by Rhett DeVane
“I’d really like to buy a piece of Alaskan gold—maybe a pendant—while we’re here,” Leigh said.
Holston checked the brochure. “Our hike lasts about four hours. We can look around when we get back into town. We don’t even leave port until 8:00 tonight. That’s plenty of time to putt around a little.”
Piddie took a sip of her coffee. “There’s not a thing wrong with any of the food or drink I’ve had on this trip. This coffee is good as gold. Holston, I’ve been keepin’ a runnin’ account of the trip from my senior citizen point of view for your research. I’ll be sure to take good notes on the train ride, too.”
I shot a loving look in Holston’s direction that did not go unnoticed.
Jake slammed his coffee cup down with a bang. “Gaahhh! You two! I can’t wait till I can be around you without worrying about being caught in your sappy lover’s-look line of fire! Between you and your brother, it’s a wonder I don’t catch a case of hetero-love sickness.”
What the port at Skagway lacked in size, it made up for in color. The entire tree-studded granite mountain face adjacent to the dock was covered in large blocks of painted signs. The logos for the cruise lines that frequented the port were represented in detailed color, as well as abstract art and initials of the brave artists who had suspended themselves to paint on the billboard nature had generously provided. Small vans and buses shuttled visitors into Skagway. The companies in charge of excursions lined the dock waiting for the passengers who had signed up for the various hikes, tours, and fishing/nature sighting trips.
A giant bearded man wearing a tan T-shirt and khaki hiking shorts unfolded himself from the driver’s seat of an old Dodge passenger van and loped toward us. In addition to Holston, Leigh, Bobby, and me, the adventurers included a young married couple from Ohio and a second couple from California’s Sacramento Valley.
“You all the overland excursion party?” he bellowed.
We nodded dumbly.
He spread his beefy arms. “Welcome to Skagway, Alaska!” He flashed a smile of large, white teeth. “My name is Buckwheat, and I’ll be your guide today! Y’all hop on into the van, and we’ll get going! There’re choppers waiting.”
“We’ll ride the chopper up the mountain to the head of the trail in the Tongass National Forest,” he explained in a deep booming voice as he teased the van through the clumps of tourists walking the route into town. “We’ll hitch a ride back on the train.”
By this point, I was an expert, if somewhat uneasy, at the helicopter experience. If the motor stalled, we’d fall to earth like a lead weight thrown from a ten-story window. Danger was now my middle name, so that fact didn’t faze me. Two helicopters were enlisted to transport us to the trailhead. Following a twenty-minute flight over the Juneau Icefield and the adjacent forest, we touched down near the top of a steep graded hill next to a set of railroad tracks. Buckwheat and a second guide unloaded the supplies, then the helicopters lifted off to return to Skagway.
Buckwheat pulled a bulky black internal-frame backpack over his shoulders. Two bear repellent canisters the size of hairspray cans dangled from clamps on each shoulder strap. Mark, the younger guide, handed out hiking sticks and belt packs loaded with bottled water.
Buckwheat caught me staring at the repellant cans. “Don’t worry about these, now. Chances aren’t real good that we’ll bump into a bear on this trail. We’ll be hiking next to a glacial-runoff river, and it doesn’t contain salmon because of the dissolved silt in the water. No salmon—no bears. Besides, there’s only enough pepper spray in one of these to annoy a grizzly and, maybe, buy us enough time to get away.” He let out a deep throaty chuckle. “Just make sure you can run a little bit faster than the slowest member of the group, and you’ll be okay!”
We glanced uneasily at each other. Clearly, it would be a toss-up between me and the lady from Ohio with the knee brace as to who would be bear-bait.
Buckwheat reared back and let out a loud bellow. Although I’d never heard the mating call of a lovesick male moose, the sound had to be close. “It’s a bee-utiful day for a walk in the woods in Skagway, Alaska!” He turned to us and grinned. “Shall we?”
Having just recently been stranded on the top of a mountain, miles away from Nowhere, USA, we had little choice but to follow the burly man with the backpack into the forest. The level alpine meadow soon gave way to a well-traveled, packed-dirt footpath that snaked between towering evergreens. Buckwheat stopped at intervals to call attention to a particular type of vegetation or wildflower, identify the spoor left by a passing wild animal, and point to the scarred bark on a tree six feet from the ground where a bull moose had scratched his antlers.
The song of rushing water filtered through the foliage as the trail turned to parallel the Skagway River. Buckwheat stopped and dropped his pack on a large flat boulder on the bank. He handed out Hershey’s chocolate candy and granola bars from his pack. We took turns posing for pictures with the ice-capped peaks, evergreens, and the coursing river for a backdrop.
Holston nuzzled my ear as he slipped his arms around my waist. “Miss you,” he whispered.
I studied the majestic postcard scenery. “Me, too.”
“Jake’s a good stateroom mate. But—don’t tell his highness I told you—he snores.”
I laughed. “No secret to me. I was up late one night on the Hill when I couldn’t sleep. I went down to the kitchen to rummage in the refrigerator, and could hear him cutting the Z’s from there! It’s a good thing our bedrooms are on opposite ends of the house.”
Holston brushed a stray sprig of hair from my eyes. “You feeling okay? You look a little tired.”
“We ice hiked for four hours, then stayed up until after the midnight buffet—way past my bedtime. I’ll catch up on my sleep. I’m fine. Really!” We plopped down on the sun-warmed rock. “I just had a thought. What’re we going to do with Jake after we’re married? I mean—will he still live with us? He’s family, and I can’t imagine just asking him to leave with no place to go.”
“Actually, I’ve given that some thought. He’ll probably want his privacy, as well, Hattie. I have a business proposition for him, if he’ll take it. I’d like to rent the mansion out. I’m not sure exactly for what purpose just yet. That’ll come. Do you think Jake would consider trading living quarters there in exchange for overseeing the place? I could let him have free reign.”
“You want to live on the Hill?”
Holston smiled. “The Hill means more to me. It’s where you are.”
A warm rush of affection swelled inside of me, closing my throat. It’s a wonder people in love can breathe at all.
“I’ll keep my study in the back. I think I’d be more motivated to write with an actual office space to report to regularly,” he added.
I pitched a loose pebble into the rushing water. “Jake’ll probably like the idea of living in the mansion. Ask him. He may have some ideas on how to use the rest of the house, too.”
Buckwheat bellowed in his best bull-moose voice for us to continue toward the top of the trail. After a few minutes of climbing, we reached our destination, a boulder-strewn plateau at the base of a small waterfall.
“Whew!” Leigh plopped down on a smooth sitting rock next to me. “This pregnancy thing takes a lot out of a person.”
I sat next to her and rubbed the cramp from my left calf. “You doing okay?”
“Oh, sure. It’s a great excuse for just about everything. I’m having a blast watching your brother wait on me hand and foot.”
“It’s good for him, Leigh.”
Bobby and Holston were busy quizzing Buckwheat and Mark on the area’s geography. From this vantage point near the falls, we could see Laughton Glacier in the distance. I snapped photos for my scrapbook of Buckwheat, Mark, Bobby, and Holston in earnest manly conversation.
“Okay, gang!” Buckwheat said as he gathered his pack. “We gotta beat it on back to the trailhead so we don’t miss our ride home. Otherwise, it’s a ten mile
hike down the tracks back into town.”
“You ever missed it before?” the man from Ohio asked.
“Only twice—the first time and the last time! And, I don’t wanna do it again!”
Since the return trip was downhill, we made it to the trailhead in a little over half the time it took going up. At the bottom, Buckwheat opened the weighted lid on a heavy wooden box and retrieved two coolers. One ice chest was filled with spring water, soft drinks, and locally bottled beer. The second held crackers, chopped fruit, and Buckwheat’s salmon paté. In addition to being an accomplished mountain wilderness guide during the warm months, he was a gourmet cook, and wrote poetry for children.
Soon, the mournful blast of an air whistle sounded as the yellow and green White Pass Railroad Train rounded the mountain pulling a line of boxcars with names like Big Salmon and McClintock written in bold block letters on their sides. Buckwheat pantomimed a well-rehearsed display of standing in the middle of the tracks waving down the slowing engine.
We hopped aboard with the gear and coolers as soon as the train came to a complete stop. Buckwheat bellowed once more for the benefit of the puzzled passengers. The train jerked as it continued its steep descent into Skagway station.
The town of Skagway resembled an old mining settlement. Wooden boardwalks spanned the sides of the narrow main street. Many of the buildings were reminiscent of the days of gold rush fever. All four of us bought authentic gold nugget pendants at the Ole Gold Mine Gold Shop. While Bobby and Leigh mulled over a selection of sweatshirts, Holston and I located the single-story wooden building that housed the Skagway Police Department. As I had in Juneau, I traded Florida police badges for the colorfully embroidered police collectibles.
Piddie held a set of dangling gold earrings above the dining table. “Look what I bought Elvina!”
“They’re pretty. Kinda unusual,” Leigh said.
“They’re gold-plated gen-u-ine moose turd earrings.” Piddie broke up with laughter. “Just wait ’till Elvina gets a load of these!”
I studied the small oblong drop earrings. We’d seen the real thing on the trail a few hours earlier. “These are fantastic! Very bizarre. I wish we’d have seen these.”
“Don’t worry,” Piddie said. “I bought all of us a pair. Except, of course, for the boys. For y’all, I bought moose turd tie pins.”
Jake’s face contorted. “Oh…that’ll look fetching with a tux.”
“That’s an idea! I’ll make sure to give them to you all so we can wear them on the last formal night.”
Bobby shot eye-daggers at Jake. “Big mouth.”
Piddie, Jake, Evelyn, and Joe chatted on, often talking at the same time, about the three-hour train ride through the mountains on the narrow-gauge railroad.
Evelyn clamped a hand to her chest. “I’m tellin’ you—one sneeze the wrong way, and we’d’ve been at the bottom of that Dead Horse Gulch!”
“Oh, now, dear. It wasn’t that frightening,” Joe said.
“Maybe not for you,” Evelyn replied tartly, “but I have an inner ear problem.”
Piddie sniffed. “It’s ’cause there’s so much air separatin’ them. Makes you dizzy.”
Giorgio appeared at the table before the two could get worked up any further.
“I told you I would have a surprise for you,” he said. He presented a perfectly turned-out chocolate soufflé and positioned it on the table in front of Aunt Piddie. With a practiced flourish, he snapped a linen napkin into a triangle and tied it in a loose bib around Piddie’s neck. He smiled down at her. “I feed you.”
Piddie was delighted beyond words, a rare occurrence.
Giorgio served heaping warm spoonfuls of the spongy soufflé on to small china plates and topped each with a warm heavy cream sauce from a small silver pitcher. After he passed a dessert-laden plate to all of us at the table, he proceeded to spoon feed Piddie, coaxing and cooing to her in Italian. Between bites, she giggled and blushed at the lavish attention.
“Lordy-be!” she said on the way back to the stateroom to rest before the nightly activities, “I never thought havin’ a second childhood would be such a grand experience!”
Double Chocolate Cake with Almonds
Ingredients: ¼ cup vegetable oil, 2 oz semi-sweet chocolate, 1 egg, 1 cup white sugar, ¾ cup milk, 1 ¼ cups bleached flour, ½ tsp salt, ½ tsp vanilla extract, ½ tsp baking soda, 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips, ½ cup sliced almonds.
Combine oil, egg, sugar, milk, flour, vanilla, and baking soda, mix until smooth, and pour into a 9 inch round pan. Sprinkle with nuts and chocolate chips. Bake at 350º for 30 minutes.
Let cool on a wire rack, slice, and serve a piece to the birthday girl or boy.
Chapter Twenty-seven
GLACIER BAY
The face staring back from the small mirror over our lavatory didn’t look familiar. Deep purple under-eye smudges made me look like a nocturnal animal shocked by the bright light of day. Although I didn’t normally wear make-up, except for special occasions, I grabbed the cosmetic pouch and rummaged for the powder base and blush—anything to mask the sallow, blotchy skin tone. The weight loss I had at first heralded as a gift from the thigh gods, had robbed my face of fullness.
Who’d’ve ever thought that I, Bertha Butt Davis, could look anorexic?
The new pants I’d purchased three weeks prior to the trip hung on my hips like the tattered ruined sails of a ghost ship. A deep, gnawing fear lodged stone cold in the pit of my stomach. The bleeding I’d experienced sporadically was now a daily occurrence as my body sent screaming smoke signals—call 911!
Get a grip, Hattie! You can hang in there four more days without keeling over!
I took a shaky breath and squared my shoulders. Today would be spent entirely on a long slow trip around Glacier Bay—a much easier pace from the last two days.
“You okay in there?” Piddie called from the other side of the door.
“Yep…just putting on my face!” I answered.
Piddie eyed me suspiciously when I stepped from the small bathroom.
“Girlie, I’m really startin’ to fret over you. I’ve seen dead folks with more color. Maybe you should go on down and see the ship’s doctor.”
“I’ll be all right, Pid.”
“The bleedin’, is it happenin’ again?”
I sighed heavily. “Yes. But, I want this to be our secret, Piddie. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s trip. I’ll call my doctor as soon as we get home.”
She jabbed a bejeweled finger in the air in front of my face. “If you don’t, I will. I mean that thing!”
At 6:00 AM, the Regal Queen reduced speed to embark two National Park rangers at Bartlett Cove, then sailed into the entrance of Glacier Bay. By 9:00, we slowed to view the Lamplugh and Johns Hopkins Glaciers, then came in close to the Grand Pacific and Margerie Glaciers. As we approached the Margerie Glacier, the pilots cut the engines to allow the boat to slowly inch parallel to the blue wall of ice. The National Park rangers narrated with a steady flow of information on the glaciers over the loud speaker system on the viewing decks.
Around us, the two glaciers spoke in snaps and deep echoing growls like thunder. Without warning, massive chunks of ice broke away from the wall and crashed into the frigid water. Afterward, the crowds along the viewing rails clapped, oohhheed, and ahhhhed like North Florida locals gasping over a 4th of July fireworks display. Holston, Jake, Evelyn, Leigh, Joe, and Bobby were stationed at different points along the starboard side of the ship with cameras in tow. Piddie and I were positioned toward the rear of the viewing deck in a less-crowded area we shared with a nice Chinese gentleman who introduced himself as Dr. Paul Wong from Beijing.
“Dang it!” I growled as I swung the camcorder around a split second too late to capture the ice as it calved from the glacier.
“Go on over there more toward the middle,” Piddie instructed. “Maybe you can swing either way faster if you’re midway. Go on, now. I’m right here with my wheels locked. I�
��m not going to fly away. I’ll just stay here with Dr. Wang.”
“Wong, Paul Wong,” he politely corrected.
“All right. If you’re sure you’ll be okay here without me. I’ll be back as soon as I catch one of these babies on film.” I dashed to the center of the most crowded spot and jockeyed for position. Capturing the glacier in action obsessed me.
A short time later, a series of sharp cracks and moans set the camera crew on edge. Multiple lenses scanned the length of the glacier, trying to predict the areas most likely to produce a spectacle worthy of filming. An immense chunk of ice calved into the water immediately in front of my viewfinder. Giggling, I caught the entire episode complete with the splash and rippling waves.
The cheers and applause from the jubilant crowd were pierced by a sharp “Ah-Yee! Ah-Yee! Chinaman overboard! Chinaman overboard!”
I caught a frantic motion to my right, and turned in time to film my elderly aunt standing near her wheelchair with a bright orange life ring in her hands. As if we were stuck in syrup, we watched in stunned awe as Piddie swung the life ring in a wide arch high into the air. The lifesaving float landed within a few inches of Dr. Paul Wong, who was frantically treading water. Within minutes, the well-trained cruise staff rushed to rescue the shivering man who clung to the life ring Piddie had so expertly thrown, and hustled him to the infirmary. Dr. Wong’s wife, a petite woman standing in our midst, cried out in Chinese. The uniformed attendant took her by the arm and led her below.
Aunt Piddie held her hand dramatically to her chest. “I told him he was leanin’ over way too far. Lordy! He just crawled up there on top of the rail—leanin’ over with his camera, and Whoop! There he went!”
Evelyn threw her arms around Piddie. “Gosh, Mama. You’re a hero! I’m truly amazed.”
Piddie stuck her chin high into the air. “Well, I guess this ol’ girl still has a few moves left in her. If I’d been ten years younger, I’d’ve gone in after him.”
For a good half-hour, Piddie posed for pictures by the rail. I chuckled to myself when I imagined them looking at the snapshots later. My adorable blue-haired aunt in her purple Polarfleece outfit and red tennis shoes, smiling to beat the band. Because of the video cameras, Aunt Piddie’s unselfish act had been captured on film from several angles. I felt certain it would be featured on a television show about amazing rescues, as well as making the major news networks.