Page 49 of Untamed Coast

Bill opened the pilothouse door and leaned out, the mountains surrounding them too steep and too high for him to be able to see the tops from inside the boat. “This…this is absolutely amazing. I’ve never seen any place this beautiful—ever.”

They were headed down a waterway bounded by steep rocky cliffs with dozens of waterfalls dumping the melt-off from unseen glaciers high up the mountains. Ahead of them at the corner, a massive waterfall sprayed out from the top of the cliff with such force that the water barely touched the wall for much of the descent. Mist rose from the bottom as the deluge pounded the rocks, then ran into the fjord. “This is my favorite place on earth, Bill.”

Bill put on his jacket. “Mind if I go out on the bow to watch as we go in?”

“That’s a great idea.”

Bill slipped on Marco’s loaner jacket and disappeared out the pilothouse door toward the bow.

Radio Flyer reached the end of the west arm of Ford’s Terror, a vast bowl bounded by mountains on all sides with three large waterfalls cascading down from snowcapped peaks thousands of feet above.

Marco dropped the anchor. “Let’s go do some dinghy exploring!”

Bill followed. “Do I need the XTRATUFs?”

The davit motor whined as Marco lowered the RIB into the water. “Nope, no boots. We won’t go ashore here. Lotta bears this time of year. But wear the jacket. It’ll get cool in the dinghy.”

Bill zipped up the loaner jacket and settled into the bow seat of the RIB.

The outboard snapped to life with a flick of the starter switch. Marco gunned it and spun the dinghy around, heading back toward the entrance of Ford’s Terror.

He kept the dinghy close to the right-hand wall of the fjord, giving them a nice view of the massive waterfalls across on the other side.

Bill stared wide-eyed. “What’s the name of that huge waterfall over there?” He shouted over the howl of the outboard.

“As far as I know, nothing in here has a name,” Marco replied.

“If that was back home,” Bill leaned toward Marco, shouting louder, “it’d have a name, a visitor center, a parking lot…probably a Starbucks.”

The plan was working—Bill was distracted. Marco could see his destination just ahead on the right, a barely visible cut in the face of the cliff.

Bill was sitting backward looking the other way.

Keeping the dinghy at full speed until the last instant, Marco pulled the throttle back and turned the boat sharply into the cut.

Bill yelped.

They were entering a narrow notch set deep in the face of the towering cliff, culminating in a giant waterfall that had carved out the crevasse over thousands of years. The dinghy idled into the hidden wonderland, sheer rocky walls rising vertically hundreds of feet on both sides, lush ferns that almost never saw the light of day scattered near the base of the waterfall, with the thinnest sliver of blue sky visible far above them. Mist from the torrent of water crashing on the rocks filled the air and moistened Marco’s face.

Bill was taking it all in, his mouth agape, silent.

Marco killed the outboard and let them drift for several minutes with only the roar of the falling water. There was a magic about this place that captivated Marco. It felt prehistoric, like it had been undisturbed for eons, and he was just temporarily transported here to regain his peace of mind.

Bill’s face seemed to soften. “This is really special, Marco. Thank you.”

Marco couldn’t take any more sentimentality. He started the motor, spun the wheel, and gunned the throttle. The dinghy leaped onto plane. “Let’s James Bond out of here!” Marco shouted. They flew out of the notch into the wide channel going over twenty knots, as Marco imagined they were escaping the lair of the supervillain right before a giant explosion destroyed the entire complex in their wake. He held one hand over the side, feeling the spray as the RIB flew across the smooth water.

Marco secured the dinghy to Radio Flyer’s swim platform as Bill climbed out.

“Let’s grab a beer up top.” Marco opened the cooler and Bill took out two cold cans of Alaskan Amber. Marco climbed the ladder and took a seat in the flybridge.

Bill joined him, flopping down on the settee and cracking open his beer. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. “Hey, we never looked at this thing the other day, what with the bear attack and all.” He handed Marco the furry pouch bound in leather ties.

Marco set the pouch in his lap and carefully undid the knot. It reminded him of the drawstring on the bag of gold. “Oh, it was an attack now? Pretty sure we just cordially crossed paths during their morning stroll, but I’ll back your story if you want.” He winked at Bill, then carefully unrolled the sealskin, revealing two small identical black moleskine books. There was a sharp smell of mildew and ink. These must be old.

He handed one to Bill.

He gently pulled open the cover of the remaining book. There was a little water damage around the edges, but the pages came apart cleanly. The sealskin had protected them remarkably well for goodness knows how long in the eagle’s nest. The inside cover and first page were blank. The second page was handwritten in curly formal cursive: