A Note to the Reader With one near disaster behind them, Pete and Karin Neary now wish that they’d never come to the Misehkow. They want out. Could this be the end for Ed and Brenna’s trip of a lifetime?

 
Our story continues…

 
Chapter Twenty-Three

 
Brenna woke suddenly to the murky half-light of a gray dawn. Whispers filtered through the thin nylon walls of the tent. She strained to make out the words but had no luck. All she could hear was the muted buzz of earnest conversation.

Curious, she rolled onto her stomach and rose up on her elbows to look out through the half-open door. Nothing. By her side, Ed stirred and threw his arm over the small of her back. Still asleep, he grunted affectionately. Then the voices stopped, only to be replaced by quiet footfalls. Talk had apparently given way to purposeful action. An acrid smell of wood smoke filtered into the tent. Brenna heard someone unzip the door of the Nearys’ tent. The hushed whispers resumed.

By now she was wide awake, and her bladder was sending messages that couldn’t be ignored for long. Without waking Ed, she slid out of their paired bags and began to dress, standing as nearly erect as the five-foot headroom would permit. Not a day passed when she wasn’t glad that they’d brought the 4-man Timberline rather than something like the Nearys’ little coffin-shaped tent. What was that line of Nessmuk’s? She racked her memory. “We don’t go to the woods to rough it; we go to smooth it. We get it rough enough at home.” That was it. “Right on!” Brenna thought.

Dressed now, Brenna unzipped the door slowly and stepped out into a damp, dim world of stunted spruce and mossy rock. She didn’t see the Nearys. She didn’t see Billy Swamp, either. For the moment, at least, she was the only soul moving about the camp.

Brenna walked over to the fire, catching a glimpse of the Misehkow now and again through gaps in the trees. The rocky island she stood on was the only bit of solid ground in a vast expanse of swamp. She kept walking, and was rewarded by a sweeping view up and down the river when she squatted to tend to business. A moose browsed in the shallows across the channel, its head periodically disappearing below the surface of the water.

The mosquitoes were as aggressive as ever, but Brenna didn’t notice them much now. She felt good about that. “I’m starting to become part of this country,” she thought. “I’m not a tourist any more…. Or maybe it’s the dirt!”

Walking back toward the fire, Brenna picked up the covered pot of water she’d set aside the night before and put it on the grill. As she straightened up, she saw Karin crawling out of the Nearys’ tent. Karin’s expression was a confused amalgam of chagrin and determination. “Uh, oh,” Brenna murmured to herself, wondering what was coming next. She nodded to Karin and then stood quietly, waiting.

“Morning,” Karin said. She joined Brenna by the fire. “Hope we didn’t wake you,” she added.

“Don’t think so,” Brenna replied, still waiting. Then she caught sight of movement down at the landing. It was Billy Swamp. He was tugging faded canvas sacks around in his big freighter, his pipe belching smoke. It looked like he was getting ready to go.

Karin spoke again: “Ah, listen Brenna,” she began, kicking at a small pile of cones at her feet. Close by, the fire spat and hissed. “Got to talk to you. We’ve…I mean Pete and I…we’ve hired Billy Swamp to take us out.” She stopped abruptly, waiting for a reaction. When Brenna said nothing, she continued. “We’ve…ah…about had it with this wilderness stuff, you know? And we…we’ve been thinking that we would fly out at Fort Hope when we got there. But then we ran into Billy, and we…ah…we decided that since he’s a guide and since he’s heading out anyway, then maybe we should take this chance now, rather than waiting.” Her voice broke. She stopped.

Brenna said nothing. She looked away, staring into the fire. She crossed her arms. She was angry. Not surprised. Just angry. No, thinking back over the last few days, she wasn’t at all surprised. Still, Karin’s news certainly wasn’t welcome. “Trip of a lifetime!” The words rang mockingly in her head. And what to do now? Continue on? Risky. She and Ed, alone on a big river. A little trouble could become big trouble in no time. “Trip of a lifetime!” It could be the last trip of their lifetimes… Read more…

 

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Hooked? A new chapter in our serial adventure novel, Trip of a Lifetime, will appear every Sunday. If you’ve missed a chapter, or if you’re coming aboard for the first time and want to catch up, just use the hot-linked title to go to the archives.

 
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A REMINDER This is a work of fiction. All the characters are figments of the imaginations. It’s NOT a paddling guide. If you’re planning a trip on the Albany River—or any other body of water, come to that—consult the most recent edition of a good guidebook and be sure you’re thoroughly familiar with all applicable regulations. While maps of Ontario show some of the waterways mentioned here, the places depicted in our story exist only in our minds—and in yours.