Shafted
I’ve lost the trail, my lead dog is limping
The motor’s running rough, prop bent from a rock
Shit, the wind’s dying, my kite’s in the snow more than the air
The motor is missing, tank’s almost empty
Deep wet snow has eaten up our gas
Paddling for 14 hours into an ugly headwind
No wax left on my skies
Need ice for these fish
Christ, this is a big lake
There’s spots of blood in their tracks now
Another roller breaks over the bow
The lead dog raises her head surging forward
The team picks up the pace
My partner in the bow points to
I see, they spot, we all notice
A blob of orange, through the ice fog, on the grey-green shoreline
Against the snow
Poking through the clouds
I hustle ahead on my icy skis
Squeeze the bulb urging more dirty gas from an empty tank
A gust of wind fills my kite
Lutselk’e, Taltheilei Narrows and Gros Gap, fade
We can clearly see black and white under an orange cap
My partner laughs as her paddle hits the water
That big ugly piece of industrial architorture is beautiful
It’s warm dry clothing
Rest
A chance to sell these fish
Heal feet
Sleep in a bed
Fix the motor
Have a beer with friends
Patch the kite
Think about the next trip.
— Terry Woolf, November 2016
