“Carl, you know I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Oh yeah? Why not, Otho?” my brother asked as I followed him into the cabin.
“What’s goin’ on boys?” Pa sat at the kitchen table updating the farm register by the light of the oil lamp. “Why all the hollerin’?”
“Otho robbed me of a bear kill!” Carl exclaimed. “It must’ve weighed close to 600 pounds, too. We would’ve eaten well for some time off that bear!”
“What’s the meanin’ of this, Otho?” Pa turned to me.
“He’s not tellin’ you the whole story, Pa,” I said as Ma walked in from the clothesline, basket on her hip. “This bear had cubs.”
Ma dropped her basket to the floor. “What’s all this about a bear and her cubs?”
“Otho wouldn’t let me take the shot at a goodsized bear just because she had a few cubs with her,” Carl explained to her.
“Well, were the cubs old enough to be on their own?” Ma questioned. Pa looked just as interested to get an answer.
“They looked old enough to me,” he replied, looking at me with a smug expression only fitting of a younger brother who thinks he’s getting away with something.
I sighed loudly, expressing my frustration with his behavior. “How could they have been old enough, Carl? They looked like they could’ve been carried off by a slight breeze.”
“You’re full of it,” Carl declared. “Just because you’re older than me-”
“Stop bickering,” Pa interrupted, raising his voice. “Carl, if you knew she had cubs, you never should’ve even considered takin’ a shot at her. I raised you better than that.”
“But-” Carl tried to argue, but Ma cut him off.
“How do you think Miss Flora Cook would feel about you willin’ to kill a mother bear with a fresh litter? I wouldn’t blame her if she called off the engagement,” she scolded.
At this, Carl hung his head. Ma always knew exactly how to make you regret what you’ve done. He was ashamed, but I know he would’ve been ten times as sorry if I’d let him kill that bear.
* * *
Sitka spruce, red cedar, western hemlock…
I counted off tree species in my head. Gettin’ lost in your thoughts can be deadly out here, and with everyone startin’ to wake up, I have no intention of pissin’ off a bull moose or wolf pack because I wasn’t payin’ attention to where I was goin’.
I’m still gettin’ used to this new territory and my new job. When I got back from The Great War, I picked up my old job workin’ for the International Boundary Survey in Maine, but I wasn’t entirely happy. A few men in my battalion came from Alaska, Ketchikan and Fairbanks if I remember right, and I couldn’t get enough of the stories they told. I guess that’s just the mountain man my parents raised me to be. Anyway, about two months ago, I caught wind of an opening at the US Coast and Geodetic Survey that would take me to the Alaskan frontier and I jumped on the chance. For the past month, I’ve been makin’ trails north of Anchorage in that dense bush country.
I stopped and looked around for a minute. I may have been over 4,000 miles from Eustis, my hometown, but the terrain felt familiar. Different when it came to the native plants and animals, but the same steep hills and rocky rivers that my brothers and I used to traverse. I’ve been told by the other surveyors that the weather was warm for an Alaskan spring, but I still felt a chill in the air like late winter in Maine. Sitting down on a fallen tree, I checked my pocket watch. Oughta wait for ‘em to catch up. I had some food in my pack, but I wasn’t all that hungry. I took out my trail journal.
* * *
May 12, 1922 1:37 pm 42°F
23 miles northeast of Anchorage
Left the pack train two hours ago, turning back soon. No signs of existing trails, had to make my own. Lots of underbrush and dead branches cleared out. Seeing early leaf buds and small animals. No sign of predators except occasional old droppings. Will update as necessary.
* * *
I closed my journal and slid it back into my pack. S’pose I should head back to the group, I thought. Don’t wanna get caught out here after dark with no supplies. I’d heard stories of green surveyors gettin’ lost in the Alaskan wilderness because they didn’t know when to turn back to base camp. Some would show back up after a few days with just a few scratches. Others were never seen again. In that regard, I wasn’t itchin’ to test my luck.
Walkin’ back the way I came, I noticed all the things I hadn’t been payin’ any attention to, like hawk screeches and tree branch creaks. I could hear rushin’ water up ahead and remembered the creek I’d have to cross. I welcomed the thought even though I knew my toes would be frozen by the time I got to the other side. But, after two and a half hours on the trails, my feet were achin’ to get out of these boots. I made my way to the rocky shore and was just about to kick off my boots when I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
Somethin’ wasn’t right here. I scanned the water’s edge, my eyes blinded by the sun reflectin’ off the water. That’s when I saw the grizzly bear cubs. There were three of ‘em, none seemin’ to notice me standing less than 200 yards away. I looked around cautiously for mama bear, prayin’ that she had gone farther downstream to catch fish for her cubs. When I didn’t see any sign of her nearby, I let out a relieved sigh, thinkin’ I could slowly back off and make a quick getaway.
That’s when I heard the snarl.
