Excerpt from new book; Grey Ice
The sun was setting over the river. It peekaboo’d between the tall and wide spruce. It sparkled with the human eye on the moving water. All-day it had flirted with the clouds, smiling and kissing, sweet summer flirtation with a joyous warmth that kept all the good in and all the bad out. The canoe rested burnt dry on the bank, prone and tanning its backside. The branches of the primarily spruce and some pine-covered its rear end like a hand with long fingers and thin wrists. Though it rested with a hand on its ass, it was comfortable as it had been there for more than four days now. The beginning of Renold’s trip had so far been pristine. The late summer days brought a perfect balance of every natural being, resulting in a beautiful day in the wilderness. Moulding rocks slept deeply under a thin blanket of rich water, dancing with fish and other crustaceans as the trees hid moose, deer, black and grizzly bears, elk, fowler, ferrets, squirrels and serpents. Rich in other fungi and pesky bugs. He’d been to places like this before, but so far this trip was turning out phenomenally. He finally had the time to take it off work. He had younger and shorter trimmed hair. Fresh as the day. He rested after a long day’s paddle. The beginning was the easiest part of the trip. Wait till you get three weeks in and resort to catching fish and hunting small game to eat. Some days you don’t catch anything and thus stick with the thin dry power bars – emergency type food, light and bittersweet. The plan was to go up the Okawagama river, get off at the portage to Pine lake, then go west to Vanderbuckarss lake, stay there for a bit – because that’s a long portage, head further north to Backwood bay, then Nisulgray river and another lake and another river, then head back, doing it all over again. But the way back was always the best. You got to relive the small memories you made with such simple things that still brought so much joy when they happened. So far, he’d seen a beautiful crane perched on the side of an old stump grown from the river itself. And so, he was going to pass by that same stump and relive the whole pleasant experience. Hopefully, the weather on the way back would be as nice as it was now. But that was seldom the case. He usually got a good mix of sun, clouds, and rain, except for this one time when it literally rained all the goddamn time – except maybe two hours. It started with a light sprinkle, then it turned into a decent drop, then a downpour, then a torrential storm, for nearly an entire month. Hunched under your tarp, wearing it like a cape because everything was wet already, is not an enjoyable time… but man did it make for a good story and experience. Check that off the made-up list. Thankfully, he hadn’t had a trip like that since, as they’ve been relatively balanced. The guy he passed on the way in, a weekend traveller (a tourist), said that it was supposed to be nice for a whole other week, said how he wished he didn’t have to go back to work, said he was a bull clown, though his laugh made Renold think otherwise. An odd fellow, said he called himself B – of the Vanderbuckarss. Renold paddled away quickly once in range. He hadn’t seen anyone since, like the rest of the trip was likely to go. That was the way Renold liked it. He had plenty of human interaction in his day job, especially the past few years. Having a rapid increase in fans and followers leads one to spend a lot more time in the office than out in the field, something he misses so. A good month of nothing but mother earth would do the soul some good. Healing with – by – nature.
Olivia was back home. Four hours south. Three and a half if your Renold. Three and a quarter if your Renold after a month-long canoe trip. Three and ten if your Olivia. Her time alone was going to be spent reading, sipping tea, watching old movies, and eating a bunch of popcorn. Her little treat when she’s been disciplined enough, according to her. Now working with Renold, the office work is shared graciously.
She tried to call him in hopes to talk before he set off, but he was already out of range and off grid.
He sipped his morning French press coffee – an added weight he was more than willing to carry – and walked to the edge of the river. He looked up to the blinding sun and covered his eyes, and smiled, and took another sip. The sound of birds, the soft whistle of the wind moving the branches, and the ripple of the water was all to be heard. The most perfect morning you could ask for. He planned to do a little hike today, there was this nice peak five clicks northwest. Every step of it uphill, to the point where you forget what flat ground is like. And it was looking to continue to be a beautiful week.
Drudging up the mountain had no avenue of ease. Not many people walked this way, made obvious by the overgrown branches and disguised pathway, slowly turning back to normal again, hard and uneven to walk on. Rocks and roots and branches and bushes popped out at every step. One part had this maze of roots sprawled all over the side of a steep embankment, not at all easy to climb, making Renold wonder how other ‘normal’ hikers would handle it. He was a humble man but not an idiot. With the sweat increasing on his sweat-wicking shirt, primarily on his back, he finally reached the summit, legs slightly shaking. The trees opened to a pleasant sunlit edge. Padded dirt and now a clear path showed he was in the right place. It continued to the right and beyond, along the side of the gorge, most likely finding more openings one could stand and look off. Renold walked up to the edge, even going to where the dirt transitioned to rock, which was then where the rock will transition into empty air and a fatal fall. An increase in wind, spiralling up the side of the – probably a hundred-foot – rock face made him a little uneasy, thus shuffling his feet to regain traction and remind his body that he wasn’t yet freefalling. Once grounded, the view was amazing. The feeling it brought was euphoric, like a hit of a drug, without the hangover or ingestion or injection or life consequences.
“Hmm, this is really pretty,” he said to himself. On the inside laughing at the layman comment, though knowing that he could not make a truer statement.
It smelt clean. Felt nice. Being tired only adding to that nice feeling. He sat on a rock, back on the safer padded dirt and took out a granola bar. He had to admit that his life was pretty great. Growing up in a trailer park, he’d done good for himself. That old ratty prism that held his dreams and fantasies, as well as his biology, chemistry, and physics textbooks, no one would have thought that sweet innocent Renold would become as intelligent and was well respected as he was. Let alone get someone as beautiful as Olivia to marry him.
“Those girls are really pretty,” said his father whilst driving past a couple of schoolgirls, Renold being too young to notice the inappropriateness of his comment. “Too bad the Jipson men don’t get the pretty women. Don’t count on it boy… And don’t tell your mother I said that.”
Young Renold only nodded, his frown hidden on the inside. The bump from driving over a small pothole made the car clunk and clatter, damn near sounding like the seats were going to fall through the frame and the rest of the ride would carry on without.
“Sonva bitch!” his father yelled, whacking the dashboard with a fist.
Driving past all the people who lived in normal houses made Renold feel indifferent. It, however, made his father feel both depressed and furious. He hated driving Renold to school for that very reason. Seeing all these rich pompous pricks wearing their uniforms, going to some preppy school where the education is ‘posed to be better and everything. Ha, wrong. My boy been reading science textbooks on all sorts of things science related. He gonna be a genius no matter where he go to school. Then he gonna be a rich scientist and get me, and his momma if he wants ta, out of that shitty ol’ shit-sack of a trailer. Stupid ass white people, he’d say under his breath, even though he was considerably pale himself. A red sunburn becoming permanently etched on the back of his neck from working construction all summer.
When they arrived at school, Renold’s father patted him on the head and said, “have a good day now. Don’t take no shit from nobody. Pay attention to your teachers. Alright, get outta here.” Which pretty much aligned with what he usually said, interchanging the ‘don’t take no shit’ part for ‘you don’t start no fight, but you better sure end it, understand me?’ or ‘if any no-good-sour-gitch-sewer-dweller talks shit about our family, you send yur right foot up inta his go-nads that his parents and doctor no longer think he a boy, understand me?’ Renold always nodded, despite not really knowing what his father said, but knowing what he meant, and the fear from looking back at his deranged anger red eyes. Inflamed with the past of people who’ve ‘done him wrong.’
“And make sure you tell Mrs. Pamel I says hi.”
“Alright, I will dad.”
“Good boy. Now, get outta here, go have fun.” The irony leaving Renold somewhat stuck.
Little did Renold’s father know that, unfortunately, scientists don’t make a lot of money. If you were Renold, you had enough to go on month-long vacations and buy a nice house and car and that’s about it, but without the notoriety of a best-selling book (something Renold was secretly starting, for the tenth time) you’d have a hard time trying to get your parents into a two-story home. So, they just had to settle for a bungalow and some extra groceries, aka leftovers, on visits. The best part being that Renold no longer felt somewhat stuck. Ever since getting a partial scholarship, paying it off six years after graduation, he was loving and living life the way he wanted to. His father still couldn’t come to terms that Olivia was now wife, saying “Bullshit!” the first time Renold introduced them, and from then on giving her weird glances and stares when she presented herself in truly any fashion toward him. His mother just appreciated the fact that he got married in the first place. Couldn’t care less who it was to, as long as it wasn’t someone his father knew.
The slight trauma of his childhood, however, did not touch him on that peak, gazing off the end of the gorge, over the succinct trees whose points looked like waves when piled together, a green valley you could be like Jesus and walk on. Then the river, the same as the one by his campsite, travelled with him to the gorge and ran endlessly at the bottom. He could imagine hearing its movement from up here. Thought about tossing a rock over, counting, and thus discovering how high the drop really was, even if it was more like a close estimate, seeing that he didn’t know the exact weight of the rock he would throw. But then something caught his eye. The only reason being that the sight did not fit the landscape – didn’t fit the trip so far either.
A grey cloud grew at a quick pace above the horizon. The mixture of puffy dark powder and then sparks of lightning rays signalled the end of the good weather. He didn’t remember seeing anything like it in the forecast, but he knew his luck was going to run out sooner or later.
Now heading back down the mountain the cloud overtook Renold, having moved at a rapid rate. Resulting in quickened walking pace as well. He nearly rolled his ankle on a rock while rushing down, trying to avoid getting completely soaked as it was already starting to lightly rain. Should have brought your rain gear Renold. Should have packed everything at camp up, dammit. You take a risk and now you’re paying for it. The light rain turned into a wetting drop. His walk now turned into a jog. The tent for which he left the fly off of because it was such a beautiful night was now soaking wet, along with his towel and other larger travel pack, as well as any clothes he may have left out, likely a few. He laughed to himself as he neared the end of the trail. How ironic was this, he thought. It must be just a blow over, hopefully, as there was a forty-percent chance of rain one day, but definitely not a storm. It’ll blow over. Or so he hoped.
Upon returning to the campsite, Renold was saddened but not surprised to find most of what he expected to be wet. He quickly threw the fly on over the tent and packed up his remaining supplies and put his pack under his canoe. He worked quickly to put up a tarp over the fire, so he could sit and enjoy some warmth while he waited it out. Once he got the fire going – impressed by the fact he was able to in such a short time and with such wet wood – the ground started to hum. Thinking it was the cloud above, sending down thunder and lightning, he didn’t worry. Though, it began to get louder and deeper. It was not the cloud above. The hum turned so deep it was like a rumble, like the beginning of an earthquake minus the actual shaking and falling of tall structures. It was like a hum that started elsewhere but instantaneously travelled to within your body, feeling it grow and tremble in your very bones and muscles. Renold felt most of the discomfort form in his jaw and permeate down the rest of his neck, to his shoulders, then down his arms and legs.
It got deeper than thought possible. Louder than– It got so intense Renold stood and looked around in a panic. Trying to identify where it was coming from and if it was coming from anything. It must be an earthquake, he thought. But that didn’t make any sense?
The only clarity was brought with frightening terror as the crack and explosion of trees erupted in the distance, inevitably coming toward him.
Find the full book for sale on Amazon.
Be well 🙂
WritingbyJordan 
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