Guess someone is gonna get a bit prickly tonight,” he grinned sheepishly. In five seconds, he managed to track sand over the blankets, knock pine needles on the sleeping bags and step right on the backpacks, totally destroying the neat little sleeping shelter that had taken us a half an hour to build.
I quickly looked over at George and could see the telltale signs: the clenched jaw, the narrowed eyes and the fisted hands flexing ever so slightly. I swiftly stepped over to my sleeping bag, pulled out the blanket wrapped inside and tossed it at Matt.
“Here, Matt, you can use this blanket and wrap up in the tarp and make your own sleeping bag. It’ll keep out the moisture and the blanket is wool, so you should be nice and warm.” Matt glanced at George, noted the scowl and readily agreed.
“Sure this’ll be great. This’ll be just fine for me.”
I pulled George’s sleeping bag back in place, shifted everything over about two feet, leaving room for Matt to layer the blanket and tarp into a bedroll.
“It’ll be warmer if everyone stays close together for the night,” I said as I smoothed out the bedding and resettled our stuff along the edges of the blanket.
I stole a sideways glance at George as I brushed away the pine needles and sand. I gave him a brief smile with raised eyebrows, urging him to move on and make the best of it. He slowly relaxed, pulled his face in a crooked smile and rolled his eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking, but I didn’t want him to say it, at least not now. We had other problems to worry about.
Lying awake, watching the stars flicker in between the branches of our shelter, I couldn’t help wondering how someone who always said how much he knew about everything around here could, in this time of crisis, be so unprepared. Perhaps my interpretation of a seasoned fisherman in Kodiak was a tad different. Perhaps it just meant you could catch a lot of fish, and that was it.
To me, you had to get there in a boat, so you should know about boats. You needed to be prepared for rough water, so you should have working emergency equipment on board. You never knew what was going to happen once you got out there, so basic survival skills should be ingrained in your head. And everything you might need, in case something goes wrong, should be on your back. I closed my eyes tight, trying to shut out these irritating thoughts about this self-proclaimed expert. I inhaled and exhaled slowly, twice.
My mind shifted to thoughts of our past life of brightly lit shopping malls, stores filled with colorful racks of new clothes, long aisles of sophisticated shoes marching along shelves, manicured lawns and sparkling sidewalks, paved streets teeming with shiny cars and chattering people and . . . choking smog and head-pounding frantic racket.
I jerked my thoughts back to the present, back to the inky black sky dotted with silvery stars, the peaceful silence of the night, and back to the immediate problem of holding onto an “upbeat and positive” attitude despite the gnawing notion that we were stranded. At least George was prepared. We had lived in Kodiak for only a few years, but he had learned a lot. And taught me, as well.
I wondered at this strange new world I had come to. Mother Nature ruled—big, bold, and present in all her wondrous beauty— but she was nasty and vicious at times, unmerciful to those who didn’t listen and learn and prepare for her constant change of heart.
This was the essence of Kodiak. With fewer than seven thousand people year round, there were no traffic jams, no crowds, and no major crime. Of course, there were no malls, no major highways, and no predictable weather for more than a few hours at a time, either. It was a place where inconveniences were taken in stride, modern technology lay in the distant future, and surviving the elements became the focus for the island’s stalwart inhabitants.
I thought of the positives: A person could fish, hunt, hike, or just sit and watch glossy black ravens and bald eagles soaring overhead or perching in trees calling to each other. Sea lions, seals, otters, whales, and puffins could be seen from the boat on most fishing trips. And the fishing was excellent with five species of salmon as well as cod, sea bass, herring and the king of fish, halibut. All these facts and images of nature flipped through my mind like a tourist brochure as I drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day.
And it came with a fury! The winds howled, the rain poured down and the wild surf pounded onto the beach, clawing back sand and water in great curls of dirty, angry foam. George and I woke at the same time when branches of spruce, whisked away by the wind, left a gap in our “roof” and rain suddenly spat in our faces.
I clambered to my feet, swiped water-drenched hair from my face and stared in total astonishment as George jumped over to the still sleeping Matt, with one quick motion grabbed two fistfuls of tarp, and jerked hard and up. The tarp came free as Matt rolled out like a spinning hot dog, out through the opening and down the rain-soaked beach.
“Grab an end and weave the tarp through the top branches, quick!” shouted George. I hurriedly started tucking in the edges of the tarp up and around the insides of the branches to form a lining above our heads as I listened to shouts from Matt.
He came fully awake, jumped up shaking his hands, flapping his arms, stamping his feet, and twirling around shouting curses and acting like a crazy man. He was totally shocked and decidedly useless to us now. I kept my eyes averted, moving my hands quickly and busily tucking sections of tarp along the gaps.
Repairs completed, George pulled his rain gear out and slipped it on. I worked myself into my rain jacket and pants, and stood next to him watching the rain dance. Matt suddenly stopped, turned, and ran back inside the shelter, still cussing and sputtering, his long johns drenched and stuck to his skin, his hair pasted flat to his dripping head.
“How could you do that?” yelled Matt. “What were you thinking?” He stomped one foot, then the other, his hands balled into fists. Nobody answered. George’s face was expressionless except for a small twitch in the corner of his mouth as we looked at the drowned rat in front of us. I had no such compassion. I let back and roared with laughter. It was too funny.
As bouncing back from any crisis was one of Matt’s strong points, he began to laugh too. The three of us laughed long and hard while the rain beat down on the ground outside our meager but slightly drier shelter. Tension released, we chuckled back to normal as George took out a pair of extra clothes from his pack and tossed them to Matt.
Then the laughter halted as we came back to our present gloomy situation. Out towards the beach, the storm raged violently on, moving slowly to the east. To the west, the skies were clearing slightly; a thin line of pale white lay across the horizon gently nudging away the heavy dark clouds. It appeared the storm would pass over soon; we just had to wait it out. Lucky us. Our shared supplies were dwindling.
In good spirits, we sat down in the middle of the makeshift enclosure and searched our backpacks for breakfast. I had one sandwich, two bagels slathered with peanut butter, four trail mix bars and three bottles of water. George sorted out two baggies of smoked fish, two packs of crackers, one pack of beef jerky and four bottles of water.
Matt looked on, his shoulders slumped, head down, humbled and on his best behavior. He hoped for a handout and quickly forgave his purported ill treatment.
“Gee, George, you really came prepared. I can see that. It’s best to be prepared when you come out here, I always say. That’s the smart thing to do. You never know what might happen. You should always hope for the best and plan for the worst. That’s what a real Alaskan does, that’s good survival advice, you know.
I can see you picked up on that real quick since you’ve been here.” George looked hard at Matt, hoping his words would bounce off his forehead and back into Matt’s own head. There was always hope.
The rain subsided and white clouds appeared, allowing sun to shine down in scattered patches of yellow-white beams like spotlights from heaven. We stepped outside the branch tent and peered up at the sky. I followed a spotlight downward to the horizon. There to the left, just a speck of white shone on the water. It grew larger and larger.
“Hey, what’s that on the water?” I pointed. “Way out there about ten