Mid-day turned to mid-afternoon as the dead forest air pressed in on John. His shirt was soaked where his backpack lay against his back and he was drinking water at an alarming rate. The heat enveloped him, making breathing difficult. He stumbled up one final crest and began his descent into the small valley. The rush of water drifted to his ears. It sounded like a good-sized creek, easy enough to follow downstream.
John stepped on a mossy rock and slid off, crashing to the ground. He slid down the slope for several feet before grabbing some shrubs. He lay back catching his breath. Can’t afford to twist an ankle, or break something. He thought about his predicament.
All rivers up here lead to James Bay. It was at least 60 kilometers, probably 70, as the crow flies, and you could easily add five more kilometers following the bends in the river. The Abitibi River was ten kilometers to the west and had a better chance of having some settlements along its banks, but he would have to traverse four or five ridges to get there. He decided to stay on this river and make his way down to James Bay. Five days. There would be plenty of water, as long as he didn’t get Beaver Fever, (a parasitic often found in the waters downstream from beaver ponds) and he could forage blueberries to augment his chicken wrap.
He picked himself up and continued down the slope, watching the placement of his feet and holding on to any available branch or shrub. Fifteen minutes later he was at the bank of a river some twenty-five feet across. He sat and ate some of his chicken-wrap and drank the rest of his water. The wrap had mayonnaise on it and would need to be finished off tonight to avoid any spoilage. It began to rain. Hopefully, it would put the fire out. After half-an-hour, he donned his backpack and followed the east bank of the river downstream to civilization…