Coming Home

[FOTH]

Liz and Will, alone together in the shelter of stone and snow, sat well-protected from the fury of wind and driven snow-swirl without, fire reflecting from the limestone that all but surrounded them and soon lending the place a fair amount of warmth, as well as its light and cheer. Einar had taken his leave before eating, had gone to face his ordeal in the snow, and though temporarily without appetite, herself, at the thought of what the following hours held in store for him, Liz soon took her portion of the soup and ate, sharing bites with Will and telling him lively stories of the caves they would find on the morrow, of the life they would begin there. The little one smiled at her words, laughing and pointing at the flames, “Fi! Fi!” The joy of discovery, of a life just beginning, and Liz held him close as the wind howled outside and darkness became complete.

Einar, never looking back, journeyed up and around the canyon’s bend until he could no longer make out the glow of the fire on the walls far above, climbed up some distance from the creekbed and canyon floor until he found a tee, not the familiarly twisted, blackened skeleton of a pine that had many time served him so well up at the dropoff above the cabin, but perhaps a reasonable substitute…

Later, hanging limply forward with arms behind him and the cold wind already noticeably sapping what little stamina he had left, Einar wished he had the strength to push himself farther, really test himself, do more, needed more, need to quit needing it, you big fool, or one of these days Liz is gonna be right, and you’re not going to come back to them.

Maybe. Maybe, he told himself, leaning into the ropes. But not this time. This time he had a cave to find, bag to haul, family to get established and on their feet at the new place, traplines set up and the entire area thoroughly reconnoitered both for potential danger and for the things which would sustain them for as long as they might end up staying. Difficult for a dead man to do any of those things, difficult—tried to flex his fingers, but couldn’t feel them—for a man with no hands to be particularly useful on the trapline, and as he had no intention of turning his back on his duties, he knew that night’s meeting with the ropes and the elements could only go so far.

Had come mighty close to going too far already, Einar realized with a start some minutes later, shaking from his head a bit of the cold-induced lethargy which long since had begun its steady advance, squinting into the darkness and trying hard to remember exactly in which direction the camp lay. Liz, he realized, had no idea where he’d gone, no way to find him should things go wrong and he find himself without the strength to get free or to make the return walk; had meant to do it that way, normally would have been little concerned about any potential consequences—the striving, the struggle were, after all, only genuine if endured alone and without the possibility of ready assistance—but this time he found a bit of doubt creeping in, a bit of question.

Which meant either that he was managing to keep himself a good deal more connected to the present than usually proved possible during such experiences, a good deal more aware of possible implications and of his duties to others—or that he’d finally gone soft and cowardly and was looking for a reason to end the challenge early. Thought it was the first, but by way of precluding the second possibility he swung to the side where the slope dropped sharply away, feet out from under him and the full weight of his body—what weight remained—supported by his bound arms.

A silent cry then—always silent, mustn’t let them hear—from Einar, eyes staring blankly up at the ribbon of star-sprinkled sky that snaked its way like the reflection of some ghostly river between the deeper darkness that was the canyon walls, and when things settled down some and he was able to start thinking again, using his mind just a bit, he was aware of a great weariness that seemed to envelope him even more thoroughly than the pain, a wish to be done, and to rest—meant that he wasn’t done yet, must endure until it passed. Which he did, struggling with the desire to free himself, to end, by whatever means necessary, whatever means possible—even talking, if that was still what they wanted, if only they would show up and tell him—this torment that seemed to be growing steadily less bearable, more than he could take. Took it, remained quiet, as always, time slipping past and Einar only occasionally fully aware of his surroundings.

Though seeing the thing through to the end he managed somehow, without really trying, to keep from slipping nearly as deeply as usually would have happened into the murky haze between past and present, the place where snowy canyon walls and high country timber always became ephemeral, distant, gave way to the steaming stench and humidity of that cramped little bamboo cage, and his real work began.

This time the jungle was out there as always, pressing in on him with an undeniable and inexorable strength and never far from the front of his mind—how could it be, considering the physical sensations to which he was subjecting himself?—but always before him, between himself and that reality, lay the sight of Mother and Son, warm together in the shelter of the rocks and awaiting his return. Must return, and at the end, when finally body and mind had stopped resisting the torment and demanding relief—a demand to which, for the exercise to be successful, he knew he must never acquiesce—he was grateful, breathing a prayer of thanksgiving as he lowered himself and lay face down on the snowy earth waiting for some circulation to return to hands and arms, for had he lost himself as thoroughly as he was used to doing in the jungle, he would almost certainly have passed the entire night in the company of that tree and the ropes, and might very well never have seen the morning…

Morning. Appeared, sky an inky, light-prickled black when he rolled to his back and looked up, that morning must remain at least several hours distant, and working to free his arms from their remaining wraps of rope he struggled into his coat—felt no warmth, only a lessening of the force of the wind; warmth would take time—glad that he would be able to return to the camp, and to Liz, before morning came and she really began to worry.

Standing, shaky, hollow-eyed and halting with lingering horror and fatigue but at the same time quietly triumphant and inexpressibly grateful, Einar headed for home.

[icefire]

Hopefully, sometime SOON, Einar will no longer feel the need to torture himself as he has so frequently done in the past.

[FOTH]

Sept 27, 2013 21:14:05 GMT -6 icefire said:

Hopefully, sometime SOON, Einar will no longer feel the need to torture himself as he has so frequently done in the past.

It would probably increase his life expectancy, if he could do that... I guess he just has yet to come up with a good alternative.

__________________________


Long seemed the way back to camp, Einar increasingly weary as he went, starting to stumble, canyon walls going all shimmery and translucent until he almost began believing he could step right through them if he tried—would be less wind in there, and he could feel the wind rapidly sapping his strength; would be ok to have some shelter as he walked—strange, but he’d seen stranger things in his day, and found himself not tremendously concerned with the development. Until he tried to act on this new discovery, this less-than-solid state of the walls…and ran face-first into hard, cold limestone, slightly bloodying his nose.

Well. Not so real after all, he had to conclude, and apparently one cannot always fully trust one’s eyes. Too bad, because he sure couldn’t much count on his other senses, head all numb and strange and a hissing in his ears, dizziness churning in his stomach and threatening always to throw him off balance and to the ground…

He kept going though, stayed on his feet until he saw the boulders bulking huge and solid against the ephemeral light of the stars, picked up a whiff of pine smoke and stood stalk-still until he was able, from amidst the soft and distant gurgling of the mostly-frozen creek and the sighing of the wind through bare branches, to discern the soft sounds of breathing from amongst the boulders. Feeling his way, creeping lest he wake anyone, he eased into camp and curled up against a rock several feet from his family, content, for the moment, simply to be in Liz’s presence again, not wanting to wake or disturb her, entirely exhausted and already nearly asleep before he finished drawing knees up to chest for warmth.

Einar did not remain long there freezing against the boulder for Liz had heard him come back into camp, went to him, laid a careful hand on his shoulder and when it was clear that he was awake, knew her, she helped him to his feet.

“Come to bed, Einar. It’s cold.”

“Ok here. Too…I’m too cold for bed. Don’t want to make you guys cold.”

“Silly, come on in here. No way I’m going to make you spend the rest of the night over against that cold chunk of rock. Come in the sleeping bag with me. Will’s wrapped in a blanket so it won’t bother him, and you’ll be warm soon enough.”

“Think I’m…kind of a mess.”

“We’ll clean you up. Let me get the fire going again, heat a little water. It’ll be good to have some tea, too. I’d like to have some tea.”

“Just want to sleep, Lizzie. All done, home, can sleep now.”

“Soon. Sit here by the fire, we’ll get you fixed up, and then you can sleep.”

Liz’s insistence turned out to be a good thing in the end, Einar having bled a fair amount where the ropes had dug in and the bleeding still going on, a situation to which he had, himself, been wholly oblivious; he’d attributed the growing weakness and vertigo he’d felt on the return walk entirely to his situation and to the cold. Liz did not say a word as she helped clean and bandage his arms, wrapped his canteen cup in cloth to prevent it scalding frost-nipped fingers and sat with him as he drank peppermint tea, honey-sweetened, energy-giving, enough energy, perhaps, to see him through the night. As he drank, his mind was on the morning, the caves, darkness of the past hours behind him, its work done, accomplished, and when finally he crept—all shivery and stiff, but warm enough to make it through the remaining night and finally headed in the right direction—into the bag with Liz, sleep was good. Body hurting but soul satisfied, quiet, he passed the remainder of the night, Liz holding him tight as if afraid she might otherwise wake to find him gone again and Will sleeping happy and oblivious, dreaming of fire, of snow-laden spruces, of all the wonders yet to be discovered in his small but expanding world.

It was not the cold that woke Einar sometime just before daylight, nor was it the persistent twisting ache in back and shoulders where they protested the past night’s treatment, though those things were certainly present. Instead, it was a softly willow-scented breath of air, warm, humid and entirely out of place which roused him from his slumber. Thinking at first that he was simply waking and becoming aware, again, of Liz’s close presence, he did not bother immediately opening his eyes. It wasn’t Liz, though, for the breath came again, dank and damp and smelling as much of fermented vegetation as anything, and with it came a great moist snort. Liz did not snort.

Einar’s eyes came open, body held rigidly still in response to a deeply-ingrained instinct designed to prevent giving himself away should an enemy be present, and there in the half-light Einar found himself staring up the ponderous length of a deep brown hairy nose and into the slow, placid eyes of an enormous moose. Wisely, he kept still, waiting for the behemoth to finish its inspection of his face, hand inching almost imperceptibly upwards all the while and towards the spot just outside the bag where he had left his pistol. By the time he’d reached it the moose had raised its head, apparently satisfied that the strange creature presented no immediate threat, required no action, and for the moment Einar took no action, either.

Wanted to shoot the creature, add its meat to the sizeable but dwindling supply of food in the drop bag, but it did not take a lot of figuring to see that if he felled the beast while it stood in its present position, its bulk would almost certainly slump forward between the two boulders, and come to rest squarely on himself—and the sleeping Liz and Will. The possibility of being crushed beneath such an enormous mountain of food was a risk he, himself certainly would have been willing to take, but as he wasn’t about to do any such thing to Liz and especially not to someone so small as Will, he had for the moment to let the moose go.

Going, meandering slowly between the camp boulders and out into the willows the creature lumbered, Einar wriggling free of Liz’s grasp and pursuing on hands and knees through the snow with the pistol, wishing he’d had time to grab the rifle instead but not wanting to give the moose time to get away and knowing he could do the job with the weapon at hand, so long as he could get in close enough and place the shot well. Hands hurt, stiff and strange with the past night’s frost damage, but they were more or less working, which was all that mattered to him just then.

There. In a nearby cluster of willows the moose had stopped, head down, eating, and whether it was due to his own innate stealth or because the animal had already inspected and dismissed the man it would be difficult to say, but it seemed not to notice as he crept nearer and nearer, fifteen yards and then ten, until he lay stomach down and trembling with cold no more than eight feet from the feeding creature, looking straight up at its belly.

[FOTH]

For what seemed a very long time Einar waited as the moose stood with head raised, placidly chewing a mouthful of willows and seeming in no hurry to be moving along, no hurry to change position as he wanted it to do, needing a better shot. Though pressed down into the snow and nearly surrounded by it, stomach, arms, elbows already insensible where not covered with Liz’s bandages from the previous night, Einar was hardly aware of the cold, hands steadying as he waited, tremors stilled in anticipation of the shot, hoping, praying that his chance would come before the animal spooked and took off at a gangly-legged run through the willow thickets. Too much meat to give up that easily, too much potential security for his family; Einar knew he must take that moose, even if he had to wait all morning.

At long last and after many minutes of casual, unconcerned chewing and gazing, the great beast was ready for another bite, bowing head to the ground and cropping at that summer’s more tender shoots; Einar made his move—certain, swift, more instinct than deliberation—and it was stumbling, going to its knees, he quickly rolling to the side to avoid being trapped beneath the creature’s collapsing bulk.

Before the moose had even stopped twitching Liz came running, alarmed at the sound of the shot, ducking from one cluster of vegetation to the next and taking in the scene in a single glance, moose concealed from her sight by the clump of willow into which it had fallen. No ongoing danger spotted she began searching for Einar, not seeing him, trying to follow tracks but finding those indistinct and difficult on the hard surface of the snow, his weight having been so distributed in crawling that hardly a trace remained for her hasty glance to catch. Found his trail after several frantic moments of searching, saw, ran to Einar—looking angry and terrified all at once, and he figured she must have thought the place was being raided; should have found a way to warn her, but I couldn’t risk scaring away the moose—where he lay sprawled out on his back in the snow with the pistol in one hand, took him in her arms and, once assured he was still breathing, began inspecting him for injuries. Einar dodged, rolled over and pushed himself up to hands and knees, fixing Liz with a big grin as he shook snow from his hair and did his best to begin warming cold-numbed hands.

“Got you breakfast!”

Only then, following his gaze, did she see the great bulk of the fallen moose, eyes going wide and a quick smile replacing the worried lines around her mouth. “I would say so! When it comes to breakfast, you sure don’t mess around! This is months’ worth of breakfasts. I guess we don’t have to worry so much now about eating up the food Bud and Susan sent with us. How did you find the moose?”

“Moose found me. Woke me up this morning, right in camp. Right on top of us. Had to wait a little, follow it out here just to keep it from falling right on us in the sleeping bags. Was standing right on top of us. Kind of wish I’d had my spear. Now we’re going to have to wonder who may have heard that gunshot…”

“You would have been killed if you’d tried to take it with a spear! Look at those hooves! What do you think you are, a mammoth hunter?”

“Sure! Seen any mammoths?”

“No! And I’m glad you had the pistol. No one at all heard it, hopefully. Wouldn’t these canyon walls do a lot to mask the sound of the shot, even if anyone did happen to be around?”

Einar looked worried, studying the surrounding terrain and not immediately answering. “Yeah. Should. That, or magnify it, depending on where people might be. If they were up near the rim…”

“Chances are no one was around, and wouldn’t know where the sound came from, even if they were. You know how this sort of terrain distorts sounds.”

Einar nodded slowly, not looking entirely convinced, shrugged into the coat Liz was insistently pressing upon him—her own, sleeves way too short, but it was warm, and he shuddered violently at the contrast, adrenalin starting to fade and the cold of the morning really hitting him for the first time—and went over to inspect the fallen moose.

The creature was huge, first moose Einar had ever taken, their re-introduction into the area only in recent years having proven successful enough that they began to be a more common sight, and he crouched marveling for a minute over the volume of meat they had just obtained. Liz, though also somewhat in awe at the sight of so much food all in one place, had already moved on to practical considerations, portioning out in her mind the various parts of the moose, planning their uses. Meat could be frozen for the time being and slowly turned into jerky, hide turned, with time, into many pairs of sturdy boots, moccasins and other essentials which would see them not only through the remaining cold months but through the following winter, as well, and liver and other internal organs—she glanced at Einar, pale, cold and starting to sway a little where he knelt beside the great beast—well, she knew exactly what must be done with those.

“Hey. You’re really anemic, aren’t you? You’ve got to be. Seems it would be a very good idea if there was some way you could stop losing blood on such a regular basis, at least until your body’s a little better equipped to replace what you’re shedding. For now, how about having some of this fresh liver? It really ought to help bring up your iron. Let’s get this critter gutted and skinned, and I’ll cook some of it up for our breakfast.”

Einar looked up as if startled from a near-sleep, nodded slowly and got to his feet, heading for camp and the gear they would need to complete the job. The challenge now, he knew, was to get the creature butchered and the meat transported and stored somewhere a sufficient distance from where the shot had been fired that he would not have to be constantly looking over his shoulder wondering if someone had heard and was finally coming to investigate, and to do it in as timely a manner as they were able.

[suvalley]

Bravo, Einar!

However, having just finished helping process three moose here, I don't think people have the concept until they are doing it. It took five people 10 hours for two-one a small spike fork, including grinding and packaging, using high quality knives, a bone saw, a sawzall, and plenty of experience. A large moose can yield well over 500 pounds, btw. Having said that, how they are going to process that much meat without a drying set up, and without losing it to mold, I have no idea. Ours were treated with vit c in the field, first, and hung for almost a week in a cool shop with fans on the quarters.

[yikes]

This was a great way to start the day, reading this. Thanks FOTH.

Um, Suvalley, three moose, shouldn't that be 3 meese? Your info was perfectly timed and interesting. I've only dressed out white tail deer but would love to be involved with something larger so as to better understand the physics of it. A mammoth would suffice.

In the old days, people would cut off the mold. It was used as a way to tenderize the meat. Kinda like cutting off cheese mold today. It was something that a chef had to know, when it was okay and when it was too bad to use.

[suvalley]

I am sure some other Alaskans will chime in here (I hope!) but here are some of the challenges. It isn't just gutting and skinning and quartering which is hard physical labor and will be basically impossible for Einar to do in his weakened condition-there are ways that with some ingenuity, this can be done with one person.

They do not have the tools to cut the backbone, and will have serious difficulty with even the ribs. The joints they can probably sever, but it is difficult even with leverage. I presume our wonderful author is going to have them in a cave to render the remains-because really there is no other choice that will save the meat. It cannot be out where it will be subject to scavengers, or in the heat of the sun (even if it's cold), etc. It will take many days to dry the meat into jerky strips, even with large racks. In part this is due to sheer volume, but given the time of year, and location, it will be cold over night, and humidity will rise during the day....and on into spring.

The moose will not have much fat on it because it is spring, and it isn't berry season, so making pemmican is out.

As far as "mold" goes, the biggest risk will be blowflies. How they are going to keep flies off is a *big deal*. They can't wrap it in the parachute either because the meat needs air movement around it. If they could locate a drafty (as in, lots of updraft along the walls somewhere) niche, that critters can not get to-but they can, that would be ideal.

Really, this is a huge challenge.

I won't even go there on the sanitation issues.

Edited to add: This carcass is going to attract a lot of attention. From four legged predators

[yikes]

The correct answer to the question "Where are you going to hunt" when hunting a large animal is...uphill. That was going through my head while reading. Thinking about Einar having to carry all those pounds up to a cave in his condition,,,but then he would have plenty to eat, would be getting healthy exercise, he would have a purpose to his actions that would keep him focused,,,an all around good thing.
The time that he and Liz take to butcher the moose can be a healing time for Einar.

[suvalley]

Well, they will be unable to use a travois, due to terrain. So that leaves packs. Or sledge with (what the heck is it called, the head strap? That helps the neck??) many trips. If they are very fortunate, they will find a handy tree in a niche, and rig up a rope windlass to lift it.

Just a few ideas for our author-who has probably not dealt with an entire moose carcass on his own, lol That hide is going to weigh a *lot* too.

The wonderful thing about this bounty, is that nearly all parts can be used as you would an antelope, deer, or elk. However, moose hide does wear very well for moccasins.

[FOTH]

Thanks for the moose butchering discussion.

Einar has brought down, butchered and processed everything from kudu and elephant to elk and bear, but never a moose, until now.

My experience, though, is mostly with elk (I know how much work it is to process a bull elk from which you get well over 300lbs of meat—and to butcher and process a cow (the bovine kind, I mean) which is a lot larger, so yes, a lot of heavy work to take care of that moose!)

Fortunately for Einar and Liz there is still snow on the ground and temps are consistently below freezing, so they have some time to process the meat without too much fear of losing it. No flies yet—which indeed would spell disaster as they have no good way, other than constant smoke, to keep them off. Ideal would be hanging large sections of meat in a shady corridor of rock and keeping a smoky fire under them until hard “rind” was formed—but I doubt they will want to risk making that much smoke, for as long as it would take. Looks like it's going to be hack up by whatever means possible, carry, freeze and turn into jerky.

Will have a chapter ready for tomorrow. In the meantime, here are a couple pictures of the snow that fell last night--and is now falling again, after a short time of sunshine.

[icefire]

Oct 4, 2013 12:17:15 GMT -6 suvalley said:

Well, they will be unable to use a travois, due to terrain. So that leaves packs. Or sledge with (what the heck is it called, the head strap? That helps the neck??) many trips. ...

I believe you're thinking of a "tumpline". You are right, though...getting that moose up to their camp or the caves that they are heading for will be a MAJOR operation; one that will prove VERY difficult for Einar, given his physical condition.

[FOTH]

I know this chapter is short, and am sorry....

______________


Though equipped with a good knife and sharpener each, and the hatchet sent along by Bud and Susan in the drop bag, Einar knew the task before them was to prove somewhat monumental, not a quick thing, and he wished there might be some way to speed their progress away from the place where he’d taken the shot. Though immeasurably grateful for the meat, the situation had him worried, entire canyon feeling compromised, contaminated by his action, no longer safe. If it ever had been. Gathering hatchet and sharpening stone, pausing briefly to help Liz slide a still-sleepy Will into the hood of her parka, he returned to the moose, staring up at the sky as if he half expected to hear the approaching rumble of helicopters and crouching for a long half minute at the edge of the timber before venturing out into the more exposed maze of willow and red osier dogwood in which lay the fallen moose.

The creature had gone to its knees and then, in its final, brief struggle, rolled to one side, and had the ground there on the canyon floor been somewhat more angled, this might have proven a distinct advantage when it came to gutting the moose. As it was, terrain all but flat where centuries of spring runoff had deposited its sandy detritus, it looked like they were going to have to do things the hard way, gravity not helping them as much with the gutting process as it might have done on a more noticeable slope.

Then there was the matter of skinning the great beast, a job, Einar knew, not quite comparable in difficulty to that of the Plains women who had come in after a successful buffalo hunt and worked together to skin out one of the great, hulking animals minutes rather than hours—but it would be close. And with just the two of them, he and Liz, even this first step was looking a bit daunting. No problem. They’d get it done. Just wished that queasy feeling would leave the pit of his stomach, that sense of alertness which made the world stand out in crackling-sharp relief around him and left him expecting at every moment to see some enemy stepping out of the next clump of willows or swooping down from the sky. Probably no reason for such anticipation, really, he told himself, for the chances of anyone not only having heard that single shot but traced down its origin and gone to the trouble of seeking out its source must be miniscule, indeed…

Those facts aside, he knew better than to ignore such foreshadowings, and he kept the rifle near him as he worked, making a careful first cut on the belly of the moose and using all his strength to try and roll it into a slightly better position, Liz helping from the other side and neither of them meeting with too much success. Any movement of the animal while still whole was going to be, he could see already, a job for parachute cord—webbing would have been better, but they didn’t have any—and some clever rigging. Too bad the creature had fallen so far from any large trees, out where the willows were insubstantial little things, lithe and springy, but not very big around. Well. They’d just have to manage things with the beast in its present position, if at all possible.

Standing, wiping sweat from his face and stopping to stretch stiff arms, shoulders and flex his wrists as well as he was able, Einar wished everything was a bit more mobile and useful that morning. The pain he could tolerate—helped keep him awake, that’s what it did—but the incredible stiffness and lack of strength which seemed to have set in overnight were decidedly hampering the speed and agility with which he was able to go at the task. Not unusual to feel such effects after a visit with the ropes, but it seemed lately they grew more noticeable each time, took him longer to get back to his version of “normal.” Ought to be grateful, right? Means maybe you won’t have to do it as often, which would be a good thing, because sure aren’t going to have time for anything like that, for the forseeable future! Neither time nor the resources to spend on it. This thing’s gonna take all you’ve got, and more.

He grinned, nodded at Liz and got back to work.