6. Noah
Chapter six
Noah
S he’s kind of a pain in the ass, but she’s got spirit, I’ll give her that. Every time she stumbles in the heavy snow, she picks herself up and keeps going. Most people would have given up by now, but not her. The woman even insisted on bringing her camera along, which I thought was foolish at first, but now I respect her for it.
“We’ve been walking about two hours,” I tell her.
“I’m not sure how that information helps me,” she snaps.
She’s too cold and tired to care about anything besides survival. I get it. It’s all about putting one foot in front of the other.
“I’m guessing we’ve probably gone a mile, maybe two,” I explain.
“We’re not even halfway there,” she groans.
I understand her dismay. I feel it, too. I just need to get her to the cabin. She’s keeping pace beside me, her breath coming out in short, visible puffs in the cold air .
“Does your friend live out here full time?”
“No. He stays here a week or two at a time when he’s working.”
“How do you contact him when he’s here?”
“He has a radio and a SAT phone,” she answers, slightly out of breath.
“Good. How does he get around the area?”
“He usually drives a snowmobile.”
“So, there will be a way out,” I nod.
“You don’t think you’re going to be able to fly out?” she asks with concern.
I chuckle, but the cold makes me cough. “Eventually, but if I need a new fuel filter, I’ll need a way to get to town. And I’m hoping I can get a ride back to the plane. I don’t want to walk this route again.”
“Good point.”
We fall silent again. I can tell she’s getting in her head. If she starts focusing on the cold and the misery, she is going to slow down. That is dangerous.
“So, what’s with the camera?” I prompt, trying to think of something to talk about.
“I told you. ”
“Is it expensive?” I ask. “You didn’t want to leave it in the plane.”
“It is expensive. And it’s like my right hand. I need it. You never know when the perfect shot is going to present itself.”
I need to keep her talking, even if it slows us down a little. “Where have you been?” I ask, finding myself a little out of breath. “I mean for pictures.”
“I’ve been to Australia, deep into the Outback. The wildlife there is amazing, but the heat is brutal. And I’ve been to Antarctica. The landscape there is otherworldly, and the penguins...they’re just incredible.”
“Damn, that’s wild.” I’m thoroughly impressed.
“Last year, I took a trip to Peru,” she goes on.
“Peru?” I let the question hang in the air.
“Yes, I was photographing the Andean condor in its natural habitat. Astonishing creatures, they are just stunning.”
I find myself intrigued by her passion for wildlife. Despite the snow, the emergency landing, and our dire situation, she can still talk enthusiastically about her work .
“Cold down there, too,” I remark, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Yes, though not quite as cold as this.”
“Bet you’ve never faced snow this deep, though.”
“No indeed,” she replies, a hint of anxiety creeping back into her voice. “So far, it has been desert heat, high altitude chill, and tropical humidity. Nothing like this.”
She stops talking, and I can tell she’s trying to conserve her energy. The expansive white landscape yawns before us as we trudge onward.
“Have you been to this cabin before?” I ask.
She doesn’t immediately answer. The snow makes walking difficult, and we both feel it. The muscles in my legs are burning for exertion, but the rest of my body is frozen to the core. I’m grateful she is dressed for the weather.
Too many times, I’ve flown rich people to their huge lodges, only to see them step out in outfits better suited for a gala in LA. It takes everything I have not to lecture them about dressing appropriately. But that’s none of my business, and I will continue to keep my mouth shut. The investigation had me grounded for too long. I need every client I can get .
“So, this friend of yours, the biologist,” I prod, trying to keep the conversation going. “How long have you known him?”
“I’ve known Eric for a few years. He is such a sweetheart. We met on an expedition in Yellowstone. He’s passionate about wolves and tracks them up here in the winter.”
I figure he must be a boyfriend or something. I notice the change in her tone. There’s a smile in her voice. The immediate jealousy I feel is stupid. I have no claim to her. I don’t even know her. She might be obnoxious. From my limited interaction with her, I could definitely see her being difficult. She is stubborn and headstrong, that is for sure.
But she is also intriguing, and despite her attachment to that damn camera, she is pretty low-key. Any other person who went through that storm would have probably screamed and panicked. She handled it pretty well. I am grateful for that. A hysterical passenger would have distracted me. We very well could have crashed if I was stuck dealing with a shrieking lunatic.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“I was born in Colorado,” she replies .
“Is that where Eric is from as well?”
“No. He’s from Washington.”
“Do you guys have a long-distance thing?”
She stops walking and looks at me quizzically. “A long-distance thing?”
“Yes. Are you guys together?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, we aren’t together. He’s twice my age. He’s a friend. Young women can be friends with men without sleeping with them.”
Clearly, I offended her. “Sorry.”
We start walking again. She’s cranky. I have a feeling that might have a little to do with the fact that she’s cold, hungry, and tired.
“So, how do you plan on setting up a photoshoot?” I tease. “Do you have special lighting and backdrops?”
“Of course, I also do hair and make-up,” she quips.
“I can’t believe you actually want to get up close and personal with wolves. You must have a death wish. Wolves and grizzlies are probably the only two animals I’m truly afraid of.” Then, I correct myself. “Maybe not afraid, but I like to keep a healthy distance between them and me . ”
She laughs a genuine sound that cuts through the cold. “It’s not like that. Eric knows the packs around here. We’re careful. It’s about capturing their natural behavior, not getting too close.”
Our conversation trails off. The only noise is the snow crunching beneath our boots. Fresh snow always has a way of absorbing sound. The powder we are kicking up sparkles in the sunshine. I can see trees up ahead. I’m not looking forward to walking through them. It’s easy to lose any sense of direction when all you can see are trees. Fortunately, I think I recognize this grove. It eases my mind to know we are getting nearer to our destination.
“You’re surprisingly well-prepared for this,” I say, glancing at her gear.
“I’ve done my fair share of cold-weather expeditions,” she replies. “You learn quickly what you need to survive. After my first trip to the Yukon, I figured out that good gear was worth the investment.”
“You’ve been in some rough situations before?”
“Yes and no,” she replies. “I’ve endured lots of extreme weather, but I always had a way out. I knew someone would be along to get me to safety. This is a little different.”
“Good to know,” I say, feeling my respect for her grow.
“I’m not totally helpless,” she continues. “I’m just not the kind of person that thrives on trying to survive. I think I could do it, but I’ve never really needed to.”
I chuckle, once again bursting into a coughing fit. “Your work sounds interesting. Exciting.”
“It is,” she says.
She tells me about some of her travels, her voice animated despite the circumstances. She describes following a herd of elephants in the Congo basin, getting permission from the Chinese government to observe pandas near the Yangtze River, and her most recent project, photographing pink river dolphins in the Amazon. She insists she has never been in a survival scenario, but from what I am hearing, roughing it in extreme situations is pretty familiar territory for her. I’m impressed by her dedication and passion. It’s clear she’s not just in this for the money or the fame. She genuinely loves what she does .
The snow is getting deeper, making it even harder to walk. The wind last night created some serious drifts. I can see Mia starting to struggle, but she doesn’t complain. I offer her a hand to help her over a particularly deep drift. She takes it without hesitation. Her grip is strong, and for a moment, I feel a connection that goes beyond the situation we’re in.
“You okay?” I ask as she catches her breath.
“Yeah,” she says, her breath coming in short gasps. “Just...not used to this much snow.”
“Me neither,” I admit. “But we’re getting closer. I can feel it.”
We keep moving, our pace steady but slow. The conversation helps pass the time and distracts us from the cold. Mia talks about her friend Eric and his work with the wolves. She obviously admires him, but her words do not hint at romance—just respect and camaraderie.
“You ever think about doing something else?” I ask. “Something safer?”
She shakes her head. “No. This is what I love. It’s dangerous, but it’s worth it. The world needs to see these animals—understand them. Maybe then they will be better protected. ”
I nod, understanding her drive. “I get it. I mean, flying isn’t exactly the safest job either, but it’s what I love. There’s nothing like the freedom of the sky.”
“I need to drink,” she says, her voice weak.
“Let’s take a break. We’ll eat a protein bar and drink some water. We’re expending a lot of calories. The last thing we need is either of us falling or getting too exhausted to move.
“I’m sorry.”
I look at her and see the disappointment in her eyes. “Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m exhausted. I need a rest, too.”
I pull my backpack off and rummage around for one of the bottles of water. “Drink,” I tell her.
I pull out one of the Clif bars and give it to her.
She takes it, only a moment of hesitation crossing her face before she smiles weakly in thanks. We sit on a downed tree, our backs against a small outcrop of rock, and for a time, the world is quiet except for the sound of us chewing and the occasional gust of wind that whips up snow around us.
“Thanks,” she says after we finish our meager meal.
“It’s my pleasure,” I reply. “Feel better? ”
She nods and glances over at me, her eyes softened by the shared experience. After a while, she stands up and brushes off the snow, clinging to her clothes. “Best get going then. Every second we dally is another second that we’re not in the cabin in front of a warm fire.”
I nod, pulling myself to my feet with a groan. “Let’s do this.”
I pray the cabin is closer than I think. The last thing I want to do is spend the night out here. It’s not just about the cold. It’s the animals. This is not the kind of place a person sleeps outside with no protection.