Frozen Voices III
The Venture
Morning was moving swiftly into afternoon. The first day in a new place has a tendency to make that happen, the way that each task bleeds into the next task, discovery after discovery. No time to stop and smell the roses. Each new thing requiring its own new set of learning. Reg was busy making sure the world around him would be functional enough to survive.
He had dressed for the day in an extra layer after the coffee. He had opened a can of beans and heated them on the squat little stove for breakfast. While he picked the errant coffee grinds from his teeth he decided what he should carry with him on his walkabout to inspect the area . He thought walking too far wouldn’t be prudent yet, getting lost on day one was not appealing. The plan was to stay close to the cabin and head out to the nearby lake with a bucket to check the quality of the water.
He had decided his Swiss army knife should always be with him. The short walk, he thought, shouldn’t require much. After eating beans for breakfast the thought of food was also quite far forward in his mind. The thought of eating nothing but canned goods for long stretches of time was not appealing, so he decided on carrying the .22 rifle should any small game present itself. He had piled his guns and related items on one of the long shelves on the far wall. The .22 lever gun had a worn caramel colored leather strap when he bought it. The good old leather feel and smell was attractive to Reg when he picked it off the wall at the outfitter. It felt the same when slung over his shoulder.
Before he turned he took a long look at the thick curved handle of the big handgun he had purchased, the casull. It was where he had plopped it after he unpacked, it tended to land with a solid thud wherever it settled. He had followed the shopkeeper’s advice on the monster and then thrown it deep in a bag. What on earth did he buy that for? He pondered the question. It was about three pounds of clunky metal, it felt like more, dressed in a cheap black nylon holster by the previous owner. One box of 20 rounds may as well weigh the same. When the original owner spends so much on a brand new big iron, there must not be much more left for anything fancy to carry it around, he thought. The fact that it was used and dotted with some small specs of rust was the only reason it was affordable enough for Reg, given the exotic caliber. He picked it up again tossed it between his hands.
“Huh, I don’t even need to load it. I bet I could knock a bear cold with this on a good throw.” he mad a wry face and went to set it back down.
As his hand reached for the shelf again, he paused. They man at the store did say it was for the, “just in case,” kinds of situations. Could a walk to the waters edge be one of those types? Years of proverbial dotting I’s and Crossing T’s gnawed at Reg. How the hell would he even carry it? It practically felt like artillery. The holster had a belt loop but he had already dressed, which included his thick leather belt. He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and held the nylon loop out at arms length, testing the gun’s weight. He shook his arm up and down a few times to see how it would behave when worn. The huge gun sagged and stretched the nylon precariously as he bounced it. The big handle hung away from the loop. It looked like any wrong move in the bush could pop the thin retaining strap and drop the massive unbalanced weight. He would either be constantly adjusting the damn thing or it would fall and be lost. No, he thought. Not a chance. Not today at least.
Reg took it with him to the front door. He dropped it with the heavy box of bullets on the counter. The thin cardboard box collapsed under the weight of the heavy rounds, spilling a few. He was within sight of the water, on the off chance he actually needed the thing it seemed he could just run back and grab it. It didn’t make a lot of sense but it was logical enough for the moment. He thought about loading it, perhaps sitting and toying with the thing a bit longer… but waved the idea off. Reg stepped out the door and closed it behind him.
The sun was high as he dropped off the porch onto the soft ground. A Gorgeous day. Blue sky shown through the pines around him. Silence dappled with the calls of birds. Reg had the .22 slung over his shoulder, barrel pointed skyward, he hung a plastic water bucket over the barrel of the gun behind his shoulder. As he walked it clunked from time to time like call of a deep cowbell.
Leaving his small clearing there was a narrow channel through the trees and light brush that lead out to the glistening blue in the distance. As he walked there were a few old stumps in various stages of decay, evidence that someone had previously cut and maintained the way. The path wandered back and forth slightly according the lay of the ground. Reg trudged along in his thick boots and marveled at the pristine beauty of the trees and rocky land, the pure flat whiteness of fresh birch bark, the soft carpets of tall grass dotting the path. He continued to gather his bearings as he made his way.
He had walked for some time and turned to check his progress. Looking back at the cabin, he thought he had made it about halfway. The walk was longer than expected, which was surprising considering he could see water from his clearing. Reg estimated he had gone about eighty or ninety yards, there seemed to be that much more to go. As he glanced forward again, an uneasiness slowly enveloped his mind. He slowed his steps, stopped and looked back again. His surroundings were detailed and picturesque, but unchanging. The forest he had traveled through on the snow machine to arrive at his new home did not stop at the bend in the bank, He was very much still surrounded by it. The water ahead appeared to be the far tip of the great Pine sea. The stream bend and his cabin and the path leading out to water were just settled in the blurry edge of it. To the left and right of the path, the pines were parsed by aspen and birch. The woods were tight. He could traverse through if he wanted, but without landmarks it was another place one could get easily lost. It was now apparent why the path to the waters edge was well kept.
Reg stared back at the cabin, a thin billow of smoke lifted from high end of the roof. Should he go back and get the gun? Maybe just bring the larger rifle? No, he thought. this was just a few minutes of walking longer than he anticipated. He was already half way. Now he knew better. That was the point, scout the immediate area, get water. It’s only a slightly longer walk, now. Putting it out of his mind, took a moment to be proactive and look around. Since he had decided this was the relative midpoint, he decided in the future he would prepare himself better. To his left was a fallen birch branch, it was dried and stiff and the white bark was peeled and split into its brown paper phase. He reached down and broke off an end, about as long as his leg. The branch was about silver dollar sized in diameter, and a much of the white bark remained. He took both hands to the thicker end, and drove the thinner end down into a soft patch of loamy soil in the middle of the path to make a marker. It stuck quite solidly. Now, he thought, any walks past this point, he should be prepared with gear for a longer excursion. Also, should he encounter prey on the path he can better judge a shot. He turned and walked again towards the water, The bucket began to bounce and shout its dull call again.
Reg walked on. He was relieved to see that after his midpoint marker, the woods thinned. Pines Gave way to the open boughs of deciduous trees, more light allowed brush to grow, low thickets developed. The blue line of water blurred its way into view at his left and right through the trees. The ground became wetter and softer. As he he closed in on the blue ahead, His eyes began to squint again under the blanket of light from blue sky. Reg finally stepped onto soft grass at a clear bank. It was now obvious why the lake appeared closer from the cabin. The Scene ahead was far more grand than he had anticipated.
The water stretched out in all directions ahead of him in a massive plane. It sparkled across the expanse like liquid glass reflecting white sunlight. Beyond that was a great wall of a rock, a low mountain dotted with trees, perhaps almost a mile away. The forest at his back stretched to touch the bank and wrapped forward and far off to the left around the lake. The tops of great trees shrank into the distance and blended to the low steppe of the mountain as it made its way around. Reg could feel a cool breeze drifting down to his face from the mountain across the lake. To his right the bank curled forward to a cape and switched back again into the forest hiding the rest of the lake. At the point of the cape were a few skeletons of fallen pines resting in the lake, they looked like tumbled match sticks at this distance. Across the lake to his right, the low mountain made its peak and then dropped down into rolling sharp hills and more forest.
Reg marveled at the scene. This is what he had come here for. To live a magnificent existence in a magnificent place. He stepped forward the last few yards to the edge of the water. Grass and loamy soil lined the bank, he would need to find a good place to dip his bucket. Ahead of him to his right, there seemed to be a small cutout from the bank, a small area the size of a man where perhaps a portion had been dug back to create more depth.
He moved to the spot and looked down, a tiny hollow in the bank where someone had dug a basin for collecting water. It seemed to be long collapsed, but more than half the bucket still submerged to collect water. Reg spent a few tries learning to gather water without disturbing the submerged soil. He would have to return with a shovel at some point to fix the hollow. After a few minutes he raised a almost a full bucket of only barely clouded Alaskan water.
“Ahhhh, Ha!” Reg clapped to himself. “That’s that.” he spoke out sarcastically, his first goal achieved, even if so simple.
He set the bucket at his side and looked back out at the water. Surely there would be fish. He had no rod, but in his gear he had line and hooks for ice fishing or setting lines. It would be a good idea to keep a set line permanently out here so he could just check periodically for food while the lake was unfrozen. Reg began inspecting the bank a bit more closely to find an appropriate location. About ten feet down the bank, reg was feeling out the soft soil with his feet when he heard the first crash.
It was a distant, raspy crunch, far down the bank to his right. The sound of bramble being crushed. It was not a particularly loud sound, but in the scenic quite of the wilderness, uncharacteristic and jarring. Reg’s head shot up to see birds rising spooked from their perches near the cape. Reg stood straight up and faced the direction of the sound, a few degrees back and to right of the cape, perhaps along the bank hidden by wood and trees? It was now quieter than before, only the moving air through grass and trees made sound. Reg waited and strained with his eyes to see movement.
Seconds of silence passed… then perhaps a minute. Reg saw no movement more than tall pines at the near the cape, gently swaying in the breeze. He retracted his focus, re assessing his surroundings. Nothing had changed. He turned, his bucket of water the only thing out of place in the natural scenery. Looking back toward the cape, he judged the sound should have come from the crop of tall trees reaching out there, perhaps a football field of distance away. As he looked and thought, it happened again. Louder.
Another rasping crash. On the second time it was clear it was out beyond the trees at the cape. Maybe on the far bank of the lake that curled around behind it, which he could not see? The birds had already gone. The sound echoed across the water breaking a soft blanket of silence. The sound was a woody crunch, a second listen made it more clear in Reg’s mind, as if a tree were being swung and cracking into another tree. It was still far off, but the sound echoed with resolve indicating it was caused by something large. Reg humbly brought his lever .22 rifle down from a carry and swung it in front of him, looking down at his hands to check he held the gun in the right manner. As his gaze darted back to the woods ahead he licked his lips to wet his mouth, now gone dry. There was surprise in his mind now. The beginning of fear. He hoped should something appear the little rifle could do some damage against it. This was highly unlikely, but one may as well prepare. Reg’s other thought was how fast he could run back to the cabin door. He turned and looked back towards the path as he heard the sound call out a third time. How long would it take to run the path, could he beat a bear with a head start?
The sound was the same, but more volume. Closer… and there again. It couldn’t be farther than just beyond the treeline at the cape. Reg raised the rifle to his shoulder. He waited. The mental picture of of the big revolver flashed in his mind, the big silver piece of metal sitting on the counter behind the door, box of heavy bullets open, the shiny cylinders rolling around on the surface.
Seconds went by. He heard it again… but it was quieter, farther. Reg stood frozen, rifle pointed at nothing in particular. His ears straining, eyes focused unblinking in the direction of the sound. It came again, slightly farther to his right, more distant. A delayed echo sounded back from across the water. The sound was changing position, moving away. Reg took a step forward relaxing his stance. Another few seconds, the crash again, still farther. He waited again. Time crawled by. Silence.
A deep breath filled Reg’s lungs. The rifle slowly lowered. The rasping call of a nearby crow rang through the air. Reg, jumped in response, coughing out his breath.
“Shit!” he spoke, hoarse and panting, as his head snapped in the direction of the bird, “… you aren’t helping!”
He shifted in his boots and took quick stock of the bank around him, the silent trees, clear water gently lapping the bank. He let the rifle hang at his side, nervously fingering the trigger guard. Reg breathed deep a few more times. For a moment he thought. What could make that sound? It was big, most assuredly. The only big things out here were moose and bear. One was a considerably more welcome sight than the other. He had not known either animal to make that much noise, though.
He squashed his curiosity with a wave of his hands. Brushing off the greed in the problem solving part of his mind. He was alone. Alone in the Alaskan bush without your big gun is no where to ponder whether or not you are in danger, it seemed. Time to go. Be sensible. Figure it out later from the safety of a cabin with a fire.
He slung the lever gun and quickly walked back to grab the bucket. He took his water and began the walk back to the cabin. Reg walked quickly, he kept his head up, and his eyes on the woods.