Tillman asked how far we would travel through the canyon. I estimated three, five, maybe 10 miles.
?—?If it’s three miles, we might make it through in one go, Tillman said. —?Much more & we’ll be sleeping the night in the canyon
Samuelson warned us to travel on the crowns & ridges where the ice is the strongest.
He pointed towards a pond-sized dent, where the river ice sunk low & turned a dense shade of blue.
?—?Avoid that like the plague, he said. —?It’s too weak to hold you.
Samuelson led. The dog, for once, brought up the rear. Tillman said he did not like the way the animal hesitated to follow, as if it knew more than us.
No one spoke after that.
As much as the canyon invokes fear in us, I think our silence was one of reverence. It is truly a feat of Mother Nature. The slate walls rise hundreds of feet. In places, thick waterfalls of ice cascade down the rock. Beyond, to north, east & west, are vast, stony mountains & glaciers that stretch miles into the distance. One such glacier reached down into the canyon & to the river’s edge, so that we were able to touch the extraordinary blue ice as we passed by.
The Wolverine cuts tightly through the rock, so we can never see more than a few hundred yards ahead or behind to the next turn. We entered one section that was so closely bound, it was like a cavern, with one wall entirely encased in ice to a height of at least 100 feet. Scant daylight entered through the narrow opening to the sky overhead.
There is little sign of flora or fauna in this landscape. Far up on the rocks, small, hardy evergreens cling to nothing but cliff & air. Once, a bald eagle flew down through the canyon & over our heads, its wingspan impressive. Otherwise, we saw no sign of life.
Tillman broke the silence by saying he would prefer to travel along more quickly, to be rid of this God-blasted deathtrap. —?We’re like mice scurrying into a cat’s maw, he said.
Yet I have come to a new respect for Samuelson’s plodding approach. We cannot afford to blunder along for it would be all too easy to walk ourselves into a corner, trapped by either giant slabs of ice or one of those perilous low spots. We’d then be forced to attempt the crossing or backtrack to safer ground. We proceeded at a slow, careful pace.
The sleds that had worked so well earlier in the day now became an encumbrance over the rough terrain. Often the sleds overturned; at other times two of us would have to pick up one, carry it beyond uneven ice, then go back for another. The ice, too, was beginning to show signs of spring thaw; large sections detached & moved beneath our feet. I stepped on what looked like stable ground, only to have the ice block turn beneath me so that I was like a logrolling lumberjack. I just managed to jump to solid ground as the slab bobbed beneath me.
After several hours, below us in the canyon we heard the rumble & grind of ice on the move. No one mentioned it, but no doubt we all heard it.
Tillman began to whistle, perhaps to serve as a distraction. He started with snippets of soldier tunes, but then fell off into the mournful ‘Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie.’ Against my will, I found myself humming it, until my brain tripped over the words
?.?.?.?Death’s shades were slowly gathering now,
He thought of home and loved ones nigh.
I called out for him to put a stopper in it.
Tillman was offended, but I was glad to have an end of it.
None of us noticed when the dog first became separated from our group. There was a sudden, sharp bark & we all stopped to look behind. The animal was several hundred yards downriver & against the far canyon wall. We could see its quandary?—?the animal was separated form us by a large fracture in the ice that began farther down river than we could see. The dog had been traveling near the cliff & was now cornered. The break looked to be at least 10 yards across, too far to leap. The animal seemed to consider it. It trotted back & forth.
I followed Tillman & the Indian woman downriver to where we could see more clearly. Earlier in the winter the ice must have caved to create an icy pit, with sides more than six feet down. In the depths of the fracture, we could see the flowing water of the Wolverine, so dark surely it was deeper than anything a man or beast could survive.
?—?If Boyo goes for it & doesn’t make it, we won’t be able to fetch him out of there, Tillman said.
I agreed. The sides were too steep, the ice too unstable.
At the sound of our voices, the dog became more animated & approached the edge.
With the most expression I have seen the young woman display, she shouted at the animal, waved her arms as if to gesture it away from the pit. Tillman, too, was distraught.
?—?Go back on down, Boyo. Go back!
For a time the dog paced, then began to whimper.
Tillman volunteered to call the dog, lead him down the river until he could find a safe crossing.