When I woke up the next morning to a growling stomach, I decided it was time to figure out if the jars of preserved food were going to be edible. The green tinted glass the jars were made of disguised the contents. The only way to tell if they were any good was to open them. I twisted open the lid of the first jar and popped the top. The stench told me it was spoiled, and it had to be pickled fish or something along those lines. It took almost three good gags before I could get the door open and fling the jar into the snow. The second one was probably green beans at some time in the past but still a no go. So it joined the pickled whatever out in the snow. The last two may have been peaches or apples. The jars did not necessarily stink, but they definitely had a wang that said eat me if you dare. The blackish brown mush the contents became when I spooned it into a bowl pretty much silenced my growling stomach to an occasional rumbling purr. After further study the jars made the short trip out the door. It was going to be another three tablespoons of macaroni and cheese mixed with a generous portion of lard. For dessert, I would treat myself to a half of a sugar cube. I was drinking a considerable amount of melted snow trying to fill my empty stomach but all the trips outside afterwards made me even more miserable.
That night I was awoke to a ruckus outside. I jumped up and ran to the door thinking somebody had come to get me after all. I threw back the door bolt and jerked the door open. My jubilation became firmly lodged in my throat when I saw seven or eight dark figures against the snow-white background turn towards me. Oh hell! I slammed the door. Wolves! I have experience with wolves, and not the good kind. I ran to the table and yanked Bill’s pistol from the shoulder holster. Going back to the door, I opened it enough to get the pistol pointed through the crack and saw nothing. Oh man, not this again. Then I remembered Tom asking if I left any scraps around for them to eat. No, but I left plenty of rotten shit for them to eat! I was making one dumbass mistake after another. I had been putting the shutters down every night to try to keep as much heat in the cabin as possible. After locking the bolt on the door I went back to bed. Smiling I thought, knock yourselves out with the huffing and puffing routine you bastards aren’t getting in here tonight.
The next morning pistol in hand, I went out to investigate where the wolves had gone. The snow would make tracking them child’s play. The spot I had thrown the jars was tromped and licked almost down to the dirt. The jars were even licked clean. The wolves had traced my footprints everywhere I had walked outside. The tracks led up the hill behind the cabin. After all the other wonderful choices I had made, following them to their den wasn’t going to be my next one.
I was starting to realize my worst fears that something had to have happened to Wisener and the Jennings girl. Somebody should have been here by now it had been almost a week. The weather was not good, but the blowing flurries and strong winds would not stop someone from getting here if they knew I was stranded. I was more than a hundred miles east of a likely search zone. If they find the Helio they will find Bonnie instead of me and should be able to figure out what happened. I did not know Wisener’s return route. For all I knew he might have tried to get Bonnie to Kerney. If that was the case he may have gone down close to a hundred miles west of the likely search zone. As heavy as the snow was, they might not find the plane till spring. I had no idea what the range of an emergency beacon was. In hilly terrain you would have to be on top of it to get a good signal. There was probably no reason for anyone to come out to the cabin in the winter. Bonnie was supposed to be at college in Anchorage. I wondered if anybody knew she was missing.
I decided if the wolves came back, I would shoot one and eat it. I was not going to starve to death waiting for help. I had never shot Bill’s pistol before and the four inch barrel didn’t impress me as weapon to use at more than fifty yards. I only intended to use it to scare the wolf away from the airport not kill it. Now I had no choice but to try to kill something to eat and at this point it did not matter what it was. I had a can and a half of chili beans, nine sugar cubes and two energy bars between me and starving. I needed to do something quick before the lack of calories and weight loss started sapping my strength. The strength I would need to leave here and try to get to the search zone.
When it started getting dark, I left one of the shutters open so I could see if the wolves returned. I ate three spoons of beans and another half of a sugar cube. I would save the rest of the energy bars for the hike out and hope I would run across something in pistol range. I filled my water bottle and grabbed a blanket off the bed. Then I pulled the old rocker up to the wicker love seat under the window and put my feet up waiting for darkness.
At some point the growling of my stomach must have lulled me to sleep. I woke with a jump and thought crap you’ll never see anything with your eyes closed. I looked out the window, to my surprise I see a wolf standing on the porch looking through the window at me. I was so startled I kicked back from the love seat with enough force to flip the rocker over backwards onto the floor. The impact sent me sprawling with a blanket over my head and Bill’s pistol sliding under one of the beds. "Son of a bitch!" That scared the hell out of me as I franticly groped around under the bed trying to the find the pistol. When I finally got a grip on the pistol I turned, looked out the window, and the wolf was gone. I sat on the floor for a few more seconds trying to slow my racing heart and steady my hands that had developed a minor palsy. I crawled back over to the window and peeked over the sill. To my surprise, there were fourteen or fifteen wolves of all sizes running around. They were digging where I had thrown the canning jars the night before. Man oh man what a target rich environment!
I eased over to the door and slowly slid the bolt back quietly cracking the door open. There were three wolves still digging around the jars so I eased the pistol up and took aim as best I could in the darkness. I centered the sights on the biggest of the three and slowly squeezed the trigger. BOOM! Holy shit! The fireball seemed to light up the whole landscape all the way to the boathouse 300 yards away. The sudden loud ringing in my ears made me feel slightly dazed. If I had not had a good grip on the pistol, it might have recoiled into my face. I looked out, saw wolves scattering everywhere, and to my amazement I had knocked one of them down. I let out a whoop and pushed the door open a little further. I was congratulating myself when the wolf staggered up and started letting out a piercing keening wail. It was attempting to run dragging a partially severed hind leg. Oh Jesus! Myers you idiot! What a piss poor shot! I sighted again and BOOM! He kept going, squalling louder. BOOM! Nothing and it drags its severed leg to the edge of the tree line and goes down on his side braying and wailing.
I have never let an animal suffer like that and it was making me feel sick to my stomach. I could not waste any more shots. The wailing was down to just yelps now. I holstered the pistol and pulled out my hunting knife. Taking a couple of quick strides to the end of the porch, I stopped to look around making sure the coast was clear. I didn’t see anything in the darkness and was pretty sure all the shooting scared everything for miles around. I start off in a jog toward my intended supper but pull up sharply when I see movement in the dark tree line. I reach back in my coat and pull the pistol out and stand there trying to figure out what is going to happen next. The wolf is lying about a hundred yards from me. I start walking toward it again not knowing what to expect when out of the tree line a wolf runs over and stands over my supper. Not just any wolf, but a big wolf, as in Great Dane size.
It turns and is looking right at me, which makes me stop in my tracks. Then it tears into the downed wolf with a growling noise that sends shivers up my spine. In seconds, wolves come running out of the tree line and proceed to rip the downed animal to pieces. The sight is making my knees weak and I look back towards the cabin. I notice I am at least fifty yards from the safety of the cabin. I turn back to where my next meal was supposed to be. I clearly see the wolf count increasing as the loud growling battle reaches epic proportions. My bowels are making disturbing noises. I feel a decid
edly downward turning trend to the three spoons of beans I had eaten earlier. Suddenly I remember I only have three shots left in the pistol. I was kind of getting used to hearing my Grandparent’s voices in the back of my mind when I was putting myself in danger but now I was getting nada.
I took off for the cabin as fast as my shaky legs would carry me. I glanced over my shoulder to see the big head honcho coming in my direction with the better part of my dinner hanging from its mouth. I was pretty sure he wasn’t coming to share. I get inside the cabin, throw the bolt on the door, and stand watching out the window as the big wolf casually sits down about 100 feet from the door. It was probably daring me to come outside as it proceeds to eat the lion’s share of my kill. The rest of the pack is fighting a pitched battle for what remained. I stood staring out the window cursing and screaming. Desperation was clouding my judgment. I pointed the pistol at the wolf and contemplated shooting through the window. I finally came to my senses and put the pistol on the table. If I did manage to shoot it, the pack would not give me a free pass at trying to drag it into the cabin. I needed to get the hell out of here!
6
The next morning a plan was starting to form in my mind as I finished off the last of the beans in my first can. I went over to the bearskin and gave the head a good tug trying to yank it off the wall. The skin was old and dried out and the head ripped off in my hands. I grabbed my hunting knife and cut the hide at the paws releasing it from the wall. It was a good sized Grizzly skin and even without the head its height standing up was taller than me. I took the rigid fur and laid it on the floor skin side up in front of the wood stove. I took my pot of warm water and gave the skin a liberal dousing to try to limber the skin back up. The skin soaked the water up like a sponge. The hide started giving off a less than pleasant bouquet. I let it dry on the floor and decided it was going to take oil of some sort to get it back to a pliable condition.
I grabbed my can of lard and the last of my lamp oil and sat them on the table in front of me. I still had a decent amount of lard but only a few ounces of lamp oil left. After all the brilliant choices I had made the past week, I made it a point to think carefully about all of my future choices. Any rash decisions could impact my delicate survival situation in a negative way. After more than ten minutes of indecision, the seemingly endless complaining from my stomach urged me to action.
I placed a generous amount of my lard and the last of my lamp oil in one of my pots on the outside edge of my cook top. Then took my knife out and kneeled on the bear skin. I cut the bottom legs off, squaring the bottom of the fur up. The inkling of an idea quickly gelled into a plan of action. Starting where the head used to be I cut a U-shaped notch about a foot and a half down the middle of the back. I picked up the semi rigid fur and slid it on my back pulling the notch up to the back of my neck. The two long arms draped down the front of me. I crisscrossed the long arms in front of my chest, reached around, and pulled the sides around me. I now had a bearskin cape. With a little more work it would be a load bearing vest.
I eyeballed the slowly melting lard concoction and headed out to the boathouse carrying Bill’s pistol at my side. Once inside I let the canoe down one side at a time and cut the long pieces of rope free from each end. I took the broken fishing rod and headed back to the cabin. Sitting down at the table after pulling my homemade tanning oil off the stove, I went to work removing the reel from the rod. After several minutes of picking at it I managed to undo the rat nest knot of heavy monofilament line. Going to the closet I fetched the small sewing kit I had found and returned to the table. Laying the fur back out on the floor next to the hearth I took my lard oil mix and gave the skin side a heavy greasy coat. I then hung it from the mantle behind the stove securing it with a couple of pieces of firewood. My stomach was again loudly protesting the lack of nourishment. I opened my last can of beans sealing the deal on my plans for departure. I heated about three tablespoons and ate them not caring if the contents were edible or not and then drank my bottle full of water and refilled it.
The skin side of my bear hide had a dark wet look to it and an oily feel but was much more pliable. The slight kerosene smell was better than the moldy gym shoe bouquet the water bath had produced. I laid the fur out skin side up and folded the square bottom up a fourth of the way back over the bottom to form a pouch. Using the fishing line for thread, I sewed up both sides of the fur to complete the storage pouch. Sewing was not one of my better traits but from what I observed when my Grandmother did it, this was a close facsimile. I went over the end seams four times each to make sure it was sturdy. After looking at it, I decided to sew two more rows of vertical stitching to form two side pockets and one large one in the back. I took the nylon rope from the boathouse and cut it into several eight-inch pieces. I then tied large knots on one end of them. Putting the skin back on I determined where the clasps needed to be. With the point of my knife I poked slits in the appropriate places. I took the end of the rope and pulled it through the slits and cinched the skin around me. I closed the deal with several knots effectively holding the skin firmly to my body. I shortened the arms hanging over my shoulders, creating a set of suspender like flaps. When I was done, I had created a sturdy load-bearing vest that easily fit over the top of my hunting coat. It had enough inside storage pockets to carry the small collection of useful items I planned to take from the cabin.
I had three more spoons of beans and another bottle of water and sat staring at my creation deciding it needed a few more modifications. I took the bottom half of the fur I had cut off and made a large beaver tail. Using more of the fishing line I sewed it to the bottom center of my vest. If I had to sit in the snow, I would be sitting on the beaver tail and not the ground. After more thought I cut a two inch slit about six inches low on the left shoulder flap and then another slit about twelve inches below it. I picked up the ax and slid it into the slits holding it firmly on the left shoulder of my vest and in easy reach of my right hand.
It was time to gather my limited resources. I cleared the table off and decided to only put useful items on it. The first thing on the table was the three boxes of kitchen matches. I managed to cram them all into just two boxes. Then I went and took the little mirror hanging on the closet wall and put it on the table. Next, was the foil wrapped round Charley’s gold tin. After some careful contemplation I went out and grabbed one of the quart canning jars the wolves had so kindly licked clean. Picking up the tin I carefully poured all the gold from it into the jar. Going out to the porch, I dug around in the snow until I found the lids I had thrown out, and closed the jar with it. I put my energy bars, the matches, sugar cubes, aluminum foil, salt and pepper shakers into the tin box. I pulled the rest of the fishing line off the reel and wrapped it around an old clothespin. There was just enough room in the sewing kit box to stuff it in. Going over to the counter I picked up the old ring binder cookbook I had used for fire starting and other paper necessary tasks. Opening it to about the halfway mark, I laid the six by six inch mirror in the middle of the open pages and carved around it with my knife. I put the stack of cut out pages in the tin. Then I laid the mirror in the shallow relief, closed the cookbook, and secured it with a piece of rope. I took one of the small jars full of gold and poured it into the quart jar filling it to the very brim. I took the oil lamps and filled the jar almost full before they ran dry. I put the lid back on the jar and tested it for leaks and the old seal held. I went over to the beds, selected the lightest blanket, folded it up, and put it in the large rear pocket of my bear vest. Then I put the tin in the left side with my plastic water bottle and sewing kit and then the cookbook in the right side with the lamp oil. The list of things that could prove to be useful in the wilderness was depressingly short. Tomorrow morning I would be putting everything I had learned about the outdoors to the test. Failing the test would cost me my life.
I took Charley’s jars of gold, put them in the ash bucket, and put hot ashes out of the stove on the jars until the bucket was hea
ping. I loaded the wood stove with a full load of wood and drank some water. I would be hungry tonight but planned to eat the rest of the beans before I left in the morning. I was as ready as I was going to be. It had been a week and there was no sign of rescue. My plan was to get to the search zone between the research station and Bonner pass and signal search planes with my mirror. The search area should be at least fifty miles or more on each side of our original flight path. Once I have the pass in sight, I’ll head towards it and should be spotted by a plane. I knew my friend Karl would not give up until they found the plane or I found them. I sat at the table with a piece of charred wood and wrote on the back of the TV tray,
KARL
I AM HEADED WEST TOWARDS BONNER PASS,
NATHAN MYERS
First of my Kind Page 6