- It has been said that the road to hell is paved with
the best of intentions - trust me, no matter how good your intentions,
you'll find no solace in this saying while you are walking that road.
-
- My friend, Bill, had called asking me to bring some supplies
to a cabin he was staying in. He explained he had enough groceries to last
a couple more days. I was given the shopping list and agreed to make the
sixty-mile northern trek right away - there was a storm coming and I would
not be able to do it the following day.
-
- I wore my firefighter boots along with a heavy down-coat,
excellent winter gloves, and my son's double-tail toque. I looked like
a cross between the court jester and a sumo wrestler. Despite my appearance
I was well dressed for any eventuality - well, almost.
-
- The drive north was uneventful and the weather made only
a slight attempt to snow. The day had been quite warm but as the evening
wore on the temperature began to fall. Bill commented on the temperature
as we climbed the steep hill to the cabin. I mumbled a quick, "Yep,"
as I struggled with the box of groceries. Even a person in good shape would
be left significantly winded by the climb to this particular cabin.
-
- The warmth of the cabin was a welcome feeling after the
cold climb. Candles bathed the rustic interior with a soft golden light.
I placed the groceries on the pine table and collapsed into an old easy-chair
in front of an ancient pot-belly stove -- Bill put the groceries away.
-
- Staring at the fire, I gave guttural answers - while
trying to catch my breath - to the question's Bill was asking. "How
are the wife and kids?" "Good." "How was the driving?"
"Good." "Did you see any deer?" "Uh-huh."
"How many?" "Five." "Heck of a climb, eh?"
"Yep." As you may now be aware, I am not a brilliant conversationalist
while on the cusp of needing CPR.
-
- Although I was concerned about getting back to beat the
weather, I accepted Bill's offer to stay for a grilled cheese sandwich
and some chicken soup. As the meal cooked, we waxed warmly of the many
adventures we had been on together.
-
- Satiated, I sat with my feet to the fire, my hands clasped
on my belly -- I started to nod off. The soft jazz music stopped playing
as CBC Canada announced it was ten o'clock. "Ten o'clock," I
blurted, "I have to head out man!" Bill agreed.
-
- Bill accompanied me back down the steep hill and out
to my truck. The wind had picked up and howled ominously through the tall
pines. Snow had started to fall and swirled around us as he thanked me
and said goodbye.
-
- I pulled the truck onto Snow Road - the name of this
road is aptly given. The truck lights illuminated a thick wall of driving
snow. The wind tore at the truck as my eyes searched for the road. This
was not going to be an easy drive.
-
- An hour and a half passed before I saw the familiar town
sign of Tichborne - I was only seven miles from home. I turned left onto
Fish Creek Road - the truck slid slightly. Stopping, I stepped out of the
truck to examine the snow - it was wet and heavy. This type of snow is
particularly slippery.
-
- I had traveled down Fish Creek Road for two miles and
entered a right-angle lefthand turn.
-
- At fifteen miles an hour, things can happen fast if you
are not prepared. Part way through the turn stood two deer - a doe and
a fawn. They are frozen by the headlights of the truck - they didn't move.
I hit the brakes and performed what can best be described as vehicular
ballet. The truck straightened from the turn as all the wheels locked.
I could see the deer looking at me as I slid by them - their heads turned
watching me as they chewed.
-
- Bang! Crunch! The Sumacs and the small pines didn't have
a chance. Oh, the humanity!
-
- I stepped from the truck to look for damage and to see
how far from the road I had slid. Damage, there was none - I was fifteen-feet
from the road. No problem, I would just put her in four-wheel-low, and
back out.
-
- Reentering the truck, I placed it in neutral and engaged
the four-wheel-drive. An amber light glowed on the dash showing that it
was locked. Putting it in reverse, I stepped gently on the accelerator.
Along with my spirits, the truck sank deep into the snow - it wasn't going
anywhere.
-
- I thought for a moment . . . checking the time, it was
eleven-thirty. On a Sunday night in the country it would be doubtful if
anyone would be up. As well, folks in this part of the country had guns
and dogs - the Failsafe Canadian Security System. On the other hand, it
is close to the festive season and perhaps I would come across a home that
was having a party . . . no good . . . if they are partying this late on
a Sunday, well . . . they have guns and dogs. I decided I did not want
to become the center of entertainment for such a hardy group of parterres
- I would just walk. After all, how bad could that be?
-
- I turned the truck off placing my hands at the top of
the steering wheel. I rested my forehead on my hands. "Damn-it! This
sucks," I said. I opened the door and flicked the doorlock. I slammed
the door in disgust. It is strange what the sound of a slamming door can
do to a person's memory. For me, it immediately surfaced the memory that
I had left my toque, gloves and keys in the truck! In the famous vernacular
of Homer Simpson, I exclaimed, "Doh!"
-
- I clambered to the road looking back at my stricken truck
- several expletives where chanted while I did the dance of a thousand
idiots. You know the dance . . . men do it when they have just severed
a limb with a power tool, or flattened the end of an appendage with a full
and powerful swing from a 22-oz framing hammer, or left themselves with
a five-mile walk in a blizzard with no gloves or hat. Yes, THAT dance.
-
- The snow was being driven by a howling wind. I started
to walk...and walk... and walk. From time to time, the wind would stop
blowing altogether. I was left listening to the cadence of my steps and
my breathing. The night was dark, and the road a barely luminous ribbon
stretching out before me.
-
- I had walked about a half mile when I recalled asking
Bill if he ever got freaked being in the cabin alone. As we walked down
the hill, Bill had laughed, saying he had only been frightened a couple
of times - I was surprised to learn of this. I had chuckled morbidly under
my breath thinking Bill would now spend the night listening for strange
sounds with a heightened sense of awareness caused by my question. What
are friends for?
-
- Payback is not a lot of fun.
-
- Soon, I was hoisted by my own petard as I recalled practically
every scarey thing I had ever endured. Try as I might, I simply could not
stop the flood of terrifying thoughts that filled my mind. For instance,
I was getting thirsty. I thought I might scoop up a hand full of snow and
eat it . . . no good . . . I saw the movie 'Carrie,' and there was NO WAY
I was going to let some hand grab mine when I reached for the snow. I moved
to the center of the road. Why the center? I have no idea.
-
- A nice thought, that's what I had to think - nice thoughts.
The wind stopped. I could hear my footsteps again and my breathing. What
was that? I strained my ears . . . there it was again. It was . . . a dog
. . . no, that's not a dog . . . it's a damn WOLF! My steps quickened -
the wind started to howl again. Jeeezzz, how would I be able to hear the
wolf with the wind blowing like this?
-
- The slightly luminous night only provided a radius of
sight some forty to fifty, feet. I could not feel the gravel road under
the 3 inches of wet snow. If a wolf decided to give chase, it would be
a short chase indeed. I thought: Prayer. Yes, prayer is good. Yea, though
I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for
I am the meanest bugger in the valley. I chuckled . . . right up to the
point where I distinctly heard a voice say, "No, you're not, that
wolf is!" My steps quickened again.
-
- I needed to get a sense of how far I had walked. I looked
for an old oak tree which I knew would be next to the road, on my right,
at a lefthand turn in the road. Several hundred yards later, there it was.
Yes, the old oak - the tree where a man had aledgedly hung himself after
doing in his family in the late 1800's. I moved to the opposite side of
the road keeping an eye on the Wizard of Oz-esque tree. It seemed to be
waving me closer. I thought, "No way!" My steps quickened.
-
- I had moved down the road about another two-hundred yards
when I heard a noise that utterly paralyzed me with throat-tightening fear.
It sounded like a howling turbine engine, yet there was no possible way
that I could, or should, be hearing such a thing. I looked up into the
dark night, the snow biting my eyes. I could see nothing - my feet wouldn't
move. The sound persisted. The wind calmed for a moment - so did the sound.
My feet moved. In fact, very fast. I was running.
-
- My legs moved like lead and my boots felt like cement
blocks. I stopped. "Aw, to hell with it," I gasped. I rested
my hands on my knees and looked around while catching my breath. Off to
my left was a hydro tower supporting lines -- which, by its the angle --
I could see the lines would have traversed the road fifty yards back. They
had been the source of the sound.
-
- I was angry now, and tired. Angry that I had let my imagination
get the best of me and tired of being held hostage by it. I reconciled
myself to not get carried away again. I pressed on.
-
- I could tell by the light in the distance that I was
close to the end of Bob's Lake. It was Larry Hickey's mercury light - his
home overlooks the end of the lake. I fixed my eyes on that point -- the
road became clearer. I was now about a mile and a quarter from home.
-
- Topping the hill I could see that Larry's place was a
couple hundred yards off. I could also see a huge THING running towards
me! Instinctively I pulled my hands from my pockets and started backing
up while keeping an eye on the charging shadow. I heard a clear growl.
The light was behind it which only allowed me to make out a charging silhouette.
I thought, "This is a *#!@ing wolf!" I clenched my fists.
-
- At twenty-feet I turned my back to it placing my clenched
fists over my face - I tucked my head down. Thud! Two paws hit me squarely
in the back, knocking me down. I drew my knees into my belly. Sniff, sniff,
sniff, lick, lick, *sLuRp!* It was a damn dog! I stood. "You stupid
son-of-a-bitch! You scared the #*!@ out of me!" It placed its front
legs on the ground and growled its hind quarters in the air. It bounded
from side to side, barking. Grabbing a handful of snow I hurled it at the
playful K-9. The dog sensed my anger, skulking away, its tail between its
legs.
-
- The entire front of my body was soaked from being pushed
face down into the wet snow. And perhaps, from an involuntary release of
bodily fluid. No matter, I would stay entirely with 'the snow did it' story.
-
- I entered my home at 12:30 A.M. My entire ordeal had
only taken an hour. My wife asked: "Where have you been? Why didn't
I hear the truck?" "Oh, I ran off the road avoiding two deer
- no damage, I'm okay." "How come you're all wet?" "Well,
it's dark and I fell a couple of times." "How far did you walk?"
"Only 5 miles. I even jogged part of the way." "5 miles?
In the dark? Weren't you scared?" "Scared? No way! I think I
will take a shower. Do I have any clean underwear?"
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