Genvägar är Senvägar

The wind was much too vicious to kayak down the shallow river but Lukas had wanted one last jaunt before he headed back to familiar lands. He had enjoyed a summer adventure in the British Columbian wilderness looking after a secluded cabin whose wealthy owners seldom had time to visit. He looked forward to regaling his experiences to friends back home.

The frigid air that encases the coastal peaks of British Columbia hurtled down the mountain sides. Funnelling down the river, increasing its potency. No, the river was no place for a day like today of that Lukas was sure, so he’d hike instead. Over to the old trappers hut, then across to the dirt road, following that for 4km would bring him back to his cabin. There was no marked trail but he knew the direction, keep the river on the right and head North. It was November, most of the bears had trudged up the mountains secure in the knowledge they were ready for winter, the ones that weren’t so certain would remain occupied by the expired salmon scattered along the river banks. 

Lukas snaked through the tightly packed pines, keeping to a general straight line as the bourbon coloured leaves crunched beneath his feet. He had pushed inland from the river, knowing the river arched out meant it would be a lot longer to follow its banks and it was already past lunchtime. A direct route would be better. The maze of pines was less scenic than he had hoped and the small brittle arms sticking out from the bodies of the trees seemed to be aiming for his eyes. He held up an arm for protection so as to not scratch his prescription glasses. The pines grew denser around him, to his left and right were thick walls of sticks like the bristles of a worn out dog brush. Lukas wondered if there was a better route than this, this ground was not favourable. Noticing a clearing through the branches and heading toward it, he flicked his plaid shirt collar up to shield himself from the blustering wind. The clearing was a narrow game trail. He noticed some bear scat and prodded it with his foot, a test to see how fresh it was. The texture was neither very hard nor very soft, he couldn’t really determine the age, he hadn’t the expertise but he enjoyed the experience nonetheless. He followed the game trail, knowing it wasn’t the right thing to do as his destination was likely not shared by the animals. However, the going was much easier on the trodden down grass so as long as it was in the general direction he was headed he decided to remain on it. 

A smile stretched across Lukas’ narrow face, this was indeed an adventure, he was happy he came alone. His girlfriend had warned him about heading off solo and asked him to take the dog they were looking after, Lukas had smiled at her lovingly as he did now at the thought of her caring words. He had told her he knew the wilderness and knew of its many dangers. His grin remained as he clambered over the many deadfalls of lodgepole pine.

He kept his hands in his pockets when he could as he didn’t bring gloves, he didn’t need them in the unusually warm afternoon, but it had grown colder quite quickly. The game trail curiously petered out into tall grass and young pines, he wondered where the usual users of the trail go. Stopping, he noticed no sound aside from the wind. Maybe the river. He shook the notion of the river from his mind, he didn’t need it for navigation, he knew which direction he was going. He set off again, in a straight line. 

Lukas was quite sure evidence of the trappers hut should have shown itself, it had a large clearing of wild grasses that almost looked like pasture land penned in with a broken russel fence. Twenty metres from the cabin there were 5 pieces of rusted stove pipe leaning in the fork of an unusually large aspen tree. The going had been slower than he had anticipated, so perhaps a little longer.

He slowed until he stopped, for the first time losing confidence in his direction. The first sign of worry began in Lukas’ stomach, not his head. He looked upward for help, of what kind he wasn’t sure. Spying only a raven, sat upon a spruce branch. He laughed outwardly, not knowing why. Time to reassess he told himself, taking command of the situation. Which he knew was the right thing to do, his survival books told him so. He turned his head to look where he had come from, had he made a clear trail he could follow back? No, and he wasn’t to go back. That would be embarrassing and at any rate it was getting dark, he needed to push on a little further to find the road. Forget the hut and try to intersect the road at some point. He carried on for a short while, the ground became boggy which confused Lukas, not being aware of any bog or swamp or marsh of any kind around here. Lukas looked all around him.

He didn’t laugh now, his fear of embarrassment became a fear of another kind. He could hear the increased drumming of his heart in the crisp silence of the forest. He started moving to keep warm, heading off in a straight line, detouring only when a huge downed fir tree blocked the way. 4 o’ clock, the trees were still illuminated gold but he knew that that would soon surrender to dusk. He turned to what remained of the sun, perhaps the ancient navigational device his ancestors used could assist him now. Sun rises in the east and sets in the west, he said to himself. It didn’t help, he deduced he must still be going in the right direction.

Lukas checked his pockets, wondering if there was a lighter in there, there wasn’t. He just had his elk bone handled hunting knife that he’d purchased off a local logger some months previous at the start of his adventure.

There was an uneasiness deep within his core, something that could no longer be ignored so he attempted to drown it out with logical and confident thoughts. He had overshot the hut, but the forest service road ran roughly from North to South, and East of that the river flowed from the North and veered SouthEast. He hadn’t crossed a road or come to the river. So, he needed to turn toward the west and he would hit the road. The sun was leaving the forest but the wind remained strong.

For the first time the thought of bears entered his mind, would they be returning from the river now? How fresh was that poop, and which direction was the bear headed? A single loud crack of a broken branch felt like a sonic boom in the silence. He instinctively ran, spinning his head to see what caused the heart stopping noise. A low hanging pine branch swiped his thinly framed glasses off his head, scratching the side of his face. He stopped and dropped to his knees, knowing from experience that searching from a standing view would yield no results, especially in the fading light. His heart pounded, he must find the glasses, for all he knew the creature that caused the noise could be standing right in front of him. His fingers touched the frames, he was overcome with delight. The left lens was damaged and now useless. Thankfully the right one wasn’t. Looking all around, his one working eye scanning like a prison searchlight. The sense of adventure had long since lapsed but now he had an altered sense of time, everything seemed to be faster, the wind, the closing darkness and his urgency for decisions.   

He called out, trying to keep the panic from his voice and to show strength against any hidden enemies of the forest.

With his able eye he noticed a black shape within the muted colours of twilight. He froze, thinking the worst, but when it didn’t move for some time he approached. It was logs. Thick brown logs! He pushed through the branches. It was a shell of an old cabin, with no roof and only two walls. But Lukas had never seen this ruin before. He stared at it, willing it to be something it wasn’t.

The blustering wind dropped momentarily, enough for him to notice the soft, welcome rolling of water over stone. His spirits lifted as if hearing an old friend's voice in a crowd of strangers. He stumbled through the trees, arms outstretched. He had a vision of himself scaring his little sister as a child, tissue paper wrapped around his head, slowly stalking her around the garden. At last there was the water. But it wasn’t the river he had hoped for, just a creek. He must remain calm. He was aware of no creek, but it must lead to the river. Slipping on the banks, his right elbow and knee took the brunt of the fall, his glasses shot into the creek, he almost heard them tumbling over the slick black stones. He felt a flush of heat throughout his body, it was either adrenalin or panic or a concoction of both. He crawled over the stones, soaking more of his clothes in the numbing fresh water. He couldn’t see ahead of him but still looked in futile hope. The swift current had abducted the glasses and hidden them in a small eddy underneath an overhanging willow.

He tried to stand up but his knee refused any support. He pulled himself up the eroding bank. Shivering uncontrollably he started to feel the pain of his knee, he could neither extend nor flex it. He sat with his back against a spruce tree, the last of the remaining light had been extinguished. The new moon offered nothing in the sun's absence.

He shouted out to anyone, his voice fractured with pain. His girlfriend would be looking for him now. He cursed the creek and then he cursed his knee. The temperature sat at 2 degrees but with the wind, it felt much colder.

His skinny chest was labouring away for air somewhere within his baggy shirt. He sat on the exposed roots of the spruce tree, the crystallising ice in a territory war with the remaining warmth of his body. He stared blankly forward, his girlfriend performing the words she had left him with over and over “You shouldn’t be going out alone. It gets dark in a couple of hours. Take Charlie with you.” He hadn’t opted to take Charlie and he’d scoffed at her cautioning. Assigning her comments as dutiful ones offered by a loved one of the fairer sex. He knew the wilderness and all of its dangers. 

A dry mouth compelled him to crawl to the creek for water, the pain in his leg pleading with him not to do so. Scooping the ice cold liquid to his mouth there seemed to be two men speaking in his head, one asking him where his water bottle was and the other angrily replying that this was just supposed to be a walk and that he didn’t need one. He turned to crawl back to his spruce tree but lost consciousness briefly on the short journey.

No one came and he wondered if anyone was looking, was his girlfriend proving her point against him? Sitting there, without sight and as immobile as he was, gave him the time he needed to create these spiteful theories. The cold pierced through his thin cotton clothes and the wind carried away the small amount of air heated by his lanky frame. 

He feebly raised his head. He saw nothing, but knew there was a raven and in his mind's eye it was watching him with a tilted head, waiting for him to die, its feathers bending backwards from the gusts of wind. 

Suddenly his listless face screamed but it wasn't a sound that left his mouth, just a small cloud of mist that was quickly consumed by the cold of the forest. His scream was partly a last attempt at help and partly a release of anger. 

Panic had turned to despair when he could not move from the foot of the tree. Anger was what came after despair. Anger directed at the unmarked trail, at the pine trees, the cold, the creek, the girlfriend, and now, the raven. The only place his anger didn’t get directed was the place it probably should have but the man knew the wilderness and all of its dangers. 

The temperature continued to drop by the hour. His leg throbbed, his skin looked like an overcast sky and blinking seemed to take an eternity. He thought this whole ordeal was eternal and wondered why he had deserved such pain. Hours passed and the raven was joined by another, this time Lukas did not notice. His anger had faded, his reserves not being able to support such an emotion. The pain from his leg and the crippling cold was all he felt aside from an obscure feeling he’d never experienced or had explained to him before. One he had no means to express aside from a single tear, a tear void of moisture and one that didn’t exist but in his mind. 

Fresh, warm saliva dropped onto his ankle, a nose danced around all sides of his boot and up to his knee with the rapid investigative sniffing only other mammals were capable of. His blood drenched trouser leg was licked. Lukas didn’t notice. The jingle of dog tags that read ‘Charlie’ in stencilled writing clattered together loudly in the frostbitten air but still, Lukas did not stir.