I looked down at my backpack, an unwieldy looking, external frame rig that Wes insisted was light and nimble. I had worn it around for about an hour the day before, fully packed and ready for the trip. I knew I was strong enough to carry it; after all, I did go to the gym often enough. I didn’t have a lot of strength, but I was in pretty decent shape. It didn’t really matter though, the pack still seemed strange and uncomfortable regardless of the weight.
I couldn’t complain, however, looking at Wesley’s pack. His was twice the size of mine, and he also had packed two cases of military rations that was being stored in the cargo space in the pontoons of the plane. While the twenty-four meals wouldn’t be our entire diet for the week, it gave us a very large cushion in case I scared away all the fish or we couldn’t find foraging foods.
God, I really have no idea what I’m getting myself into, I thought. I never cared to camp out in the back yard, much less out in the damn forest.
I knew that Wesley was carrying almost all of the shared items, and even my own sleeping bag was slung on top. I was able to lift his backpack, but I doubt I could’ve carried it for more than a dozen steps without stumbling. It had to weigh over a hundred pounds. “If you say so. You promise I don’t look ridiculous?”
I looked down at my clothing, gray military trousers with thermal underwear. Up top I had three layers on, a light silk undershirt, followed by a polypropylene thermal top, followed by a military field jacket. I felt like a weekend warrior going off to play Rambo. At least Wesley had insisted on my purchasing normal hiking boots.
“You won’t have time to break in a set of combat boots, and I don’t want you dealing with blisters all week,” he had explained in the store. “These civilian boots are almost as tough, but they break in a lot easier.”
“So why are you wearing your old boots?” I had asked him, indicating the insulated boots he was wearing. He had been wearing them for the entire day they had gone shopping, getting used to them again. Thankfully, he wore his normal jeans, and they didn’t look too out of place, with most of them hidden under the denim.
“They’re an old set,” Wesley had explained, looking down at the black scuffed leather. “They’re broken in well, and I know I could go a month in them if I needed to. They have plenty of miles left in them.”
Heaving my backpack onto my shoulder and heading toward the seaplane, I thought of the past few days, and how great it was to just hang out with Wesley, all the stress in my life seemingly taken away. Even in the unfamiliar realm of the Army Navy store, I had felt comfortable, amazed again and again as Wes expertly asked the store owner about the equipment he had available. He hadn’t patronized me either, explaining for me each of the options at length. By the end, I felt as prepared as I ever could be.
Stepping onto the seaplane, I let Wesley tie my bag down in the cargo racks next to his own before taking my seat. At six foot four, he took the single seat on the right side, his long legs stretching out into the open space of the aisle. I chose the window seat on the other side of the plane, wanting to be able to see the landscape as it rolled by. It was my first time in Canada, and I wondered if the Rocky Mountains looked different compared to Colorado, where we had taken vacations twice before.
“Hey folks, if you all will strap in, we can take off anytime,” the pilot said. He looked like he was in his mid-forties, and kind of looked like a younger Harrison Ford, just about twenty pounds heavier. “Flight time is going to be about two hours, more or less. The weather report says we may have some clouds in about an hour, but the campsite should be clear. I hope you guys packed plenty of warm blankets though, it’s supposed to be dipping into the single digits at night.”
“We’re prepared, thanks,” Wesley said. I shivered at the thought and glanced nervously over at my stepbrother, who smiled reassuringly as the pilot went up to the cockpit, closing the door behind him.
Wes could tell I was still a little unsure. “Seriously, don’t worry. The sleeping bags are rated for sub-zero, and we’re going to have a fire every night. I packed three hot water bottles, and we can fill them every night and heat them up. With those and the tent sealed up, you’re going to be just fine. Trust me.”
Trust me, he said. If it was anyone else, I’d never have agreed to this in the first place. But with Wesley, when he said trust me, I did just that.