Arctic Thunder (3 page)

“I thought there was ice and snow up there all the time,” Spencer said.

“No, only ten months out of twelve,” a voice said behind the boys.

Turning quickly, they saw Ben Watson in the doorway in his RCMP uniform. He grinned when he saw the surprise on the boys' faces turn to dejection. Mike didn't even look up.

“I'm kidding. They actually have a great summer up there, and guess what? The sun never goes down. I'm not kidding about that part. They call it the midnight sun. The sun never goes down from late May to well into July.”

“So are you guys going to drive up and go over that ice and stuff to get to Inuvik, too?” Ryan asked Ben.

“No, Ryan. The moving trucks will take our stuff up and over the Peel and Mackenzie Rivers. We'll fly up. It's a pretty long drive, and in winter the weather through the mountains in the Yukon can get pretty bad at times.”

Spencer glanced at Mike. “I thought you guys were going to the Northwest Territories?”

“Inuvik's in the Northwest Territories,” Ben said. “But to get there you have to drive up through northern B.C. and then across the Yukon. You go to Whitehorse and then on the Klondike Highway to Dawson City. From there it can get a little hairy because you drive up through the mountains on the Dempster Highway to this place called Eagle Plains. Then you go down into the Northwest Territories. You cross the Peel River, go to a spot called Fort McPherson, and drive on to the Mackenzie River. Once you cross the Mackenzie, you go to Inuvik. That's it. The road doesn't go any farther. When you get to Inuvik, you have to fly if you're going farther north.”

“Jeez!” Cayln blurted. “So, in other words, you're taking Mike to the end of the world.”

Ben laughed. “Inuvik's actually the biggest community in the western Arctic.”

“What exactly does
big
mean?” chimed in Spencer.

“Big means about thirty-five hundred people.”

“And exactly how big is St. Albert?”

Ben frowned. “Well, about fifty thousand.”

“O … kay,”
drawled Ryan. “So the Edmonton area's about a million people, St. Albert's about fifty thousand, and you're taking Mike to the bustling centre of the western Arctic where thirty-five hundred people live? Congratulations, Mike.”

Mike smiled outwardly, but inside panic was starting to grip him.

“Listen, Ryan,” Ben said, “you love hunting and fishing, right?”

Ryan nodded.

“Well, Inuvik's right on the Mackenzie River. In fact, it's in the Mackenzie Delta, which is one of the biggest deltas in the world. That means there are basically little rivers everywhere. Just to the north is the treeline. That means the tundra starts right there. To the southwest are the Richardson Mountains and the Yukon. There are lakes with some of the freshest water in the world all over the place. What does all that mean? It means no matter what direction you go, no matter what part of the river you take, you can go hunting for caribou, you can go fishing for trout or northern pike, you name it. There are moose, foxes, bald eagles all along the river. The place is incredible.” Ben glanced around the room. Four faces with four blank stares stared right back at him. Shaking his head, he sighed.

“So, uh, Coach Watson,” Ryan asked, “how much lacrosse exactly do they play in a place with thirty-five hundred people?”

Ben scratched his head. “Well … I was going to get to that. You see, the interesting thing is … well —”

“Ben!” a voice called from the hallway.

“Yes, honey?”

“I need you in the kitchen.”

“Okay, boys, we can finish this later. Mike's mom needs me.” Turning away, Ben exhaled noisily and headed down the hall, leaving the boys to wonder what he was going to say.

CHAPTER 3

M
ike slumped against the wall of the plane and stared out the window at the runway in Edmonton. He couldn't really focus on anything in particular. Their final days in St. Albert had been a blur of boxes, handshakes, and goodbyes.

Cayln, Ryan, and Taylor had come to the airport to say goodbye. They had all stood around waiting for the flight to be called, shuffling their feet, not really knowing what to say. When the time came to go through security, Mike had glanced back. The image of his forlorn friends limply waving goodbye was still replaying in his mind.

Mike actually hadn't flown much before and on any other day would have been quite excited about this journey. Today, however, every time he started to pay attention to the details of the flight, his heart pulled him back into the sadness of what this trip really meant.

Somewhere in the foggy recesses of his brain, Mike heard the flight crew go over their spiel about how to fasten seat belts, the need to turn off all electronics, where the exits were, and what to do if oxygen masks dropped down in an emergency. Then the captain announced that their flight was next in line for takeoff, and Mike shot a glance back at the terminal and wondered if Ryan, Cayln, and Taylor were watching from somewhere inside or if they were driving back to St. Albert. Driving home! Another wave of emotion swept over him as he realized he didn't even know what home looked like anymore.

Mike's attention reverted to the runway as the plane began to vibrate and the noise of the engines escalated to an almost uncomfortable level. Lurching forward, the plane hurtled along, gaining speed as the world Mike had grown up in rushed past with a blurry finality. Slowly, the front wheel lifted and the plane was completely off the ground, creating butterflies in the pit of Mike's already unsettled stomach. He brooded as the ground fell away and the buildings of the surrounding area retreated into the distance. They began to circle away from Edmonton as their altitude increased, and Mike's last glimpse was the town of Leduc as it disappeared below the clouds.

After some time, they levelled off, and Mike felt the vibrations and sound of the plane settle into a consistent and steady drone. His ears were plugged, and he pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger and blew out air. Bubbles seemed to pop in each eardrum, and his hearing once again felt normal. Despondently, he focused on droplets of condensation that started to form on the outside window due to the altitude. The droplets took shape and grew in size until they became so plump that the wind drew them back in a stream that flowed along the window's edge and out of sight.

“What can I get you?” Mike's head snapped up as his mother tapped him on the shoulder. A flight attendant stood in the aisle and smiled at him as she motioned at the cart beside her. He opened his mouth to ask for a Pepsi, but the words got stuck in his throat.

“No thanks,” he finally said as he turned back to the window, realizing at the same time that he actually was quite thirsty.

Jeannie smiled at the flight attendant. “He'll have a Pepsi.” Reaching over with her left hand, she twisted the clasp that held Mike's table tray against the seat in front of him and lowered it, then placed a plastic cup of Pepsi and ice on the white surface.

After a moment or two, Mike glanced at the cup of Pepsi and then at his mother. She looked up from the magazine she was reading and smiled, then resumed reading. Mike picked up the cup of Pepsi, swirled the liquid a little, and watched as it fizzed and foamed. Then he brought the cup to his mouth and sipped. The Pepsi was cold, and when he swallowed, he enjoyed the icy tang as the carbonated liquid slipped down his throat.

His mother always knew what he really wanted, and for the first time he experienced a slight glimmer of hope, saw a tentative ray of light in the darkness. Mike got along great with his dad, but it was his mother who seemed to understand him best. She never failed to spot the small thread of positive in a whole blanket of negative. And every time she was right.

When he started lacrosse, he was six years old and was big for his age. Mike could hardly contain his excitement when his father informed him he was registered in lacrosse, and had begged to go to the rink to watch the game he would soon play. He badgered his father non-stop on the way there with questions about the rules and who would be on his team. When they arrived at the rink, he jumped from the car as soon as they parked and despite warning yells from his dad ran ahead and through the doors. Weaving his way through the crowd of adults, he unwittingly ended up at one of the indoor fields in the huge complex where midget-age players were being evaluated for placement on teams. His mouth dropped open as he stood and watched the players beat one another with their sticks, violently trying to impress the evaluators. As his father approached, he turned, tears streaming down his face, and ran right back out to the car, terrified that the same thing was going to happen to him.

Eventually, Ben managed to drag him to the rink, and he began to enjoy the game, playing with other boys his age. But he was terrible. Every time he ran he tripped and fell. He couldn't catch and never remembered to cradle the ball in his stick. It was his mother who held him when he cried after his first game, reassuring him that one day he would be the best player on the floor. She was also the one who practised with him every day when his father was on shift. Jeannie was a short, dark, wiry woman who enjoyed all athletics and loved seeing her son develop a passion for sports as he grew up. It hadn't happened immediately, but bit by bit Mike improved until by the end of the season he was, in fact, the best on his team.

When his father announced they were moving north, once again it was his mother who kept telling him that everything would be all right. Every day she would say some new fact about Inuvik or about the North. And every day Mike would shake his head and get more depressed. Now for the first time he realized that his mother might be right.

Raising the cup of Pepsi to his lips, Mike took another sip and returned his gaze to the window. The clouds were now intermittent, and the land below was beginning to change. North of Edmonton the patchwork quilt of farmland spread to the horizon, and a criss-cross of roads of various sizes sliced through the pattern. The farther north they travelled the more forest areas intruded on the land that had been cleared to grow crops, with only the odd road disturbing the rural mosaic.

Now the ground was quite different. Without Mike noticing, it had shifted from a patchwork pattern to a pockmarked array of lakes, ponds, rivers, and what appeared to be marshes. And there was snow! It was early March and an unexpected thaw had melted all of the snow in the Edmonton/St. Albert area. But not here. The lakes were still frozen, and the wooded areas were full of snow. With every kilometre they covered it seemed to get whiter, causing Mike's brief interlude of positive thinking to evaporate.

* * *

There wasn't much to see in Yellowknife. The stop was brief, and they were in the terminal for a short time. The terminal was nice, but Mike figured about forty buildings that size could be fitted into the terminal in Edmonton. It was located outside Yellowknife, so all they saw were the surrounding airport hangars, warehouses, scrubby trees, and snow. Lots of snow.

The flight from Edmonton to Yellowknife had taken about an hour and forty minutes, and it was another hour and a half to Inuvik. If there was this much snow in Yellowknife, what was waiting farther north?

When they took off from Yellowknife, Mike had a brief view of the city — a few taller buildings and lots of rock and snow. As they flew northwest toward Inuvik, it seemed all he saw was frozen water, stunted trees, snow, and … more rock. He had never seen anything like it. It was as if they were flying over the moon and its craters were full of frozen water. His eyes began to feel heavy, and before he understood what was happening, he nodded off to sleep.

Mike wasn't sure if his mother had nudged him or if he had woken up on his own. Sleepily, he sat up and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. He had been sleeping with his head against the hard wall of the plane, and his neck was stiff and sore as he swivelled, trying to rid himself of the knots in his muscles. Then he noticed his mother smiling at him.

She pointed at the window. “We're landing.”

Craning his head, Mike took a look. “How long was I asleep?”

Jeannie studied her watch. “I'm guessing about forty-five minutes. It's three-thirty. Why?”

Mike pressed his face against the window. “It's gloomy outside, but it's three-thirty in the afternoon.”

“It's early March and we're inside the Arctic Circle,” his mother said.

“So?”

“So they lose the sun in the winter and it still isn't very intense yet.”

Mike darted a look at his father. “They lose the sun?”

Ben nodded. “Your mother's right. They lose the sun.”

“Well, when do they find it?” Mike asked dreamily.

“Pffffffft!”
Ben burst into laughter, then covered his mouth and quickly turned away to face the aisle.

Jeannie swatted her husband. “Ben! The boy's asking a perfectly good question. Don't pay any attention to him, Mike. Losing the sun is a figure of speech. What I meant was that we're so far north that there's a period of time in the winter when the sun stays below the horizon. I think it happens in December and January. Then it starts to get twilight and the sun comes back above the horizon. It gets light in the morning and afternoon this time of year, but not as strongly as it does once summer comes.”

Mike glanced out the window again.

“Can you see anything, honey?” Jeannie asked.

It was snowing. Big, fluffy flakes swirled in the air outside the plane, making visibility almost impossible. Mike pressed his face as close to the window as he could and squinted, focusing on the ground below, but the utter whiteness of the world outside made his eyes sting. As the plane continued to lose altitude, the land started to take shape — more frozen lakes, more dwarf trees, more rocks, and more snow, a lot more snow.