by Kim Baldwin
“I noticed your group, but the long trip here exhausted me.”
“Well, welcome to Bettles. Hope you’ll enjoy your stay. Dita does an awesome job arranging trips. Experienced guides. Great destinations and good food. Safety first, always.” Bryson gulped her ginger ale when she spotted Grizz coming from the kitchen holding a large paper bag.
“Throw in a couple sodas,” Bryson told him as she fished out her wallet. “Diet Coke for me. Emery?”
“Same.”
Bryson stuck the sodas into the food bag. “You mind if we take my Cub instead of the Cessna? I can give you a better deal ’cause it sucks less gas, and it’s better for what you want and what I need to do.”
“Fine by me.”
“I charge three hundred an hour, but if we follow my itinerary, I’ll cut that in half. Expect you might be repeat business.”
“Appreciate it. And yes, I’d like to hire you between trips to see as much as possible.”
“Your timing’s actually great. I intended to visit some of the places I’ll be taking clients the next few months, to check landing possibilities, so you’ll get to preview where you’ll be. Along the way I’ll detour to a couple of my favorite stretches.” Bryson zipped her leather coat and rose.
“Sounds great.”
“I have to make a quick stop at the outfitter’s office,” Bryson said. “Need to grab anything from your room?”
“Yes. Camera and binoculars, and maybe another layer.”
“Meet you out at the Eidson hangar, then. The big one. Logo on the side. Ten minutes?”
“Sounds good.” Excited, Emery headed upstairs to grab her stuff as Bryson left the bar. She’d always wanted to fly low into the Alaskan wilderness with an experienced bush pilot. Bryson projected confidence and maturity, without braggadocio. Emery looked forward to getting to know her because she seemed a kindred spirit. And perhaps spending time with her might give Emery insights into more trips in Alaska and information about the Eidson tours. Maybe she’d even ask what was up with the woman in the outfitter’s office, since they worked together and looked to be friends.
*
“Eidson Eco-Tours, Pasha speaking. How can I help you?” Pasha grabbed a sip of coffee while she waited for the caller to state his business. Her mug had gone cold as she handled both the booking calls and the administrative issues Dita usually dealt with. Dita had briefed her well so Pasha knew how to handle most questions from vendors, clients, and other Eidson offices, and could isolate what to defer until Dita’s return.
Soon, when the trips began in earnest, a local high-school girl would man the phone when she was out in the field and Dita had other duties.
She hadn’t expected to be so busy after the few phone calls last week. The clock read just after noon as the client finished his long inquiry, and she realized why her stomach was rumbling. “I’m sorry, but we’ve booked that trip solid and already have six people on the waiting list. I can add your names, but I doubt we’ll get that many cancellations. Maybe I can offer you an alternative.”
She called up the revised schedule Dita had sketched out. “We’re adding an additional fly-fishing trip two weeks later, July 23rd through the 31st, if we have enough interest. Same cost. Would that time period be possible?” When he replied in the affirmative, she continued. “Your party of four should guarantee that we’ll add the trip. I’ll confirm that in a couple days and e-mail you an update then, if you’ll give me your name and e-mail address.” She jotted down the information. He told her he’d call back once he got her note. “Great. Talk to you then.”
She reached for her coffee, but the front door chimed as she raised the mug to her lips. Pasha started to curse under her breath until she saw Bryson. Praying for a temporary reprieve from the phone, she started to drool when she spotted the familiar Den take-out bag tucked under Bryson’s arm. “Please tell me that’s lunch.”
Bryson winced. “Uh…I’d have gotten you something if I’d known you’ve been tied up here. Should’ve called ahead. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Wishful thinking. I’ll get over there soon, I hope. If not, I can scrounge an energy bar from the trip supplies.”
“I’d go get you something, but I’m meeting a flightseeing client. I’ll check out some of our trip destinations while I’m up there.”
“I thought you had the afternoon free.”
“Last-minute gig. Emery Lawson. Just wanted to stop in and tell you the group got off fine. No problems. Looks like a beautiful spot. Dita was in heaven.” Bryson shifted the bag under her arm. “Going out in the Cub. Call me if you need me. Should be back in two, three hours.”
“Will do. Have fun, and be safe.”
“Always.” As Bryson headed out the door and toward the runway, leaving behind the aroma of corned beef and fresh-baked bread, the phone rang.
Pasha’s stomach protested as she reached for the headset. She’d hoped to perhaps run into Emery at the Den and make a better second impression. But that wouldn’t happen today.
At least Emery wasn’t with Geneva, though her chances with Emery looked a lot better than her own right now. Not only would Pasha probably miss her lunch break the next couple of days, she’d be lucky if she got out by dinnertime.
She’d likely get some alone time with Emery on the photography trip, still days away. But anything could happen in the interim; Geneva moved fast when she wanted something. The thought depressed her. She’d thought her course was certain, but she’d never experienced an intuitive episode like this unreliable one.
The restless, constant pressure in her gut had calmed since pointing her decidedly in Emery’s direction, which confused her, too. Would it flare up again the next time they met? She caught the phone on the sixth ring and tried to sound perky and welcoming. “Eidson Eco-Tours, Pasha speaking. How can I help you?”
Chapter Eight
Emery didn’t view the interior of the magnificent Super Cub as cramped, only cozy. She’d thrown on a heavy sweater because the heaters in some small planes didn’t work well, but Bryson had installed a custom one that functioned effectively. Bryson had evidently modified the plane’s exterior, too. Its dual landing apparatus allowed it to put down on either skis or huge tundra tires, and the springs and axles looked heavy-duty.
The seating arrangement—hers directly behind the pilot’s, with big windows on either side—gave her a panoramic view better than any aircraft she’d ridden in previously. And Bryson, at one with this particular plane, apparently had a lot of experience. She inspected the Cub’s exterior slowly and methodically, caressing the red fuselage like a lover while viewing it with a practiced eye. She took the same unhurried approach with her preflight checklist in the cockpit.
“Ever flown in a bush plane before?” Bryson asked as the engine warmed.
“Not like this. Just the orange Cessna that brought me from Fairbanks.”
“Skeeter’s plane. Well, my safety speech resembles his. I see you’re belted in, expect you know how the buckle works.” They started taxiing toward the end of the runway after Bryson got clearance on her radio. “We won’t fly high enough to need oxygen. In the unlikely event we have to ditch in water, you can use the cushion you’re sitting on as a floatation device. A fire extinguisher’s strapped under my seat, and we have a first-aid kit in the back. I also carry a survival duffel with blankets, tent, food, water, gun, and stove in it.”
“Ever had to use that stuff?”
“Oh, sure. Every commercial pilot up here will run into something unexpected occasionally, usually weather-related. And I’ve flown more than twenty-five years. We all abide by VFR—visual flight rules. If you can’t see at least a mile, or if the ceiling’s under 500 feet, you can’t fly. If a bad storm or fog moves in when you’re still a couple hundred miles from a settlement, sometimes you have to set down and wait it out.”
Despite the admission, Emery felt no fear. Bush pilots had to take bigger risks than most of their aviator counterparts, but she
loved the risks involved because taking them made her feel fully alive. And even before they lifted off, she felt safe with Bryson, with her extraordinary quarter-century of bush flying and her relaxed, matter-of-fact manner.
When she’d finished with her communications with the FAA station, Bryson half-turned in her seat. “Want to fly low? Better view, but makes some people nervous.”
“By all means.”
“You got it.” The Cub, following a river, quickly closed in on the Brooks Range.
They flew low enough Emery could see a lot of detail in the flat landscape. Small ponds, created by the melting frozen tundra, reflected the azure sky and fluffy clouds in their still, placid water. Bryson banked sharply right over the lumpy green-and-brown mattress, the trees sparse. “Moose,” she called over her shoulder as she pointed right.
Emery spotted movement in a bog thick with willow shoots. A dark patch of brown emerged from the edge and ambled toward another, similar thicket. The hulking brute didn’t move very fast, either impervious to the circling plane or impeded by the difficult terrain. “Awesome.”
They banked away toward their original heading and soon reached a wide river valley with high mountains on either side—their way into the Brooks Range. Bryson kept the Cub low enough Emery could see the crests of whitewater rapids as the wide, serpentine tributary raged over rock falls. “What’s that?” she asked.
“The Wild River. We’ll pass over my cabin soon.”
“Great. Point it out. And anything else of interest.” Emery stared mostly ahead, looking over Bryson’s shoulder as the valley narrowed. She’d seen no sign of anything manmade since they left Bettles.
The steep cliff faces grew closer on either side until they seemingly roared down a long hallway. The rush of exhilaration made her dizzy. “Unbelievable,” she told Bryson. “Exactly what I wanted.”
“Tip of the iceberg,” Bryson replied as the plane descended another few feet, almost skimming the top of the trees that crowded the narrow strips of land on either side of the river. “Where we’re going, we might glimpse the Porcupine Caribou Herd. And I know a couple of valleys where the spring flowers should be at their peak.”
Emery pulled out her camera and began to snap pictures. She already had a few thousand photos on her portable hard drive, but she’d easily double that number during her time in the Far North. The automatic-stabilization feature ensured that nearly every shot was postcard beautiful.
The river valley widened again, the mountains retreating a half mile on either side, as the strip of trees lining the water grew into a thick, impenetrable forest.
“My cabin’s coming up on the left,” Bryson said. “Right at the fork of the river. Built it myself.”
Emery could see the rooftop in a small clearing a short hike from the water. Set on a rise with mountains all around it, the log structure had to have a magnificent view. “Looks like a nice bit of handiwork. But where the heck do you land?”
“That gravel bar in the river. I like about three hundred feet at least.” The spit of sand she pointed to seemed impossibly short.
Emery looked in all directions, but saw no other sign of civilization. “Hard to get accustomed to the isolation up here?”
Bryson chuckled. “Lived in Alaska all my life, so I’m more accustomed to it than most. But yeah, used to get to me now and then. Not anymore. I have a partner.”
“Kind of thought as much when I saw you all last night.”
Bryson glanced at her rearview mirror. “Pretty observant.”
“I notice things, yes. You’re lucky. She’s beautiful.”
Bryson chuckled. “Yeah. Amazing in a lot of other ways, too. Karla’s an RN.”
“I imagine a very valuable resource up here.”
“Nearest doctor’s in Fairbanks. Karla was an ER nurse in Atlanta, so she can handle most emergencies.”
“Mind if I ask…were all the women with you gay?”
“Don’t mind. And yeah. We kinda pegged you, too. Well, Geneva sure did.”
“The waitress?”
“Gen’s a good friend. You can imagine up here, opportunities are kind of limited, so she might have been a bit…overly anxious…but you shouldn’t hold that against her. She’s really down-to-earth. Not a player. Just falls hard and fast, if you know what I mean.”
Emery detected concern in Bryson’s tone, like she was trying to ensure Geneva didn’t get hurt. “Duly noted.”
“We’re a close-knit group. We look out for each other.”
“It’s great to be around people you understand, and who understand you. That you can be completely yourself with. I envy you that.”
“You’ll get to know most of ’em in the next few weeks. For sure Dita, and two of the guides you’ll be going out with—Chaz and Pasha.”
“I look forward to it. I went over to the Eidson office this morning and sort of met one of your friends there—but I didn’t get her name.”
“That’d have been Pasha, I expect. She mans the office when Dita’s away.”
“What’s she like?” Perhaps Bryson could give Emery some insight about why this Pasha had been so flustered during their interaction, and why the woman seemed almost to recognize her.
“Pash?” The inquiry seemed to surprise Bryson. “Very capable. Bright. Funny. Why you asking?”
“Just curious about her. We had an odd…chat.”
“We’ll likely most all be back at the Den having dinner tonight. Around six. You’re welcome to join us and I’ll introduce you around.”
“I’d like that.”
They soared over a massive lake, and Bryson dropped low over a cabin on the shoreline and dipped her wings right and left as if in greeting. As she banked around in a circle, Emery saw a woman holding a child emerge onto the porch to wave back. “Maggie Rasmussen and her baby, Karson,” Bryson explained as she wagged her wings again and continued north. “You’ll meet her husband Lars for sure—he’s an Eidson guide, too. Out right now with Dita on a trip. They’re my extended family, you could say. Maggie is Karla’s sister, and they’re our nearest neighbors.”
Beyond the lake the valley narrowed again and the river forked. Bryson turned the Cub sharply left, following the smaller tributary, and shot through a canyon where the cliffs seemed mere feet from their wingtips. The adrenaline pouring through Emery’s veins intoxicated her so much she could barely keep her camera steady. “I love this.”
“Gonna dump out in a wide valley soon,” Bryson told her. “Keep an eye on the hillside to your right for Dall sheep.”
As predicted, Emery spotted a dozen of the beasts dotting the rocky slope, their white coats starkly contrasted against the brown-and-green backdrop. She could make out the distinctive circular horns on the rams and the game trails snaking through the area. With her telephoto lens and a fast aperture, she could take great close-ups. “Very cool. Think I’ll see any grizzlies while I’m here?”
“Might see one in the next couple hours where we’re going.” Bryson negotiated her way through another maze of river valleys until Emery lost all sense of direction. “Coming up on our main drop-off point for river-rafting trips.” The plane descended over another wide, whitewater river and slowed. “You signed up for any of those?”
“Yes. The first ten-day trip.”
“Got some debris on my strip, I see. But not too bad. Hang on.”
Almost before Emery realized it, they landed on a short gravel bar dotted with logs and other detritus. Bryson artfully maneuvered through the obstacle course, the high wings of the Cub scooting over some of the larger pieces, until the plane stopped just a few feet shy of the water. “Ready for lunch?” Bryson asked as she cut the engine.
Emery’s heart hammered from the abrupt and exhilarating touchdown, but she tried to keep her voice steady. “Sure thing.”
They found a large rock a few feet from the water’s edge to serve as their bench and picnic table, the surface smooth and warm from the sun. Emery snapped photos in
between bites of her sandwich. In every direction, majestic peaks, most still tipped with snow, dominated the landscape. “They all look so much alike. And so endless,” she said as she adjusted her settings to take a panoramic shot of the vast range. “I haven’t seen you consult a map or even use your GPS. How do you keep from losing your way?”
“We’re still in my backyard. Very little around here I don’t know, I’ve crisscrossed it so long.”
“You said you’d been flying for more than twenty-five years? You don’t seem old enough.”
Bryson grinned. “Learned to fly before I learned to drive. Dad taught me—never a better pilot or teacher than him.”
“Is he glad you’re following in his footsteps or does he worry about you?”
Bryson’s smile faded as she stared off to the north. “He worried,” she finally said in a soft voice. “But he was proud I shared his passion for flying.”
“I’m sorry if I hit a nerve.”
“All good. Miss him, that’s all. We were close.”
“Sorry for your loss. I empathize. Both my folks are gone.”
Bryson picked up a smooth stone and tried to skip it across the river, but it hopped only twice before a rogue wave snagged it and dragged it under. “So, you got some of my story and a bit about my friends. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Not many outsiders come up for so long.”
“Well, I’m here for a few months because I’ve always wanted to visit Alaska, and I like to spend time really getting to know a place. What else do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to share. Where you from?”
“That’s not starting with an easy one.” Emery chewed her sandwich as she thought about her answer. The pat one she’d been giving seemed too flippant for Bryson. “Some months ago, I’d have said Detroit. But I’m in a kind of vagabond place right now. I sold my place, put my few things in storage, and hit the road. I have no idea where I’ll finally end up.”
“No ties anywhere?”
“None to speak of, no.”
“What do you do?”
