The Perfect Day

The days leading up to Winter are brief; a short period of time with continued cooling and loss of light. But the real changes can also occur within a day or two. Two back-to-back trips come to mind: one with a nephew (recently fitted with a pacemaker); and the other, when the north wind had settled over the river country.But first things first...
"Can I go with you,"he inquired. I was a little hesitant to take him along on one of my hikes, but he insisted, saying he had been working out, bicycling, and was in good shape despite his heart being monitored by a pacemaker. "I'm going for a long ways and it's rough country up along the river," I warned him. He swore that his pacemaker was adjusted for just this kind of wear and tear.
So the next morning early, we drove several hours north. The day was clear with a faint breeze, but It was a perfect moment in time to hike out into the river country. I took my fishing pole, shotgun, and backpack.I didn't need a lot of clothing. The nephew was ready too;although he seemed a bit overdressed to me: he was camouflaged from head to toe like he was going to war;and his pack was stuffed with food, survival knife, and extra gear. I thought he was packing a bit too heavy.
Through the darkness we skimmed the tide of dawn, driving until the sun came up over the hills overlooking the river.The waters on the river and streams had settled to lower levels; the temperatures had dropped; and along the edges or in small ditches, thin layers of ice had formed. Our breaths exhaled steam into the air as we moved towards the river. Here, the morning shadows still lay heavy on the north sides.But soon the glare and fingers of morning light flashed onto the bars and cobalt waters of the river. The cold lasted until late morning, when the warmth of afternoon settled briefly on the golden land and valley.
The first mile we walked was on the sand and polished rocks of the river plain; but in some spots, the water on the corners were too deep and flowing. We then climbed to the bluffs above the river and follow the animal trails for a distance. One hundred feet above the huge river plain commanded a bird's view of more than the river and the sand bars: to the north were the icy slopes and broad face of Mt. McKinley, and below,within an amphitheater of ice, lay Ruth Glacier--both illuminated in frontal light.
The destination was a side stream that connected the river five miles away.This trip one way was easily several hours of hiking along the river. Where the water was shallow we could cross;otherwise we had to follow the bluffs or banks. Thick bands of alder hung along the sides. Being a perfect day, I didn't mind the struggle and the cold water.The colors of the birch and cottonwood o lighten my mood,and in the cover of the woods, the smell of cranberry and decay added another layer to the experience: It was a perfect day...
Finally we came to an impasse;ahead, along the bank,the water was too deep and fast. A small edge of mud and rock lay visible on the shore but disappeared on the upriver side. The Bluffs above, scraped into loose rock and soil, angled down to a base of thick alder, which brushed out over the rushing waters. We had to go up. My pack and gun weighed around thirty pounds; this was a normal climb to the bluffs above and nothing unusual for me;but my nephew, heavy rubber boots, camouflage and a pack stuffed with heavy gear had a different challenged.I pointed upwards with my finger, and let him know that we had to climb up the loose hill. So first through the dense alder; next,stepping and bending and grabbing limbs; then climbing the loose layer of sand and rock; and finally, over the top onto the bluff above. When I got to the top, I stood and waited for my nephew, and caught my my breath. I waited and no nephew. Then I heard this yell from below. My first thought was:"What the hell is going on down there?" The sound of human pain came again. I called down but didn't get a reply from him. Another yell of pain. Now I was worried, so I walked to the edge, looked down, and saw my nephew sitting on a little ledge clutching at his chest. Then I knew: the pacemaker, overwhelmed by the climb, was jolting him every few seconds in attempts to get his heart back to normal. "This was bad..."; the thoughts of dragging a dead body back three miles to the road was not an exciting thought. I knew I needed to calm him down, make his heart return to normal, and get him back to the car.
We talked...and he slowly breathed in and out, and stopped the painful jolts.Panic was not an option. Soon his breathing and heart beat dropped below the danger level. I felt relieved. After a period of time, mostly to insure he was rested enough to travel, and that he didn't get too cold sitting there,we got up and slowly headed back to the car.I grabbed his heavy pack and jacket, while he lead, but stopped at intervals so he that could rest.I now had about sixty pound of gear to haul out, while babysitting my nephew.
Fear was a condition that could not be embraced; the costs out in the back country were too heavy in it's consequences: and the realization that he could die out there in the woods.I was a fool to have taken him with me on such a trip with a heart condition; he was a fool to convince me he was fine, especially knowing that I travel long distances through all kinds difficult terrain. I swore after I got him back to town that he would never go out again on this kind of hike.But the happy part of the tale was that my nephew recovered and had his pacemaker readjusted. He would live to tell lies to his friends.
The next day, I headed back up to the river to finish my journey. But this time the weather had changed: the North Wind had kicked up dust through out the valley and river plain. Now the warmth of the previous day was gone, replaced by stinging sand and cold. I shivered the second time around, but no matter, I was going to finish what I had started.This time I avoided the open areas as much as possible, keeping close to the bluffs and banks; because out in the open, the quantity of sand poured in fury across the valley. In some places I escaped the wind and sand by entering the woods, following the bear trails on the banks.Along one area, fallen cottonwoods, undercut by water, were obstacles that I climbed over time and again. But this bending,kneeling, and climbing over fallen trees was more attractive than the storm raging in the open spaces. Finally the land opened to a flat stretch of gravel and sand;a place most familiar to me. I had reached the stream...
The cold cobalt waters from the stream curved out onto the river plain,then straightened into a long run of several hundred feet, finally ending in a deep hole where the river met. I left the shelter of woods, stepped out into the sand and wind,and joined the poles of my fishing rod. It was time to test the depths for the elusive trout.
The day before would have been pleasant;but now the wind howled and sand blasted into my back. I was wet and cold too. But I gripped the pole, held the line between my trembling fingers, and cast out into the waters, arcing a pathway into the depths. Nothing bit. A second and third time I played the line, letting it drift further into the flow. Finally a hard tug on the other end. It was a rainbow. I played the fish as it darted and jumped. My cold feet and hands were forgotten, and the battle with the trout ended in the storm.But I knew too that this journey was more than just catching a fish; it was how the day before had changed the original intent: my experience had opened a different door of meaning. Mysterious and troubling, but unique and never to be repeated,this adventure had included elements of fear and challenge; and without this struggle,a "perfect day" would have taught me nothing but another fish story.