have.
To the west, large clouds, gray and full, rolled across the high peaks.
More snow tonight.
It will be very cold.
He climbed down the cliff face.
He loved to climb.
For a boy that had been born crippled and could not run as others did, climbing was an activity where the playing field leveled.
He had always climbed.
The Boy clung to the side of the rock wall. He spent more rope than he would have liked securing it to the pine. But he had to.
When he’d climbed back onto the ledge his muscles were shaking.
I need water and I’ve forgotten to bring the bag.
What else am I forgetting?
He felt fear rise again as he cupped a handful of snow and put it in his mouth.
In just a moment I’ll have to do this.
Stop.
Mind over matter, Boy.
I don’t mind. It won’t matter.
That’s right, Boy. That’s good.
A strong wind came off the mountain peaks above and whipped long hair into his green eyes.
He brushed it away.
What else am I forgetting?
When he picked up the first pole it felt too light.
It felt hollow like he could break it across his knee.
He laid it down just in front of the cliff’s edge, pointing toward the frowning mouth of the cave.
The second pole felt heavier. He placed it at the entrance.
When he went back for the third, it felt lighter than the second and he switched it out. I’ll want the heaviest one first, he thought.
Crouching low and entering the cave, he felt the rope pull taut at his waist.
It won’t reach. I won’t be able to get close enough to make the most of the spear.
He undid the rope about his waist and changed to a slipknot.
This is how it works, he told himself.
Change of plans, he’d heard Sergeant Presley say.
Change of plans.
He laid the loop of rope at the base of the second pole.
When you fall back to this position, you slip the rope around your right wrist, Boy.
What about the left?
I can’t trust that side.
What else am I forgetting?
Stop, he told his heart.
Stop.
He crept into the cave, the tip of the spear dead center on the sleeping mass.
There was a moment.
A moment to think and to have thought too much.
He felt it coming. He’d known it before at other times and knew it was best to stay ahead of such moments.
He drove the spear hard into the mass.
An instant later it was wrenched out of his hands as the bear turned over. He heard a dry snap of wood echo off the roof of the cave as he retreated back toward the entrance.
For a moment, the Boy took his eyes off the bear as he slipped the loop about his wrist and grabbed the spear, making sure to keep the trailing end of the parachute cord away from the end of the pole.
In that moment he could hear the roar of the bear. It filled the cave, and beneath the roar he could hear her claws clicking against the stone floor as she scrambled up toward him.
When he looked up, following the blackened tip of the spear, he found the grizzly’s head, squat, flat, almost low beneath the main bulk of her body. She roared again, gnashing a full row of yellowed fangs.
He jabbed the spear into her face and felt the weapon go wide, glancing off bone.
He backed up a few steps and planted the butt of the long pole in the ground.
The grizzly, brown, shaggy, angry, lurched out onto the ledge. It rose up on its hind legs and the Boy saw that it might, if it came forward just a bit, impale itself on the pole if it attacked him directly. He adjusted the pole right underneath the heart of the raging bear.
The bear made a wide swipe with its paw smashing the pole three quarters of the way to the top.
In the same instant that the pole was wrenched from the Boy’s grip, and as if the moment had caused an intensity of awareness, he felt the slipknot, its mouth still wide, float from off his wrist.
Stick to the plan, Boy! You can’t change it now.
He’d heard that before.
His back foot, his good leg, planted at the edge of the cliff, the Boy raised the final pole.
The bear on hind legs wallowed
To the west, large clouds, gray and full, rolled across the high peaks.
More snow tonight.
It will be very cold.
He climbed down the cliff face.
He loved to climb.
For a boy that had been born crippled and could not run as others did, climbing was an activity where the playing field leveled.
He had always climbed.
The Boy clung to the side of the rock wall. He spent more rope than he would have liked securing it to the pine. But he had to.
When he’d climbed back onto the ledge his muscles were shaking.
I need water and I’ve forgotten to bring the bag.
What else am I forgetting?
He felt fear rise again as he cupped a handful of snow and put it in his mouth.
In just a moment I’ll have to do this.
Stop.
Mind over matter, Boy.
I don’t mind. It won’t matter.
That’s right, Boy. That’s good.
A strong wind came off the mountain peaks above and whipped long hair into his green eyes.
He brushed it away.
What else am I forgetting?
When he picked up the first pole it felt too light.
It felt hollow like he could break it across his knee.
He laid it down just in front of the cliff’s edge, pointing toward the frowning mouth of the cave.
The second pole felt heavier. He placed it at the entrance.
When he went back for the third, it felt lighter than the second and he switched it out. I’ll want the heaviest one first, he thought.
Crouching low and entering the cave, he felt the rope pull taut at his waist.
It won’t reach. I won’t be able to get close enough to make the most of the spear.
He undid the rope about his waist and changed to a slipknot.
This is how it works, he told himself.
Change of plans, he’d heard Sergeant Presley say.
Change of plans.
He laid the loop of rope at the base of the second pole.
When you fall back to this position, you slip the rope around your right wrist, Boy.
What about the left?
I can’t trust that side.
What else am I forgetting?
Stop, he told his heart.
Stop.
He crept into the cave, the tip of the spear dead center on the sleeping mass.
There was a moment.
A moment to think and to have thought too much.
He felt it coming. He’d known it before at other times and knew it was best to stay ahead of such moments.
He drove the spear hard into the mass.
An instant later it was wrenched out of his hands as the bear turned over. He heard a dry snap of wood echo off the roof of the cave as he retreated back toward the entrance.
For a moment, the Boy took his eyes off the bear as he slipped the loop about his wrist and grabbed the spear, making sure to keep the trailing end of the parachute cord away from the end of the pole.
In that moment he could hear the roar of the bear. It filled the cave, and beneath the roar he could hear her claws clicking against the stone floor as she scrambled up toward him.
When he looked up, following the blackened tip of the spear, he found the grizzly’s head, squat, flat, almost low beneath the main bulk of her body. She roared again, gnashing a full row of yellowed fangs.
He jabbed the spear into her face and felt the weapon go wide, glancing off bone.
He backed up a few steps and planted the butt of the long pole in the ground.
The grizzly, brown, shaggy, angry, lurched out onto the ledge. It rose up on its hind legs and the Boy saw that it might, if it came forward just a bit, impale itself on the pole if it attacked him directly. He adjusted the pole right underneath the heart of the raging bear.
The bear made a wide swipe with its paw smashing the pole three quarters of the way to the top.
In the same instant that the pole was wrenched from the Boy’s grip, and as if the moment had caused an intensity of awareness, he felt the slipknot, its mouth still wide, float from off his wrist.
Stick to the plan, Boy! You can’t change it now.
He’d heard that before.
His back foot, his good leg, planted at the edge of the cliff, the Boy raised the final pole.
The bear on hind legs wallowed
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