Malevolence

In the morning after breakfast, Travis and Lisa broke camp and pushed their canoe off the pebbly beach. Lisa sat in the stern. Minutes later they arrived at the portage to tiny Jenny Lake. The portage trail was flat, short and easy. Travis had no difficulty. Minutes after pushing off on Jenny, they arrived at the portage to tinier Annie Lake. Once again, the trail was flat, short and easy. Minutes after pushing off on Annie, they arrived at the portage to Ogishkemuncie Lake. The trail was flat, short and easy.

Neither of them knew what Ogishkemuncie meant in the Chippewa language so they assigned their own translation; big, long, ordinary lake. It was scenic in its own right: clear blue waters speckled with small islands and flanked by boreal forest. However, the surrounding terrain was flat, lacking the grandeur of Knife Lake.

They had remained dressed thus far but now, with the day warming up, their clothing found residence in their backpacks. And Lisa didn't keep her T-shirt out, ready to toss on at a moment's notice. Why bother? By now, she didn't care if the whole world saw her naked. Never did Travis get tired of watching Lisa undress, that oh-so-pleasing vision of her freshly unveiled form. Imprints of her panties and brassiere lingered on her flawless skin. They pushed off and headed out onto open water, dipping their paddles forward and swinging them back.

Dip, dip, and swing . . .

The day was warm, hazy and humid with puffy cumulus clouds drifting across the sky. Some of them looked like they might morph into rain clouds or perhaps a thunderstorm. Lisa still sat sternward, captain of the ship. Travis' injured left shoulder was still sore. Very sore. Each time he swung the paddle back he could feel the stitches stretching so he had to take it easy. Lisa had to pull most of the load but she didn't mind. They were in no hurry.

Like most lakes in the Boundary Waters, Ogishkemuncie Lake's shoreline was highly convoluted: lots of scallops and coves. At one point, the opposite shorelines converged, creating a channel only 30 yards wide. In the channel, two guys had beached their kayaks and were fishing from a rock ledge five feet above the water. Both smiled at the sight of the naked couple paddling past.

"Get naked!" Lisa shouted at them. Neither accepted her invitation. Again, Lisa shouted, "C'mon, get naked!" One of the guys put down his fishing rod then dropped his shorts and underwear to his knees. "Woo hoo!" Lisa had good reason to shout with glee: his manhood, dangling long and fat, was a spectacle to behold. Bigger than her husband's. Much bigger. The guy turned around and mooned her. He reached back with both hands and spread his butt cheeks. "Woo hoo!"

The other guy kept his pants on. Travis couldn't understand why shy guy didn't leap at the opportunity to flash a young woman, especially when she requested it. Travis made a mental note: the next time they paddled past women standing on shore, he would request they get naked. He chuckled and thought: yeah, good luck with that.

Awhile later, they stopped at a pebbly beach on the north shore. They spread their towels and reclined. While planning their vacation honeymoon, this was the sort of ultimate leisure they sought. That they could enjoy it naked was icing on the wedding cake.

Lisa spoke up. "I just had a thought."

"What?"

"We've gone two days without either of us almost gettin' killed."

"Oh no! You just jinxed it!"

"You're not superstitious . . . are you?"

"No. I just wanna keep the good vibes going."

"Okay. Never mind what I said."

Directly behind the beach was a big birch grove. In most places, deciduous and evergreen species grew side-by-side but in this wide swale there was nothing but acres and acres of white-barked birch. Travis retrieved both of his cameras then they strolled into the grove. He wanted to photograph in infrared because in that spectrum, tree leaves appear white, like the branches are frosted with snow. And other aspects of forest landscapes assume otherworldly quality.

During the hot humid summer months, pop-up thunderstorms are common in the upper Midwest. A lone storm had bubbled up far to the south, so distant no thunder was heard. The storm's anvil head top overspread the Boundary Waters. The cloud shadow would reduce the amount of ambient infrared, making the photos of the birch grove extra spectacular.

Travis had limited IR exposures to expend so he was judicious in selecting subject matter. One particularly handsome birch caught his eye. He oriented his camera vertically, composed the scene then snapped a photo. Lisa was standing nearby, watching. She was glad Travis was feeling well enough to pursue his passion for photography.

"How 'bout I get in the picture?" she asked.

"Sure."

Lisa stood beside the handsome birch. Using both hands, she raked her fingers through her short, shaggy chestnut hair then tidied the curly strands of her trimmed pubic patch. She wanted to look her best. Smiling, she placed her right hand on hip. Travis oriented the camera vertically and composed the scene. He moved in closer then pressed the shutter release.

A split second later, a lightning bolt struck a tree nearby. Deafening thunder roared at the same instant. The strike was so close they felt electrical tingling that made their hair stand on end. Water locked in the wood flashed to steam, exploding the tree into a billion bits of birch that rained down over a wide area. The hapless humans couldn't escape being pelted with some of them.

"HOLY CRAP!!!" Lisa blurted.

Travis was equally stunned. "Damn! That was close!"

Their ears were ringing from the concussive thunderclap. Both looked up at the high altitude anvil head cloud overhead. "How can lightning come from that?" Travis questioned.

"I dunno. It's freaky."

They assumed the danger of being struck by lightning wasn't over so they hustled out of the birch grove and back to the beach. Out there in the open wasn't much safer so they fell back on their wilderness survival training: they squat on the balls of their feet. Doing so diminished their height and lessened grounding contact with the earth. For ten minutes they squat and during that time, no more lightning came from the anvil head cloud.

The danger apparently over, they returned to the birch grove to inspect the tree struck by lightning. Only the lower seven feet of the trunk remained. Its top was splintered and splayed, as if someone had drilled a hole, inserted a stick of dynamite and lit the fuse. Deep vertical cracks split the bark and the heartwood was on fire, smoldering and smoking. It looked downright sinister, like a gigantic middle finger from hell, flipping off the world. Using his Minolta SLR with regular visible light film, Travis snapped a photo of the destroyed tree then ask Lisa if she wanted to get in the picture.

"No. I got a bad feeling about this. It's spooky"

"It's just nature. We both know it's unpredictable."

"Seems t' happen a lot here. I'm ready t' leave whenever you are."

Cloud-to-ground lightning strikes far from the core of a thunderstorm are uncommon but not unprecedented. If sufficient electrical polarity difference exists between an anvil head cloud and the ground, lightning can occur. That the bolt struck a tree only a short distance from where Travis and Lisa were standing was the spooky element, like the storm had a mind of its own and purposely targeted them. For many years, even long before they met, Lisa and Travis enjoyed trekking in the great outdoors and eagerly embraced the challenges imposed by difficult terrain and harsh weather. But on every single outing, never had they considered nature to be an adversary. Now, that was changing.

They loaded their stuff in the canoe, pushed it off the beach then climbed aboard. As they paddled away, Lisa looked back at the birch grove, at the splintered smoldering tree trunk. She shook her head and thought: Spooky.

A short time later another canoe approached at a distance. As it drew closer, it changed course and headed directly toward them. Lisa used her paddle like a rudder to change course so the other canoe would pass well to the left. The other canoe changed course again and was still headed directly toward them. Closer yet, Travis and Lisa were able to identify the occupants: a middle-aged couple. When they arrived within hailing distance, the man, seated in back, called out, "Hello!" His imploring tone of voice suggested they were in some kind of trouble. Wilderness ethic number one: Never ignore an ardent plea for help.

Lisa maintained course. When both canoes had drawn close enough, she, and the man, backpaddled their boats to a halt, side-by-side, almost touching. Travis and the man were side-by-side. Lisa and the woman, the same. Travis glanced over his shoulder and smiled. Lisa was still naked.

The woman peered out from beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat and pleasantly chirped, "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" Lisa replied.

The man asked Travis, "You folks got any maps of the Canadian side?"

"Yeah."

"They show any detail?"

"No."

"Yeah, mine are the same way. We're hoping to go up into Quetico, but now, I don't know."

All of the topographic maps Travis carried showed everything in vivid detail; lakes, rivers, terrain, portages, but only on the American side. The maps that spanned the international border didn't show any detail of the Canadian side, just sketchy outlines of lakes and nothing else.

The woman was unmoved by the young couple's nudity. Addressing Lisa, she said, "You folks remind me of when we lived in California." The woman launched into an account of their salad days in the Golden State, skinny-dipping on the Russian River. She was speaking only with Lisa because Travis was busy talking with the man and trying to help him extrapolate from the sketchy outlines of lakes where portages might be located on the Canadian side. Despite not having detailed maps, the man was determined to venture north of the border.

To Lisa, it seemed the woman was starved for human contact. Had they been in the Boundary Waters for a long time? Or were she and her husband lost in a wilderness of their own making? The woman finished her story by saying, "I'm too old to go naked in public now." Hearing the word "naked" diverted Travis' attention away from the maps. She said that after three children, her chubby body sagged in so many places, her skinny-dipping days were over. Lisa tried to encourage the woman to think positively. She told her about nudists she met on Sycamore River, some of whom definitely did NOT have beach bodies. The woman maintained her position that her body was unfit for public display and would never again see the sun. How sad. Lisa looked the woman in the eye and wondered:

Am I gonna be like her in thirty years?

After bouncing more ides off Travis where routes might exist into Canada, the man seemed satisfied that he and his wife could find their way around Quetico Provincial Park using the rough maps at their disposal. They bid Travis and Lisa farewell and resumed paddling. Lisa wished them luck. In her opinion, they were going to need it. Sometimes, the only map people have to guide them on their life's journey is inadequate at best.

At midday, having paddled the extensive length of Ogishkemuncie Lake, Travis and Lisa arrived at the portage to Kingfisher Lake. Neither got dressed. They slung on their backpacks and grabbed the canoe handles, fore and aft. The portage trail was flat and easy. Kingfisher Lake was small. Within 15 minutes they paddled across it and arrived at the portage to Jasper Lake, a short easy hike through glades of spruce and birch.

Jasper Lake was a cobalt gem surrounded by dense forest. The topographic map showed underwater contour lines which revealed that Jasper was one of the deepest lakes in the Boundary Waters, 283 feet deep in the south end. Of the four officially designated campsites, two were at the base of bluffs and one atop a flat rocky prominence. Given their close calls with a toppling pine, a rockfall and a rogue lightning bolt, they chose a safe campsite on flat ground in a sheltered cove with no big trees nearby.

Craig Monroe finished the portage from Kingfisher Lake. He floated his kayak in Jasper Lake, loaded his backpack and camera gear aboard then paddled away along the shoreline. In a campsite, a mom and dad and two young boys were sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows. A short distance beyond, two young women had parked their canoe on a pebbly beach and were reclined on their backs on towels. One wore a bikini. The other, wearing only a bikini brief, quickly rolled over onto her stomach to prevent the interloper from viewing her sumptuous breasts. Too late.

A bit farther along, Craig spied a naked couple erecting a green tent way back in a sheltered cove. He studied them through binoculars and recognized them: the young couple he had photographed having sex a few days earlier on the shore of Knife Lake. The man looked much different now; he was covered in bruises, cuts and abrasions. His battered appearance suggested there might be a compelling human interest story waiting to be written. A cougar attack? A bear? Stomped on by a moose? Craig turned his kayak toward the cove and paddled in that direction.

Travis noticed the kayak enter the cove. "Somebody's coming."

Lisa turned and watched the man paddling in their direction. Her old, gotta-cover-up habit stayed on the ash heap.

Craig never barged into other people's space. That would be impolite. He always announced himself at a distance. "Ahoy there!"

The man's nautical bearing made Lisa grin. "Ahoy!"

"Permission to come ashore ma'am."

"Permission granted."

Craig continued paddling until the bow of his kayak crunched to a halt on the pebbly beach. "Hi. I'm Craig Monroe. I'm a freelancer on assignment for Wilderness Life magazine. I'm preparing an article to be published in October. Can we talk awhile?"

Lisa nodded. "Sure!"

"Yeah! Absolutely!" Travis agreed.

Craig climbed out of his kayak. Dashingly handsome, he was dressed like a press correspondent on assignment to cover a war in some hellhole third-world country: baseball cap, cargo shorts, dark T-shirt and beige photographer's vest, the many pockets of which bulged with rolls of 35mm film, filters, lens wipes and other miscellaneous camera accessories.

"Let's have a seat," Craig said. Travis and Lisa sat down cross-legged on their towels on the smooth rock ledge. Craig sat down cross-legged facing them. From a pocket of his vest he retrieved a pen and small notepad then asked for their biographical info: names, ages, occupations and hometown. Then he tossed out a question: "What brings you to the wilderness?"

"We seek truth," Lisa answered.

"I've never had anyone give that response."

"Well, guess I can say . . ." she assumed a thoughtful expression and paused momentarily before continuing. "We seek fundamental realities of nature as opposed to artificial constructs of civilization."

"What's your definition of an artificial construct?"

Lisa drew her brows together. "Where do I begin? Politics? Government? The media? Big business?"

"All of those are necessary to maintain orderly society."

Her expression softened. "Agreed. But all that takes a human toll. People lose touch with their primitive nature, their animal selves. That's why retreating into the wilderness is so vital. It helps us discover who we really are. Enables us to find truth."

Travis was smiling a mile wide. Just days ago, Lisa couldn't abide the notion of being naked in view of other men. Now, she was sitting there calmly talking with Craig and displaying no concern whatsoever. And the entire time her splayed vulva was explicitly exposed.

Craig was hesitant to broach the subject of Travis' battered appearance. He figured if he waited long enough, one of them eventually would. After ten additional minutes of conversation on wilderness topics, Travis broached it. "A big tree fell on me, like, a glancing blow. Coulda killed me." Craig stayed quiet while Travis and Lisa took turns relating the entire saga: The tree unexpectedly toppling, Travis being struck and falling off the cliff into the lake, the rescue, the desperation and eventual salvation when Brian and Terri arrived on the scene. While they were speaking, Craig was furiously scribbling notes. When they finished, he was duly impressed. "Wow! That's one helluva story!"

"But here's the weird thing," Travis said. "That tree was healthy. There's no reason it should have fallen."

"That's not the only freaky thing that's happened to us," Lisa added. "I just about got whacked by a boulder." She told the story of nearly being crushed by a huge block of granite that fell off a cliff on Ottertrack Lake. Craig scribbled more notes.

"And then, there was the lightning bolt." Travis told Craig about the close call in the birch grove on Ogishkemuncie Lake.

Craig scribbled notes then asked, "Was that just a few hours ago?"

"Yeah."

"I was on Annie (Lake) and heard thunder. Sounded like a ground strike somewhere to the east."

"We were standing maybe a hundred feet from where it struck. Made our hair stand on end."

Listening to Travis and Lisa speak of their harrowing escapes added to a growing body of evidence Craig had been accumulating since he arrived in the Boundary Waters: something strange was afoot in the North Woods. Other trekkers he had met told tales of bizarre things they had witnessed, each of which could be explained as a fluke of nature. But considered in total, the sheer number of flukes in such a short time span, in a narrowly defined geographic area, made Craig wonder if they weren't random, but rather, connected somehow. If so, what was causing them? His curious conjecture was based solely on his journalist's gut instinct.

"There's something strange going on here," Craig said. "I've talked to people who told me about bizarre things they've seen. One couple told me they got caught in a whirlpool on Snowbank Lake."

"That's crazy!" Lisa said. "Whirlpools don't form in still water."

"I know. The only thing I could think of was: when a temperature inversion rolls over, sometimes it creates transient currents."

"Enough to cause a whirlpool?"

"Well, maybe. The couple seemed sincere. They had no reason to lie. And I've had people tell me about animals acting weird. One guy said a moose entered his camp and tried to trample him. He escaped by climbing a tree."

Travis nodded. "A hawk attacked us. Repeatedly."

"Have you seen any freaky things?" Lisa asked.

"Just one," Craig answered. "I was paddling between two small islands on Kekekabic Lake and the water started flowing in the other direction. I was paddling like crazy but not making any headway so I let the current take me backward then went around the other side of the island."

Lisa eyes widened. "That is sooo weird!"

"Sure was. When it happened, I thought there must be a natural explanation but now, I don't have one."

"The whole world would hafta tilt or suddenly stop spinning."

"If either of those happened we'd be in big trouble!"

Travis and Lisa were subscribers to Wilderness Life. Each month when the magazine arrived in their mailbox, they eagerly read the articles and viewed the artistic photos. Craig wanted to photograph Travis' injuries to add visual impact to the story of being struck by the falling tree. When he ask permission to snap a few photos, both Travis and Lisa readily consented. Knowing Wilderness Life published nude photos, they didn't bother to ask if they should get dressed. And Craig didn't request it.

The trio rose to their feet. Craig posed his subjects on the rock ledge with the cove, and lake, in the background. Lisa wrapped an arm around Travis' waist. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Craig oriented his Nikon SLR vertically and snapped three photos. He snapped additional photos of Travis and Lisa as they finished erecting their tent then afterward, hung a nylon clothesline between the bear bar poles and draped their discarded duds upon it.