Valentine's Day in Wild Alasa 1983

Introduction:

This tale I spin is a hearkening back — back to the oil boom in Alaska some four decades past. While some who read this may remember those times, but many have come into this world in these past many years who will not. Since this is a Valentine contest entry, and I know you'll be wanting to read many of them; I've kept this one shorter, four and half pages is a pretty close guess. Thus, humor me awhile and I'll set the stage a bit before we begin our journey:

There was a certain excitement in the air. Times were good, the USA was in a time between major military conflicts overseas. The singer-songwriter John Denver was touring and his songs about Alaska fueled new dreams of going north in more than a few — Go north young man — Go north young lass. The singer-songwriter Country Joe McDonald was also touring the country and sharing his songs composed from the poems of Robert W. Service. Those poems had been published in the earliest years of the 20th century. Putting some of them into songs further fueled the growing awareness of the Yukon and beyond. Such were the times when this Valentine's Day story takes place. A time of good wages, the opening of a new frontier in Alaska's untouched far north ... also the opening of land for homesteading that made it possible to live the call of the wild for many modern day adventurers. It was a time of hope and excitement for many a pilgrim who joined in the rush north. It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway; this story is one-hundred percent fiction ... but it would have been possible.

With the words of Robert W. Service below, I've dropped a very small snippet — eight lines of a total of fifty-six lines — of his rhyme for you to find. These words put into verse —the spell of the curse — that lures both the worst and the fine — to go, go North to the call of something old — yes, something old and free and untamed. Robert Service once lived just a bit to the east in the Yukon Territory of Canada from where this adventure takes place. The boom in his day was fueled by gold instead of oil. I think these eight lines below written by Service paint a good mental image to start this story with. If you enjoy poetry, I encourage you to read Service's works.

So, here's to hoping you like this yarn I've spun ... it's my Valentine gift to you all ~ yukonnights.

***

From the poem; 'The Spell Of The Yukon', by Robert W. Service (born Jan. 16, 1874 / died Sept. 11 1958)

...There's a land where the mountains are nameless;

And the rivers all run God knows where,

There are lives that are erring and aimless,

And deaths that just hang by a hair;

There are hardships that nobody reckons;

There are valleys unpeopled and still;

There's a land — oh, it beckons and beckons,

And I want to go back — and I will ...

*****

One Day Before Valentine's Day — Sunday February 13,1983. Taylor Highway between Jack Wade and Chicken Alaska

The storm is unfolding to be even more severe than they forecast. The snow alone is enough to make it hard to see — the wind blowing sideways across the road makes it difficult — the darkness makes it almost impossible. I turn up the volume on the cassette stereo, John Denver adds a soothing touch to the dreary weather. "Fucking weatherman — why do I even listen to them anymore?" At this rate, I'll be lucky if I make it to Chicken. Good chance I won't be making it all the way out to home tonight. If I can't make it to Chicken ... don't go there Ethan. Worst comes to worst, I can always hike through and break in one of the cabins and apologize later ... if I can get close enough. Carter will understand it was life or death. Maybe best to just sit it out in the truck and start it up every once in a while to keep it and me warm enough. I think I'll make it though — if it weren't for the damn drifts in the lea of the road cuts that flatten out the many little ups and downs. Been better to just leave the hills to be hills, at least the snow would have somewhere else to blow to.

I grab a piece of candy from the heart shaped box I bought in town. Should of bought two at the price — last day before Valentines, they looked kinda sad sit'n there all alone ... sorta like me. I should probably be talking to old man cupid today about maybe cut'n me a break — who am I kidding? No woman in her right mind would want to be out here living like I do — right now, I sorta wish I wasn't out here myself. Just hope I can make it all the way back home and take care of the dogs — and sit this one out by the stove — "What the fuck!"

The truck slides at my abrupt swerve, skidding to the left as I try to get clear of the dark blur in the middle of the road. Missing it by just enough, I punch the gas and the four-wheel drive helps the tires dig in and pull me back up onto the roadbed and into control — but now I have to stop and see who this idiot is and what in the world he's doing out here walking in this weather. I'm pretty sure it was a person. As I sit a moment to gather my wits and let my nerves settle, I rummage in the survival bag and grab the flashlight, put my pistol closer to hand, take a moment to glance at the thermometer screwed onto the rim of the inside of the truck's bed just behind the cab — eight above zero. This wind easily takes that down past zero with the windchill. I back up a ways and stop. Grabbing my heavy parka, I pull on my gloves, put the gun in my coat pocket and step out into the wind blown snow. It's just fuck'n creepy out here — can't hardly see shit. Shining my light back down the road, I can't see anyone. "Hello! ... Hey, where are you?" I know I didn't hit him — or it. I slow trot back down the road looking for anything unusual in the dark.

Casting the beam of light around, I finally spot him laying in the snow down in the roadside ditch. I run faster and slide down to his side. "Hey, hey buddy — you okay?" With no response, I gently and slowly turn the idiot so I can see if he's still alive. He's at least got the sense to be wearing a full face wool hat and some winter clothes — but his eyes are closed — I pull off my glove ... let out a sigh of relief at the feel of his breath on my skin, then gently shake him. "Hey buddy ... hey, wake up. Gotta get you out this weather." With no response, there's nothing more I can do for him out here.

He's not a big guy, so the best I can do is make sure there's no broken bones. His arms and legs feel fine — but to get him up and out'a here ... I pull the glove off my right hand, as gentle as possible I feel his neck and it seems okay. I roll him just a bit more and run my hand down his back. Through all the winter gear it's hard to be certain — he'll be dead out here if I don't move him — there's no alternative. I pull him up to where I'm kneeling and get him over my left shoulder. I take a big breath and lift, to get my feet back under me. He softly moans and I feel him take a deep breath. Now that I know he's probably not hurt bad, I start back up out'a the ditch — my right foot slips and I go down on my left knee. I stomp my boot for a better grip and try again — getting back up the slope is messy and ungraceful but we make it and I hurry back to the truck and the warmth there awaiting. I can't see the guy's face to know if he's awake yet or still out of it — he ain't said a word, but didn't scream in pain — probably best to just let him be and wake up on his own.

Getting the truck door open while balancing dead weight my shoulder would appear comical if not for the reality of the situation. Just when it starts to feel impossible, he comes more alive. Bending, I get his feet on the ground. I hold on to him lest he fall, and stand up. "You had a fall and knocked your lights out for a bit. Right now, I need to get you in where it's warm and out of this wind. Can you step up — come on, I'll give you a hand."

The last thing I remember is wanting to find someplace to make camp — someplace to get warm. Looking around, it's a truck — and it's warm. I remember ... had to run from the car ... never heard it just the lights in the blowing snow. The shiver grips by body —chilled to my bones. The couple was right ... should've stayed.

I tuck my head down and lean into the wind as I work my way back around the truck. Opening the door, the warm air coming out to greet me triggers a wave of gratitude and an audible sigh. The guy looks like he nodded off again— please don't die on me out here. I give him a quick check up — he's breathing and has a steady pulse — no blood showing. I leave him propped up in the seat. "Hey, hey! You okay? Wake up and let me see you're okay."

I hear him and know I should, I force myself to open my eyes and look at him.

"There you are. What hurts, tell me if anything hurts real bad."

It was when I ran — slipped. I sit up straighter and feel the back of my head. It's not bad. "I'm okay. I think I'm more frozen than hurt. Thanks for stopping to help — first person I've seen for a long ways."

I sit a moment and breathe — letting the warmth unthaw and settle me a bit. He seems to be alright. The only hope for any help of a medical kind is over an hours drive back through this living hell to Tok. In this weather, it's hit and miss that we won't get stuck in the middle. Knowing my best chance lays the other — the shorter way, I figure we have to make it at least to Chicken. "Let me check your pulse." I give the guy one last check over, his pulse is strong, no blood to be seen. "Do me a favor, move you arms and legs to see if anything hurts."

I do all he asks, nothing hurts bad enough to worry. "I'm just cold, nothing is broken."

I put the truck in gear and drive on east as fast as I feel safe doing. If this snow keeps up at this rate, we'll be stuck until someone makes it out this far from nowhere to plow the road. I'm not even going to think of going any farther than Chicken now. If anything, the wind's getting stronger and drifts are starting to get bigger on the road. Everything in me wants to speed up, except my allotment of common sense. It's probably not the greatest portion ever given to a man, but it's enough to warn me that one careless screw-up and me and the idiot are likely to die on this road tonight. Pretty sure I don't have enough gas in the tank to last through the night if we get stuck ... maybe just run it off and on ....

Finally, I feel warm enough to stop shaking. For the first time, I'm aware enough to take stock of my situation. This guy seems kinda pissed at me. Not sure why. "Thanks again for stopping and helping me. I remember now, there was a car or truck that almost ran me over — I ran to get off the road and slipped. I'm just glad you came along and saw me — I might have frozen out here. I've never seen such cold wind."

"Well, I hate to break the news to you — the truck that almost mashed you into the snow is the one you're sitting in. I just barely saw you through the blowing snow in time to swerve around to — about put myself in a ditch."

"Oh, I don't know if I should say sorry, or you."

"Well, it doesn't really matter now. We're both alive. But, you were in the middle of the road in this blowing snow."

He points through the windshield to make his point. Okay, it was hard to see. He seems all business — seems pretty pissed too. I close my eyes and lean against the door.

The road seems to go on and on, but I know it's just my anxious nerves. The guy seems okay, he's woke up a few times looked around and then laid back to rest. I'm still kinda pissed he almost got us in a big mess, so I really got nothing much to say anyway — not that'd be very nice. Then, after the best part of an hour, I almost miss seeing Chicken altogether in the black darkness and blowing snow. If not for the old rustic cabins on the north side of the road, I might have driven right by. I get 'er shut down and back up a ways. Looks like the whole place is shut down, which isn't unusual this time of year.

Having stayed here more than once while I got my place built to a livable completion, I figure one of the cabins will be our best bet to get through the night. I pull onto what should be a gravel parking place under the snow and just sit for a while thinking. Makes sense to leave the truck running, but with this stranger here — "Hey, you awake? You okay?"

I hear the voice calling — feel the hand on my arm. Opening my eyes, I have no idea where I am. "What happened — where are we — who are you?"

"Don't you touch anything. I'm gonna go see if we can stay in this cabin for the night and let the storm blow over. You just sit here, I'll be right back." I shut the engine down, put the keys in my pocket and zip it closed, get out and walk up to the cabin. It's not much to write home about. Be a lot better if they were log cabins — shacks is a more appropriate term — old shacks is even more so. I get it though, there's not really much large forest around here to build with — Black Spruce and Birch and such. I test the door, not surprised to find it unlocked. There's little likelihood that anyone would even be out this way this time of year. It's just the few of us who have a crazy desire to step back from the faster pace of life in the real world. A flip of the light switch, more outa habit — only power here is made by the on-site generator, no doubt winterized and shut down for the winter. Back outside to push through the snow towards the back of the shack — a knock with my gloved knuckles on the fuel-oil tank sitting on it's raised cradle. The satisfying sound gives me all the hope I need — I open the valve and go back inside to get the old heating stove going. It takes a little coaxing, but eventually she fires up and I head back out to get the idiot.

After he's gone, it takes a moment or two to wake up and get my bearings. Now I remember — stuck with a stranger. This is really awkward. I don't know him — he doesn't know me — we're stuck in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere. No good plan comes into view. I know better than to try to get a ride now, that's not gonna happen. He hasn't done anything threatening. There is no other option — this is it. He thinks I'm a guy ... why not help him keep on thinking that? It'd be less awkward and uncomfortable for us both. Then maybe tomorrow I can get outta here if the weather gets better — maybe pay him to take back to Tok.

When I get back to the truck and open the passenger door, the idiot is awake and looking around. "Welcome back to the land of the living ... and I guess I should welcome you to Chicken too. I don't know what'n hell you thought you were doing out here on a night like this — but you damned near got me killed in a truck crash ... not to mention your own silly ass for being out here in the first place. There, I've been biting my tongue wanting to say that for most of an hour while you were dozing off and on."

"I ... I'm sorry. Thought I could get a ride. I wanted to go see Dawson City while I was up here."

I just barely make out his hoarse mumble. "Mister, you're just lucky even one fool is out here tonight — that fool being me. Now, I'm stuck with you. I was on my way home when I almost ran you over. Now, with this storm doing what it's doing and the time I've wasted on you ... I figure this is our best option for the night. My place is a good ways farther on an even rougher road. And you weren't ever gonna make it to Dawson — the ferry doesn't run this time of year. So I'm sitting it out here tonight — I think that means you are too. Chicken's the end of the line for tonight. Can you walk yet?"

"I ... I think so. Where are we going?" I realize that I'm a little stiff and a bit sore. I roll my head and lift my shoulders and I think I'm okay.

He still seems a bit out of it — hate being stuck out here with him. "Not far, just to the cabin there. I've got the fire lit inside. It ain't much and right now it feels like a walk-in freezer in there — come on, it'll be better than out here." He seems a little awkward and a bit shaky still, so to make sure he doesn't still end up breaking a bone, I give him a hand down out of the truck. I walk back to the other side and use the flashlight to have a quick glance at the thermometer I've screwed to the front wall of the pickup bed. Gives me a little hope — it's up a couple of degrees. With no way to plug in the engine-block warmer, I'll have to come out and start her up every few hours. That's gonna be a bitch, but better than being stuck here tomorrow with a dead battery ... wish I'd bought that new battery now. From the looks of my idiot passenger, he's not going to be much help in an emergency. He's still standing out here freezing, "You go on in and stay warm. I'm gonna grab some stuff from the truck I don't want to freeze."

He turns one way and I turn the other to take care of business.

With the last load of groceries and most of the winter emergency gear I own in the one room shack, I finally unzip my coat and insulated coveralls, hang my gloves on a nearby nail and sit down next to the fire. The idiot is still fully decked out in his outdoor gear — if you could call it that, it's a bit lightweight for this weather. The light of the flame in the stove and the kerosene lamp gives a bit of clarity, but it's a muted light and doesn't reach very far into the one room that makes up the whole of the place. "You still cold? You can come closer and stand by the heat and shed some of that wet gear, if you want."

"No, thank you. I'll probably be sleeping in all of it — so might as well dry it out and keep it warm."

That's the most I've heard him say, and now I'm convinced he's a city dandy. I may be wrong, but the heat this old stove can muster ain't likely to do much clothes drying. Oh well, at least he's a polite idiot. "You hungry? I was just coming back from town, so I'm sure there's something we can eat in those boxes I brought in."

"Thank you. Are you eating?"

"Now that I'm getting a bit warmed up and my nerves settled down — yeah, I could eat a bite. Gonna have to be simple. As you can see these old cabins don't have any kitchens. In the summer and fall, the main store and restaurant across the road serves meals and booze ... and gas." The old straight back kitchen chair creaks and complains as I get up to kneel and rustle around in the boxes. I settle on a loaf of bread, a jar of grape jelly and a jar of peanut butter. I look over to find him watching me, his woolen face mask still on his face. "Looks like I was wrong — we do have a feast here. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, an old family secret. You're gonna probably want to take your face mask off to eat 'em though. You feeling warm enough in here yet?"

"Yeah, I'm starting to come back to life. You need some help?"

"Nah, sit tight. You've had a pretty rough night — anything hurt?"

"Not really, not bad. I think I hit the back of my head when I fell."

I watch as he feels around on his head.

"No, I'm okay. I think I was pretty much kaput anyway when you blew me off the road. "

"Well, that's a lucky break — both ways, you were close to freezing to death. Didn't you see my lights coming up on you? I mean dude, you were in the middle of the road. Your clothes are dark and there's a whiteout blowing." I force myself to ease off and go back to making our sandwiches, "Hope you don't mind, all I have is my knife — I'll wash it off best I can to make the sandwiches."

"I have one of those multi-blade Swiss knives. It's new and pretty clean if you want to use it."

"Yeah, it's probably cleaner than mine. I've cut up some things with this one that I don't want to think about while I'm eat'n." I stand up and walk to where he sits by the stove. He digs around in his pockets then stands up to search a little deeper. He seems greatly recovered from his ordeal and for the first time I get a better sense of him. His hands are small, and he himself is smaller than he seemed when I was carrying him. For the first time, I wonder if he's a teenage runaway or something. "So where's home?"