The moment I step up onto the tundra bench I realize my mistake. I forgot to shout Hey bear! like I normally do when beaching the raft, to avoid nasty surprises. Out here on the coastal plain, your safety depends on who spots whom first. Vision, hearing, and sense of smell have been refined in the Arctic’s creatures to ensure survival of the most sentient. Even for humans, exposure to this landscape’s spare soundtrack awakens instincts long dulled. Alert, we become fully alive.
Right now, my slip of attention could get me killed.
Not 20 yards away, a grizzly stands up in the grass, fixing me in the crossfire of its stare. Next to it, two fur balls, jolly as piglets: cubs. It’s a worst-case scenario come to life.
What a mess. I have two clients on a beach upstream, one wet and shivering fiercely—luckily he was able to swim ashore after flipping in this no-brainer rapid. I have his paddle, which I
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