The Wild

The Wild #5

Ray turned on the radio as the Expedition covered the miles back to Cork Ridge.

'Hi Norah' he called the station, checking in on the radio, 'Just heading over to the Ridge. No doubt some tourists'll be firing up a barbecue before inviting the bears over for dinner. I'll check in again, say, fifteen.'

'You got the bear kit in the car Chief? 'Cause I didn't pack it.'

'Yeah it's OK, put it in all by myself, I'm a big boy now, all grown up.'

'Just checking, you know. It was always Tom who did that sort of thing...' Norah's voice trailed off.

'I know.' He clicked the radio off.

Ray had a mental picture of her taking his red-coloured pin and sticking it at the appropriate point on the wall map, one of Norah's favourite tasks. Tom's blue pin would be fixed at the edge, immobile from now on. He turned his mind to the task in hand and watched the scenery flash by.

Through great swathes of bright green grass darted the sparkling creeks and many rivers that fed the north and south Bentinck Arms which reached inland from the Pacific. He imagined the silver mailed backs of the salmon heading to their breeding grounds, where they would be met by the many predators that relied on the bounty their prized pink flesh provided.

Radio Skywind was playing bluegrass music. It rankled Ray and he switched it off. His father had always liked bluegrass and that was a good enough reason for Ray to hate it.

He checked the GPS for Martha's signal. There it was, blipping away, far too near to the tourist stop for his liking. He had his gear in the back - a tranquiliser gun, miscellaneous items, and a pre-loaded .338 Winchester Magnum in case matters got beyond his control.

The thought of that depressed him still further.

Tourists.

Ray and Tom had been keeping a careful eye on the grizzly mother, who'd been tetchy and confrontational of late, it was all adding up to a heap of trouble.

He swung the SUV off the road, the tyres crunching over pebbles and shale.

As he was pulling up he'd noticed an old RV parked nearby. Looked like one of those hire vehicles from Mitch Stiles' outfit in Bella Coola.

Tourists and bears nearby - great.

Still, Ray thought uncharitably, if the bears ate the tourists..... Well, it would prove his point about Tom to the pencil-necks up at Parks HQ. He huffed, realised he was letting Tom's dismissal get to him too much. He yanked on the handbrake.

After climbing down, he went round the back to get his gear, slung the kit and the .338 over his shoulder with a heavy heart and set off toward the camper.

Halfway toward the motor home, an old Klondike, Ray stopped. Whether it was a movement down by the creek or some other instinct, his adrenaline spiked.

By a stand of trees, there was a hint of red moving on one side, on the other, something large shuffling towards it. The red he knew had to be from some man-made clothing and the dark furry mass was something everyone used to the creatures of the National Park knew well. Bear. Only feet from the person he couldn't see.

Ray did a quick turn. This was trouble, big-style. He moved fast, covering more ground in less time than he'd thought possible, hoping his movement might distract the animal, but as he neared he realised it was too late. It had reared up. A challenge for what it saw as the territory represented by a large blueberry bush.

Changing tack, Ray veered over to the right, nearer to the tourist, who he could see was a woman in a red jumper.

A red jumper. Really? Though many of the tales about animals attacking red-coloured objects were a myth, bears, being omnivorous had the full range of colour vision, which helped when spotting berries, a favourite treat. They were also attracted to bright colours mainly because they associated them with the food humans invariably brought with them.