began stacking them up around the dead tree roots. Weaving the more pliable branches, we tucked them around and over the top of the roots, making a basket-like shelter. Then we placed more branches over the sand inside the shelter. Next, we gathered deadwood and stacked it next to the stump until we had enough to start a fire.
George reached in his backpack and pulled out a small yellow waterproof container. He unsnapped the lid and took out one match and one small roll of twine. He carefully laid the twine next to a few dried leaves and tiny twigs and pine needles. He scratched the tip of the match with his thumbnail and moved it around the small gathering of kindling. With the expertise of a seasoned camper, he gently placed larger sticks, a few at a time, in teepee fashion around the tiny blaze. When those caught, he strategically placed more sticks and then a couple of small branches.
The fire was going strong when Matt showed up. Already knowing the answer, George asked anyway.
“Did your boat show up?”
Matt shook his head with a frown. “No, not yet, but it’ll show up anytime now.” His frown quickly changed to his goofy, optimistic grin that by now had become annoying.
I was only mildly concerned at the time, since we had enough food and survival items to last a couple of days. But who knew how long we would be out here. Still, if all else failed, someone would call the Coast Guard. We’d left word with our friend Jim about where we were going, always a wise thing to do when traveling anywhere, but even more so around Kodiak. There were so many hazards that could happen, it was best to be prepared.
I began to wonder if Matt had already forgotten everything he’d learned about Kodiak, or if he’d ever known anything in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t care. Probably the latter, since somehow things always worked out for him. Personally, I couldn’t leave that much to luck, but he’d managed to get by on it for years. Some people are like that.
It was close to midnight by now and darkness was coming on fast as we began setting up sleeping supplies. Matt watched with apparent curiosity and then sauntered over with his happy grin.
“Say, you guys, this little hooch looks real cozy. What side do I get?”
We glanced at each other, thinking the same thing. Should we let him in? He didn’t help build it, he didn’t come prepared and now he wanted to share our stuff. Jeez. George slowly turned to Matt.
“Gee, Matt, I don’t know. There’s really only enough room for us. You might want to try that tree stump a bit farther down the beach,” said George, gesturing vaguely to the left of our camp.
“Ah, come on, there’s plenty of room for all of us, I won’t take up much room. Look, see? I’ll just lie over on this side.” He walked over the sleeping bags and pulled one over to a corner, leaving a gap. His head bumped the branches above and pine needles rained down all over the bedding.
“Oops. 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
