Caroll Simpson's Blog

“Glad the grizzly was gone, my white dog, ran up to the blueberry patch, lay his head and shoulders down and ran fast as he could. He came up with blue racing stripes from his nose to his shoulders. He was now a proud war dog painted for battle smelling like a blueberry pie.”

Excerpt from my new manuscript, Wakes & Trails into the Wilderness Please share Chapter 15 LODGE BUSINESS“With all the guests gone, I fell into a deep slumber. I woke to a stiff breeze. I stood on the deck with my dogs and watched as the unusual waves gained in size and the moon rose.  The wind whipped and my skin tingled.  A salmon soared from the top of a moonlit wave into the emerald crest of the next. The wave filled with the dark shape of the salmon and I stood astonished as the hot wind whipped my hair. The dogs were not impressed.”

Cougar! I went into the tiny generator room, its door facing the bush.  I felt like a canary in a cage. Captured!...       The next morning Alex came by to check his traps. “What should I do?” “Nothing,” Alex repeated. “If he wants you, he gets you, and there is nothing you can do about it.”  He went on to explain, “It is no good to carry a gun. You’ll never see a cougar.  He will be in a tree hidden. You will not see him until it is too late.”

Excerpt from my new manuscript, Wakes &Trails into the Wilderness As the days trickled by, a steady warm wind began to blow from the south. Spring! I could feel it in the air! Sheets of lake ice began to break into sections the size of parking lots. At the mouth of the arm I saw open water that glistened like diamonds in the sun. Each sparkling flash from the surface of the clear blue water sent a promise of spring. It was exhilarating. The sight made me warm, even though I was looking over a sea of ice. I walked the beach in the sunshine. I watched as the wind drove massive slabs of ice into each other with immense force. Carried by the momentum, caressed with vapour curls they were propelled onto the shore. The frozen accumulation pushed on top of itself over and over, until a seven foot wall of ice built on the beach.

… I heard a soft crack, to my horror the earth opened up! It wasn’t just an insignificant hole but a deep hungry abyss, black as night and with no hint of depth or bottom. Terrified I scrambled to slow the descent. My arms stretched almost beyond endurance, clambering for purchase on the rim. My feet dangled in the air seeking a bottom that wasn’t there. As I clawed to the surface, using muscles I didn’t know existed, my mind went into overdrive.  Thoughts of headlines from the local paper passed through my mind, “A skeleton found in the spring, suspected to be that of the ole widow woman, was stripped clean by carnivorous animals and vermin.”

 

              Excerpt from my new manuscript, Wakes &Trails into the WildernessIn the quiet, a hummingbird appeared, it hovered at my eye level and hung there, suspended, thrumming its tiny wings. The iridescent feathers on this creature were dazzling in the late afternoon sunshine. He was there so long; I started to think he was going to poke me in the eye. Then, the tiny bird buzzed down to my feet. It seemed captivated by my old purple socks. Spellbound, I stared at him. This wonderful little bird slowly inserted his tiny long beak into the weave of my sock and with his minuet tongue, licked my ankle.

My deeply rooted desire to share Canada’s wonders with my family and future generations of nature lovers, who would want to experience an untouched wilderness was worth a fight. Taking on the biggest forestry company in the world and the Government of British Columbia seemed insurmountable. So I began the battle one step at a time.

I leaped from my rig, yelling and scared the grizzly into a gallop. The bear turned and dashed straight towards the fishermen who were portaging a red canoe over their heads and didn’t have a clue of the situation. Running and leaping over bushes, I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Bear, bear! Get out your bear spray!”

I’d procrastinate with a decadent second cup, and number the list in red, its order dictated by daylight, work area, difficulty and desire to execute. Little did I know, in the next several years, I would make hundreds of such lists and consume hundreds of cups of coffee. After checking each chore off with red ink, I would use those pieces of paper, those lists of blood, sweat and tears, for fire-starter. Nothing in the north goes to waste.

No words would come. Dropping to my knees on the grey warn carpet I rummaged through briefcase number one. I scrambled to find ‘The Grey Envelope made with recycled paper’. Without a word I handed the envelope to her. Business-like she pulled out the document I had never looked at, David’s death certificate.