Strange Sounds Are Heard Under the Midnight Gloom

Smoke from a forest fire 150 miles distant drifts over the alder
choked trail ahead sealing us into a surreal tunnel meandering
through the darkening twilight. It is the latter half of the "magic
hour", when daylight quickly fades to darkness and creatures of the
dark emerge to hunt creatures of the light. My son, Jeremiah, my old
golden retriever, Scrub, and I are returning from a late summer
evening of fishing for Arctic Grayling along the Chena River. The
fishing was slow. Only a few small fish were still hungry after
feasting on the boundless supply of eggs delivered to them by
spawning salmon over the past few weeks. Scrub is quite content with
the evenings activities. He wears the aromatic remains of decaying
salmon corpse rubbed well into his fur coat. However, neither Scrub's
stench nor the uncooperative Grayling can sour the pleasant evening
spent alongside my son in the clear swirling waters of the Chena.

Suddenly Jeremiah stops. "What the hell....do you see that?"

I squint into the smoky shadows. At first I see nothing but then
a pair of eyes flash in the moment before melting back into the murk.
"Are you still seeing it?" I whisper knowing quite well
that Jeremiah's younger eyes are much more acute in this dusky
light than my own.

"Ya...they're still there...three of them, whatever they are.
They're looking right at us....Ah, there they go! One ran off to the
right and the other to the left. They're foxes...I think..."

My eyes strain against the white twinged darkness but only
imagine ghost fleeing through the brush. I am relieved
but also a bit disappointed to hear "foxes" instead of "wolves" or
worse yet, "bears". Wolves don't usually pack up and come this close
to town until much later in winter when cold hunger drives them into
backyards to eat sled-dogs right off their chains. I almost expected
to hear "Bear". This is perfect bear country; dense tangles of alder;
small clearings bordered by raspberries hiding clumps of fat
blueberries; a near-by river stinking of spawned out salmon. It is a
virtual bruin smorgasbord. Earlier this summer Jeremiah and I came
across a grizzly killed moose on this trail. Tonight my hip feels
uncomfortably light, missing the bulk of the Swiss & Wesson 44 mag.
that usually rides on it when I find myself in this kind of country.
Was it middle-aged forgetfulness or just carelessness that left it at
home? (or was it middle-age apathy)

We edge our way forward the 50 yards to where the flickering eyes
had departed the trail. To the right the alders break and give way
to a large hay field. We pause to scan the openness for any fleeing
creatures. "There he is! Ya, I am almost sure its a fox...I see his
tail...He is really hauling ass!" My eyes scour through the waving
grasses but make out nothing but shadows. Are my eyes really
growing this dim with age? Maybe Jeremiah is just pulling his old
man's leg....Somehow I know this isn't the case.

We stand in the silence. No birds chirp, no owls hoot. The night
settles upon us silently like smoke settling in a valley or
snow settling over autumn. It feels good to be here, here with my son
and dog and with what ever creatures now run from us. The darkness
seems a long lost companion. It has been several months
since we last stood in its presence but soon it will become an almost
constant companion, a companion with icy fingertips.

"CRaoEEEEE!.......CRaoooEEEE!"

The screech shreds all strands or our contemplation. Jeremiah and
I look at each other and see in each other's eyes the same question.
"WHAT AND THE HELL IS THAT!" The sound is coming from where the field
merges back into forest about 50 yards to our side.

"CRaoEEEEE!.......CRaoooEEEE!" The sound rips through the silence
again like claws slicing canvas. I feel all my hairs stand on end and
I know the hairs of my companions are doing likewise. The sound is
resonating in the air like the sound a baby makes after striking its
head; first the impossibly long inhale which is not really heard
but rather is sensed from the void of silence; then the demanding
anguished wail that follows. Initially we think perhaps a little kid
is being tortured in the surrounding darkness but this notion is quickly
dismissed by the more logical areas of our minds. Besides, the
screeching ends with a note of threat and warning instead of
pleading. It yells of lost souls and unavenged evils. It smells of
terror and blood.

The screeching repeats itself several times over the next few
minutes but even Jeremiah's agile eyes are unable to locate its
source or identify its maker. Silence again settles over the forest
and Jeremiah, Scrub and I contiue homeward. I wish I could end this
Blog entry with a grand climax or at least a definitive answer to what we
heard last night but I can't. I have heard many creatures of the
night, wolf, coyotes, foxes and owls but I can tell you I never have
heard anything as eerie as the sound that split the silence last
night. I hope such a sound never invades my life or my
nightmares again.