Spirit-tale Arctic Encounters

Spirit-tale Arctic Encounters

    “Hey there, didn't see you come in. I didn't think I'd see one of you again so soon. I've been back from the Tundra some 5 days I’m told, I don't really remember much very clearly. I just keep waking before dawn each day soaked in a cold sweat and silence. The nurse comes and goes injecting a little relief with every visit, but all the memories, and dreams are still a bit unclear."

The nurse withdraws the needle with a smile, I'll be asleep soon I’m sure. I feel her hand on my head. She says something but I don't hear her very well. She scoots about my bed adjusting the bedding all the time, then leaves.

    I look out the large window to my side into the dark blue sky recalling that that is what Artist do. They sum things up. Artist for centuries have place before us a kind of crafted mirror, a stylized reflection of ourselves from which we might gleam a little understanding of something which lies within us.  But what a viewer takes from the reflection is only a small measure of what can lie within, and that's the concern of my tale. It was a strange encounter for me as I became the one who got away. I got to look in the mirror. What did I learn, from it. How will I tell you? Should I tell you? No, I know I have to tell you. Can't go back on my word.

My door opened earlier today, I rolled my head over to see four men at least one appearing to be a doctor and at least one was a policeman for sure.
         The doctor spoke to me first. ‘Good to see you awake. Can you speak to us Mr. Slawson?’

In my groggy state I wasn’t sure but I thought I heard him call me Slawson.
I asked, ‘Who is with you?’”

My name was Bentley Brown. They began to introduce themselves, newsmen. Then they quickly showered me with questions about the others. They weren't interested in me or what I had to say, I had survived, they sought the fate of those who died. So I rolled over toward the window in silence, hoping they would just leave and after a few moments, in frustration, they did. Only the doc stayed to offer some comfort. And when he was gone my world seemed vast and unknowable again beyond the glazing. I lie there feeling tired, old, listening to the muffled howl of the wind beyond.

I can’t get rid of the face of the bear which held me down before I awoke here. It fills my minds eye shouting his simple warnings into my thoughts, making me concluded, our world is simply and very young. My very being alive, has altered my thoughts about my purpose. I started thinking ‘Was I the primitive in all this and not the bear?’

I began to wonder, what if we're all still here, you know, us, the human race ten, twenty thousand years from now. How would we look back on ourselves? How might we categorize ourselves from that distant vantage point? It seems important now. Do we think of ourselves as arrogant? Or self-righteous bastards who thought we knew it all? Violent? No. Maybe, just primitive?  That would cover everything, wouldn't it? After all, we do refer to our ancestors having lived just as far back in our past, as primitive. Let's think about it a moment, Cro-Magnom --( our long gone ancestor) walked about the world, never doubting for a moment that he was not at the top of his game either.  So why might it be so hard to consider our being, ‘primitive’, as a classification for ourselves today. But it’s all relative you say, and I agree, because without a true definition of that key term, ‘advanced’ as in, ‘an advanced-society’ the definition is always going to be relative to when and who we are. We need a higher perspective from which to define, advanced. But, such a definition would have to provide at least one crucial key distinction from the definition of primitive. And that distinction came to me in the act of defining new questions about us. I had asked myself, what would have to be fundamentally different? What would have to be so fundamentally different about the way we lived? And this question brings me to the doorstep of the story I must tell.

  I will tell you what happened and you and I together can explore what it might mean. And also discover just how extreme the differences are or perhaps not. So, let’s see what’s to be learned in those lives lost on the Tundra. To some of the in this story, I guess, we are just mere mortals in an unending tale of humanities growth. So how do I begin such a tale? It all begins with a man none of us knew and a whisper.

And as the sun arose over the horizon of yet another cold Alaskan sky Mitchell Lowery arose to, a whisper, “They rise.”
It was a sound heard on the back of the wind as he awoke.

      "What? Who’s there?"

Silence...

A blast of soft snow was skimming the windows outside. Mitchell lumbered to his feet and headed for the toilet. Glancing around noting to himself that nothing had changed. And yet he wasn’t so sure?

His cabin, two rooms, a supply shack and garage for the company cat. The only vehicle worth driving near the Arctic Circle he’d say. Mitch had some bacon and water on for coffee in less than five minutes. He was late. The camp was a full days drive East. The mining crew he worked with would descend without him tomorrow and he’d lose a day’s pay.  Mitch, a big man, moved about bumping into the furniture resolving to himself, he was not going to be late again.  He packed up his breakfast, and a big lunch to take it with him. There were no roads to contend with for that first five miles so he could set the compass, point the cat and finish his meal. Ten minutes later, he had a good pace going, then the coffee tin fell over.
          “Damn”.
         
          “For the love of Mary, Mitchell you can’t afford another pay cut.”

He left it knowing he’d have to answer for the repair of the mud-floor later. The coffee would soak into in the floor and have to be dug out and his roommate would bitch it over when he got back. So, he threw a towel over it and put it out of his mind.

        “Time to go.” He noted it and opened the door.

        “Damn, would you look at this!”  It had seemed an ice storm had past the night before as everything was shimmering in the cold dim sunlight as if wet. It wasn’t to bad he thought. He can drive over it easy enough. He spit, it fell onto the snows surface and melted through the surface before freezing. He determined the temperature.

Ten, maybe twenty below,
         
        "hmm, brisk.” 

He rekindled his pace. As he turned the corner to the garage entry.

        “Shit.” he realized he wouldn’t be going anywhere very soon. A tie-down rope fluttered before him at the mercy of the wind. The storm had snapped a line and blown the cover loose leaving the cat’s grill embedded in a block of ice.
He paused, talking to himself.

          “Ok, Ok, We’re getting in today, need hammer, chisel, lamp”.

Mitch ordered his priorities and got going. As he began the ice fell into the snow quietly. He was entertaining himself with thoughts of a bar gal, to keep him inwardly focused when he heard it, the low growl. His mind went silent and in the sound of the wind he heard it again. His eyes swept around. Heart pounding, mind sure, Bear. Hearing him again with his attention applied he knew he’d know where he was. The growl. He was off to his right somewhere behind the truck maybe twenty thirty feet. He had sneaked up on him.

      “Shit!”
His handgun was in the cab glove compartment. The rifle was in the cabin. The cab, get in the cab, he thought, once inside it, the bear couldn’t get him, he could even drive it away if he could get the engine started. Turning around quickly he bolted to the door. As he opened it he froze at the sound of a growl right behind him. Turning, there were two bears.  One bear rose to his hind legs lifting his paws like the arms of a forklift and with at least as much strength. Mitch climbing into the cab backward as the bear moved for him in a rage, propelled himself backward kicking as he popped open the glove compartment to get the gun. Then the searing pain pierced his thoughts as the bear had sunk the claws of his paw into his leg ripping his flesh before he could close the door. He could see his blood as he fell face first into the snow. He had the gun.

      “Take the safety off”.”
        "Arrgh, the pain!"

It pawed him in his back ripping his coat. He felt the sudden chill as he became exposed. The bear continued to roar and raised up. He felt for the safety on the gun. Armed he bared his weapon at the beast. With his teeth chattering from cold he thought, shoot! shoot!, yelling as he planted the gun into the fur and fired. Again! He felt the weight of the animal lift off his body, bolt away in an agonized cry as the agonizing pain of both mangled flesh and cold began to take toll upon his body. Gasping for air, he rolled over looking for the other bear, had it run off? He hoped. He couldn't see it.  Wiping blood from his eyes, he sat jerking his head about to find the other bear, as he had just one thought. Get away and get inside! He wasted no time as he began to drag himself around and to toward the cabin door. Propping himself in the doorway for a second looking out and around. He could see them,

         “There they are.”

They were twenty, maybe thirty yards away. He could just make out the one he shot and propping himself to his elbows, took aim, with both hands squeezing tight the trigger and shot again. The bear fatally injured now, slumped over and its body disappeared into the side of a soft snow bank. Its partner, a cub?, he thought, hovered for a moment took a few sniffs then bolted off and away. It was silent again and Mitch took a long agonized breath. The first battle was over and the one for survival now began. He had to get inside.  Pushing himself up the face to pull the latch. The door flung open and he fell in. Then crawling far enough in he kicked the door close then shoving himself into the bathroom. He knew he could expect to pass out soon, and if he couldn't call for help he'd bleed to death. In the bathroom he yanked down a towel and with his teeth began tearing it into strips. He was losing blood fast, he thought. He felt him self fading. Yanking on the knot he tied around his leg he began to twist it, tightly, cutting the circulation off and slowing the bleeding. And for a few moments, he flailed on the floor in excruciating pain. Pulling his senses into focus he looked across the room. The radio by the bed seemed a mile away as he inched up toward the table, managing to sit up making it just reachable. His vision was blurring, dragging the mike off the table, he concentrated on the task of making the call, uttering aloud to himself, the steps.

        “Power, on”, he paused, “Station, Freq.", each step getting progressively harder to make.

        “One, one", pausing again. “Seven, point five, eight, as a jarring pain ceased his leg and his hands trembled uncontrollably. Fighting through the agony, he toggled the transmit switch.

        “Transmit on”, And as he hit the switch his arms fell limp with the mike in his hand. Mitchel lie there propped against the side of the bed now, and the radio sending silence. The wind howled for a moment or two, then all was silent again.


          The birth of the universe it is said had a once needed encounter. While, the players of this great event may or may not have known the ultimate outcome of the event, the universe itself continues to crystallize toward one. In the wake of its journey the universe can arguably be summed up into just four things. Those things that are burnt, those things that are burning, those things waiting to be burned and the forces that, enable each of the other three to occur. From this view,The universe then might be seen as marking time in the very life and death of stars. Like tinny embers in an immense sea they are all that remain of a once unified sieving glory of a first encounter. But, we seek the heart of the universes' method, the never ending  maintenance of a balance. Stars, planets and even space itself are all participants in this eternal balancing act between the two main players Gravity and Fusion and while we are sure Gravity, unseen, silent and relentless, in some distant future, will ultimately win out. We can all take comfort, knowing that planets are, for awhile are, spectators temporarily removed from the dance floor of destruction. And while those contestants immediate attentions are confined within the stars, there is time, and in having time there is space for life but only, as long as, there's a balance.”

“The still, motionless blue-gray sky, did not over shadow the excitement of the nine men embarking across the frozen barrens to find their fortunes in the difficult work to be found far across the ice that morning.
“Stow the heavy gear on top.”, instructed one of the men.
As they tied down there gear a bright shard of light from the sun suddenly pierced the edge of the horizon and in a single stroke sweep the clouds high above in vibrant colors, oranges, and reds mixed with velvety violet shadows which seemed to carve shapes into what had been a dull featureless sky. And for a moment they all paused to notice and observe everything around them brighten. For the newcomers the Arctic had become a cascade of new and amazing visual events.”

With near a half ton of gear stowed away at the rear and top of the transport truck. Pete Slawson Pulled a mallet from a utility box on the side of his seat, started up the engines of his bright red Nodwell transport tractor to let it warm up. While it idled, he climbed out to whack the excess ice all over the tractor as the last passengers boarded the rear cab. When Pete jumped back in I was, seated, and handed him his clip board.
“All present, fully loaded, cabin check is done and were fueled and ready to go, Sir, I told him. He asked

“And Nigel?” 

I thumbed in the direction of the cab.

“Camp boss says, Chief Nuaga has been calling you. You gonna answer him.” I asked. Pete took the clip board and winced.

“I already know what he wants, and I told him no. And they wonder why I call them crazy Indians.” We're not delaying this trip a couple of days over some old folk legend” and he continued to read the list.

Transport order. For Deliver of 9 men.
                                       From: Port Barrow lodging camp “2”
                                       To:Kressler Food Processing Plant 4B Monday  between 7AM-10AM 
                                                 3 Fish Packers
                                                           Robert Peterson,
                                                           Camden Nelson
                                                           James Weber, 

                                                 4 Plant workers
                                                           Crane Pennington
                                                           Frank Atkinson,
                                                           Bob Randall,
                                                           Kane Masters,

                                                 2 supervisors,
                                                           William Masters Quality control supervisors
                                                           Dennis Bristol Shift supervisor.

“Where’s Nigel?”

I repeated, “He's riding shotgun.”

          “OK ,said Pete, Let's go.”

He revved the engine a bit, then putting the big machine into gear and made his way out of camp. Pete and I tried to hold our laughter as we listened through the intercom to those whom were unfamiliar with the often bumpy, sliding and shifting ride of a transport cab. We knew they'd be fine once we got on the main road. They all had had two days to rest from there travels to the lodging camp, before this drive began and they would need it.

Ten men sat packed like the frozen fish they set out to process, sitting silent one another with a couple of open Jack Daniels between them, they were bundled-up, cold and began marking the hours with minor distractions on their journey to the frozen work camp. 

Robert Peterson, Rob, Camden Nelson ,Cam, and James Weber, Jim were lifelong buddies having grown up together in Anchorage. They been working the fish packing circuit since high school. Between them they had done every job there was in fish processing. They were close,and backed each other up. The work was often dangerous and the pact held between them was simple. They all came home. Robert and Camden were married, each had two children. James, the youngest, had a girlfriend, with child on the way, When he got back they would marry. For all of them it was good money and they needed it.

Crane Pennington Frank Atkinson, Bob Randall, and Kane Masters, 'the Plant workers' another name for the floor sweepers, hold scrappers, garbage movers and latrine cleaners, were all new to life in the Arctic. Each had answered ads for hands needed, high pay, fish processing in the “Frozen North”. They came from urban cities, concrete caves with Cable. They knew only what they were told, or had read in the government issued pamphlets, disclosing the lifestyle they could expect. They all had what the company wanted. Good hands, strong backs. Each had been out of work for more than a year, making high paying, long hours, and backbreaking work attractive. Having never seen dog sleds, Eskimos, tracks on pickups and tents on frozen lakes, they sat watching everything more like children trying to anticipate what they might experience next.

Crane was a teacher. While educated, he was considered by his friends to be a bit slow when it came to judging character. It was poor judgment of whom he should trust which created the issues with which the local school board dismissed him. So, out of work and out a career. He figured he'd do something unusual while re-organizing the directions of his life. For now, Crane needed the money and if it came with a bit of adventure, he was game. Crane was the youngest on board at 21 and carried a special gift, his mother passed to him.

Frank had been a meat packer from the Chicago area. Had a wife and child. Family man. He told his wife, with this job would bring back enough to change their lives. She read the disclosure pamphlets too and didn't want him to go. But, he needed the money. He was resigned to surviving and coming out ahead after the next three months.

Bob Randall and Kane Masters had both served time in the Alaska State penitentiary for felony assault. Having difficulty finding work, They sought help from their probation officers who arranged for positions at the processing plant under a state run program, for them. They only knew they had both been released from the same prison and from their tattoos they would have been in rival camps. But they too, were there just to make money.

William Masters and Dennis Bristol, Canadian born, were veterans of the company having both worked there five and eight years respectively. Will liked this job and was committed to it, however Dennis was in the process of making a deal to become plant manager at a new canning facility in Edmonton.

Captain Peter Slawson, and me Lieutenant Bentley Brown, his navigator us both just retiring from flying cargo planes for the Air Force in the Arctic, decided to provide transportation as a service to the processing plants while they waited for the eminent retirement of the craft they flew--(a C-141 Starlifter) and had made plans to purchase  it for their own venture. The arrangement while they waited would be, Pete would driver and I would navigate. We made plans to stay for couple of seasons before heading back with the plane to the lower 48.

Nigel Wilton, was a retired Master Sargent Airman and a Loadmaster, the one who was in charge of balancing the loads on the planes Pete and I flew.  He would sign on later to fly with us on in private venture. So, likewise he decided to stay with us to lend a hand, while he too made some extra money as part of our little transport company.

For the passengers, The rough ride was an unavoidable necessity. Being tossed, banged and shoved side to side, with belching, or worse, being expected. They rode in silence for the most part, each engaged in private thoughts as they cross the still, silent, barren snow covered terrain of the early first light. Into the southern sky, they each would peer into the twilight. Observing the soft glow of sunlight drawing a long bright line,brightest in the center, on the horizon, mocking the dim realities of their own destinies. The work camp was some 20 hours away. Traveling over 300 miles across cold empty barren snow covered plains, valleys, hills, rocks along one endless narrow ice covered road with no rest stops.

About six hour had passed. Everyone was settled down, most had gone to sleep and the transport steady growled along with it load over the snow, when Crane the teacher came to attention, looking about out the window with expectation, blurting out without thinking, startling everyone a bit with the flat out statement,

        “We're stopping. We're making a detour.”

Nigel, awake and use to long trips on cargo planes knew he hadn't dosed off and had heard nothing over the intercom from the head cab about stopping.

        “You OK?”, Asked Nigel

Cam answered for him, turning toward Nigel “ Someone's hav'in a bad dream?”, asked Cam

“The Teacher”, said Frank

Dennis straightens himself up, saying,

        “A Teacher?, Really?,What brings a teacher up here? Surely a teacher is in demand every where?”

        “Not, this one”, answered Crane

        “And why is that?” asked Dennis

Crane was shifting in his seat, trying to see the road ahead. Frank answered again for him,

        “He got himself fired big time.”

Others began awakening. Rob jumped in asking Frank

          “Yo, how do you know all that?”

Leaning back in his seat, he sad,

          “I over heard him and the camp boss who asked the same question,”.


With an eye still on the road Crane said

          “Yeah, It's true, I'd be teaching Science right now, if I'd kept my mouth shut.”

Finding humor in his answer, Cam smiling asked, “Since were all in your business, Tell us, What they fire you for?”

He answered, “Sure, why not, I blew the whistle on stolen funds by the School board I was under, but I turned the evidence over to the wrong person. In short, He went to the board... and I got the shaft.”

        “Daaammn!, Ha, I'm sorry but, that seriously messed up.”, Jim laughing.

Kane, sleeping in a corner awoke groggy, stretched,

      “We there yet?

Will, was sitting next to him, “No, you can go back to sleep. The teacher there just had a nightmare.”

        “No,... I'm not having...a nightmare. “, Crane snapped. “Were about to change course,... I had a premonition.”

Then as I recall things got heated.

Bob sitting across from Crane leans toward him saying,
        “Well, whoopee doo. Let's all welcome, Kreskin...”.

Jim cuts across him saying,
        “Uh... he's a Mentalist”.

Bob still staring at Crane, Crane wiped frost from the pane. Bob, begins again, ignoring Jim,
        “Ok, let's all welcome, Houdini”.

Jim cuts across him again, 
        “Uh... Houdini's a magician.”

Bobs, attention darts to Jim face,

        “What's your problem, you little twerp?”

Everyone bolted to attention. Hard looks swept the cab as Rob and Cam sitting with Jim steeled themselves before Bob's impending assault. In an instant, Nigel reaching above him, flicked on the intercom, so Peter and I, driving in the head cab, could hear events as they unfolded.

Nigel, sitting with arms stretched between both parties, told each, to settle down.
      “You'll have 12 long weeks to piss off each other, so save it till you get there, got it!” Bob didn't back down right away. Nigel leaned over to him, like a tiger, eye to eye saying, “I said It's not going to happen.”

Everyone settled back, a few of them with words under their breath.  Bob turned to Crane again, saying,

      “Hey, teacher...”, Nigel reached, yanking Bob back saying,

      “Don't Try me, I will, said with emphasis, “make you walk.”  Nigel cocked his head to match his and didn't flinch, then let him go.  Bob smiled leaning back saying,

    “OK, you win, I'll leave him alone, but, I'll finish what the punk started, later.” glancing over at Jim with a short smile which turned to a frown. Then Pulling his hood up and his Parker's collar together he shifted to go to sleep.

Nigel turned to study Crane a moment as he continued his gaze down the road. Kane watching Bob pointed to him,

    “Yo man, Johnson hooked you up with this job too? Bob rolled his head over to see him, and answered,

    “Calvertez”.
Dennis, interrupted them,

“Perhaps I should introduce myself to you two, as we'll be working together in your first weeks at the plant. I'm Dennis Bristol, I work along side Mallet, the man running the half-way program your participating in.”

Frank sat up on the words 'half-way program' looking in their direction, asking Dennis,

         “What kind of, half-way program?” Kane and Bob glanced at each other, settled back into their seats ignoring the question.  Frank asked,

         “A Prison Program?, “There's a a prison program here? Nobody said we'd be working with convicts?”

        “Ex-offenders, Frank, Ex-offenders.” said Dennis.
Kane sat hunkered down trying to sleep.,

        “You don't need to defend us man.”

Frank turned to him, demanding,

        “Then what did you do?”

Dennis,

      “That's really, none of you business Frank, It is Frank, right?.”

        "Yeah, but I think it is?”  snapped Frank.

Nigel jumped in,

        “They did their time. What else you need to know?”

Frank turned to them again.

         “I want to know what did you do?”

Kane lifted his head smiled and said,

         “I did your Mother.”

Kane sat back laughing as it took Dennis, Nigel and Rob to halt the bolt of Frank to jump all over Kane.

      “Enough, Both of you, That's enough.” yelled Nigel.
The Cab rocked with their movements. Pete's voice came over the intercom.

      “What's going on back there?
Asking as he brought the vehicle a stop. Throwing his eyebrows up in Franks face,

“Enough” Nigel waited for his response. Frank pulled back.

      “I'm Ok, I'm good.”

      “Were Ok back here Captain. Everyone’s, just getting acquainted,” said Nigel. There was silence for a moment, and then the vehicle continued again. All sat quiet. Most  in a few minutes had gone back to sleep. Pete and I glanced at each other, I started to laugh, I couldn't help it.

      “At least he didn't kill him”. Peter smiling, then started laughing, then with a tear starting down his face, he chuckled out,

        “He really hurt that French-man bad.” Recalling a fight on another trip between Nigel and another passenger, we both laughed harder.  It wasn't funny we knew but you had to laugh at the way Nigel had handled the man like a rag doll.

        “I actually thought for a second, we... we were gonna have to bury him out here.” said Pete. Then gathering some composure Peter hit the intercom.
         “Nigel.” 
         
        “Sir.”

         “Remember the French-man.” we don't want that again.”

Nigel, Dennis and Will all quietly chuckled, recalling the event to themselves. Nigel's voice came back,

        “Nah, sir, this is nothing like that.”

        “I'm glad to hear it son,” said Pete.

And just a quickly, I went back to listening to the shortwave with my headset back on and an having heard a peculiar message I hit cabin speakers.

         “Cap. Listen to this.”
Both our attentions were now switched to the radio.


A hour or so earlier about a hundred miles a way Deputy Sergeant Ken Mantel was sitting with a cold coffee and open magazine on duty in front of his two-way radio stretching his arms and legs anticipating the end of his shift. Sheriff Barry Jennic, A tall man entered the station and hung his hat, coat and stomped his feet freeing the snow from his boots as he entered bringing Deputy Mantel to quick attention.

        “Good Morning Sir”, snapped the Deputy and was as quickly answered.

        “Morning Sergeant, and how is our corner of the world doing so far tonight?”

        “The radio’s been quiet most of the day sir and the morning had been pretty slow too.

While glancing at the weather monitor for alerts he noted.
Sounds like I could have got a few more winks. Remarking to himself as he walked into the radio room. Now Standing over the Sergeant’s shoulder.

        “Ok, give me the rundown.”

Grabbing his clipboard on the wall in front of him. The Sergeant then swung around and answered,

         “At 14:20 The Funesco Brothers-- (local skinners around here), called in to say they would be breaking camp to do a little hunting just inside the interior. They gave me their coordinates and I gave them that county bear sighting report.”

He pointed to a posting on the wall in front of him. The sheriff pulled it down and began reading as Sargent continued his report.

      “Did you read this?”,

      “Yeah why?”,

        “What kind of bear report is this? Fifty or more bear moving south into the barrens, what? Who reported this?”

        “Came down from that ice exploration expedition group up by the sea.”

        “Really? Never heard of bear traveling in packs like this before.” Contact them, again.  And get some details and see if you can get hold of the brothers and tell then to keep a lookout and give us a report if they run into this, tribe.”

The Sergeant made note and continued,

         “Then earlier around 16:30 Carol Miller—(the school bus driver) called us about some elk that had made camp on the main road off 17, while she was on route with the kids. I sent Gerald to move the Elk. And there was some seismic activity in the north barrens. Then gesturing he was done.”

“Ok, Kenny give me a couple of minutes, let me get a coffee and I'll relieve you.

      “Yes Sir.”

As he stepped out of the radio room he asked,

      “Beth get in yet?”

      "No sir,"
He continued from the next room,

         “Ok, Who’s in?”  he continued to move further down the hall to pick up mail and reports just outside his office door.

Ken spoke louder in response.

         “Larry stepped out to Sallies to get coffee and some munchies, he’ll be back in a minute. There's Gerald, as I said he's out on 17 with the Elk and Meredith and Will are on duty at the airstrip. Will said they’ll be stripping the new hanger queen if you need them.”

Then the chatter on his of the radio broke.

         “Dead air, wait I've got a transponder code attached. 'OR76F52', Hey I think I know this station." Looking in one of his notebooks he finds, Mitch Lowery's station, Miner up around Matchpoint ridge as he began entering the call into the log.Larry the other night shift deputy was just walking through the door with hands holding with a tray several coffees and a box of donuts.

“I'm back Sarge.”, he announced. “Sally had some of her special jellies…”

“Pipe it down Larry, and hand me a coffee,” said the Sheriff as he stepped back into the radio room. The automated message continued.
Then dead air.  After a minute or so the sheriff asked,

         “Can't we raise him?”

Deputy Ken returned after a few tries,
“No, he's not responding. And tries again. “OR76F52 can you hear me Mitchel, comeback?”

But there was only the soft even hiss of silence.

        “Alright we don't know but, let's hope its a cat stepping on the key, but for now we've got to assume, the worst.” stated the sheriff who then began giving commands,

        “Larry, Call the camp registrar and see where he's been working and see if he's there, and if anybody knows his whereabouts.”

The Deputy quickly turning to a phone.

         “Got it.”

Then Deputy Larry added,

         “And sheriff, I just saw Old lady Watson on my way in and she'd like you to get back to her on what your going to do about Mr Matson's dog's getting into her yard again.”

“Thank you Deputy, I'll get a hold of her, a little later.” he said while quickly glancing into the ceiling.

Then he paused in thought, Matchpoint ridge, that’s about a hundred and twenty miles out. The mining camps almost 300 so, we’re just a little closer, but not by much. Hopefully he's at the work camp and this is just a case of a fallen lamp or cat or something. Then his thoughts were interrupted by Ken,

        “Want me to stick around?”

         “No, When Gerald gets back you go get some rest.” said the Sheriff. He should be back here soon.”

         “OK, but I'd still like to hang a round a bit just to see how things go” said Ken.
The sheriff smiled admiring the show of enthusiasm and said

        “OK, but your out of here in a  couple of hours, max. And don’t forget to clock out after. The Counties not rich and, I'm not joking.”

“Thanks.”

Ken acknowledged him and headed for the equipment room and went back to work. As Deputy Gerald came in and announced having removed the stubborn Elk from Route 17. Deputy Ken quickly put him to task.

        “Get yourself settle, we have a search and rescue starting. We’re looking into a possible injured party up in the O-lake area up around Matchpoint. Can you get Topeka and Meryl on the line for the sheriff.”

“Sure.”

“And fax the details from Larry to Meryl and Dan so they know what’s going on. Also see if Topeka tower can help us  triangulate and check that signals origin. And Gerald, ask if Meryl and his crew will even go up, in this weather.”

“Ok, got it. I'm on it.”, responded Gerald.

“You sound like you have all things covered Sargent, I’ll be in my office.”, said the sheriff.

As he went to his desk Ken yelled to Larry again, “Hey Larry, call Doc. Hammond too and give County Hospital a heads-up. Let' em know what we may have.”

Then just a few moments later,

        “Sir,”

Larry interrupted the sheriff sitting at his desk as he began using the phone.

        “Sir the report says fifty or more bear traveling together. Do you want me to tell them that? They might panic.”

The Sheriff sighed, “Your right, Just tell them there may be some injuries by Bear. For now we just want to alert them, not alarm them."

Then, Topeka tower was calling back with the pilot flying for the sheriff’s office. Gerald announced,

      “Topeka on line 2 Sheriff.”

The senior pilot answered.

        “Meryl here. Got Larry’s fax here Barry, yeah I’m willing to take her up but, I’m not sure I’ll be able to set her down when or if I can even get there. There's a cold front that is moving down fast and with the drop in temperature It may force me south. We’re willing to go, but there’s no guarantees.”

        “Are there ever? The sheriff replied, You'll be, a go if the Camp Registrar tells us his last location was in fact the camp. And here comes the answer now I think. Larry's walking over. Hold on Meryl.”

Larry steps up to the desk.

        “OK, What have you got son?” Said the Sheriff.

         “Work-Camp says he is due in tomorrow and he checked in last night from his camp.”          

        “Thanks Deputy.”

         “The voice on the phone responded, I heard him,”

         “Ok the jobs yours. Do the best you can, but don’t stick your neck out too far.”

         “There are no cowboys here Barry. I’ll be taking Dan and West with me. We should be airborne in about twenty minutes. Get back to you then.”
         “Alright” the Sheriff replied.

The Sheriff and Pilot both knew immediately this was going to be a dangerous rescue attempt. A man was probably dying and would soon be dead or was dead already. The Sheriff just turned to look at the Deputy.
The deputy knew the look and answered him.

         “Rodger that sir,”

Then looking at the clock on the wall knowing he was supposed to be off in twenty minutes but was resolved to stay as long as needed. The Sargent in the other room heard and realizing the mission was now on, quickly continued to attempt to raise the man again.  And again he received only silence. It would be a long evening.

        Thirty minutes later Deputy Meredith—(pilot) and Deputies Dan the Medic and West Co-pilot were bracing themselves as their SH-3 Sea King chopper began to deliver a ride like a bad roller coaster designed by a mad sadist.  Wind gusts pelted the craft and shoving it about like a small toy.
         
        “We’re not going to be able to put this down, in this even if we get there, the pilot said. Hey, Dan are you still with us back there?”

        “I’m fine… you just keep your eye on the road.” Dan answered.

The Pilot asked, “Wasn’t this supposed to be moderate winds?”

        “That what the weather report said, but we’re plowing against a stiff 50 naugt wind with gust up to 40. Visibility's near zero.
Are we going to push it?”

Just then as they were assessing their situation, an alarm went off. The co-pilot identifies it as,

        “Engine alert in number 2, were losing oil pressure!”

        “Shit, so much for pushing it and I can’t see shit in this. I ‘m bringing her around. West, give me a new heading South, Let see if we can get this girl back to Topeka.”

West answered,

        “I’ll call it in, Barrow’s Air Rescue 2 to Topeka tower, Topeka tower come in.”

The response of the tower could just heard over the roar of the wind, the dull steady beat of the chopper blades, and the rattling hull of the craft.

        “This is Topeka tower, come back Air rescue 2”
West began shouting into his headset. “Topeka tower, Barrow’s Air rescue 2 is abandoning the mission, we sustained minor damage, heading for calmer air. We’re going to head there. Can you inform Barrows?”

There was a short pause,

        “Will do. Barrows Air rescue 2. Are you declaring an emergency?”

Meridith and West seasoned pilots both had there hands full getting their wind tossed  Sea King headed South and getting it out of the storm and did not immediately answer. When the two both noticed more red lights and alerts on there engineering panels as the cabin noise was suddenly apexed by an loud sharp bang, followed by breaking and twisting of metal sounds as the number 2 engine ground to a screeching halt as thick smoke began to fill the cabin. In a split moment between them they glanced at each other and without a word strapped their oxygen masks on and began concentrating on the fight to get themselves home.


    Back on the land transport we had no Idea any of the things that were going on, in fact at the time we were being asked to return to base. The old Inuit Chief Nuaga was on the line. I think now, If we had only listened to him.
With an urgent and somber voice he repeated.

    “Peter my son.  I had hoped you would have listened to me. Please, Peter, before it's too late, you need to get out off the ice as quickly as you can.”

      “Chief Nuaga?” Chief, I love you and all, but I can't make my decisions by the screeching of owls, ancient folklore or scary ghost stories.

      “Peter!”, he interrupted. “And agreement was made and we mustn't break it. Son listen to me just turn around, It's not just a story.”

Pete, I think was a little torn apart, but 'sticking to his guns' was determined not to be swayed.

      “Chief, I'm sorry, but I'm already half way there and I'm not turning around. I'm sorry, I gotta go.”

Pulling off his headset. I could hear the chief calling out to him when he handed them to me.

        “I'm not listening… no more.” he said.
I felt I had to say something and after a short pause and listening to low grind of gears poorly shifted, I said.
“He thinks he's helping Pete.”

        “I know, but we need these contracts, we can't just miss on a deadline.”

I got curious,

        “So, you want to tell me what this story is about.”

“You serious”, said Pete.

A stiff steady wind was pushing hard on the vehicle. The wipers were just keeping the windshield clear. I looked out onto the dim terrain and answered.

        “Yeah, a good ghost story would be perfect right about now. So, what's it about?”

         “Ok it goes like this. There's an ancient tale about the oldest of bears having owned or ruled the barrens before man arrived and when man did get here the bear fought man ruthlessly to maintain dominance. Well it seems that for a time this worked for the bears, but soon men having encroached on the land in numbers began to hunt the bear in groups to even the odds. A stalemate was realized and as the story goes one Indian went out to strike a bargain with the Spirit of the bear, and in a great contest where the Indian representing man gave his life it was decided that man was a worthy creature and an agreement was made to share the lands. But in return, for this agreement the land was to be abandoned by man for a period of three days every five hundred years in which, the spirit of the bear will dance and rule.”

        “Dance and rule?”

        “Yeah, That's how the story goes, They will dance, rule and kill all who trespass at that time.”

        “So what? I asked, the Chief believes that the time for all this is near.”

          “No man, he believes its now, today.”

          “No shit.” I said

Pete asked me if I were,

        “Getting cold feet, I could let you out here if you want?

I laughed it off,

         “Funny, very funny.”

Then I asked,

         “You never mentioned him before. How do you know the Chief?”

Pete with eyes still focused on the road answered,

         “He and my old man served on the USS Iowa 'The Big Stick' Roosevelt's big battleship back in '44' in the Pacific.”

        “No shit.”

        “Yeah, They worked Ordinance, and when my dad died the Chief stepped into my life, kind of adopted me and for the most part we've been good friends until moments when he gets just plain ridiculous. Then we argue, it’s nothing, we do it all the time.”

And nothing more was said as we continued to drive into the dimly lit evening hours.

      Back at the Sheriffs station in Barrows the sheriff just received the news of Meryl and his rescue crew from Topeka Airfield on having to abort their mission and struggle to make their way back damaged to the Topeka airfield. They were still in the air and that was good, so the sheriff changed focus and called both Deputies into his office, Beth had just arrived.

         “Good, come on in Beth. We got a little extra work to do. Ok guys, most of you know the situation so we now go to plan ‘B’.”

Deputy Ken jumped in saying, “We see who might be out there or close enough to send there.”

“Exactly so, now you all know what you need to do. Find me someone out there we can send in.”

The officers all headed for there desks and began hunting for trekkers on the Barrens.


Part 2 and the conclusion can be found in my portfolio. Points given for review of conclusion as well.