The vast national park seeped blue. She could faintly see the shore where she set up camp, and her eyes scanned the horizon for smoke. Earlier that afternoon, she had tried to build a fire before venturing to fish and pump water but failed to make any progress. The wood was far too wet. Any flame created was eventually extinguished into smoke, hissing at her attempt to dry her rain-soaked gear. At least the embers would make an effective marker back home, as she rigged them to burn green debris roughly a half-hour after leaving the site.
With little time before last light, she spotted a thin string of smoke against the blackening tree line. Relieved, she adjusted her course, began memorizing the shadowed horizon, and kept the canoe moving straight towards the marker.
The darkness held the lake. Her watering eyes strained to keep focus on the distant smoke. Nursing her stubborn exhaustion had worn her patience and made her angry. She reluctantly stopped paddling to catch her breath and let her muscles cool.
Breathing heavily through her teeth, she threw down the paddle; it sharply bounced with delayed distortion, as if the liquid surrounding the canoe was thick like oil.
Under the influence of her last push, she glided at a slight curve, rubbed her face with callused hands, and tried to ignore her hunger. Her closed eyes flashed melted cheese pulling away from a thin slice of pizza. She half-opened her eyes but closed them again to guiltily finish the scene: the brittle, buttery crust collapsed between roof and tongue.
Warm drool leaked from the side of her mouth, as sleep opened its arms to hug her. She nearly embraced, but the electricity of fear shocked through her muscles, and she woke with a stuttered gasp.
Panicked, she darted her head in the darkness to get her bearings. The canoe rocked under her paranoid movements. She clicked the button of her headlamp but remembered that it was out. She had no idea how long her eyes were closed or how much she had veered off course. Levels of darkness surrounded and confused her, and she began to profusely sweat.
The constant airflow of her heavy breath chapped her lips. Her shaking hands frantically unscrewed the water bottle, and she took an awkward swig. The water changed direction down her windpipe, temporarily choking her. Coughing convulsions shot water out of her nose and splashed out of the open bottle. Scolding and cursing, she angrily screwed on the lid anddropped it to the floor with a jellied thud.
Her eyes narrowed on the horizon, and she tried to imagine the pattern of shadows—her thoughts scattered like tired cattle, post stampede. The tree line blended with the dark, and the smoke beacon couldn’t be seen. She gained control of her breath and tried to focus. Without thought, she lunged towards her daypack. But before she could search for her compass, she remembered it was latched to the main pack on land. She slouched forward and thought of ways to makeshift one.
A cold breeze hushed across the lake, cooling her neck. She looked up at the shifting clouds; the slivered moon tried desperately to thread through them. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to anything that would listen.
A puff of wind flicked her ears, springing her eyes open. She felt a hard pulse in her chest, as a moonbeam peeked from a moving cloud. Its light doubled in the wind-stirred water, revealing clues of the horizon and curved wake of the intended direction. Her desperation quickly erased, and she excitingly paddled back on course.
| 2 |
The bottom scratched along the jagged shallows. Dim moonlight made it impossible to avoid any hazards, and each pull of the paddle was more difficult than the last. She could feel her muscles shrink and burn anything it could into energy.
With eyes fully adjusted to the dark, she vaguely recognized the terrain from her foraging trip earlier that morning, although she knew not to trust these landmarks. Approaching the site from the west confused her senses. The environment blended in puffs of grayish green and brown; nightfall only worsened these illusions.
The night brought the chill of fall, as crickets’ calls clouded the air. Nearly shivering, she was anxious to get back to camp to put on more clothes, even if they were smoky and damp. The canoe moved parallel with the shore, as she scanned for the entry point. Gliding passed the trailhead, she abruptly steered into the shoreline and clumsily docked, cutting into sand and rocks. With panted breath, her muscles relaxed their anxious grip on her bones. After coping with the panic of starvation, she deserved a night of rest.
Previous nights were spent in preparation of the days to follow. After failed attempts to make fire, she spent most of the dark hours trying to dry her gear and took diligent inventory of her supplies in her survival guide. She tried to visualize the next steps towards a restful, productive evening but couldn’t plan beyond catching her breath.
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