Whitewater Rendezvous

CHAPTER SIX

Megan was so groggy from lack of sleep that she took no note of what time it was when she decided to get out of her sleeping bag. She just knew she had to get away from that appalling racket. She couldn’t take it one minute more. Justine might be one hell of a good friend and an exceptional reporter, but she could sure snore the paint off a wall.

It was bad enough that she didn’t have an eyeshade. The tent helped to mitigate the light a little, and she’d rigged a half-assed blindfold out of a bandanna she’d brought along because it was an “optional and recommended item” on Orion Outfi tter’s suggested packing list, God bless ‘em. But she had nothing to combat the cacophony of noise vibrating through her tent.

First she’d fl ipped her sleeping bag around, so her head was at Justine’s feet. Then she’d stuffed rolled-up tissue in her ears and, over that, her fl eecy hat. Then she wrapped her pillow around her head and burrowed into her sleeping bag. All for naught. She only got uncomfortably warm and claustrophobic. Justine’s particularly quirky snore—a long raspy wheeze, followed by a megadecibel snort, reverberated through her body regardless of how many layers she used to cushion her ears. It was like the tent was equipped with a surround sound system.

Finally, when she could stand the Dolby snore no longer, she got up and went in desperate search of coffee. To her amazement, though apparently no one was up and about, a large thermos sat on a rock outside their tent, next to their steel mugs. She was delighted to fi nd it contained hot coffee. And not just any hot coffee. A smooth Jamaican Blue Mountain, if she was any judge. And she was.

She poured a cup, walked up the nearest rise to sit and admire the view, and began to feel better immediately. It was impossible not to.

• 81 •

KIM BALDWIN

Such a vast and varied expanse of terrain spread out before her, it was hard to know where to look fi rst. How far can I be seeing? Fifty miles,easy, in this direction. Maybe more. Nearly all of it unexplored.

She quickly decided to institute the routine that she would use whenever they set up camp. First she took a couple of minutes to check all around her for anything moving. If something moved, it got a close-up look with the binoculars for identifi cation. Then she sat down and studied the view in front of her with the naked eye. Big picture fi rst.

The whole landscape. Then in small parts, very systematically. Close in fi rst, surveying for insects, wildfl owers, birds. Siberian phlox. Ivoryanemone. Then farther out. Oooh, that’s a peregrine falcon. Gray-blueabove, kind of a cream color underneath. Defi nitely a peregrine. Verycool. Next, the horizon. She’d admire the sharp delineation of blue sky against the white mountain tops. Now and then she’d go for her binoculars if something struck her fancy.

When she’d completed her meticulous inspection of everything she could see, she’d turn ninety degrees and do it all again. Those aresure some big birds over there. She adjusted her binoculars. Bald eagle!

Two bald eagles! Three! Three! Many minutes later, she’d turn another ninety degrees. Oh, wow. Look at him go. That’s an arctic fox, I think.

Big tail. Dark face, lots of brownish-blue fur. Yeah, that’s an arctic fox,for sure. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten so much pleasure out of her uncanny memory.

She whiled away an hour and a half and drank three cups of coffee studying the view from their fi rst campsite, and by the time she was done, she had decided it was a damn fi ne thing she’d come to Alaska, regardless of the bad memories it was dredging up. This really was a unique and unforgettable experience.

She stood up and brushed herself off and only then glanced at her watch. It was just a bit before six thirty. No wonder nobody else was up. She knew she’d had too much caffeine to try to go back to sleep.

Well, I really could do with a bath after all that paddling yesterday. I’mprobably a little ripe, and my hair is not fi t to be seen in. She refused to think about whom it might be that she needed to look good for. Arching her back, she groaned loudly. Her back, arms, and shoulders were still sore. I’m not in shape for this. I sit behind a desk too much.

She was amazed to realize she hadn’t thought of work once since

• 82 •

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