Bristol Bay Summer

by Annie Boochever

  Lhasa stopped panting and nudged her head against Zoey’s arm. After a few minutes, Zoey yawned, closed the pad, and squeezed it between her seat and the door. She stroked the dog’s silky ears with her fingertips.

  Eliot was already sound asleep. The cabin felt warm. The leaky volcanoes were long gone. Zoey closed her eyes.

  When she woke an hour later, the scene had changed dramatically. On both sides of the plane, rocky cliffs rose sharply from a jagged white river. The mountaintops were wrapped in snow. Sheets of blue glacier-ice spilled into valleys. Milky waterfalls launched themselves hundreds of feet onto hungry-looking rocks.

  “Lake Clark Pass,” shouted Zoey’s mom.

  It was so narrow. What if they met a plane coming the other way?

  Did Patrick really know how to fly this rattletrap? As if to answer, he pointed out the window. Below them, on a ledge in the side of a cliff, lay the fuselage and wing of a small airplane that looked a lot like theirs.

  Oh, great. She didn’t need to worry about finding her dad, because they were all going to die this afternoon!

  Eventually, though, the pass opened to a wide river valley. They followed the drainage another half hour to a point where the shoreline turned sharply away on both sides. Before them a flat sea stretched so far it curved to meet the sky. Their mom turned and pointed excitedly.

  “Zoey, Eliot. That’s Bristol Bay!”

  When the water was directly below them, Patrick let the plane drop to just a few hundred feet above it, then turned to the right and followed the shoreline for several minutes until they flew over a small point of land followed by a gentle curve in the beach. The engine slowed. Zoey’s mom turned again, this time with a big smile, and pointed downward.

  “And that’s Halfmoon Bay down there!” More smiles. Zoey wished her mom would get a grip on herself, but she said nothing and looked out the window. Below she could see a shallow dent in the edge of what seemed like an endless shore. Apparently, this was it.

  “Halfmoon Bay is this tiny little section of Bristol Bay, which is so big you can’t even see the edges of it,” Patrick yelled back at them.

  “Over that way,” he pointed above the water in the direction of the left wing, “is a place called Naknek. That’s our closest town, but you can’t see it from here.”

  As the plane dropped still lower, Zoey thought she glimpsed the roof of a small building on the beach, but whatever it was quickly disappeared behind them.

  “Home to the largest sockeye salmon runs in the world,” Patrick crowed.

  Zoey wished he would concentrate on being a pilot instead of a tour guide.

  Eliot woke up just as the earth rose to meet them. Zoey’s stomach seemed to lodge somewhere between her pounding heart and the roof of the plane. This maniac was going to land on the beach. She squeezed her eyes shut and glued her fingers to the bottom of the seat.

  Good-bye, world.

  I love you, Dad.

  The tires bounced a couple of times then miraculously rolled smoothly. As if he were simply parking the family car, Patrick turned the plane into the wind and stopped the engine. In less than three hours, they had gone from the parking lots and paved streets of Anchorage to nothing but water, beach, and a broad brown-green plain Patrick called the “tundra.”

  “Last stop. Everybody out.” Patrick climbed down first, then opened the passenger door for Zoey’s mom with a little bow. Lhasa bolted over Eliot and jumped to the ground, sniffing wildly at this new world.

  Patrick lifted Eliot down and extended a hand to Zoey, who found the footrest and climbed to the ground on her own. She stumbled on a smooth, round rock and glared at Patrick when he grabbed her arm to steady her.

  She shrugged him off and looked around. The plane had landed on a level stretch of sand and gravel. An expanse of pebbles sloped gradually from where she stood down to the choppy, foam-streaked sea. A couple of distant fishing boats broke the monotony of the watery view, and far behind them a ghostly line of mountains lay along the horizon. Somewhere out there was the town Patrick had said was nearest to them.

  She turned her head in the direction they had come, but saw nothing of a building, or any other sign of people. Higher up the beach, the stretch of “landing strip” ended at a line of tall grass and behind that, as far as she could see, spread a carpet of low-growing mosses and scrubby plants. The tundra: a wide wetland without a single large tree. At a spot perhaps a football field back along the beach, the grassy border of the tundra swelled into a low, rounded hill covered by more grass. Other than that, the world was flat as far as Zoey could see.

  Looking up the beach in the opposite direction made the wind-whipped sand sting her face. Nothing there, either, except that she could make out a place not too far away where the beach curved out toward the water and just seemed to stop. That must be where Halfmoon Bay ended and the shoreline blended into the larger outline of Bristol Bay.

  All she could hear were waves, wind, and seagulls.

  The ocean air was thick and sharp in her throat.

  This was their summer home.

  3

  Latrine Business

  Patrick gave orders as he handed down bags from the plane. “First thing is to get our tents up so we have a place to sleep.”

  Zoey’s mom tossed two nylon duffels toward Zoey. “You and Eliot are in charge of the tents. This one’s yours.” One duffel dropped at Zoey’s feet. The wind sent the other tumbling down the beach. Lhasa barked and took off after it.

  Zoey’s mom yelled, “That’s the rain fly, Zoey. Get it!”

  “Why should I?”

  Her mom did that squinty thing that made her look like she was lining up a gun barrel.

  “Okay.” Zoey walked slowly after the bundle. She trudged back with the small stuff sack that held a thin nylon sheet that would stretch over their tent to keep out the rain. Sand jumped from the beach and pricked her face like needles.

  “Hey, Eliot, give me a hand,” said Patrick, and the two of them disappeared into the high grass that lined the beach. They returned dragging an assortment of boards.

  “Where did those come from?” asked Zoey.

  “I dropped these out here on my last trip. There’s some plywood, too. We need it to build platforms for the tents. Maybe you guys can find some flat driftwood for shelves.”

  Zoey sighed. She was about to say “find your own driftwood” when Eliot grabbed her arm.

  “Zoey, Zoey, we can explore while we look for wood.”

  “Now hold on everyone,” Zoey’s mom said. “Don’t forget where we are. We need a rule so we all stay safe. How about … never go walking alone, and always stay within sight of the camp. Got that?”

  “That’s two rules,” Zoey grumbled.

  “Your mom’s right,” Patrick said. “I didn’t see any bears when we flew in, and they usually stay clear of the camps, but you never know. See that grassy mound up the beach near the tundra? You can go as far as that, but stick together.”

  It wasn’t that Zoey didn’t agree with the rules. Even in Colorado they had learned that bears were no joke. She just couldn’t stand it when Patrick tried to be the family boss. She didn’t need that at all.

  Eliot and Zoey walked in the direction Patrick had indicated, squishing their feet through a line of seaweed left by the tide. Nose to the ground, Lhasa soon veered off, a scent leading her into the high grass. Eliot and Zoey followed the dog to the upper edge of the beach where the tundra began.

  Away from the water’s edge, the sharp ocean air mixed with an earthier smell. Seagulls soared above and scolded as though mocking her family for trying to set up housekeeping where they didn’t belong. Zoey stared at the strange landscape and thought of the moon-landing video they had watched at school. “One giant leap” … in the wrong direction.

  Eliot tugged Zoey toward the grassy hill Patrick had pointed to.

  “I bet we see bears this summer,” he said. “I bet we see lots of stuff.”

  “
I bet we don’t get to see any movies. I don’t see any theaters on this beach.” Zoey and Bethany had planned to go to the latest movie with that cute Star Wars guy, Harrison Ford, Raiders of the Lost Ark. Guess that wouldn’t be happening.

  Eliot pulled on Zoey’s jacket, and she put her hand on his shoulder to slow him down. They had walked only about five minutes, but the airplane was out of sight behind the hill, and the wind was quieter here.

  “What’s that?” Eliot pointed ahead.

  “It looks like an old shack.”

  “No, it’s a boat!” He shook off her hand and charged down into a hollow that lay just in front of them.

  “Don’t forget what Mom said. Stay with me or I’ll…. Eliot! Wait!”

  “A boat! A boat!”

  She caught up with him.

  In front of Eliot, the remains of an old wooden fishing boat, about twice as long as a pickup truck, nestled in the sandy gravel. Years of wind, tides, snow, and ice had pummeled the stern section nearly flat. But the cabin stood up like a lookout post, and the bow remained intact.

  They quickly climbed up the slanting deck. Eliot pushed through the cabin door and headed straight for the steering wheel.

  “Captain Raven of Bristol Bay!” He tried spinning the wheel, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Sand and a couple of soggy magazines littered the floor along with a few shards of pottery probably from an old coffee cup. Zoey noticed an open hatch near her feet. A slanted ladder descended into the hold. Next to the ladder an old rain hat, barely recognizable, hung on a rusty nail.

  Who had worn that hat? What had happened to the people who used to fish in this boat? Was it a family? A storm must have washed it all the way up here to the tundra. Was anyone on board when that happened, or had they already abandoned ship? She peeked down the stairway. Was there a skeleton down there?

  A motion through the cracked window in front of the steering wheel caught Zoey’s eye. A shadow slid along the ground under the bow.

  “Lhasa?” she called, but the dog was busy digging on the grassy mound. It was eerily quiet, except for her own heart beating. She peered outside. A bear maybe, or some crazy old fisherman? Nothing. She breathed out, a little disappointed.

  A gust of wind vibrated a pole on the roof, sending a weird moaning sound deep into the wooden hull. Eliot raised his eyebrows, grinned, and shrugged. He crawled up into a cramped bunk in the bow and started to paw through debris.

  “Kraak, kraak!” he cried, holding up an old leather boot. “Pirates!”

  “Hey, I thought you guys were gathering driftwood,” their mother’s voice interrupted from outside. “You’re supposed to be out on the beach.”

  “Raven Boy find pirate treasure,” said Eliot, carrying the boot out on deck.

  “Wow! You two hit the jackpot!” Zoey’s mom surveyed the old boat. “Patrick,” she hollered.

  No response.

  “Come on, Eliot, let’s go tell Patrick to bring a crowbar. Maybe he can get some good planks from this wreckage. Zoey, you stay put.”

  Zoey watched Eliot trot off down the beach with her mom, the old boot bouncing in his arms.

  A few minutes later, Zoey could hear Patrick’s steps approaching. “You can’t take our wood,” Zoey called out. “We found this boat, and we like it in one piece.”

  “I’ll just grab a couple of boards from the stern, here. They’ll make good supports for the platforms. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt the cabin.” He started ripping out a loose plank. “Come on, give me a hand.”

  Zoey picked the smallest piece of wood and limply dragged it back to camp. She remembered the moving shadow and turned to examine the beach around the wreck again. Empty.

  The wind died down, and a lukewarm sun poked through the clouds. Zoey watched her mom. Dressed in a shapeless blue raincoat and oversized pants stuffed into big rubber boots, she struggled to haul boxes of supplies from the plane to the tent site. Clumps of her wavy brown hair fluttered from the edges of a gray wool cap.

  She can’t really like being out here in the middle of nowhere, can she?

  Zoey remembered when her mom had taken them to chamber music concerts all dressed up. Her dad never wanted to go.

  Dad!

  She had been so busy since they landed, she hadn’t even thought about him. She would write him a letter tonight.

  In spite of herself, Zoey helped her mom organize the rest of the gear at the campsite. It was hard work, but something caught her, like being a pioneer putting down roots in a new country. Zoey could understand that kind of pioneer. The kind that wanted to build a home and stay put.

  “Let’s stop for lunch,” said Patrick. “The platforms are almost done. After we eat, we can erect Chez Jensen-Morley.”

  “Shay what?” said Eliot.

  “He means it will be our very own castle,” said their mom on her way back to the plane to find the sandwiches.

  Eliot announced he had to pee.

  Their mom turned, “Go ahead, Patrick. Tell them.”

  “If all you have to do is pee, go up on the edge of the beach grass, but no farther. It’s good for us to claim our territory, let the animals know this is our spot.”

  “Cool!” yelled Eliot as he romped up the beach and dropped his pants.

  Zoey turned away. “Yuck!”

  Patrick and their mom laughed. When Eliot bounded back to them, Patrick continued, “Later I’ll show you where to go if you have to do more than pee.” He was still chuckling as he led them back to the campsite. Zoey grimaced. Just great—no people, no houses, no beds. And no toilet!

  4

  Chez Jensen-Morley

  Chez Jensen-Morley turned out to be an old, army-green pup tent for Zoey and Eliot, and a big, tan, Eureka wall-tent for Patrick and their mom, and for family meals and activities. With a little complaining, they finally got both shelters up. Patrick attached ropes to the platforms and drove long wooden stakes deep into the sand. Then he pounded together some driftwood benches while the others began to organize the food. Finally, he hung a kerosene lantern high up on the pole in the middle of the tent.

  “For our late-night poker games,” he laughed.

  The sun played hide-and-seek as they worked, shining long enough to make them loosen their jackets, then slipping away again until the chill breeze made them zip back up. Every so often the clouds spat out pellets of cold rain.

  Patrick grabbed a bucket and two plastic jugs and took Zoey and Eliot along the beach past the low hill that hid the old fishing boat. Not far beyond, a small creek spilled from the tundra through a broad V in the sand and ran across the beach and straight into the water of Halfmoon Bay. Patrick led them to a pool of water where they filled the containers.

  Then they lugged the water back to the tent platform, stopping several times so Zoey and Eliot could rest their arms and shoulders. When they arrived at the tent platform, their mom clapped her hands to celebrate their hard work and immediately dropped a small tablet into each jug.

  “Iodine.”

  “Why can’t we just drink it? There’s nothing around to get it dirty,” said Eliot.

  “Even though there are no people, you can still get parasites from the stream,” said their mom.

  “Little bugs,” said Patrick. “They live in your intestines and grow up into huge aliens that burst out through your chest and begin eating…” He slurped menacingly.

  “Patrick!” Their mother fired a squinty look at him. “Eliot, they do not grow into aliens. They’re just tiny critters that can make you feel sick. So, just to be safe, we use the iodine tabs. Don’t worry. You won’t even know they’re in there.”

  Zoey hid her smile. She didn’t want Patrick to know that sometimes she thought he was funny. Bethany thought he was cute. Cute, schmute is all Zoey had to say about that. She watched him finish building a stand for the Coleman cookstove.

  “Want to come check it out?” Patrick picked up the wooden frame and gestured for Zoey to follow him into the tent. “It
’s starting to look pretty homey in there.”

  “Yeah, if your home came from the Goodwill,” she said.

  But when they got inside, even Zoey was impressed. They had set the tent up in Anchorage a couple of weeks ago, but she had forgotten how big it was. The ceiling stood taller than Patrick in the middle, and she and Eliot could stretch toe to toe on the floor of the sleeping area and not touch the walls with their fingers.

  The entry flap was now enclosed by an extra awning their mom had sewn to make a space for cooking and eating. With the awning area full of food on driftwood shelves, the camp was nearly like a tiny two-room house.

  Their mom tested the new cooking stand with the big soup pot. Patrick dragged in a piece of driftwood for another chair. Somehow, it was starting to look like a home after all.

  Finally, it was time to cook their first Halfmoon Bay dinner. Zoey’s mom lit the primus burner to boil water for spaghetti. Zoey looked at her watch. Eight o’clock at night, and the sun was still shining. Her mouth watered as she watched the steam rise from the pot. Maybe all those cans of tomatoes weren’t such a bad idea.

  Later, they all sopped up spaghetti sauce with pieces of French bread bought fresh that morning in Anchorage. Zoey did not remember liking spaghetti so much. Soon she was full and felt too tired to move. Her mom opened a tin of cookies. Bethany’s cookies.

  After they had all packed into Patrick’s old Chevy to go to the airport, Bethany had waved from her yard.

  “Don’t leave yet!” Bethany and her mom had hurried up to the truck.

  Bethany had held out the blue tin with a picture of a Christmas tree on the lid.

  Zoey promised to send letters. “I’ve got your address somewhere. Patrick said there’s a post office in Dillingham. We’ll be at ‘general delivery’ or something. I’ll write and explain.”