Whitewater Rendezvous

Chaz hung her head and gave a shrug of chagrin. She knew that a lot of clients were nothing like what she expected from their forms. And she respected Sally and valued her thoughtful opinion of things. During the fi ve summers they’d led trips together for Orion, Sally Travis had become the big sister Chaz had always wanted growing up.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She took a deep breath and let it out. Thought a moment. Then grinned. “What am I griping about?

We’ve got an all-women trip. And we’re going to one of the most drop-dead gorgeous places I’ve ever seen. You’re gonna love it, Sal. Great water. Lots of wildlife. And awesome scenery.”

“I can’t wait. Those pictures you took are incredible.” Sally looked at her watch. “I hate to say this, but I’d better get going if I’m going to catch a ride out.”

Like most bush communities in the north Alaskan interior, Winterwolf was accessible only by air. There were two fl ights a day, at noon and fi ve. Sally would be leaving on the same small plane that was bringing in their clients.

“No worries,” Chaz said, as Sally pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll wrap this up tonight after I get everyone settled.”

Sally headed for the door. “Meet you in the lobby in ten?”

“Make it out front. I’ll pull the van around.” Once her partner guide had departed for her room, Chaz glanced once more at the fi le on the table in front of her. Will you be able to really appreciate where I’mgoing to take you, Megan Maxwell? I sure hope so.

O

Her friends all had their faces pressed up against the thick-paned milky windows on either side of the nine-seater Beechcraft, but Megan, seated in the back by the door, had her eyes closed. She hated fl ying, especially in small planes, and this one had done enough bouncing around that she was feeling increasingly airsick. On top of that, she was fretting about all the things she’d forgotten to tell Grace, her administrative assistant, before she left.

She attended to a million details on a daily basis. Managed a staff of several hundred people. So even with her incredible memory, it stood to reason she might miss a few things. But that didn’t make her feel any better. How could she even have thought about leaving for two weeks?

• 29 •

KIM BALDWIN

To make matters worse, she hadn’t learned until just before leaving that they would be totally incommunicado for a good portion of the trip.

Modern technology apparently still hadn’t found a way to get a radio or cell phone signal from within a steep river canyon in northern Alaska.

It’s only for a few days, Megan told herself, swallowing repeatedly to try to keep her nausea at bay. Only the three or four days we’re in thecanyons. The network won’t collapse in three or four days.

“Is that the Brooks Range we’re coming up on?” Justine asked from her seat behind the pilot, a scruffy-bearded forty-something man.

“Yup, we’ve crossed over the Arctic Circle.” The pilot banked the plane slightly to give them a better view.

“I knew it would all be…well, big,” Yancey said in wonder. “But this…this absence of any civilization whatsoever…as far as you can see. It takes your breath away.”

“Miles and miles and miles of absolute, utter wilderness,” Linda said.

586,412 square miles, to be exact, Megan thought to herself, trying to ignore the high-pitched whistle of air that came from her left; there was a bad seal between the door and the plane. Alaska is the lastgreat wilderness in the United States. Civilization has only encroachedon about 160,000 acres of its 365 million acres, which is less than one-twentieth of one percent of the state.

The whistle refused to be ignored. Megan hated planes that were so small that they had to ask you how much you weighed. The doors onbig planes never whistle like this. Megan felt her stomach lurch when the plane hit turbulence and fell several feet before recovering. Everyone else seemed to take it in stride, but her knuckles went white where she gripped the armrest. Alaska bush pilots have the third most dangerousjob in the United States. More than 500 have died in crashes.

“Look over there. Are those fl owers?” Pat pointed toward the northeast, where a dense carpet of wildfl owers had painted a long valley in brilliant hues of purple and red, yellow and orange. “It looks like an Impressionist painting.”

The state fl ower of Alaska is the forget-me-not. The plane rode another big bump of turbulence. Megan’s palms went clammy.

“It’s all the sunshine that does it,” the pilot informed them. “The sun doesn’t set up here, this time of year. From early May to early August.”

• 30 •

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14