Page 26 of The Triple Play

I step over a moss covered log, breathing in the damp air of the forest around me. It’s raining steadily, but I don’t mind. Trip bounds along ahead of me, barking at anything and everything he comes across. His joy is infectious, and I find myself smiling at him, even as I scan the towering cedars for lichen.

When I catch up with Trip, he’s sniffing a fallen log very intently.

“Did you find something interesting?” I ask him, getting nothing but a wide doggy smile in return. “Such a good assistant,” I praise him and pet his wet head. He barks and takes off.

I tip my head back, looking upward at the vibrant green canopy and blinking at the raindrops landing on my face. Up ahead is one of the locations I’d marked on my map, but the sky is growing darker a lot earlier than I anticipated, thanks to the incoming storm. I call Trip back to my side and attach his leash onto his collar, the other end clipped to my waist.

“Looks like we’re calling it quits early today.”

Our hike back to the cabin is a lot slower than it was going out four hours ago. Small rivulets of water have grown into streams crossing the trail, and branches and debris litter the trail. Not exactly ideal conditions, but not unmanageable. Over the last day and a half, the weather has worsened, starting with a drizzle and becoming this constant downpour. Luckily, I was able to finish most of what I hoped to achieve in less time than I anticipated. There’s only two locations that I didn’t have a chance to check, and they were lower priority anyway.

I can head to them tomorrow if the rain lightens up.

“Well, shit.” I come to an abrupt halt when I see part of the trail has washed away. There’s just enough left that if we hug the hillside, it’s passable, but not easily. Trip and I make it across, and I glance back anxiously. That’s going to mean a change in plans for tomorrow if that area is inaccessible.

And if this part is washed out, there could be other parts that are as well.

Denver and Griffin’s comments about flooding risks come back to me. They were right to be concerned. Only now, it may be too late.

I pick up the pace, Trip at my side. If we can get back to the cabin, we can, at the very least, warm up.

We have to cross two more large streams bisecting the trail and climb over a large branch that’s down before we get to the clearing behind the small research cabin. It’s a basic one-room structure, but sturdy. The door is on the side of the cabin, and inside, there’s nothing more than a woodstove, a long counter that runs the entire length of one wall with a sink in the middle of it, a table with two chairs, and an extremely uncomfortable two-seater sofa. On the walls are topographical maps of Strathcona Park, a cork board with photos that curl at the corners, and a few scribbled notes. There’s a set of steep stairs that go up to a loft with a double bed. Stairs that Trip can only just make it up, and an outhouse off to the side of the main building. However, with no power and no running water, it’s certainly not a place you want to stay long term.

Or be caught in a massive storm.

But it’s dry, and as soon as I get the fire stoked up again, it’ll be warm. I’ll make a cup of hot tea and heat up something for a late lunch while I figure out my plan. I brought a propane camp stove, some easy ready-made meals, and plenty of snacks. Those Doritos and gummy worms that Denver teased me about are almost half gone, but there’s also some trail mix, and of course, some chocolate. I probably did overdo it on snacks. There’s certainly more than I need for the four-day trip this was meant to be.

“Good thing the wood’s dry,” I say to Trip after toweling him off. He flops down on the floor in front of the still-cold stove with a groan. “I feel you, bud. I’ll get us something to eat as soon as I have dry clothes on.”

But first, I build up the fire that I had let die down to coals earlier this morning. Once that’s going, and the cabin is starting to warm up, I go up to the loft and change into some dry clothes. Outside, I can hear the rain intensifying. It’s pounding on the roof of the cabin, and I anxiously check for any leaks, thankfully finding none.

Moving to the counter, I pick up the clear plastic container that contains one of the samples I gathered yesterday, my pulse quickening with excitement. At first it looked like a fairly standard lichen from the Cladonia family. But when I looked closer, I saw some markings that were unfamiliar.

I don’t get my hopes too high, thinking I’ve discovered a new species of lichen that will change the world, but it’s a thrilling discovery, nonetheless.

A gust of wind rattles the thin windows, and I glance outside. My stomach drops at what I see. The driveway is halfway flooded, with water running swiftly down the moderate slope. With the trees surrounding the cabin, I couldn’t park my car as close as I’d wanted. Remembering how annoying it was trekking back and forth with all of my gear and supplies has me dreading doing it all over again when I need to leave this place.

I chew on my lower lip, debating whether I should pack up and head out now. No sooner do I entertain that thought when I hear a loud crack come from just beyond where I can see, followed by a deafening thud.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I breathe, hurrying to pull on my boots and jacket. Outside, I round the side of the cabin as the rain comes down sideways, thanks to the wind, and so heavy, it stings my skin. As soon as I get to the front of the cabin, the source of the noise becomes obvious. A tree has fallen across the driveway, just a couple of feet behind my car.

“Okay, this is not good.” I make my way over slowly, swallowing the fear rising in my stomach. The tree isn’t huge, but it’s big enough. I don’t think I can move it myself without cutting it in pieces.

“Chainsaw. Or an axe. That’s what I need.”

I turn back to the cabin and hurry inside. The axe by the woodstove is dull as anything, and I’ve got no way of sharpening it. And of course, there’s not a chainsaw here.

I absentmindedly pet Trip as I rack my brain trying to come up with a plan. We could hike out, but the weather is only getting worse and it’ll be dark in a couple of hours. If I’m going to go, I need to go now.

I do have a satellite phone that I’ve used to check in with Dr. Cheng, but I’d rather not call him for help quite yet. Nothing says incompetent female like being stuck in bad weather.

I glance down at my dog. “Alright, buddy, this is going to suck, but we’re hiking out of here.” I try not to think about just how long of a hike it’ll be. I think there was a ranger hut a few kilometres down the main road from where I turned off. With any luck, I’ll be able to reach it, and then I can ask for a ride out of the park.

I start to load my backpack with the essentials, already knowing I’ll have to leave most of my gear and equipment here and come back another time. The puzzle I’d planned to put together lies unopened on the coffee table. It’s my favourite way to unwind each evening, and I’d been saving this one for this trip specifically, only I’ve been too tired each evening to get started on it. It will have to stay here until I can get back in the future to pick up everything I don’t pack out today.

Right as I’m finishing packing up my samples, the satellite phone rings. I hurry over and grab it, answering the call.

“Hello?”