I'm thrilled that my story The Standoff is featured in this issue. Here's the link to check it out. It's on page 28-29.
https://issuu.com/golddust/docs/issue_37_v9_covers_small
Here's the story if you don't want to use the link:
The Standoff
Without warning the
snow ledge we'd been traversing collapsed, sending Jerry and me hurtling twenty
feet down the side of the shear granite canyon into the boiling rapids of the
boulder infested Tettegouche River. In a matter of moments our heavy winter
clothes were completely soaked, but we were able to fight our way out of the
icy water onto the snowy riverbank where we lay exhausted in the minus ten
degree February air. I'd sprained my wrist and from the swelling in his ankle
it looked like Jerry had either a bad sprain or a fracture. We were minutes
from freezing to death and had to get a fire going. Thankfully, Jerry was able
to.
"There's hope," I said scooting closer as the first
flames licked the pine needles we'd used for tinder. "We may make it
yet."
Jerry gave me a sick grin, "Always the optimist,
aren't you Steve? We've lost our gear, I used all our matches to get the fire
started and we don't have any food except these granola bars." A point he
emphasized by reaching into his pocket and handing me one of the two he had
remaining. I had none. "And no one knows where we are. Yeah, things are
looking great."
I gratefully took the bar, opened it and contemplatively
munched. My friend did the same.
If I was an optimistic, Jerry was a realist. We'd been
camping on Lone Loon Lake for two nights, only three miles from the trail head
where'd we'd parked our car. We could have snow-shoed the distance back in half
a day easy, but we'd taken an alternate route for fun. Not a good idea. We'd
gotten lost, ended up in the river and now here we were, the flames from our
fire the only thing keeping us from dying a slow agonizing death from exposure
in the unforgiving Minnesota wilderness.
With the sun hanging low on the horizon and with the
kindling in the fire starting to die out, I hurried to collect as much firewood
as I could, hindered greatly by my sprained wrist. Jerry could hardly move due
to his swollen ankle, now nearly popping the laces of his boot. By the time I
had gathered a healthy pile of pine, birch and aspen, the pain had become so
intense he was fading into and out of consciousness.
With that in mind, I almost didn't believe him when he recovered
momentarily and pointed to the top of the canyon on the other side of the river.
"Steve, you're not going to believe this. We've got visitors."
Thinking we were going to be rescued, I was about to
cheer when my throat constricted and my heart rate jumped from the adrenaline
pouring into my blood. There, peering over the edge of the canyon in the fading
twilight was a wolf - a large one, an alpha male. In a moment he was joined by
a smaller wolf, probably his mate, then three more, most certainly last year's
offspring.
I turned to him, "My god, it's a wolf pack," I
whispered. "What are we going to do?"
For once in his life, Jerry was had nothing to say. Then
he spoke softly, "I've no idea, but off hand I'd say we're toast."
We'd been friends for over thirty years, ever since we
met in fourth grade. In our friendship, I was the stable one, he was impulsive.
I was down to earth, he was free spirited. I was the follower, he was the
leader. But now I took over. "I'm going to stock up on firewood. Maybe the
flames will keep them away."
He nodded, agreeing, "Good idea." Then he
lapsed into unconsciousness.
It was completely dark by the time I'd replenished our
firewood supply. I had waited only a few minutes when out of the shadows and beyond
the ring of our fire I sensed a movement. Moments later I saw him. The big male
had arrived. His eyes were the color of bright amber and they seemed to look directly
into my soul, taking my breath away. Bile rose in my throat. I'd never been so
afraid.
I shook Jerry. He regained consciousness and I pointed to
the wolf. He grabbed my arm in a gesture of solidarity. "It's up to you,
buddy," he said grimly. "Do what you need to do. I'll feed the
fire."
I could only come up with one plan."I'll see if I
can scare him away," I said, sounding way more confident than I felt. We
both knew what we were up against. One big, strong, hungry wolf against two
injured men? We'd be no match for him. Plus, he had his pack of four other
wolves to attack us if necessary. The odds were not in our favor and I began to
lose my resolve. Suddenly, though, in my mind I had a vision of my wife and two
kids, my reasons for living, and something snapped inside. I wasn't going down
without a fight.
"Give him hell," Jerry said.
"I'll try," I responded, giving him what in
retrospect was probably a pretty pathetic thumbs up sign.
I grabbed a stick the size of a baseball bat, stuck it into
the fire and got it burning flaming hot. Holding it with my good hand, I
approached the wolf until I was maybe ten feet from him. He didn't move. I
stopped, my body shaking as I forced myself to hold on to my weapon. We stared
at each other. He didn't blink. I don't think I did either. Impatiently, I thrust
the flaming stick at him. He didn't bat an eye. Nor move. We stared each other
down. His fangs were bared and I was close enough to see dried blood on his black
jowls. He growled deep in his massive chest and took a step toward me. I held
my ground and waved the burning firebrand which now suddenly seemed the size of
a pencil. The wolf stopped and growled low again but didn't come any closer. I
stayed put. I may have even bared my own teeth. Neither of us moved. It was a
standoff.
I don't know how long we stood there, poised, both of us staring
- me into the wolf's glowing amber eyes, he into my terrified blue ones. I'll
bet he could smell fear all over me. It was only a matter of time before he
attacked. Still, I held my ground and stood firm, the flame on my stick barely
flickering.
Suddenly he blinked. Distracted. One ear perked up, then
the other. He'd heard something. In a instant he turned and ran, the rest of
the pack following, silent and ghost-like. In a blink of an eye they were gone.
"Steve. Steve," Jerry screamed, pulling me back
to reality, "Do you hear it? A snowmobile. I think they've found us."
In the background I could hear the high pitched revving
of a four cycle engine. I looked up. Headlights shone over the edge of the
cliff above us. Jerry was right. Rescue was at hand. We'd been saved.
I'll never forget our near
tragedy on the Tettegouche River, especially that big wolf and both of us staring
each other down. Even now, years later I can still see his bright amber eyes,
his bared fangs, the blood on his fur. I can see something else, too. I can see
myself reflected in those eyes of his. It's an image of me coming to terms with
my own mortality. I could have died that night but didn't. I know I would have
gone down fighting, but there is no doubt that big wolf would have won. He'd have
killed me and then Jerry and that would have been the end of us forever.
However, I do know this: Something happened between him
and me during that standoff that I still feel to this day, a primitive
connection of sorts was forged between us. Me at one with that wild animal.
In fact, sometimes at night I am compelled to rise from
my warm, safe bed, leave my wife comfortably sleeping, and sneak outside and go
to the park near our home. Especially when the moon is full. I feel this strong
urge, a primordial wild desire that I can barely control. It's overwhelming. I
feel like running and sometime I do. I run through the darkness, my way lit by
the starry sky and the brightness of the moon and I feel alive. I feel free. I
feel like something greater than myself. It's uncanny but, sometimes, with the
wind blowing through my hair and my feet flying over the earth I feel like I'm
more than alive. I feel at one with the wildness of nature. Like that wolf.
And, sometimes, I even feel like howling. And sometimes I do.
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