The Footpath - chapter three

It was cold, bitterly cold. The wind drove the cold through his wool coat and into his bones. He had heard stories of people who froze to death in the bitter temperatures of Upper Michigan. Was he the next victim? It didn’t seem so. People who died of hypothermia gradually fell asleep. He was waking up. How could the winter have arrived so soon? He craved warmth – somewhere – anywhere, but there was only the bone jarring frigidness of an uncontrolled Michigan winter.

David was born and raised in Manistique, Michigan, a larger city in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula situated on the north shore of Lake Michigan about 75 miles from the Mackinaw Bridge. Of course, during his early years there was no bridge. Anyone who wanted to visit the flatlanders would take a ferry across the chasm of water separating Upper and Lower Michigan. This worked fine for the months when the water flowed freely. But when the ice formed the two pieces of land were separated for a few months – almost half a year would be more truthful. There were those people who would journey onto the ice and walk across. Some of the u-pers owned dog teams or snow machines and would venture across the ice to visit family and friends on the other side. Some came back; many didn’t. David often wondered what happened to those who failed to return. Sometimes he would make up stories to explain their disappearance. Perhaps they were traveling on a sun bright day and suffered snow blindness. Perhaps they were a little too sure of themselves and unaware of the thinning ice pack until it was too late. Perhaps they simply found life below easier or more interesting than life in the U.P. He wondered did they find a good reason to stay or did they just never make it to the other side? No one knew for sure. The uncertainty was reason enough for David to stay where he was. He had no desire to tempt fate. At least not this early in his life.

No wonder he was cold. He was helping his dad tend a winter trapline. It was exhausting work. It seemed he had broken six or eight miles of trail. He probably hadn’t because dad was the one who normally broke trail. But if being tired and hungry was any indication he had broken trail for hours. It was tough going in the winter but made more so by the snowshoes he was wearing. His snowshoes were smaller than his dad’s. They were called bear paw’s although they were much larger than the pas of even the biggest black bear. His dad was wearing his beavertail snowshoes. They had been given this name because they were shaped like a beaver with a protruding tail of the wood frame extending behind the webbing. They were also called Michigan snowshoes presumably because they had been invented in Michigan.

They had made water sets for mink – but any muskrat and martin they trapped were welcome too. Of course the prices were not high and it seemed to David the work of skinning, scraping and stretching was worth far more than what was being paid for the fur. But the days were tough. His dad was never able to land a high paying job. He did what he could to keep food on the table and clothes on the backs of his wife and five children. Dad had learned something no one could learn except through deprivation. David could see it in his eyes. He knew one day he would have the courage to ask his dad why he still had a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step. Now was not the right time.

He had learned to hunt, trap and fish for survival and enjoyment at an early age. In fact, if David wasn’t doing chores on the family farm he could be found in the woods or along one of his favorite streams. He was captivated by nature. Every day, if he was observant enough, he would uncover a new secret in nature’s abundant array of solutions. His world was fascinating.

The extreme cold of today left little time for exploration and discovery. Dad and he were checking traps as fast as possible removing any animals who had stepped into the trap and resetting the trap for another catch in the next couple of days. Because of the cold weather not many animals had ventured out. Their catch so far was sparse. It had been a nice walk except for the shivering.

“Hey, dad, you getting’ cold?”

“I’m a little cool but this isn’t too bad. The temp is still above zero. It’s quite a pleasant winter’s day, if I do say so myself.”

“Are you sure you’re only a little cool? I think my fingers are frostbit.”

“Just keep moving them. We’ll be home soon.”

Those words, “home soon” were music to his ears. He liked being outside but like dad always said when he wanted to quit what he was doing “too much of a good thing isn’t good.” He almost stopped in the middle of the trail to dream about home – being in the cabin once again enjoying the family. Of course being in the cabin would take him out of the cold too.

“C’mon son, stopped lollygagging. We have to keep moving if we are going to get home in time for supper.”

“Dad, why do you enjoy trapping?”

“Well, not sure enjoyment is a word I would use. It’s more of a necessity for us. I have learned necessities are easier if you discover something enjoyable in them. I enjoy being outside in the winter. Some folks want to stay in and when the time for spring planting comes they are almost too weak to work. I don’t ever want to be like that. I could be, I know. So trapping is an excuse for me to get outside and enjoy God’s frosting on His cake.”

“Frozen cake you mean! Everything is so lifeless and dead”

“Even in the cold life doesn’t stop. Oh, it may take a nap but life is still here. The birds still flit about. The rabbits still explore. The foxes still run after the rabbits. The squirrels still scamper trying to remember where they put that lost nut. The deer still walk about munching on cedar trees. And the coyotes and timber wolves still prowl. There’s a lot of life to be seen in the winter.”

“Well, I’m not feeling much life in my fingers. My fingertips have stopped hurting and have turned into icicles.”

“Remember what I told you earlier – keep movin’ ‘em. You need to help the blood get all the way to the fingertips. When you give up in cold weather you begin to die – sometimes one finger at a time.”

“I know but they hurt when I move ‘em.”

“They wouldn’t hurt if movin’ ‘em wasn’t helpin’.”

“Okay, I’ll keep ‘em movin’. Is there anything else you like about trappin’?”

“Well I’ve discovered a lot about the devil from my trapline.”

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

“No, I’m serious. Of course it will take some time for me to share what I’ve learned and I would rather do that after you have discovered some ways trappin’ and the devil are alilke. Besides we are not so far from home right now. Let’s get this mink out of the trap and check the last two fox sets before it gets any darker. The cabin is only a half mile from here. You know what’s there?”

“A warm fire and a hot meal?”

“Exactly!” Dad said, with a smile. His smile always brought a feeling of warmth and security to David.

He imagined the warmth of the fire and the great meal he would have. He hadn’t noticed how hungry he was. A sandwich and a cup of tea at noon had helped but that was six hours ago. His hunger crowded out his thoughts of cold.

Shortly, however, his thoughts of hunger would be replaced by panic. The stillness of the dark evening was suddenly interrupted with a flash of bright light and an ear piercing explosion…