11C High haze, heavy dews at night now.
Bowled 2X yesterday then dinner social in evening.
I felt tired all day yesterday, then the morning I took my BP to find it down to 104/64, kid of low.
Guess I'll have to go get checked out. :(

The scattered wood, the hatchet beside him, the knife lying beside a rock, the plastic sheet fluttering beside his bed all brought back those few moments of the encounter.

  ‘Why, why did he attack me? I was asleep for God’s sake.’  Then it hit him, ‘the food, where is the food?’  Suppressing a groan he crawled to where he had piled the cooked grouse and the filet of fish.  It was gone, it was all gone!  The remnants of the soup gone as well, the rest of the raw fish also gone!  The bear had eaten it all then had obviously foraged for more and had found his boot.

  He groaned, whether from physical pain or the knowledge of his loss he didn’t know, he didn’t care.  He turned and sitting stared blindly out at the river, his mind numb.  Suddenly everything started to swirl, there were black spots before his eyes, he felt nauseous then he slumped onto one side and slipped once again into unconsciousness.

17

W

hen Nat awoke again, it was mid afternoon, his mouth and throat were parched, his head still throbbed, he was shivering though his body felt like it was burning up.  He fumbled about, found the blanket and wrapped it around himself and then rolled towards the fire. ‘The fire! My god the fire! He threw off the blanket and in excruciating pain knelt down beside the fire pit.  There was no fire, it was out!  He clawed into the coals and ashes, some slight heat but nothing.  He sat back, inclined to cry his frustration aloud, but something made him pause, a vision of looking down at himself in another place, the word ‘pitiful’ echoed through his head.

  “YOU SON OF A BITCH, NO WAY NO WAY, YOU WON’T BEAT ME.”  He yelled aloud.  Was the cry directed at the bear, at himself or the lingering memory of a white moose?  He didn’t know, he didn’t care. He knew he would not be beaten.

  He staggered to his feet and stumbling and falling made his way down to the river, there, grunting and groaning he pulled off his shirt and pants, he lay down in the water at the river’s edge and let the cool silty water flow over his head and his body, without hesitation he drank enough to alleviate his thirst.

  Dragging his clothes he stumbled back up the beach to his bed, dug in the pack and pulled out the first aid kit then the bottle of antiseptic.  Twisting around he was able to pour some of the liquid directly onto the gouges along his ribs, the remaining drops he poured onto the top of his head and rubbed it in towards the large lump at the back.  Exhausted he flopped down on to his belly and slept once again.

An hour or perhaps hours later he awoke, he lay there ‘what is that noise?’  It was definitely a foreign sound, it was fading as he listened. ‘It’s a motor, it’s a motor!’ His mind cried out as his voice croaked aloud, “It is a motor, it’s an outboard!’

  He struggled to his knees then pushed himself erect and staggered out onto the beach.  Yes, there it is, it’s gone by, it’s going away!’ “It’s gone I missed it.  HERE, HERE I’M HERE!” He yelled and waved.  But the boat was almost a mile downstream and disappeared around a bend as he watched.

  He slumped to his knees, tears of frustration and pain rolled down his cheeks and as he knelt there once more the word ‘pitiful’ rolled through his head.

  Slowly he raised his head for some reason he looking towards the pond, “Like Hell I am.” He muttered.  Then yelled, “LIKE HELL I AM.  DO YOU HEAR ME? LIKE HELL I AM!