THE EXPEDITION Chapter 11 Coyotes and Tricks (Section 1)
- Ann Cognito
- Apr 9, 2022
- 9 min read
In which the Expedition gains stalkers of questionable motives Date: May 15 2019
From Swift Current to Herbert 18km ride, 30 km walk
Around lunchtime, my phone rang. A reporter from the Swift Current radio station wanted to interview me, and when she realized I’d gotten too far to turn around, she decided a phone interview would be great. Highway wind makes for lousy conversation, and trucks are even louder, so I called her back from under a nearby stone bridge where the highway crossed a creek in a gully. We paused the interview whenever cars and trucks thundered overhead, and she laughed when I said I hoped I wouldn’t be mistaken for a troll. It was actually quite comfy under the bridge, so after the interview, we stayed and had our lunch and a rest.
I kept an eye out though, as we’d been seeing an inordinate number of squashed predators and whatnot on the roadside. We’d been hearing them at night, of course, but evidence of so many coming out to the road, and being a lot less smart than they usually are, made me think of how much we’ve taken from them. Even when I did pass undeveloped or relatively less developed areas, I knew these areas are usually much smaller than they seem from the roadside. Where are the usual occupants of those former forests and prairies supposed to go? How are they supposed to live? Even unusual animals were turning up. We’d passed foxes, porcupines, raccoons, but also dead eagles and hawks, a few large spotted cats and one striped one, and even a wolf. They must be running out of options, and while that train of thought leads right back to why I was walking, I didn’t particularly want be one of their new options.
Also, Mr Myrtle’s fear of other dogs would be a terrible liability if any wild ones decided to check us out. Daytime was probably fine, but when between places, I figured it was good to be mindful anyways.
Herbert seemed like the next good place to stop, though being almost 30 kilometres, I’d keep an eye out for a good spot before then. It wasn’t likely, but just in case. It seemed too far.
Apparently the Earth agreed. Instead of giving us a closer spot to stop, she gave us few hills and serious tailwind for a good part of the day. I managed to reach Herbert just fine by midafternoon. Then I spent two hours trying to get across the highway to get into Herbert. Traffic was a constant stream of mostly trucks zooming back and forth with no gaps whatsoever. Each half of the divided highway had the regular lanes plus two busy turn lanes, and for some reason, Herbert’s a happening place, or at least it was right then. Most folks would’ve zipped right over but my knee hurt like heck and I was exhausted and the trailer felt like it weighed five times as much as it had in the morning. There was no way I could get across quickly enough between traffic, even just to the middle. I know how much I can push things and I knew this well enough that trying would have been completely stupid.
I felt ridiculous. I even tried flagging someone down to help but everyone was in a rush. I even finally called the local RCMP detachment, but the signal (or my phone) was so bad that half the call was static and the other half was wind and traffic, so all they caught was that someone who’d walked from Calgary now couldn’t manage to cross a road. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t take me very seriously.
Out of the blue, Carmen messaged. She was driving west and about to pass by Herbert, and had seen me posting about my ridiculous predicament online. I said I’d trade her dinner for a short rescue if she had time to stop.
As Carmen and her friend and I were getting everything into the back of her truck, a tall french-speaking man pulled up to help. He introduced himself as an “interviewer” who was collecting stories for a book. He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and invited himself to dinner with us.
There’s an absolutely delicious East Indian restaurant in Herbert, and the folks who run it are so nice. The interviewer was too busy eating to ask any questions until we questioned him about that. “What are you doing out here?” and “Why” were all he could come up with to ask, and he didn’t listen to the answers, so we started making up nonanswers. We asked about what he was writing, but he didn’t have any answers, and then we just let him go back to not even trying to talk.
It was great to be talking with Carmen again, though. She’s positive and encouraging and I was glad for her company after having felt so tired and stupid and painful earlier. Sometimes I ‘snowball’ when I feel like that. If I’m not mindful, I start getting upset about more and more things and it all goes downhill pretty quick and in no short order I convince myself I’m a useless lump. Old recordings, but sometimes they start playing again. Usually I catch them now, but I was glad for such a total reset, and with (mostly) good people.
We all ate way too much and had leftovers to share for tomorrow. After our uninvited guest managed to forget to pay for his orders, he followed us to the Lone Eagle Campground (and Motel, but we’d be camping). The campground was actually closed but they had let another couple in, and when they learning it would only be Mr Myrtle and I staying the night, and learned what we were doing, they were happy to let us in. I wanted to get set up, and I think they were having dinner, but we promised to talk more.
Carmen and her friend gave a hand pitching camp and then went on their way with hugs and prayers. We promised again to meet in Regina.
Mr Myrtle and I wandered around taking a break and taking photos. It’s a really interesting property, part Swiss hospitality and part prairie gothic museum, with a playground in the middle. The sunset made it feel like part of one of those artsy and profoundly thinky movies.
Our questionable company had sort of squiggled in behind us without actually checking in, and by this time we were all keeping a polite but careful eye on him. He said this had been his destination too, but it was pretty clear he had ulterior motives. He wasn’t pushy, thank goodness, just assuming, but it was uncomfortable and I felt like it was best to keep things sociable rather than ask him to buzz off. I do admit I was glad we weren’t the only ones there, though, but mostly just because it was uncomfortable.
Also because the coyotes came awfully close that night, a few times.
Date: May 16, 2019
From Herbert to Ernfold 26 km
The other couple staying were just across from our tent and assuming-man’s van, in their cozy camper. I had a tea and a really nice visit with them, and we were going to stay in touch but I lost their information. They were earthy and down-to-earth people, quiet and wise, and it almost felt like I’d known them for ages. They’re Baha’i, and have such a peaceful and real perspective about things. I wish we could have talked for days. Maybe we’ll cross paths again somewhere.
The Swiss couple who run the motel and campground are kind and sensible and real too, but in a different way. They’d picked up on assuming-man’s assumptions and had asked me to be careful. They’d probably also kept an eye out during the night. In the morning, after taking his dog to poop on their private lawn, he snuck out without paying. I tried to leave them enough to cover the loss but they wouldn’t take it. Instead, they shook a few choice Swiss words after his retreating license plate, and then just wrote it off and got on with having a good morning. They talked about karma, and how most people are good people, and what a surprising place the world can be. It would have been so nice to visit longer, and Hedi is a talented artist, but – time. So they sent me off with hugs and luck and the name and approximate address of a Swiss man they sort-of-knew in the next town, whom they were trying to get on the phone to see if we might camp in his yard that night.
We got on the road relatively earlier than some days and headed for Ernfold. At one point, we passed a long narrow causeway built decades ago as a shortcut across a lake. That irked me so much I think I gave a few pieces of my mind to the ghosts of its builders. Honestly, these lakes are so small, do we really need to chop them up? I don’t know, and I’m not an historian or an engineer, but this bridge upset me.
It was a beautiful landscape though. There were slight salt deposits in a lot of places. Sometimes it looked like someone had come along and desaturated the colour of life, and sometimes it almost looked like frost. I wondered about it, especially after a pelican flew by, but in the middle of Saskatchewan that didn’t make any sense so I kept going.
By the time we found Ernfold it was early evening. I went up and down the few streets, finally finding someone to ask for the whereabouts of my potential host. This town really is miniscule, and most of the houses and building are empty. The main street look like a ghost town in a Canadian western movie. Ernfold used to be beside the highway, and it was tiny but managing. When the highway was twinned, they ran the new lanes around the opposite side of Ernfold, turning it into an island and strangling it to death. In 2016, it had a total population of 15. Now it’s down to maybe eight, I think.
Someone is apparently buying up all the old buildings, but to what end, I don’t know. I do know the man I was meant to find didn’t want company, however. His place was full of big handmade and purchased signs with warnings and threats framed in cusses and exclamation marks, so we left. The couple from Herbert felt terrible when I told them later, but they hadn’t seen him for ages, and it certainly wasn’t their fault he didn’t want company. Who knows what his story is.
Our story got interesting, though. I decided to just find an obliging and respectfully distanced but safely close spot on the edge of the village ‘island’ and guerrilla camp. The first promising meadow turned out to be a graveyard. The second was occupied by two deer, so slight and silent that in the saltily desaturated landscape and the falling dusk, they looked translucent. I followed them towards the highway, where they faded into the tall grasses.
I didn’t realize how tall the grasses were till I tried to get into what looked like a nice spot to camp and got stuck in deep soggy ruts. I finally managed to nearly get out when Daniel called, and kept me from going bonkers while the scooter went wonky coming out of the ditch and back onto the road, and suddenly it flipped up and jack-knifed in the air with the scooter dangling. My last nerve was dangling too and I kind of lost it. I had to hang up to wrestle it back down, and it hurt like crazy, and I was getting frantic. The sun was setting.
I finally pulled the scooter across the highway and about twenty yards down an access road that was probably someone’s driveway, though I couldn’t see a home or lights. There were cows on one side, and a wide ditch with a tall deep hedge on the other. I pitched the tent in the dark with Daniel on the phone again. I was frazzled, and a mess, and so glad of his company there and then.
Margo and Julie were good, sensible, comforting company that night too. They dropped in through the night – by text messages, of course, but knowing they were in pretty much the same boat at the same time made it seem sort of like having them there. And, as always, my dear online support group was a lifeline.
I didn’t even try to get the scooter and trailer down under the hedge with us, just laid Sam on the ground and brought everything that mattered into the tent. I also set an alarm for 4:00am, wanting to be decamped and elsewhere before anyone came along.
The alarm wasn’t necessary. We didn’t sleep a wink. The coyotes came closer and closer all night, and just before the sun started creeping out, they were circling the tent and brushing against it. I spent the whole night calming and soothing Mr Myrtle, with words and hugs and some herbal stuff for anxious dogs. He thinks other dogs are all single-minded death machines, and I didn’t want wild dogs smelling his fear, so I whispered hushes and stories and rubbed his ears and kept him tucked in snug and secure. My dear dear puppyboy did stay quiet, and so did our hairy company, but we got out of there pretty fast in the morning and I resolved to camp only in safe places henceforth.
Coyotes are traditionally associated with the trickster archetype, but that’s often misinterpreted as only sly and negative. In truth, coyotes are smart and quick-thinking. They’re incredibly adaptable survivors on one hand, and on the other, in their element, they’re happy and full of simple joys. Their symbolic roles are full of adaptability, ingenuity, and enthusiasm. Coyote presence can refer to changes, shifts in being, and they can be powerful protectors.
Maybe they were protecting us, keeping watch. Their behaviour with us was unusual, especially that night – they didn’t do anything other than walk quietly around and around our tent, sniffing and sitting, and then left us to get up and quickly pack in the peacefully ebbing dark.
Whatever their motives, I thanked them, and we left a bit of kibble.
Comments