Regan's Reach

by Mark G Brewer

  The exclamation mark served to sign off any plans of a 'Journal' . . . Not going to happen, she thought.

  The original diamond shaped nail heads poking from trunks served as random track markers though many were missing, lost in long forgotten windfalls. While hard to spot, once found they served as useful guides to her progress through the morning after an early start. Clearly it was a route not often travelled and with the recent bad weather fresh windfall was extensive. Frequent diversions bashing around felled trees and subsequent searching for the trail sapped time as well as energy. Still, confident of reaching her goal with more than enough daylight to find good shelter she trudged on down and then up the Kaka Saddle. After a pause to rest and refresh on reaching the Gouland Summit Ridge, she pressed on to climb Mt Gouland and there settled to enjoy lunch with beautiful unobstructed views, from Mt Owen and Garibaldi in the south, to Farewell Spit and Dragon’s Teeth in the east. It was glorious.

  Her pack lay open and Regan's eyes were drawn to the sack containing the GPS and SatPhone. She casually took out the SatPhone now and sat, cradling it while looking off into the distance. She stroked it, marveling at how small it was. She looked at the keys then shook her head and then rested it back on the pack. Standing quickly, Regan looked for the shelter of rocks to make a toilet stop and finding a comfortable position, she arranged her clothes, squatting and chuckling at embarrassment even here. Her eyes lifted looking into the clear sky, searching for watching gods.

  Returning to her gear she began to pack the rubbish away, occasionally stealing glances at the SatPhone resting there. She thought of her mother, and the path she would soon be taking up Dad's mountain nemesis. Regan picked up the phone again and brushed the power button with her thumb feeling nervous, silly. Finally, applying enough pressure to bring it to life she watched as it began to power up and connect. She hesitated, still doubtful that calling was a good idea and then almost dropped the phone as it began to ring . . . . she answered.

  "Sie sprechen Deutsch?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Snakker du norsk?"

  "I'm sorry, who am I speaking to?"

  "You speak English?"

  "Yes, yes of course, who am I speaking to? How did you get this number?"

  "US or UK English?"

  "It . . . it doesn't matter, just English, now hold on, who am I speaking to?"

  "This is an emergency, assistance is required. Will you assist?"

  "What . . . . emergency? I'm in no position to help anybody, what's going on? Is this a joke?"

  "This is no joke, and there may not be much time. Will you please help?"

  "Look, you don't realize, I'm not . . . I'm not anywhere . . . anywhere local, wherever you are. I'm off in the bush, hours from anywhere, I can't help."

  "Your location is known, and you are near. You can help, will you?"

  A chill passed through Regan. She looked around quickly but there was nothing, anywhere, as far as she could see. "You're creeping me out. Tell me where I am and how you know, I'm not kidding, I'll disconnect you."

  "Don't disconnect!" the voice spoke quickly, "There is no one else. Scanning located your signal; you are on the summit of Gouland."

  Regan paused, her heart pounding now, adrenalin surging through her system and her thoughts were spinning . . . What . . . the . . . fuck!

  "Regan Stein, there . . . is . . . no . . . time, HELP please!" The word bellowed from the phone.

  He knows my name . . . careful girl "Ok . . . Ok! What's wrong? What can I do?"

  "Do you have a map?"

  "Yes, yes of course, I'm not an idiot." Regan cradled the SatPhone as she fumbled for the zip pocket of her Alpine.

  "Please go to the coordinates I will give you. Marin is there, two thousand three hundred and fifty seven meters from your current position. . ."

  Regan interrupted, "Hold on, hold on, I need to write this down." She searched for a pen. "Who is Marin, and what happened?"

  "Marin is an anthropologist; he was caught in a landslip twenty two hours ago. There's no other information available on what happened and no contact has been achieved since then, but there is still a signal. These are the coordinates . . ." Regan scrambled to get them down as the caller recited them quickly.

  No other pleasantries or explanations were given, just the abrupt issuing of instructions and an agreement to check back in later. She moved onto auto pilot quickly packing while running largely on adrenalin. Deciding the best start point to her route she then stowed the map and GPS in her jacket. The coordinates were well off her planned path and would require making a steep drop of around six hundred meters. It occurred to Regan the new direction would also take her away from the goal of Mt Inaccessible, heading instead toward the Spey River. As she packed the rest of her gear it hit her, this will truly stuff my plans, I'm not going to make it; probably, not this trip anyway . . . sorry Dad.

  The progress was rough, dropping down through spear grass and boulders, at times slipping along on her backside, more falling than walking down the loose shale slopes.

  She berated herself for not asking more questions. Where are you? . . . Why couldn't you help? . . . Have you called for help? An hour passed simply dropping altitude in the safest way possible. On reaching the bush line Regan paused for the first time to rest and consult her GPS. Controlled descent is a bitch she muttered to no one. Thighs aching, muscles protesting, she was glad of the break she'd taken on the summit.

  Taking her time for safety’s sake, but also to prepare for whatever she found below, Regan continued on, making steady progress. Pausing again to check her current coordinates against the map, she could see her altitude was right but she would need to sidle around the slope for at least another fifteen hundred meters. She groaned. That would normally be fifteen minutes on the flat. Here, it could be another hour or more if she was reckless. As she fought her way on Regan thought of her father . . . and her mother. She would be no use to anyone if she slipped. No risks!

  An hour later, bruised and torn, Regan found a massive slip blocking the way. Perched on the edge she checked the GPS again. The coordinates were quite specific. Comparing her position with the map she groaned. She'd need to cross the slip and drop another hundred meters. Looking with terror at the slip face she shook her head. No way! The relative safety of the bush called to her from at least fifty meters away on the other side. One stumble or slide while crossing and she knew it would be curtains, a long, long fall to the valley floor. There's no way I'm going to risk that she thought, and looked up the slope.

  It took an extra half hour to pick her way up over the top of the slip before she could again begin scrambling her way down through the bush.

  Tracking down the slip side she carefully placed her feet trying to take advantage of the clear space on the edge. She was almost on top of the body before she saw it; just off the edge of the main slip beneath a large trunk. From twenty meters and with tree fall obscuring her view she couldn't see much but other than a dark figure with no visible movement. For a moment Regan paused, preparing for the worst and then she forced her way nearer.

  Anxiety and stress turned to anger on getting close. The tramper wasn't dressed for the bush, not even close, wearing just a thin one piece that would offer no insulation whatsoever. Nervously she talked to herself for comfort.

  "What sort of idiot would be out here so poorly prepared?" She could see only legs and torso, long lean legs. It didn't seem to her that the body was actually wedged, more just simply lying draped over a branch. "Must have been knocked out." she whispered. Carefully she broke away what smaller branches she could and crawled in toward the body finding her first impressions were correct; there seemed no weight on the body a large bough having taken the strain. Taking care and concerned about disturbing broken bones, Regan looked for the best approach before even touching him. She couldn't tell if he was breathing and under the circumstances saw no option but to drag him out face down being as careful as possible. It would be no
easy task with most branches being too big to break away but setting to it she dragged him, the body flopping over branches as she pulled and Regan cringed at what she was doing. She whimpered as if feeling every bump until finally she had him clear.

  Gasping for breath, she steeled herself and rolled over the still body . . . and then froze.

  Regan cocked her head to one side . . . he was tall . . . very tall! Male . . . hairless, smooth olive skin with a wide mouth and eyes . . . race? Hard to pick. And he was different in an unsettling way, different, yet familiar; beautiful?

  She reminded herself, His name is Marin.

  She reached for the neck and found a pulse, picking up a faint beat there and noting the skin of his face felt very cold to touch. "My God he's freezing!" Regan reached for the drinking tube of her camelback and tried to give him water, dribbling it between his lips. Warmth she thought, looking at her pack . . . hypothermia.

  She pulled open the pack, scattering contents to reach the sleeping bag, emergency blanket and Bivvy sack. A full length zip on the bag made the process easier than it might have been and she unzipped it, rolling the limp body into place. For the moment she only wrapped the bag around him as there was no way of knowing for sure if anything was broken. Reaching around his bald head she could feel a large ugly lump on the back and blood, lots of dried blood that had also soaked the back of his suit. Slipping the Bivvy sack over the bottom of the sleeping bag Regan felt for his feet then worked the sack up around the limp form. Finally she crouched by the bag, put her head in her hands and contemplated the next move.

  Taking the SatPhone out of her pocket she also grabbed some energy bars and water. Looking up at thankfully clear sky she could see darkness wasn't far off. "Where did the time go? . . . Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

  Mentally Regan raced through her options. Help should be on the way. The weather is good. A helicopter could, should have been here by now. . . . ?

  . . . was that ever an option?

  Carefully she wriggled into the bag. It was a struggle but the man was so lean it was manageable. Wrapping herself around his cold form, with one hand she reached to put the drinking tube to his mouth and with the other she turned on the SatPhone.

  As the phone powered up Regan felt herself beginning to shake, the first signs of shock since the call. "Toughen up girl! You wanted a challenge - you've got it."

  Immediately the SatPhone began to chirp. She looked at it, took a deep breath, and answered.

  Without waiting she launched in, "Why didn't you call someone, the authorities?"

  "That wasn't possible Ms Stein, is Marin alive?"

  "Yes. Yes, he's unconscious and hurt, but alive, just. He needs help urgently, why aren't you calling the authorities?"

  "Ms Stein. Help was called . . . you. You must get Marin to the."

  "What's the Pod? . . . No way! He can't be moved at the moment. He's freezing. I've got to warm him or he'll die anyway. His pulse is weak, he has a head injury and it's getting darker here by the minute. Trust me, this the only way, I'm going to warm him up before anything. Bring the copter or Pod or whatever you call it here."

  "That's not possible while you're in the bush. You must get him to the Pod as soon as possible."

  A sudden concern came to her. "When did he last have water?"

  "He is probably dehydrated as it's been more than twenty five hours since his last contact. Ms Stein, can you see Marin's equipment anywhere, a backpack?"

  "No, there was nothing with him." Regan thought for a moment. "I think he only just escaped the slip. He was caught on the edge by a tree coming down."

  "How much time before you will move as requested?"

  A flash of shocked anger passed through her, "Listen! It's not a question of will move, it's a matter of can move. He probably has hypothermia already. Hopefully we can move at first light but it'll be dark soon; until dawn we sit tight."

  "Understood, you should power down your device then to save reserves. Power up again as soon as you are able to move."

  She noticed a definite change in the accent. Is that Irish? It was a subtle change but it was varying she was sure. "Why is your voice changing? You're making me very uncomfortable, and what are you hiding?"

  "Just trying to put you at ease Ms Stein; you sound stressed. It doesn't appear to be working."

  "You think? I'm way out on a limb here and you're playing games? You're giving me nothing!"

  "Ms Stein, all will be well. Power off now and please do not try to contact anyone. It would not be helpful."

  She paused, having a moment of cold realization. "Could I call anyone anyway?"

  "No."

  Through the night Regan munched on the occasional energy bar and tried to think as sleep was out of the question. Mercifully, it didn't rain.

  Her mind seemed in turmoil, as if it wouldn't face something obvious, something she knew to be true, but unthinkable. Unable to surface her concerns she concentrated on the man, wrapping herself around him as both their bodies slowly warmed. The winter weight bag proved perfect for keeping what little heat she generated in, but it wasn't comfortable on the hard ground. From Marin she heard nothing other than his quiet breathing throughout the night, terrifying her rigid at times as he took long pauses between breaths. After the occasional long pause the sound of a fresh intake would give her such relief she would gasp and try to suppress sobs in case he heard and thought she was crying. Apart from that there was nothing, not a groan or a movement; she fretted.

  That she woke at dawn to the sound of birds came as a surprise, Regan marveling that she slept at all. Carefully extricating herself from the bag she decided to leave Marin in the warmth for the moment. A quick search through the pack and she found spare thermals that could be used as layers for warmth. She then looked at the pack and Marin considering what to do.

  Can't carry both, she thought. So, what to take? Water . . . GPS . . . SatPhone. How far is this Pod thing?

  Regan picked up the SatPhone and powered up. It took an anxious minute to connect then began to ring immediately. She answered.

  "Ms Stein?'

  "We're OK," She said quickly, "At least I am."

  "And Marin?"

  "He's alive, so what now?"

  "You need to get him to the Pod. It's not far, eleven hundred meters. Can you carry him?"

  Regan sighed "Eleven hundred meters." She looked over at the form in the sleeping bag, remembering dragging that same limp body out from under the tree.

  "We'll get there; just don't tell me it's on the other side of that slip."

  "No, stay at the same altitude and track away from the slip. If you leave the SatPhone on power I can track Marin and direct you."

  Regan considered her gear. "I have thermal clothing for him; it will take some time for me to . . ."

  "That won't be necessary," The voice interrupted. "His suit is active, it keeps his body warm. Move as quickly as you can."

  "What did you say?"

  "Move quickly."

  "No, what did you say about the suit?"

  "The suit generates heat for him; it's the head injury that is of most concern."

  Regan clenched her jaw and growled. "Why didn't you tell me that last evening?"

  "You didn't . . ."

  "I didn't ask? . . . . Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

  Without another word Regan turned to the still unresponsive body and carefully pulled away the Bivvy Sack. She unzipped the sleeping bag and dragged Marin out by the armpits. This is going to hurt, she thought ruefully. Any adrenalin was long gone from her system and she found her mind clearer than at any time since the first call. In action mode now her moves became swift and precise.

  She re-stuffed the Alpine pack, ate another energy bar and drank the last of the water. How much water Marin had been able to take in she wasn't sure, but he wouldn't be carrying anything; his rehydration would have to wait. She looked at the Alpine pack and reflected on how unlikely it was anyone would find it there, off the
track and hidden in the slip wreckage. She did still have the map coordinates. I'll leave it, she thought, and with a last look around turned to Marin.

  She stored the GPS, Satphone and Personal Locator Beacon in the front pockets of her jacket and then taking position below Marin on the slope, she flopped him over her shoulder; a fireman's lift. At one point eight seven meters Regan was tall, but Marin was clearly taller and she could feel his head banging, well down around her buttocks as she commenced the struggle out of the fallen branches.

  For an hour she carried, crawled, dragged and hauled Marin's form up and along the slope. Although there had been no communication with 'the voice' for some time her steady flow of swearing filled the gap until suddenly the voice sounded from her pocket.

  "There should be an animal trail, probably above you, Marin was following it."

  Climbing again at an angle she made slow progress forward and up, struggling gamely with the unwieldy shape and weight of the hurt man. By now her hands and knees were bleeding but with frequent stops they managed to make ground. Fifty meters higher she stumbled on to a trail, narrow but clear of bush and Regan made much better progress. Two hours later with rests and a few painful falls the Irishman's voice came again.

  "The Pod is below you now, around one hundred and fifty meters lower. Can you see it?"

  Regan, exhausted, slipped Marin to the ground and slumped. They had been tracking along a wide ledge keeping close to the face. She suspected looking over the edge would reveal a sheer drop, however she'd been too nervous to look and confirm it. Rolling now to the brink she looked down and from this perspective a long black rectangle could be seen on a level shelf well below them.

  "I can see something, is it black?"

  "That's it."

  Despairing, Regan looked down the cliff face. "We'll never get down there from here, we're on a cliff. Marin must have climbed up some other way."

  "If the way is clear, the Pod can climb to you."

  "It's clear, we're directly above you. But what do you mean, the Pod can climb?"