Alaska Adventure

by Cynthia Baxter

  “It’s only a couple of hundred feet from here to the lake,” Trip returned. “Besides, the path’s too narrow and bumpy for a wheelbarrow. Too bad your chauffeur’s not here.”

  “So much for complete peace,” Laurel commented to Dr. Wells, smiling wryly. She turned toward Trip and Mariah. “Let me help you get that stuff down to the canoes.”

  Picking up as much as she could of the equipment the others had hauled out of the cabin, Laurel headed down the path. She was looking forward eagerly to her first day out on the lake and getting started on the research that had brought them all up here in the first place. She’d only gone a few paces when she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Hello, Trip,” she said, shrugging away from him. “All set for today? I have a feeling we’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of us.”

  “Great. Being out on the lake together will give you and me a chance to get to know each other better.”

  Laurel cast him a wary look, peering over the awkward metal fish traps she was carrying, “Look, Trip. There’s one thing you and I had better get straight from the very beginning. I’m here to learn—and nothing more.”

  “Hey, you know what they say—’All work and no play ...”

  “Read my lips. I came to Alaska to work, not to socialize.”

  “You know, Laurel, there’s something I can’t quite figure out.” Trip took a step backward, his blue eyes narrowing as he looked her up and down.

  “What’s that?”

  “Any girl as pretty as you is bound to have a boyfriend. And why this boyfriend of yours would ever agree to let you go away for practically the whole summer is beyond me.”

  Laurel could feel her blood starting to boil. “In the first place,” she said as evenly as she could, “my personal life is none of your business. In the second place, I would never let a boyfriend—or anybody else, for that matter—stand in the way of something that really mattered to me, something like this trip. In the third place, the idea of a boyfriend ‘letting’ me do anything is so—so primitive that I can hardly believe you actually had the nerve to bring it up. In the fourth place—”

  Trip chuckled. “I get your point.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Sure I do. You’re one of those girls who likes to play hard to get.” Trip threw back his head, his hollow laugh echoing through the woods.

  Laurel opened her mouth to reply, then quickly snapped it shut. What was the point? Arguing with Trip would accomplish nothing besides convincing him that he was right in believing she was simply “playing hard to get.” The best thing to do, she decided, was simply to ignore him.

  “Okay, everybody,” Dr. Wells announced once the group had reached the shore. By that point, Russ had joined them, with Cassie straggling a few paces behind. “We’re going out in three canoes today. That means two people per canoe.”

  “Oh, goody,” muttered Mariah. She smoothed the stylishly baggy white jeans she was wearing with a Hawaiian print blouse and large enameled earrings shaped like lush tropical flowers. “The buddy system.”

  “There are a few things I want to mention,” Dr. Wells continued. “Since this is our first day out, I’ll be coming along with you to make sure there are no complications. After I’m confident you can manage on your own, I’ll often stay behind and process the collections, analyze data, or just plan our work.

  “Before we start, I want to make sure everyone’s clear about what it is we hope to accomplish. Over the next few weeks, we’ll be taking an inventory of the plants and the animals in and around Wolf Lake. Even though our main goal for today is to get fish traps in the water in all the different sections of the lake, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start collecting a few water samples. Russ has a lot of experience in that area. He and I will show you how to use the Van Doren sampler.

  “Aside from setting fish traps and collecting water samples, begin looking out for different varieties of birds and insects. The same goes for herbarium specimens.”

  “He means plants,” Trip interjected.

  Mariah rolled her eyes.

  Dr. Wells ignored them both. “We’ll make a full-scale effort to take cuttings and get them in plant presses later on. For now, you can start collecting specimens as you come across them. That way, you’ll already have a head start when we start our routine surveys—what we call transects.”

  Dr. Wells looked around at his research team, standing around him in a loose circle. “Okay. If there aren’t any questions, let’s get started.”

  He’d barely gotten the words out when Cassie rushed over to Laurel. “You’ll share a canoe with me, won’t you?” she asked anxiously.

  Looking at the outfit she’d chosen to wear that day, it was all Laurel could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Cassie was covered from head to foot. With her jeans she had on a long-sleeved shirt, the cuffs tightly fastened, the buttons done up all the way. Her feet were covered with rubber shoes that laced up her ankles. She wore a pair of cotton gardening gloves on her hands and a floppy canvas fisherman’s hat on her head. Around her neck was a bright red bandanna. As if all that weren’t enough, her nose and cheeks were white, smeared with a thick coating of zinc oxide.

  “Exactly what are you anticipating out there today, Cassie?” Laurel asked as gently as she could.

  “Everything! Mosquitoes, sunburn—”

  “Cassie’s right to be cautious,” Dr. Wells interrupted. “Sunburn can be a real problem—especially on the water, where the sun’s rays are reflected off the surface of the lake.” From his knapsack he pulled out two bottles. The first was a large plastic bottle of sunblock, the second Cutter’s mosquito repellent. “The mosquitoes are no fun, either. Pass both of these around—and be generous. The first day out is always the worst.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks,” Trip called over his shoulder. He was bent over one of the canoes, loading equipment.

  “I highly recommend a good dose of each,” said Dr. Wells. “That includes you, Trip. Your coloring is pretty fair. I know people don’t generally think of Alaska as the sunburn capital of the world, but—”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll take my chances.”

  Dr. Wells hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “I guess some lessons simply have to be learned the hard way.” He handed both bottles to Mariah. “Okay, let’s pair off, two per canoe.”

  “Laurel and I are going together,” Cassie piped up.

  “You do know your way around a canoe, don’t you?” Dr. Wells asked Laurel.

  When she nodded, he turned his attention to the others. “It makes sense to have at least one person in each boat who knows what he or she is doing. Mariah, do you have any experience with canoes?”

  “Yeah, right,” Trip said under his breath. “Riding the rapids is the second most popular pastime in Beverly Hills—after shopping for designer toothbrushes on Rodeo Drive, that is.”

  “That’s enough, Trip,” Dr. Wells said sternly. “Mariah, you pair up with Russ. That’ll put Trip and me in the last canoe.”

  As Laurel pulled on her orange flotation jacket, standing next to the boat that had been designated as the one she and Cassie were to share, she said, “I’ll take the front. That’ll make it easier to steer. Besides, it’ll help you learn—Cassie, what is all that?”

  She watched in amazement as Cassie hauled a huge plastic shopping bag into the canoe, doing her best to tuck it between her feet.

  Cassie froze. “Nothing, really. Just some stuff I thought I might need.”

  “What kind of stuff? Dr. Wells brought along enough supplies and equipment for the entire day.”

  “Just some ... extra provisions.”

  “You mean food?”

  In response to her nod, Laurel said, “But Cassie, we’re already dragging along enough food for a small army.”

  Cassie pushed her bag back further, meanwhile keeping her eyes down. “I’m afraid I might get hungry. These are just some cookies and things I brought from home.�
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  Laurel resisted the temptation to engage in an argument she suspected she could never win. Instead, she turned her attention to the lake that stretched ahead, waiting to be explored.

  The day couldn’t have been more delightful nor the mood more upbeat as the group set out in the three canoes. The six paddles sent out waves of ripples, intermingling in kaleidoscopic patterns on the glassy surface of the lake as the canoes skimmed smoothly across the water. To her left, Laurel could see Dr. Wells and Trip, their boat already far ahead. Off to the right, Russ was paddling with ease, his canoe close to hers. Marian, sitting behind him, struggled with her paddle, her face twisted into a grimace as she wrestled with the water.

  Laurel slowed down so that she and Cassie were bringing up the rear. She wanted a chance to enjoy her surroundings—even though she suspected her copilot, panting behind her, was working much too hard to be having any fun.

  “How’re you doing back there?” she called over her shoulder.

  “Fine,” Cassie puffed. “This is a lot more work than I thought. In the movies, it always looks so easy.”

  “Make sure your paddle is straight up and down as you dip it into the water—like this.”

  “It’s no use,” Cassie insisted. “I’ll never get the hang of this. It’s too hard.”

  Once again Laurel decided not to argue. In the long silence that followed, she contentedly drifted back into her reverie, shutting out all thoughts except for her appreciation of the moment. She luxuriated in the feeling of the warm sun on the back of her neck, the cool breeze rising up off the lake as their canoe veered off to the left, following Dr. Wells’s lead....

  “Laurel?”

  “Yes, Cassie?”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something kind of ... personal.”

  The strain in Cassie’s voice immediately put Laurel on guard. “Shoot.”

  A few more seconds passed before Cassie asked, “Are you interested in Trip?”

  Laurel was so shocked by her question that she nearly dropped her paddle into the lake. “What on earth are you talking about? Me ... interested in that jerk? You’ve got to be kidding! I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with a male ego that big. In fact, it’s all I can do to keep from giving him a piece of my mind. But since we all have to work together, I figure that wouldn’t do anybody any good.” Peeking at Cassie over her shoulder, she added, “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Cassie said. “I guess I just noticed the two of you hanging out together a lot.”

  Suddenly another thought occurred to Laurel. “Don’t tell me you....” In a gentler voice, she asked, “How about you? What do you think of Trip?”

  “Oh, he’s okay, I guess,” Cassie replied, her tone just a bit too casual.

  Laurel was tempted to ask more questions—a lot more questions. While she was debating whether or not that was wise, a shriek suddenly cut through the tranquil silence of the lake.

  She turned and saw a look of horror on Marian’s face.

  “A bear!” she screeched, “I just saw a bear!”

  Chapter Seven

  While Laurel told herself over and over again that there was probably nothing to be afraid of, she was gripped by a fear unlike any she’d ever known before. She sat frozen in her canoe, her heart pounding, her mouth dry, her stomach in a tight knot. Glancing down, she saw that she was holding her wooden paddle so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

  “Calm down,” Dr. Wells instructed the group, his voice surprisingly calm. “You heard what John Torvold said. If there really is a bear on shore, he’s probably more frightened of us than we are of him.”

  “I knew coming on this stupid trip was a mistake!” Marian cried. “We’ve got to get out of here—fast!”

  Cassie’s voice was reduced to a whimper as she cried, “He won’t come into the water after us ... will he?”

  Before anyone had a chance to answer, Russ cried, “That’s no bear! It’s a man!”

  Sure enough, a long figure had suddenly emerged from the woods and into the dense growth of long reedy grass edging that portion of the lake. Laurel let out a deep sigh of relief.

  While she could see how someone with an overly active imagination could have been confused about the identity of the large, hulking mass moving through the shadows, in full view it was clear that it was, indeed, a man. He was tall and broad shouldered, with jet black hair, dark leathery skin, and piercing eyes that burned like two pieces of coal. He was dressed in ill-fitting jeans and an oversize jacket made of coarse red-plaid wool. Slung over his shoulder was a rifle, and a long knife in a sheath hung down from his belt.

  The man stood near the shore, gazing out in their direction. But Laurel grew uncomfortable as she realized he wasn’t looking at them, but rather past them, off into the distance. It was as if as far as he was concerned, they didn’t even exist.

  “That must be Jim Whitehorse,” said Russ, shielding his eyes with his hand. “The man John Torvold told us about.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mariah,” Trip said coldly. “He’s wearing a red-plaid jacket. How could you ever have mistaken him for a bear?”

  “I can’t help it if I thought he was an animal!” Mariah insisted. “The way he suddenly came rushing toward us—”

  “That man doesn’t look as if he’s rushed toward anything in a couple of decades,” Russ grumbled.

  “Well, it was a mistake anybody could have made.” Mariah was now pouting. “Besides, if it really had turned out to be a bear, you’d all be glad I’d been such a good scout.”

  “If it really was a bear,” Trip muttered, “we’d all be lunch meat.”

  Dr. Wells said nothing. Instead, he concentrated on paddling the canoe he and Trip shared in Jim White-horse’s direction.

  “Hello!” he called.

  The expression on the man’s face didn’t change. Instead, he continued staring out across the lake.

  “I’m Ethan Wells. This is my field crew. We’re up here from Vermont for the summer, studying the natural history of the area.” When he still got no response, Dr. Wells added, “You must be Jim Whitehorse.”

  Slowly the man’s eyes moved in their direction. “I’m Whitehorse,” the man replied.

  “John Torvold told us we might be running into you. We’ll pretty much be keeping to ourselves, but if you find that we’re getting in your way, please feel free—”

  He never did finish his sentence. Whitehorse had already turned and headed back toward the woods.

  “He’s friendly,” Mariah muttered.

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Cassie retorted, “the further away he stays from me, the better. That guy gives me the creeps!”

  Laurel just stared. She couldn’t help wondering about him. What kind of man chose to live by himself, having so little contact with the rest of the human race? How had he come to live here on the edge of Wolf Lake? Was he ever lonely, or was it possible for someone to live in nearly complete isolation?

  Despite her curiosity, she had a feeling she’d never find out the answers to any of her questions. Jim Whitehorse was forgotten as she turned her attention to the task at hand: maneuvering her canoe through the tall grass, into a tiny inlet that Dr. Wells had just identified as the ideal place to start setting fish traps.

  For the rest of the day, she and the others worked steadily. They dropped metal minnow traps to the bottom of the lake, then fastened their long strings to the shore by tying them to the branches of sturdy bushes or thick clumps of grass with fluorescent tape. Their cone-shaped interiors made it easy for fish to swim in, but virtually impossible for them to find their way out. In twenty-four hours, Dr. Wells informed them, the group would come back and check the traps to see what kind of fish were living in the different sections of the lake.

  Collecting water samples was a little more complicated. Still, it wasn’t long before Laurel and the others had mastered the technique. First they estimated the depth of the lake at various spots, usi
ng a rope that was marked at one-meter intervals and had a rock attached to the end. Then they used a mechanism called a Van Doren sampler to collect water at different depths.

  The hours flew by. Laurel was astonished when Dr. Wells suddenly announced, “It’s almost nine. We’d better head back and start thinking about dinner.”

  “Nine?” Laurel gasped. “Nine o’clock?”

  Cassie cast her an odd look. “For goodness’ sake, Laurel. I’ve been watching the clock for hours. I thought we’d never get around to eating.”

  Laurel wasn’t about to comment on the four candy bars she’d watched her put away over the course of the afternoon—or the handful of cookies Cassie had helped herself to around six.

  It wasn’t until the caravan of canoes was nearing the edge of the lakeshore and the roof of the log cabin came into sight that Laurel realized how tired she was. She and the others had put in more than fourteen hours on the lake. Everyone was tired; she could tell from the silence that hung heavily over the group. The only sound, aside from the call of distant birds, the buzz of insects, and occasionally, the lonely cry of a loon, was that made by the paddles as they cut through the surface of the water.

  Yet as the six of them hauled the canoes on shore and began unloading them, Laurel was struck by the fact that Trip was moving particularly slowly. Glancing over at him, she saw that it was more than fatigue that made him so quiet.

  His face, neck, and arms were beet red.

  “Trip!” she exclaimed. “You’re burned!”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” he mumbled. “I just got a little too much sun, that’s all.”

  But Dr. Wells wasn’t quite as casual. Peering at Trip, he said, “Whoa. You’ve got a bad sunburn, pal. Better plan on spending tomorrow indoors.”

  “No way!” he protested.

  “I’m in charge here,” Dr. Wells said, his tone unusually sharp. “The last thing I need up here is a bad case of sun poisoning simply because you weren’t willing to follow a couple of simple rules. I’ve got something you can put on that back at the cabin.”