Free The Moose Jaw by Mike Delany

the creek, we launched them downstream.  As a result, we were able to fetch them ashore before they swept past our camp.  After we had dragged them up on the bar and laid them alongside the other one to dry, we had a quick lunch.  Haywood declined the bottle of beer I offered him to go with his sandwich.  He’d be flying out in a few hours, and when it came to alcohol and airplanes he went strictly by the book.  I knew he was anxious to get back to Fairbanks.  He’d mentioned he wanted to get the plane into the hangar for some scheduled maintenance, and I suspected he was looking forward to an evening with Donna, his new lady friend, before returning to work tomorrow.  I couldn’t say that I blamed him.  I’d like an evening with a lady friend too, if I had a lady friend.  With Sylvia gone from my life I’d have to do something about that when I returned to civilization.  For the present though, I was just going to enjoy my not-yet-divorced-but-nevertheless-single status.
     
    After lunch Haywood packed a river bag with all the gear he’d be taking with him.  I told him he could leave his sleeping bag and inflatable mattress if he wanted, but he said he liked to keep all his gear in the plane in case he had to put down in the bush sometime.  You always had to be thinking survival out here.  Then we made up a shopping list of items he’d bring in on his next visit.  After that, we put in a little time on the creek, but the grayling weren’t rising, and we, dry-fly snobs both, refused to resort to nymphs.  It occurred to me as we stood there, casting and chatting, that I hadn’t taken very good stock of my fly tying material before we flew in.
    “Better add some dubbing wax and some more hooks to that list.” I told him.
    “What size?” he asked, fishing his notebook out of his shirt pocket.
    “Oh, fourteens and sixteens, I guess.  A hundred each ought to be enough.  I think I have plenty of eighteens.”
    He wrote it down.  “How you fixed for thread and head cement and all that sort of stuff?”
    “Fine,” I answered, “The hooks and the wax will do it.”
    At about two in the afternoon we gave up on the grayling and went back to camp to retrieve Haywood’s river bag before heading up to the landing strip.  I had mixed feelings about his departure.  I enjoyed his company and wished he could stay a little longer.  On the other hand, I was anxious to get started on my solo adventure and I couldn’t really do that until I was, well, solo.  I saw him aboard his Clipper and waited while he stowed and secured all his gear.  Then I stood off a few paces and watched while he went through his pre-takeoff checks.  Before he cranked up the engine he opened the door, propped a boot on the sill and leaned out.
    “O.K.  You’ve got enough beer and tobacco and whiskey to see you through a month.  I’ll be back in three weeks for the Chinook run so you should be all right until then.  The tent’s good enough to get you through anything the weather can throw at you in the summer months and you’re well enough armed to fight off all the bears in Alaska plus half the Red Army.  I’m not going to worry about you.”
    This, of course, was his way of telling me he was worried about me.
    I patted the toe of his boot that was sticking out the door.
    “I’ll be fine, Mom.  Stop worrying.”
        “Goddamnit.  I’m not worrying!  I’m just – well…” he laughed, “fretting.  It’s a mother’s right, you know.  Seriously though, you sure you’ll be O.K.?  This all-alone shit sounds exciting and all, but it can go wrong fast.  I wish you weren’t such an asshole about that radio.  At least you could call out for help if you needed it.”
    I smiled.  He was genuinely concerned.  He was a good friend.
    “That’d be cheating.  Seriously, I’ll be O.K.  It’s only three weeks.  I can make it alone that long.”
    “I know.  I’ve just been thinking about what Hard Case