And someone had to keep an eye on me, apparently. “Hope you brought your bug spray,” I said. “You going to follow me into the woods for the survival training, too?”
“No, but I’ve got my laptop. I’ll be watching your location, so don’t take off your necklace.”
It was touching really, but I just didn’t know what to think about Kimbal anymore. His recent behavior had shaken my respect for him, and I wasn’t sure he could ever get that back.
The flight to Alaska was short compared to the flight to Moscow or the flight to Okinawa. We flew from LAX to Seattle, then from Seattle to Anchorage, passing over these huge, charcoal, snowcapped mountains. Majestic, that’s what they were. I stared at them for a really long time.
From the Anchorage airport, we took taxis over to the Lake Hood Seaplane Base, which was an airport on a lake in the middle of the city. There we met two guys named Dusty and Bill.
Dusty Benson was the manager of the compound we were headed to. He looked to be about fifty, had short white and black hair, and a trimmed mustache. Aviator shades hung from the pocket of his green polo shirt, which he wore tucked into a pair of Levis that were as worn as his scuffed up Adidas.
Bill Sanger was a short, stocky man with a trim, graying brown beard and mustache that clung to his face like fur. He was wearing a red and blue plaid shirt, crisp blue jeans, and hiking boots. He was the pilot of the floatplane that would take us to the compound.
That’s right. A floatplane. It was white and blue and had two pontoons instead of wheels. But that’s not all. According to Bill, the Twin Otter normally sat eighteen passengers, but they’d refitted the cabin with two benches along each wall to hold up to twenty-three jumpers.
So, not just a floatplane. It was a jump plane. For parachuters.
Ah-some.
Lukas and I sat on the back end of the bench, right across from the roll door, which was like a mini garage door that could slide up along the ceiling and allow parachuters to jump out. Behind us, Mr. S, Gabe, and Kimbal had made a chain system of handing the luggage in the roll door, where Dusty stacked it behind a net that would keep the cargo from shifting in flight. I studied a collection of parachutes hanging on wall of the cargo area.
“Are those chutes ready to use?” I asked Bill, who was standing near us, watching the guys load the luggage.
“Yeah, in case of emergencies, we always have a few packed and ready,” he said. “Our school uses state-of-the-art skydiving equipment, FAA-certified.”
“You guys train jumpers?” I asked.
“We do a three-week basic training course up at the compound that covers static line and free fall jumps. That’ll certify an agent for field work. To maintain proficiency, agents are required to jump a minimum of once per quarter, so we get a lot of jumpers coming up to keep their certification current.”
“Those look just like the chutes from our class,” Lukas said.
“We did a training down by Lake Elsinore,” I added. “Well, they did. I tore my ACL last spring, so I got to do the simulator and sit through the classes, then watch everyone else jump.”
“We went tandem,” Lukas said. “We can register for a summer program to do free-fall, but then we’ve got to drive down to Lake Elsinore every day for three weeks.”
“Sounds like our program,” Bill said.
The benches had seat belts on them, so we all set our carry-ons between our feet and buckled in. Once we were in the air, Lukas ditched us and walked toward the front. He spent almost the whole flight standing in the little doorway to the cockpit, asking Bill a million questions about the Otter. I couldn’t help but notice his trim haircut, short enough that—without any product to keep it out of his eyes—he could still see. Guess he was taking the OST challenge seriously.
Even with Grace sitting across the aisle from me, I couldn’t stop looking out the window. We quickly left the city of Anchorage behind and passed over an endless forest. I had never seen so much green.
“Are there really no roads to this place?” I asked.
“Not where we’re going,” Mr. S said. “We’ll be less than twenty miles from the Iditarod trail, though.”
A half hour later the plane landed on Bear Paw Lake. I took in the cluster of buildings as we taxied toward a long wooded dock shaped like a capital T. A massive A-frame cabin sat on a spacious, mowed lawn. A dirt path led down to the dock where a smaller, yellow floatplane and two motorboats were tied up. To the left of the dock, a prefab steel airplane hangar had been built out onto the water. It had a massive garage door, which let me to guess the Twin Otter slept there.
I could barely see some other cabins through the trees. The place looked like some kind of rustic retreat. The buildings were surrounded by a forest of trees and bushes and grass in fifty shades of green. And the water… It was the color of root beer, but totally clear so that I could see underwater rocks along the shore.
“It’s so beautiful,” Grace said.
Yeah. It really was.
The plane stopped. I watched out the window as some hairy guy and a native kid grabbed lines and secured the plane along the top of the T. We all climbed out. Unlike the dock at Lake Hood, this one swayed under the weight of all our footsteps.
“Welcome to Bear Paw Lake Lodge,” Dusty said. “I know you’ve got an exciting adventure ahead of you, but I also hope that you enjoy your stay here. I’d like to introduce you to my staff. Bill Sanger, who you already met, is our pilot. He’ll be flying some of you to your drop off points in the Otter.” He pointed to the yellow floatplane.
He then nodded to the hairy guy. He had a long, squarish orange beard that hung down to the middle of his chest. “Al Canton is our mechanic and all-around handyman. He’s also in charge of our sled dogs. He goes by Alcan.”
The man’s worn, dirty jeans bagged in the knees like they’d never been washed. Ever. He wore a pair of white rubber bunny boots. “Welcome to bush country!” As if he’d just made some kind of joke, he cackled—exactly like the old man from Duck Dynasty.
“John Chiklak is our chef,” Dusty said, gesturing to the Alaskan Native, who looked no older than me. “He might be young, but the kid can cook salmon like nobody on this earth. Guys will be staying in the Fireweed Cabin. Girls are in the Sourdough Cabin. Alcan will show you the way. You’ve got about an hour to get settled before dinner in the lodge. Feel free to explore. We’ve got 153 sled dogs in the kennels. If you visit them, be careful. Most are friendly, but there are a couple that will bite you. If you need to get cell phone reception, that’s about the only place you’ll get a signal. Any questions?”
No one spoke, so Dusty led the way up the path. His crew followed, as did Mr. S, Kerri, and Kimbal. I hefted my duffel over my shoulder and joined the line.
At the lodge, we lost all the grown-ups but Kimbal and Alcan. As Alcan led us toward the cabins, I couldn’t help but notice the worn circle in the back pocket of his Levis—just the size of a can of chewing tobacco. I shuddered. That stuff was nasty.
Alcan stopped between two log cabins. Huge stacks of firewood lined the front of both. He picked up a can of Vernors ginger ale from a ledge above the firewood, then spat brown sludge into it.
Eww.
“Sourdough’s on the right,” he said, putting the can back on the ledge. “Fireweed’s on the left.”
I scrambled toward our cabin, eager to put distance between me and that soda can.
The walls inside the Fireweed Cabin were also logs, each wider than my thigh. Kimbal took one of the four bedrooms and told us to pair off. Drew and El McWilly ran into the nearest room. I dragged Gabe into another before I ended up paired with Nick.
Sorry, Lukas. You snooze, you lose, man.
Gabe and my room had two twin beds, each covered with a pieced quilt that had appliqued squares of bears, leaves, and cabins. Yes, I knew what appliques were. The good Lord knows how many I helped cut over the years when I was too young to protest being a quilting minion. I took a picture on my iPh
one for Grandma and her Quilt Club pals, thinking they’d appreciate it. I had no cell service in the cabin, so I’d have to send it later.
Once everyone had dropped off their stuff, us guys walked around and explored a little. First we went north to the Echo River and crossed a wooden footbridge. The water moved rapidly over a rocky riverbed and looked about waist deep. The water was freezing, so we didn’t stay long. From there we walked all the way down to the dock.
I wanted to find Grace, see if I could figure out whether or not Mr. S’s theory about her liking me was true. The girls didn’t come out of their cabin that I saw, so I stuck it out with the guys. We checked out the motor boats and inspected the yellow Beaver floatplane, which sat only six passengers. From there we wandered to the campfire pit, then over to the airplane hangar. The Twin Otter was already parked inside.
After that, we walked to the kennels. The doghouses weren’t the chainlink mesh kind I’d seen in LA kennels. These were a field of reclaimed industrial wooden spools made into doghouses with little doors carved into the shaft and the insides packed with straw. Some dogs lay inside their houses, some outside. Some sat on the roofs. And a few ran back and forth on their chains, jumping and barking and nearly choking themselves to get at us.
A teeny little cabin that looked no bigger than an RV separated the kennels from the main lodge. I spotted three Vernors cans left on various ledges that led me to believe it must be Alcan’s place.
My cell did have a signal, so I sent Grandma Alice my picture of the quilts with a note that I’d arrived safely at the compound. I told her about the bad cell reception. Hopefully she wouldn’t expect daily updates.
While Lukas was petting some of the dogs, I also Googled the Echo River to get an idea of which direction it ran in comparison the mountains. It cut diagonally through the compound from the northeast to the southwest. There were two smaller lakes. Loon Lake, oblong like a raisin, was northeast of the lodge, located just south of the Echo River. West Lake, which looked like two circles stuck together, sat up in the northwest corner of the compound.
Our adventure ended at the lodge. Just inside the entrance was a huge living room area with a two-story ceiling. Behind that were three long dining tables made of lacquered half logs. I was thrilled to see the girls sitting at one. I made my way toward Grace. Parts of trees here and there made the place seem extra woodsy. Table legs were actual tree stumps with the bark still on. The “chandelier” over the dining table hung from a wacky tree stump.
The massive A-frame windows covered the front wall and looked out onto the lake. Even though it was after seven, it was still full daylight. The other walls were covered in taxidermy. There was a moose, a Dall sheep, a massive bird, a caribou, several fish, and some kind of mountain cat.
All looking down at me.
“What a lovely room of death,” I said as I sat down across from Grace.
“I’m glad we’re on this side of the wall,” Lukas said, sitting beside me. “I’d hate to see what’s sticking out on the other side.”
We laughed. The girls rolled their eyes.
I wished I had some way of talking with Grace alone. I desperately wanted to know if she liked me, but today didn’t seem to be the day I’d find out.
We divided up for dinner, sitting with our teams. As we ate baked salmon, potatoes, homemade rolls almost as good as my grandma makes, and massive squares of carrot cake with thick cream cheese frosting, Gabe gave us a pep talk.
“Remember, we have to find each other before we can come back. Dad will knock off points for showing up here without a complete team.”
“First thing, try to find the mountains,” I said. “That will help you know which way is north without having to mess with the sun.”
“But how will we know if we’re above or below the compound?” Drew asked.
“The lake is only about three miles above the southern fence,” Gabe said. “We’ll all most likely be above it.”
“That doesn’t mean we will be, though,” El McWilly said. “Technically one or more of us could end up in that three-mile area.”
“If you reach the southern fence, then you’ll know,” I said. “In fact, the Echo River cuts diagonally through the compound. It comes in from the northeast and runs southwest.” I also told them what I’d learned online about the two lakes.
“Let’s everyone try to find the river and follow it to the bridge,” Gabe said. “We’ll meet there.”
“Remember, try and find water first,” Drew said.
“We could look for birds,” El McWilly said. “Birds will be around water.”
“And bugs or animals or animal tracks,” Grace added.
“Stop to listen,” Gabe said. “You might be able to hear the rivers. Move downhill. You all know the tricks to collect dew and rainwater and things like that. You’ll be fine. Now, let’s make up a call. Something we can yell out every so often to try and find each other.”
“How often?” El McWilly asked.
“Don’t make yourself hoarse. You’ll just get thirsty. If someone answers, you can do it more often as you get closer. I’m thinking something like this: Heyyy yo! Yo-yo-yo!”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“No good?” Gabe asked.
“Naw, I like it.”
“Okay, good. Let me pray for us, then you guys can go do whatever.”
So Gabe prayed. I was going to suggest a walk to Grace, but she took off for the bathroom. Diakonos finished up their meeting as well, and all the girls vanished into the bathroom. The guys went down to the lake. I waited fifteen minutes for the girls to come out, then gave up and walked down to join the guys. It was now after nine and still light enough to read. So weird. But the light wasn’t normal, either. I couldn’t see the sun in the sky, and colors seemed dull. The trees looked gray and black, the water glassy, reflecting the pale sky. Lukas and I walked to the end of the dock and looked down at our shadowy reflections, but the mosquitoes swarmed, and after slapping ourselves silly, we headed back inside the lodge. The girls were sitting at one of the tables with Nick. They’d found a deck of cards and were playing MAO. We joined in the next game and played until Mr. S sent us all to bed.
“Breakfast is at nine,” he said. “Come dressed to survive in the wild. Remember, you can only take with you what you’re wearing, so dress appropriately. ‘To be prepared is half the victory.’ ”
I went to bed dreaming of ways I could wear all the clothes in my bag and how the first thing I’d do was find Grace so she and I could have a special talk.
****
The next morning, a chill woke me. I rolled over to go back to sleep, but the sound of turning pages made me open my eyes. Gabe was sitting on his bed, wearing his glasses and reading his Bible with a flashlight.
“Just open the curtain,” I said, rolling over on my side and pulling my quilt up to my chin. Why was it so cold in here?
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Gabe said.
I wiggled and tucked until I was certain there was no cold air getting underneath my quilt. Through bleary eyes I watched Gabe read. For being a “new” Christian, I sure didn’t read my Bible very much. A surge of guilt prompted me to ask, “What’s the Word?”
“My devotional says to trust God always. In every circumstance and with all your heart. When things are good or bad. No matter what’s happening in your life, you can always utter four words, ‘I trust you, Jesus.’ And that way, you give up control and worry and fear, and you trust him. Jeremiah 29:13 says, ‘You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.’ Fitting for today, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” I yawned. “What time is it?”
“Six twenty.”
I groaned. “What is the matter with you?”
“I always get up early.”
This I vaguely recalled from sharing a room with him in Moscow two summers back. What I wanted to know was, would I find sleep, if I sought it with all my heart?
I did
. But not for long. When I next woke, my iPhone said it was 7:49. Whatever. Deep down, I was too excited about the day to sleep anymore. I got up, showered, and set about dressing in as many layers as possible.
Over and over this year Mr. S had said that layers were key when one was in the wilderness. Before the trip, he’d said the Alaskan weather could be all over the place, and since we were from California we might get cold easily. True that. The only time I’d been truly warm since I’d arrived here had been in the shower.
Mr. S had warned us that we could leave at any moment today, so we should be ready to go at all times. I pulled back the curtains, saw that the sky was gray, and decided to add a fourth layer. I couldn’t find my Lakers sweatshirt, though. I searched my bed, the floor, my duffle bag. Twice. My backpack. Twice. I scoured the cabin and figured I must have left it in the lodge. Now I had to decide if I wanted to risk trusting that it was there or not having a sweatshirt. I decided not to risk it and put on my red PPCS lions one.
By the time us guys left the Fireweed cabin for the lodge, I was wearing my rain jacket over my hooded lions sweatshirt, over a T-shirt, over my Under Armor compression shirt. I only had battle dress utility—BDU—pants and compression leggings on my lower half, plus three pairs of socks (compression socks, cotton socks, and wool ones) and hiking boots. I also had a pair of gloves in my pocket, two bandanas tied around my neck, and a Lakers’ stocking cap on my head.
I was no longer cold.
In fact, I was burning up. I’d be shedding layers now if I wasn’t so worried Mr. S would call us to the campfire the moment I’d tossed aside my rain jacket. According to the rules, we could only take what we were wearing. No packs. No supplies. No running back to our cabin to grab a hat or gloves. Just what we were wearing when that whistle blew.
Breakfast was English muffins, eggs and sausage, hash browns, slices of tomato, and fruit salad. I ate until I hurt, certain this time it would be my last meal.
But no. We screwed around all day waiting for the whistle. Went canoeing. Explored the river. Had a filling lunch. Fished in the lake. Played more MAO.
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