Temptation

By

William D. Dannenmaier

Temptation is supposed to come from the devil, not your oldest son, but my Chris waved a nostalgic perfume under my nose the other day.  He frequently telephones me, but occasionally the calls are invitations.  Our first long trip together, since he became an adult, was when I helped him and his son August, then six, move from Colorado Springs to Fairbanks in his jeep.  Then we drove to Anchorage to put me on an airplane.  I supposed they didn’t have them out of Fairbanks.

On another, later, trip I helped him move from Galveston to Colorado Springs, that time accompanied by his five year old daughter Veronika and twelve barred rock hens.  The latest trip was from Cumberland Furnace to Parris Island to see August graduate from Marine basic training.  We’ve always averaged about 700 miles a day and the trips have been enjoyable even if tiring.  This was another such invitation.  I’m tempted.  He said “I know you’re a great traveling companion and I want to see Prudhoe Bay.  I’ve never been there and I’d like to see the Artic.  I don’t want to do anything there, I just want to see it.”

Siren sounds of my youth!  I remember when I was just fifty, maybe fifty-two, I taught one summer at the University of Saskatchewan and found out that I had three days before I needed to return to work in North Dakota.  I went home and asked my bride how she would like to swim in the Pacific Ocean.  Sheila is always good for a lark, so we hitched our little trailer to our Datsun and took off, first driving a hundred miles south to our home in North Dakota to leave unnecessary gear and then back to Regina and headed west.  It’s not easy to get lost in western Canada if you are on a highway, so we had no problems driving through Alberta, Banf and the Roger’s Pass, but I was concerned after we rolled mile after mile in British Columbia without hint of Vancouver.  So I stopped to get a map.  We were on track and arrived during a traffic jam, negotiated that and headed for the beach.  When we arrived the tide was out.  The life guard came up and said, “You aren’t planning on swimming, are you?”  I replied, “That’s why we’ve just driven two thousand miles.”  So, we put on our swim suits, had a swim, returned to the Datsun and headed back to North Dakota, this time taking the southern pass through the mountains. 

But in those days I was young and foolish.  And on the other trips I was helping Chris. This one was different.  I was a bit taken aback by the idea of Prudhoe Bay.  That must have shown in my voice.  Two days later Chris called back and said, “Prudhoe Bay is a bit far (Chris lives in Galveston), why don’t we do Newfoundland instead.”  That sounded much better to me and visions of limitless lobster alternating with fresh steamed clams swam before my eyes.  But a week or two later Chis called back again. 

“Dad, Prudhoe Bay is a bit far, but it is only forty-nine hundred miles to Inuvik.  We’d take the Al/Can Highway to Dawson City and then swing straight north on a gravel road for four hundred and fifty miles.  I have lots of airline miles, we could fly to Calgary or Edmonton and rent a car with unlimited mileage there.  That would knock two thousand miles off the drive north.”

After the call, I started some planning.  I’ve traveled in the North before.  I have the artic sleeping bags, a cook stove, a short-handled ax, a strong nylon rope: in fact, all of the gear necessary for a reasonably safe trip.  But what airline would let me take it all on a plane when they confiscate scissors?

Worrying about that led to some other thoughts.  Since my heart surgery, when I first get up in the morning, or if I turn to violently in bed, it feels as if sticks and gravel are clashing in my chest, usually not painful, just unpleasant.  I’m certain that Doctor Austin didn’t stick a few marbles in my chest before he sewed me up – I hadn’t built my reputation at the hospital at that time – so I suppose its just gas gurgling around, but how would it be sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag?  Also, it is the rare morning, in fact I can’t remember one, in which I don’t wake up with a back ache.  I don’t think a dirt mattress would help that either.

I could ask Dr. Smith, but he would probably tell me to ask Sheila, that she has commonsense.  This wouldn’t work at all.  In fact when I first mentioned it to Sheila she said if I didn’t want to go, she would.  That would be disaster. Who would take care of our livestock, the dogs, cats, chickens and me if she were gone?