had not been so fastidious when it came to protecting himself from the African sun and his dark complexion resembled the battered cowhide boots on his feet. Though he did his best to refrain these days, he had been a smoker in his younger years, and the broken capillaries on his nose and cheeks bore evidence of his love for drink. Caroline suspected he still snuck a hand-rolled tobacco smoke every now and again but had yet to find his stash. He had the bright green eyes inherited by his son, but they were hidden behind a broad forehead and a perpetual squint that protected them from the sun. He still had the look of a predator.
The main room was tastefully adorned in dark woods and stone, with beautifully exposed beams running along the high ceiling, leaving room for the multiple shoulder mounts of animals primarily from Africa and North America. Reece stopped in front of a full-body grizzly bear mount that dominated the room from its position next to the stone fireplace. He was so entranced that he didn’t even notice that Jonathan had joined him.
“That’s really your dad’s bear,” Jonathan said, handing Reece a Tamarack Ale in a frosted mug. “To Tom.”
The two men touched glasses and took long sips of their beers.
“I wounded that big guy in Kodiak. Not proud of it, but it happens.”
Reece had heard the story many times but knew how much Jonathan reveled in its telling.
“In we go. Into thick brush after this wounded monster, me with my .375, our guide with his .45-70, and good ol’ Thomas Reece with a twelve-gauge of all things. He’d used a shotgun in Vietnam as a point man.”
“A Model 37,” Reece confirmed.
“That’s quite the scattergun, used number four shot if memory serves.”
“That’s right. They measured those engagements in feet, not yards in the delta.”
“He was good in the woods, that one. I sure appreciated that steel nerve when this griz charged from not more than ten yards away. Tom Reece had his Ithaca to his shoulder, kneeled down for the most effective angle, and sent two slugs into the bear’s chest before I even knew what was happening. This poor devil didn’t take more than two steps. Heart-lung shots. Your dad was cool as a cucumber.”
Reece smiled, thinking of the two older men out testing their mettle on Kodiak.
“I wanted to give him this mount, but he said Judy would kill him. Ha! I think he was more afraid of her than he was of the Viet Cong.”
“You may be right about that.”
“I miss your old man, lad. Bloody good chap.”
“I do, too, Jonathan.”
“That trip he took with you when you were thirteen, that was one of his fondest memories.”
“Mine, too.”
Reece thought back to that rite of passage. Driving up through British Columbia in their old Wagoneer to Alaska, his dad had taken a detour and pulled onto an unpaved road, before stopping in a dirt pullout. For the next three weeks they’d trekked through the wilderness with only small packs and a light survival kit. Tom had taught his son to navigate, set snares, build shelters, and fish on their journey through the rugged backcountry.
Reece took one last look at the grizzly and nodded in respect before joining the rest of the family on the deck.
“It won’t be long now, boys and girls,” Jonathan said, a hand over his eyes looking to the horizon, scanning the cloudless summer evening sky. They heard it before it came into view, the two powerful Wright radial engines humming across the water. Zulu, Jonathan’s seventy-pound five-year-old Rhodesian ridgeback, barked and wagged his whiplike tail.
“There he is!” Jonathan said, pointing toward the opposite end of the lake. The setting sun reflected on the aircraft’s silver fuselage, its bright red trim making it all the more visible to the onlookers. The pilot banked the aircraft and made a low pass over the water; all hands waved as he passed them at nearly eye level. He made a wide, sweeping turn to check the lake’s condition and began to reduce power. The lake’s calm surface made for a challenging landing since it robbed the pilot of much of his depth perception, but he knew the aircraft and the conditions well. The aircraft’s keel broke the glassy surface of the water like a knife, and the pilot eased it gracefully from airplane to boat as it settled onto the lake. The plane was a 1955 Grumman Albatross, and the pilot was Tim Thornton,