John woke the next morning hungry and thirsty. Embers from the fire radiated some heat but it was the sun he welcomed the most. Standing, he faced the yellow orb and raised his face, his arms stretched to the side. He assessed his injuries. A bruised right shoulder, a good-sized goose-egg on his head, a banged-up shin, with cut hands and fingers. Worst of all were his wobbly, stiff legs, and sore feet. He longed for the half chicken wrap and granola bars in his backpack some six or seven kilometers up the river. The backpack may not even be there, having fallen in the river. Worse still, it could have been ravaged by a smart-ass raccoon, skipping along that slippery log showing it’s dominance over him in the acrobatic field. He chuckled, finding some levity in this serious situation. He took a leak on the embers and scuffed dirt on top. When he was sure the fire would cause no problems he trudged down to the river.
The water looked clear enough so he drank his fill and renewed his journey down the east bank of the river. He surveyed his route and assessed his situation. Five days to James Bay, then he would need to find a settlement. He had no food and one Bic lighter to help him survive. Hopefully, he would find something to eat along the way.