eye, mentally chastising herself all the while. She hated being rude, but at the moment she seemed unable to respond in any other way to the guide. Every time I see her, it all comes back. It was like tearing the scab off the most agonizing moments of her life, exposing the raw pain of betrayal all over again.

  She was also feeling particularly cranky because she hadn’t slept well. The room’s blackout curtains had worked well enough to keep out the midnight sun, but worries about work had kept her tossing and turning until late into the night.

  And then there was the dream. Part memory and part imagination. Rita’s face and body, then Chaz’s. She’d bolted awake at two in a tangle of sheets, sweating though the room was cool, her mind working furiously to remember, her body as tensed up and tight as the drawstring of a bow. It had taken her ages to fall back asleep, half afraid she would have the same dream again, half afraid she would not. Even then, her body was still in a different time zone, so she was up for good at five thirty and had downed half a pot of coffee by the time Chaz found her in the lobby.

  *

  At nine, after everyone had eaten breakfast, the women all trooped back to the conference room where Chaz distributed their gear for the trip. Each client was fitted for a dry suit, PFD, helmet, spray skirt, and neoprene gloves and boots. Then each got a paddle, a water bottle, a Ziploc bag of snacks and power bars, and an emergency whistle to clip to her vest. Chaz also passed each woman a rescue throw rope, coiled into a small floatation bag.

  After suiting up, they followed a narrow foot trail down to the creek behind the lodge, where their boats were lined up in a neat row. Chaz paired them up with the kayaks according to size and skill level, and spent time making minor adjustments to thigh braces, hip pads, and seats until everyone was comfortable.

  “I really wanted the blue one,” Megan griped as Chaz knelt down and leaned into the cockpit of a bright yellow Dagger Mambo to shorten the foot pedals for Megan.

  “This is a more stable boat for beginners,” Chaz said amicably. When she finished what she was doing, she leaned back on her heels and looked up at Megan. “And I like to have the lesser experienced clients in the bright colors, so I can pick you out more easily when we get in the rougher waters.”

  “Oh.” Megan’s pout began to evaporate.

  “Want to get in for me, see how it feels?”

  “Sure.” Megan stepped into the kayak and eased into the seat, bracing her arms on the sides of the cockpit so she could slip her legs into the forward space of the boat. Chaz had set the foot pedals perfectly.

  “You brace your thighs here.” Chaz put her hand just inside the rim of the cockpit, and it brushed against the top of Megan’s leg.

  Megan could feel the heat rise to her face as she glanced down to where they had touched. Chaz had strong hands, with long slender fingers. Short nails, no polish. No rings, either. No jewelry at all, she noticed, except a necklace of some kind—a couple of inches of a thin gold chain had escaped the collar of Chaz’s wet suit. And what a wet suit it was. Oh, Lord, I hope she’s not going to wear that thing the whole trip.

  The rest of them were wearing dry suits, but Chaz’s red and navy wet suit hugged her body like a second skin, and at such close proximity Megan couldn’t help but notice the round swell of the guide’s breasts, the bump of nipples faint but unmistakable. She suddenly realized that Chaz was still talking to her.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said, you want to sit so you feel as though you’re actually wearing the boat,” Chaz repeated. “The fit should be comfortable but snug, so the boat moves with you, like an extension of your body.” As she talked, she reached behind Megan and made a slight adjustment to her back band.

  Megan leaned forward, all too vividly aware of the brush of
Chaz’s fingertips against her spine. “I think I get the idea,” she said, anxious for the guide to move a bit farther away.

  As if reading her mind, Chaz stood and took a step back. “Brace your hips and legs against the sides, and roll your hips a little from side to side. Get a feel for how the boat is balanced here on land.”

  Megan did as instructed and was surprised to find that with the tiny adjustments Chaz had made, the boat did indeed move with her, like an extension of her lower torso. It was more comfortable than she’d imagined, with a padded seat and thigh braces, and cushy foam knee blocks. She was anxious to try it out.

  “It feels fine,” she said. “I’d like to get in the water now.”

  “Soon,” Chaz promised with a smile. “We need to go over a few paddling strokes first.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Chaz took them through an onshore lesson of the basic strokes: power strokes and sweeps, high and low braces, back paddling. Glancing around at her friends, Megan noticed that of the six of them, only she and Elise seemed unfamiliar with all this stuff.

  “Very good. How many of you know how to do a wet exit?” Chaz asked.

  Four hands shot up. All but her and Elise again. Wet exit. Power strokes. Why does every word out of her mouth seem to have a sexual connotation?

  “Great. And who can Eskimo roll?”

  Only Pat, Linda, and Yancey raised their hands this time, and Yancey’s affirmation was only halfhearted. “I learned how to do it a couple of years ago, but I haven’t really tried it in a long time. I’m not real gung ho I could do it in a pinch.”

  “Kind of the same with me,” Justine said. “I’ve done it once in a pool, that’s it. I don’t really remember much.”

  “All right, then. Well, it doesn’t look as though I’ll need to spend any more time with you two.” Chaz gestured toward Linda and Pat. “You’re welcome to spend the rest of the day as you like, getting your muscles warmed up and getting used to your boat. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay together and keep an eye on each other.”