Bold venture
At seven in the evening local time, as darkness and the thirty-degree frost were already pressing against the windows, a tin can hanging above the entrance clanged against the metal trim of the doorway, and into the room gracefully dived a slender, fit blonde of twenty-four, literally bundled up in a red-and-white knitted hat with a fluffy pom-pom, a large colorful scarf wrapped around her satin neck, a blue ski down jacket hiding her firm second-size breasts and an appetizing flat tummy, heat-resistant tight-fitting pants worn with nothing underneath, and winter hiking boots.
A blush flooded her cheeks. They say about such girls 'runaway from the suburbs,'
meaning a generally cheerful disposition, minimal makeup while maintaining overall attractiveness, a complete lack of showing off in any form, and modesty that sometimes borders on endearing shyness. Due to the girl's height of 178 centimeters and weight of 54 kilograms, all this looked quite organic on her, even beautiful, though comfort was far more important to her than appearance. After all, she hadn't decided to travel to such remote places, at least twenty to thirty miles from the nearest relatively large city, to show off fashion. From her small shoulders hung a heavy backpack on straps, containing a necessary supply of drink, food, clothing, hiking tools, and a map with a compass.Finally finding herself in warmth that burned her frozen thighs, the girl unzipped her jacket, placed her backpack by the entrance, and stomped on the mat, knocking the clinging snow off her boots. Then she looked around. Inside, the hotel resembled its exterior: the same old oak panels and drab finish, the same feeling of general dilapidation. A dim lamp didn't add any liveliness. Several soda and snack vending machines stood against the right wall. A wooden staircase—probably creaky, the girl thought—starting on the left, led to the second floor. Directly in front of her, a long closed counter, resembling a bar counter, separated the first-floor area from the administrator's office, where the establishment's owner lived. Mounted under the ceiling, a poorly working TV hissed quietly. A bell on the counter stood to the side, near a rotating stand with expired flyers inviting people to the annual folk carnival, but there was no need to ring—the owner never left for long.
"Hello," he greeted. "How can I help you at the 'Brave Hunter'?"
"Hello, I'd like to rent a room at your hotel," she said. Her voice was quite soft, girlish, yet with a hint of determination. "Any room, even the cheapest one."
"Right, understood, miss, just a moment..." the short administrator, constantly adjusting his slipping glasses, hastily fumbled under the counter at the checkpoint, searching for the right form and trying not to bump his noticeable bald spot on a shelf. "Are you departing tomorrow?"
"Excuse me?" the girl didn't understand.
"I meant, you're waiting for the sled team to be available, right?" he asked, without looking up from filling out the form, pointing to the building across the street, being swept by heavy snowfall.
"Oh, yes..." the girl turned following his pointing gesture, as if wanting to make sure the relay station was still there, "I have a tour reserved with a company. My friends just stayed in a wigwam room, here, not far from the turn to your motel—they're crazy about exotic things, nothing you can do about them."
"I see, I see. Tourists aren't frequent, but they do come to our parts sometimes," the gray-haired Administrator shook his head. "By the way, how do you like it right by the 'Gates of the Arctic'? A wonder, not just a reserve, right, not like crowded Fairbanks?"
"Your area really is awfully amazing. Alaska is Alaska. I've seen something similar maybe during a work trip in Canada," the girl nodded, finally taking off her hat and shaking out her luxurious blonde braid, the tail of which reached all the way down to her tailbone. "I've already been to Fairbanks, by the way."
"Yukon Quest?" the administrator smiled an old man's smile, glancing conspiratorially from under his brows.
"You guessed it again," the girl laughed in response. "Only last year I couldn't manage to win a prize in the dog sled race."
"Well, on the Yukon Quest, even just finishing is a big deal," it was clear the old man himself had had no small passion for racing in his youth. "Alright, okay... Here we go, your form is ready. The nightly rate is indicated right here," he poked his finger. "Just need to sign here and here. You can use my pen, miss..."
"Miss Ella," the girl quickly signed. Due to trembling hands, it came out a bit crooked, but the old man didn't insist on absolute clarity. "Here's my credit card."
"Good," the cash register beeped instantly, reading the number. "Alright, all set. Room... 16. It's yours, Miss Ella," the administrator extended the key. "Up the stairs to the second floor, then the fourth room on the right down the hall. The room has a bed, a nightstand, and a mirror. The toilet and shower are on the first floor near the boiler room vestibule," he waved toward the area behind the food vending machines.
"Thank you," Ella laughed. "You've saved me from the cold and the prospect of spending the night in an uncomfortable wigwam."
"It's nothing. Sweet dreams and good luck in your brave endeavor, Miss Ella. Oh, and one more thing: for the Brooks Range, they're predicting a powerful snow cyclone with temperatures below minus twenty-five Celsius for the entire next week. Be more careful and choose your sled dog wisely," the administrator advised in parting. "I'll reserve this room for your return from the hike, unless there's a sudden influx of other visitors in the meantime."
In the morning, she got up easily, first stretching sweetly in bed upon waking, then, without hurrying, tidied herself up at the room's mirror. Outside the window, the blizzard still hadn't subsided, but it was clear it was just gathering strength. After a shower, Ella returned to the room and got ready for a while. Checking her spare set, she put on a thick white knitted sweater that reached her knees, her jacket with a fur hood over it, those same heat-resistant pants, but this time with long underwear, her hat, boots, scarf, and windproof gloves. Her phone had no new messages, except for a relatively recent farewell from family members who periodically reminded her of their worry for her. The friends Ella had told the old man about yesterday, of course, weren't with her. There was no boyfriend either—in the town of Glenwood, located in the forested area of northern Portland, she lived alone. A precautionary act, just in case, so no one would follow.
Leaving the hotel in high spirits, she left the administrator her phone number for contact and, thanking him and saying goodbye, immediately went to the kennels to choose a dog. Outside, as the weather forecast had promised, it was cold, but clearly warmer than yesterday. Plus, it was snowing, which meant she didn't have to worry about the initial stage of the journey. She hoped to reach the Nord-Chase area by the end of the day.
Quickly sorting out the formalities, Ella promptly prepared the sled, loading equipment onto it, and headed to the second block. Due to Ella's light weight, even one northern breed dog could easily handle the load, let alone an Alaskan Malamute. She had her eye on one such dog as she walked along the closed kennels with an assigned kennel worker who kept talking about something. A gray-black-and-white male of medium size—that's 59 centimeters tall, mind you—with a fluffy tail and a playful gaze from gray eyes, remained relatively calm and, as the kennel worker stated, could boast considerable strength. One that wouldn't even be scared of wolves, Ella thought, sizing him up.
The kennel window was opened slightly, and the dog immediately jumped up to it, standing on his hind legs. He showed no aggression up close; on the contrary, he was all friendliness. When Ella petted him, accompanied by the dog's approving rumbling, her hand didn't just sink into his fur like with huskies; no, this was real fur, and with a pile characteristic perhaps of an otter—it was that dense. Moreover, the dog strongly reeked of a natural musk, similar to extremely pungent sweat. It was especially noticeable from his belly: the fur hairs there were matted in places. As from his mouth, warm steam came from them. It was quite hot in the building; the dogs were eager to get outside. His friendly muzzle was adorned with a widely gaping mouth from which saliva constantly dripped onto the floor—Ella didn't understand where he had such a supply. However, this didn't bother her. On his leather collar was an inscription: "Holmi." A good name, Ella noted. The kennel worker assured the girl the dog had taken to her positively, and she could see it herself anyway. The poor thing was all worked up from being cooped up.
"Be careful with him there," the tired escort advised already at the sled, trying to shout over the blizzard, "don't loosen the sled harness under any circumstances, or you won't be able to handle him! You saw for yourself. He'll just drag you away; it's nothing for him. That tourists haven't come, and somehow no one ever chose him, so he's terribly curious about people and all sorts of animals. He'll circle around you and almost dance if you give him free rein, or start looking for hares."
"Don't worry, I have experience with disobedient dogs."
"Maybe, but not like this one. This is a Malamute. He's several times stronger and more enduring than any dog you've dealt with on the Yukon Quest and other Alaskan races. Take care of yourself."
"I'll figure something out if needed," Ella said to that, hoping to get rid of the annoying companion sooner. "Can we set off now?"
The Malamute, harnessed to the classic sled and being snowed on, whined impatiently, wagging his tail.
"You've submitted the documents, submitted the route map, the equipment is in order and the contract is complete, so yes, you can go. Remember, you have three days total, no more. From the 15th until the morning of the 18th is the deadline."
"Don't worry, I'll return your Gray to you safe and sound."
"Then have a good trip, Miss Ella!" the kennel worker waved after the departing sled. "Get to the Brooks safely!"
The rest of the day and the night with the morning of the next day passed normally, though one wouldn't call the weather conditions such. The wind had really picked up, and it felt drafty even in the dense forest. The thirty-degree frost maintained its reign throughout the journey. From midnight, Ella made camp but still didn't build a proper shelter, limiting herself to a sleeping bag—fortunately it was insulated—three foam pads, one of which ended up going to the whining Holmi, and a campfire. The furry companion lay at her feet, curled up. Dog Holmi and Ella were getting used to each other during this time, so to speak—by morning the dog had already started responding to a couple of basic commands like "sit," "lie down," and "no." Despite this, he kept trying to lick her hand or nudge Ella with his head against her leg, which made the girl laugh sincerely. A bit later, when the dog got carried away playing, he even lightly, barely noticeably, nipped her thigh, but immediately got a tap on the ears.
As long as everything was going according to plan, Ella wasn't particularly worried about possible threats. At this time of year, wolf packs had moved much further east and weren't encountered. Bears were probably mostly living further north. Still, there was reason to worry, though for a different reason. The real problems began during the day, after the sled crossed a frozen lake and closely approached the western slope of Mount Brooks.
"Well, how do we cross?!" Ella fumed, examining the map.
A wide stream—no less than ten to twelve meters—descended down the slope from the mountain itself, blocking the way to the other side. Whether a stream had broken through or something else—it didn't matter to her now. The remains of a bridge, if there ever was one here, had been swept downstream.
The dog, sitting down, turned and looked questioningly at the girl.
"We'll have to chop down trees," Ella answered him, shrugging, taking a small axe out of her backpack.
She had read that some travelers had done this multiple times when they couldn't pass normally. They just needed to chop down two small trees and, pushing them in the right direction, lay them across the water obstacle.
In the end, not without difficulty, it was done. Two trees, as required, with their trunks stripped of branches, formed an improvised bridge. The hardest part was hauling the sled on top and making Holmi pull it while walking on one tree, while Ella pushed from the other.
"Easy, doggy..." she kept saying, her voice trembling slightly. "Careful..." she stepped over another branch. "Careful... Easy, easy... That's it..."
Literally in the middle—what made him jerk like that?—Holmi, growling at someone, suddenly took off along the log.
"Holmi!"
That was all Ella managed to shout after him before losing her balance. She swayed on the log, trying to grab onto something.
"Oh my God!"
She fell. And though it wasn't a high fall—only a few meters—there was a loud splash. Ella, instantly and completely soaked, was carried by the current, and the girl only tried to gulp air, going under the water and surfacing again. At some point, she hit rocks on a rapid and lost consciousness.
She came to because someone was nuzzling her neck and snuffling near her ear. Her first thought was: "He got loose..." So the sled with all the necessities was abandoned somewhere in the forest. It was hard for her to say exactly when she regained consciousness, but she oriented herself by the general light—it was getting dark, and the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. In another two hours, it would be completely dark. Making an effort, she first got up on all fours, then straightened up completely, leaning and supporting herself against Holmi's sturdy back. His fur was dry, meaning she had been washed up on the right side of the stream. She wanted to give him a good kick, but she simply didn't have the strength even for such a simple action. Her head was buzzing, and everything was swimming before her eyes. It wasn't clear how hard Ella had hit the rocks, but the girl didn't feel serious pain; her body only groaned a bit when she moved. She needed to find the sled as soon as possible, build a fire, make a shelter, and the dog, strangely enough, was very helpful in solving the first task. Breaking free from under her arm, he, almost knocking the girl over, ran off somewhere into the forest.
"Hey!" Ella called out. "H-holmi, w-w-where are you going?"
When Ella finally reached him, she saw the sled runners.
"G-good boy, Holmi," she ruffled the dog's ears. "L-lead..."
"We're spending the night here," Ella pointed. "Guard."
Without further delay, she took off her outer clothing and hat, the constantly squelching heat-resistant pants, and, arming herself with the axe again, began knocking down branches in the nearest spruce grove. After hauling the needed amount to the cliff, she started constructing a covered lean-to. The thing was, the nearby cliff turned out to be quite low, so laying branches against a fallen tree was easy; it sort of served as a natural roof ridge. The work went well and was soon finished—the walls made of spruce branches came out quite dense, and the wind didn't blow through the structure. Perfect. Deciding to further insulate the sleeping area, Ella took a shovel and threw more snow under the base of the "walls," piling a good strip of snowdrift around the lean-to. She made the entrance very small and low—a person or, say, a dog could only crawl through. Next—of course, a campfire.
Now for the clothing—it needed to be dried. A bundle of ropes and two sticks helped here. She also took care of the bedding, placing the sleeping bag closer to the fire. It only dried on the outside; inside it was still disgustingly damp.
"Better than nothing," Ella summarized sadly.
But she couldn't lie on it like that; she needed to get rid of all the wet clothing still on her