My sister’s wonderful offer was the only thing going right that Christmas. Unfortunately, it came late in the evening on Dec. 13th, and all the flights from Minneapolis to Vancouver were either sold out or four figures—more than a broke, temporarily unemployed me was comfortable putting on her credit card.
I had no choice but to drive the 27-hour trip as fast as possible in my 15-year-old Ford Focus.
I left early the next morning, determined to make it in record time. And maybe I would have if British Columbia’s Best 100.3—the only station I could pick up in this particular patch of mountains with an indigenous name I couldn't begin to pronounce—didn’t only play Canadian artists.
Specifically, "Both Sides Now" by Joni Mitchell.
It came on just as I passed a“Welcome to Bear Mountain”sign overlooking a quaint, snow-dusted town nestled in a deep valley. The kind of place that looked like it belonged on a Christmas card—so cozy and safe. Too bad I didn’t have time to stop.
One moment, I was steadfastly driving past the town while Joni crooned about the bittersweet nature of growing up and out of love.
And the next, tears were streaming down my face because had anyone in the history of music ever been so right?
Then—BAM!
The world turned white, and the airbag exploded. I suppose I should have been grateful it still worked in a car as old as mine—and that I could get the passenger-side door open despite being halfway embedded in a snow drift.
But my ears were ringing, and the sharp, acrid smell of burnt plastic filled my nose. I stumbled out of the car, coughing, with the metallic taste of copper still sharp on my tongue.
The cold hit me immediately. A frigid wind howled around me, biting into my skin and cutting through my thin sweater like it wasn’t even there.
I had to… get my coat from the back seat.
But no… my vision was starting to blur. I didn’t have time to retrieve a warmer piece of outerwear. That town I’d resolutely passed by earlier was now my only priority.
I couldn’t pass out here. Icouldn’t.
Oh hell, I already was. My knees gave out, and I landed face first in the snow with an ungraceful plop.
If not for the concussion and the almost certain incoming death—either by hypothermia or being run over by the next car that came around the bend—I might have made snow angels.
This was it. This was how I was going to die, right before Christmas.
But then, just as blackness started to creep into my vision, a hulking shadow loomed over me.
I tried to lift my head to see who—orwhat—it was, but the snow seemed to pull me deeper, swallowing me whole.
A warm gust of breath swept across my cheek, and something furry nudged my chin. I blinked up, dazed."Was that a…?"
The world turned to black before I could finish the question.
ash
. . .
It had beena hell of a long night, that was for sure.
With this being my last day of work before denning season started, I’d stayed at my Bear Mountain office until well after hours, scarfing down the sandwich my third maul, Cody, brought over from his restaurant. And I didn’t finish all my den calls until the sun peeked over the mountains.
We had a record number of pregnant mama bears this season. The Dara'khanuk grizzlies especially liked to sleep all day and get their checkups after sundown, which meant I hadn’t slept either, even though I'd grown up keeping a traditional Ayaska schedule of work only from sun-up to sunset.
I couldn’t complain too much, since I wasn’t alone. Mak’s black-on-black truck pulled up to our den just as I emerged from my white Jeep, medical bag in hand.
The color choices were ironic: me, a full Ayaska black bear, driving a white crossover; him, a half polar bear, opting for a Ram 2500 Power Wagon that our third maul had nicknamedBear Vader. The hulking truck suited Mak’s personality perfectly, though—big, imposing, and unapologetically intense.
Mak was four years younger than me, but that morning, in the pale light of dawn, he looked a decade older. His jaw was set, his shoulders tense, as if the weight of the entire clan rested squarely on him alone—along with whatever construction jobs his crew had to leave unfinished before winter.
“Tribe keep you up all night?” I asked as he climbed out of his truck. Not that I needed to guess—the maul bond bite on my right wrist told me that was exactly what had happened.
