Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - 3 Canadian Wilderness Horror Stories

Episode Date: March 18, 2022

🎉 Ad-free episodes + bonus episodes: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🎧 Check out The SCP Experience podcast here: https://spoti.fi/3zCFjQc Written by Travis Brown 🎥 YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep ✅ Send all advertising inquiries to: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #doctornosleep #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Smile! I shouted. Liz turned as I pressed the shutter. Click. Liz took out her tongue. You didn't give me time to make my face not look weird. But I love your weird face. It's exactly my kind of weird. Instead of replying,

Liz reached down, gathered up a snowball, and winged it at me with the accuracy of a lifelong softball star. I managed to turn my backs on my jacket absorbed the blow. You throw like a girl. I shouted, putting my camera in its pack so I could begin a snowball counterattack. Thank you for the compliment. Liz replied, another fistful of snow bursting against my wool cap. This isn't a battle you want, Jason.

You don't have the snowballs for it. We spent the next five minutes in a frantic scramble trading volleys of packed powder and dice. Liz was right. I was no match for her. She had an arm like a siege cannon. and was too small to target. At the end of our little war, I was covered in snow and defeat an equal measure.

I give up, I called out, hands up. You win. I shall be just and merciful in my victory, Liz promised, brushing snow from my shoulder. As my first declaration as Ice Queen, I'll need you to take a better picture of me when I have a minute to actually prepare. As you wish, I said, setting up my camera.

Liz climbed up the ridge to pose next to a pine tree. The sun was high above her, though hidden in low gray clouds that threatened more snow. We were about a half mile into the forest from our rented cabin in the Yukon. It was freezing and isolated and perfect. I never knew the Canadian wilderness could be so stunning. I was lining Liz up when I saw a distortion

through the viewfinder. It was only a ripple. like a heat wave rising off of August asphalt, and it only lasted for a split second. But it made me lean away from the camera for a better look. I'd spotted the blur on the ridge across from where Liz and I were standing, maybe a quarter mile.

It was only visible when I had the lens zoomed all the way out, and even then, it was only at the edge of my vision. Staring through all of the trees at the other high point, I couldn't make out anything unusual. Hey, I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. photographer, Liz said, doing her best Marilyn Monroe pout. I shook the distortion out of my head and brought my camera back up. Say cheese. We spent the rest of the afternoon hiking through narrow deer trails and over a cascade of snow drifts.

It was peaceful and a calm kind of empty that was free of distractions. I alternated between taking pictures of Liz when she wasn't looking and photos of wildlife. We came across woodpeckers, geese, and sparrows flitting between evergreens. There were links as well, though we mostly only saw their tracks. Twice we stopped and changed directions when we encountered a moose, and once we even saw a grizzly bear a hundred yards away, standing on the shore of a small stream. It was swatting at the water, and every few splurrects.

has resulted in a fat pink salmon getting tossed on the bank. We kept our distance while I quietly snapped pictures of all the nature around us. The day was perfect, other than the increasing encounters with the shimmer. It wasn't in every photo, but I began to notice it more and more as the afternoon drifted towards evening. Whatever the distortion was, it was getting closer. It followed along behind us over the hills and across streams. I kept catching a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye or my lens, always keeping

its distance, always just out of focus. I tried to point the glimmer out to Liz a few times, but it was always gone when she looked. Maybe I was seeing things, little spots and floaters in my eyes from too much squinting into a camera. But just as we were finishing our route and nearly back at the cabin, I began to see a form inside of the distortion, something nearly human. Just my imagination, I tried to convince myself, just shadows on the snow.

We made it back to the cabin half an hour before sundown. The light was long and weak across the white fields. The sky was blue-gold against the cloud cover, but quickly on its way to an evening purple. It was cold, and the temperature was dropped. dropping in time with the sun. Wind snapped at our heels as we hustled towards the cabin. I swiveled to take one last snapshot of the sunset and saw the distortion again only a few feet down the path behind us.

I hurried Liz inside and locked the door. Then through the bolt. You okay? Liz asked. One eyebrow lifted. Sure, yeah. Just glad to be home. That wasn't a complete lie.

I had fallen a little in love with our rented cabin over the past two days. It was a single story containing a handful of connected rooms, kitchen, bathroom, single bedroom, a combination den and dining room. The walls were cedar logs notched and wedged together. Deep, soft rugs with geometric patterns covered the floors. A stone fireplace took up most of an entire wall. Owning a place like that for weekend getaways or summer holidays, or a skiing trip, it would be a dream.

I tried to put the blurry thing out of my mind. I knew it couldn't be real, couldn't be anything more than a trick of the light or an issue with my eyes. I'm going to work on the pictures we took today in the bedroom, okay? I called out. Have fun. I'll start dinner. Photoshop me so I look extra hot, all right?

If you were any hotter, Liz, the cabin would burn down. My wife giggled, started rummaging around for a hand. I headed into my dark room, which was just the cabin's bedroom, but with all of the lights shut off. It made me feel like an old-school photographer, sitting on the bed with my laptop perched on my knees. The only light, the glow of the screen as I shuffled through pictures, picking the ones worth editing. I closed the door and put the camera's SD card into the reader. The first photo that loaded was from early in the morning. It was a timed selfie of Liz and I in front of the cabin. A strong breeze was pushing her dark hair around in her

hood and across her face, but I could still see her smile. I dragged the photo to the keep folder. The next dozen pictures were of the woods around the cabin, then about 40 photos of a blue jay just chilling on a branch. Not sure what got into me with that. After about 10 minutes of sorting through pictures in the dark, I got to the one I took of Liz on the ridge when I first saw the blur. Only it wasn't a blur in the photo. There was clearly some thing in the background. It was out of focus and hard to see details, but it looked like another hiker wearing all red.

How did we not notice someone else on the trail right behind us? I considered calling for Liz, but didn't want to freak her out. Letting out a quick breath, I got ready to go through the rest of the pictures. The next couple of shots were all of Liz on the ridge. The thing in red got closer with each photo. Closer and clearer, I whispered. Whatever was following us wasn't wearing red. It was red.

The raw red of a skinned deer. The creature was the size and shape of a man but naked, fleshless, a walking chunk of exposed muscle and meat. Its face was the hardest place to look. Wormy pink tendons stitched together. Dull pieces of white bone, blood vessels, and nerves twitching. I couldn't be sure due to the lack of skin, but the thing seemed to be smiling wide as it followed us. It crept behind us, partially hidden in every photo. Sometimes it leaned

out from trees, only its lidless eyes visible. Once or twice, I even spotted it above us moving through bare branches, or lurking in the shadow of an evergreen. The creature was playful. In some pictures it was only pretending to hide. In others, it took exaggerated tiptoe steps, like some twisted cartoon character. It was toying with us, invisible except to my camera, and it got closer with every photo. I suddenly felt very alone in the dark. There were a few pictures left, but I jumped to the last one, that final snapshot from outside the cabin. The red thing was on the path right behind us where I'd seen the distortion. It had one fleshless arm raised. It was pointing at Liz and smiling wider than ever.

I shot to my feet. Liz! I shouted. It took me a moment to orient myself in the dark, but I was able to make my way over to the light switch. I nearly tripped in my rush for the door. Liz! Liz, where are you? My wife wasn't in the kitchen, or the living room,

or anywhere else in the small cabin. The front door was open, but the only tracks in the snow were our old boot prints. Still, I followed them as far as I can. could until fresh falling snow erased them, quarter mile into the forest. The Rangers and the search teams never found any sign of Liz. It's been six years. I rent the cabin again every year right around the time of her disappearance. I spend a week hiking the woods with my camera, looking for Liz and for the thing that took her. When I dream, I always dream of that last picture, of the

smiling thing in red pointing. If I'd acted to do that. faster. If I'd been with her, I should have protected her. Look, Air Canada did a sold world. Super, an offer for the assort. Station Thermal, volcano. You've seen the price for the Japan? Mmm, emperg and sushi.

Wow, the solds are good for Mayork also. We could go to the plage and make a roundone. Or, it would say a long march on the border of the sea-sill. Mmm, I adore, the canolies. Attain, there's another... Decide, Vit. This sold is an endurance-limited. Reserved to aircanada.com or at your agent of voyage. The conditions apply.

Our travel agent was right. The views in Canada's northwest territories were worth the hike. Becky, Rob, Sophie and I followed a touristy path all the way up to the Nahani National Park Reserve. But after that, we decided to make a detour down river. The route was given to us by a Canadian couple we met at a hostel,

just outside of Uranium City. They promised us we'd be the only people to see the remote trail in a hundred years. If I'd known then where they were sending us, I'd have killed them both on the spot with my bare hands. Everything was fine this morning. We woke up and started buzzing about the camp like usual. Becky got a fire going while Rob started the coffee. Sophie and I took down our tent, then Becky and Rob's.

We were all finished with breakfast and ready to hit the trail 30 minutes after sunrise. Even in early summer, it can get cold in the northwest territories. The four of us were fine, though, well-provisioned and prepared and experienced. The train in Nahani National Park was stunning. Massive red oak and paper birch stretched out into the sky threatening to comb the clouds. Their roots often wove together through the dirt trails, hard tangles that tested our boots and our focus. The Nahani River ran fast and quiet to the west. the wide water humming with life.

There are places where the river dives over rocks. You can hear the falls approaching from far away through the summer silence. We followed the Nahani into the deep valley that split a sharp, blue-white mountain ridge. The Nahani Valley has an off-putting nickname, the Valley of the Headless Men. But we weren't planning on spending too much time down in the cut. Our local guides had drawn us a map that would supposedly lead us to a remote, secondary valley nestled between Nahani and a neighboring mountain. It was a small but beautiful place

full of ice-fed streams and trout and lodgepole pines and soft green fields, or so the couple in Uranium City told us. It took us most of the morning to find the start of the hidden path that led out from the valley. Rob was the first to notice the trampled brush that marked the start of the side trail. The big guy jumped up like a little kid and let out a whoop. Over here, Jimmy, he shouted at me. I think I found the yellow brick road. Becky giggled and hurried over. Where Rob was a bear of a man, his wife barely broke five feet even in boots.

Sophie and I walked towards the trail together. The weather was fine and clear, but growing colder in the shadow of the valley. Rob took charge, leading us up the trail, his long oak walking stick thumping in time to whatever tuneless song he was humming. The path was narrow enough that we had to walk single file. Becky went next, snapping pictures every few minutes as we climbed towards the top of the valley. Finally, Sophie then I brought up the rear. The temperature continued to drop like a stone in a well as we walked. Long afternoon shadows stretched over and across us. Clouds thickening in the sapphire sky,

until they were so gray and low, we could almost reach up to run our fingers through the fibers. We hiked on for about an hour before the strangeness started. Becky and Sophie were debating the best way to build a fire when Sophie stopped in her tracks. We've passed that tree before, she said, pointing off trail at a lightning-scarred oak. The four of us stood still for a moment.

The wind was picking up again, causing the trees on either side of the trail to bend. That tree does look familiar, I said. The oak was maybe 30 feet tall, bare branched, and scorched in a line down the trunk. Eh, I don't think so, Rob said. We've been climbing in pretty much a straight line. There's no way we looped around. The lightning scar, though, Sophie murmured.

Lots of trees out here probably get hit during storms, Becky said. let's keep going. I bet we'll be over the nearest ridge in an hour, and then we can rest. We passed the lightning struck oak twice more over the next three hours. The first time, Rob tried to laugh it off, saying we must be walking through the forest of lightning-loving trees. But the next time we came up on the oak, nobody was laughing. Becky went to examine the tree, confirming that it had the mark she'd scratched into it with her knife. on the previous passing.

I don't understand, she said. I checked the compass. We're constantly going west. How did we loop back in a circle? You think that couple back in town sent us down some kind of trick path? Robbie asked. I pulled my collar tighter. The cold was almost a physical force by that point,

drilling into every exposed slice of skin. Even worse was the constant wind. Trees ebbed and flowed with each good. It was almost like they were waving. We should head back, I suggested. If we just retrace our steps, we'll exit out into the Nahani Valley. Sophie looked up at the clouds, searching for the sun. It'll be dark by the time we get down.

We'll need to camp in the valley. Lovely, muttered Rob. But yeah, not many other options. Throw it in reverse. We're following you, Jimmy. I nodded and took a seat. from my water back. Then I set off heading back the way we came down the path. It didn't make any sense. Once we turned around to head back towards the Nahani River, we stopped passing the

lightning tree. Instead, we began moving in a loop, passing the same unfamiliar terrain over and over every 15 or 20 minutes. It went like clockwork. The trail would dip. We'd walk by a pair of intertwined trees I didn't remember passing on the way up, followed by a barren patch with no vegetation. Lastly, we'd pass a small pond that absolutely was not there the first time we climbed the bath. What in the hell is going on? Becky asked, the tint of panic nipping at her words. She made a stop every 200 yards so she could check her compass. I watched the dial spin slowly, moving clockwise, even though we were standing still. We must have gone on. off the trail at some point, Rob said, shaking his own compass.

And maybe we're standing over some iron deposits or something that would mess with, uh, magnetic fields. Sophie was crouched looking at the cold dirt. We've literally been following our own tracks back towards the valley. We're still on the path. We can't be, Becky snapped. We, we can't be. She finished in a whisper. I understood how she was feeling.

My own grip on reality was starting to fray. The trees around us were even beginning to look unnatural. They bent almost in half whenever the freezing gusts came through, then fell back. Their branches following in a sharp wooden wake. Cloud cover had dropped to combine with a rising fog, leaving the whole forest in a thick mist that seemed to be closing in on the trail. I'm tired, Becky said suddenly. Guys, I'm exhausted. Can we rest?

Sophie and I shared a look, but Rob was already sliding off his back. Let's take 15 and just catch our breath, he said. Sophie licked her cracked lips. It's going to be dark in maybe two hours. We should either keep moving or find a spot to camp. No flatland anywhere I can see, I said. Just this nasty ridge, heavy trees, or that lake. We shouldn't camp by the.

the lake, Becky said. She was sitting on her pack. There's something about the water, something wrong. Can you smell it? I shook my head, and she sighed. Just give me a few minutes to rest and we can push on. Either we'll find the exit to the valley or a good spot for the tents. Sophie and I looked around while Becky and Rob rested. We were tired too, but something, some feeling, made me wary of taking a break. The fog was heavy and cold. Just walking through it seemed to drain the little energy and heat I had left. Have you tried calling for help? Sophie asked me when we were a few steps off the trail, but still inside of the others.

I nodded. Three times now. I can't get any signal. We're going to have to find somewhere to camp soon. Or we're going to freeze, Jimmy. I know. This wind. The trees were snapping back and forth faster now.

At first, It was like they were waving a greeting, but now it felt like they were frantic. When Sophie and I got back on the path, it took us nearly a minute to shake Becky and Robb awake. Both had fallen asleep sitting on their packs. We can't stay here, Sophie said. I think we should go off the path and set up camp as soon as we hit any suitable space. The moment we left the trail, the ground turned on us. It was like walking through mud, even though the dirt was frozen, still.

The earth pulled at our boots, tripped us, seemed unwilling to let go each time we tried to take a step. We trudged through dense, misty forest. Even the branches and roots seemed to pull at us, to hold us. The four of us were all leaning against walking sticks when we reached the narrow creek. I can't go any farther, Becky said, slumping down. I'm sorry, I just can't. Sophie helped her remove her back. It's okay. He was probably as good as spot as any for the tents. I noticed that both girls had something wrong with their skin. It was cracked and gray. Their face is rough as new leather.

When I looked at Rob, I saw he had the same condition. I pulled my gloves off and noticed that my skin was also turning gray and brittle. We need to set up the tents, I said. The wind made it nearly impossible to roll out the fabric. and the frozen ground resisted to tent spikes. Sophie and I managed to make slow, brutal progress. But when I looked over at Rob and Becky on their nook between two trees, I saw they had stopped working. The couple sat together, holding each other, both asleep. Strangely, their skin was completely gray at this point,

and their legs appeared to sink into the earth. A trick of the fog, I guessed. Sophie noticed where I was looking and moved, to help our friends. Wait, I said, struggling to breathe. We need to finish the tent first, then help. Sophie bit her lip, but nodded. Somehow we assembled the tent and both crawled inside.

It was warmer inside, though the wind ripped and tore at our little nylon fortress. I'm so tired, Sophie told me, leaning against my shoulder. I'm so tired. Her skin was like Rob's and Beckies. I saw that she'd pulled off her gloves, and all of her fingers were merging together. Hey, hey, stay awake. I begged, shaking Sophie.

We can't sleep. Something terrible is Sophie? Sophie? It was no good. Nothing I did could get my wife to open her eyes. Her body was stiff and hard and cold. I lay there holding her for a long. long time. Why I had the energy to keep going that small extra bit, I'll never know.

Eventually, after Sophie stopped breathing, I opened the tent flap to look out. It was difficult to see more than a few feet through the fog, but I saw enough of what remained of Rob and Becky to scream. Where my two friends should have been, a pair of entwined birch trees rose from the ground. Both trees still had human features in the knots and whirls, complete with bits of clothes here and there. I closed the tent and fell back. I looked at Sophie. She was changing fast. Her skin was becoming like bark, her body stretching, neck elongating, legs pressing through the tent floor into the dirt. Sophie? I asked. The ruins of my wife did not answer. I'm watching her now, minute by minute, become less human, more of the forest. I feel the change happening to me, too.

My joints are growing stiff, so I'm riding all of this down as quickly as I can. Once I'm done, I'll place my journal in a waterproof bag and drop it in the creek. Hopefully, the water will flow down into the Nahani River, and someone will find this last account of mine, of us. If you're reading this, I know you won't believe it. I wouldn't either. Not before today. But it is the truth. Robert and Rebecca Astros, Sophie and James Hardin.

When people come to search for us, they won't find any bodies. Just four birch trees growing up through the tatters of a campsite. In the end, there wasn't any pain, at least. I'm going to drop this book in the creek that I'm going to return. I'm going to hold Sophie close, and then I'm going to sleep. If you're ever exploring the Nahani Valley, don't take any unmarked paths, please. When you see the trees waving in the wind, know that it's not a greeting. It's a warning.

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And profite. The fox stood absolutely still in the snow. I tried to lay equally still, inching my lens over one half breath at a time, until the animal was in focus. Her red riot of fur stood out against the whiteness around us, like a candle in a dark room. I pressed the shutter and began taking pictures. Something startled the fox, and she was gone in a moment. I sighed and climbed to my knees. The wind was picking up, even with the best snow gear I could find,

the Canadian winter kept forcing me to retreat into my tent every few hours. I glanced over at the sun. It was hovering just over the horizon, throwing purple light across the snow and the frozen lake next to my campsite. My camp was just to the north of Lake Athabasca, tucked between the shore and heavily wooded mountains. The land was quiet and isolated and perfect. The only disturbance to the absolute snowy silence

was the occasional darting animal and the click, click, click of my camera shutter. The wind was snapping at my tent as I gathered my camera gear and scooted myself inside. Once the flap was closed, the volume of the wind was muted to a quiet whine. I peeled off my snowsuit, followed by my boots and gloves, then popped open an MRE. My plan for the night was to review footage from the day, plot my route north for the morning,

heading for the wildlands, then try to catch a few hours of sleep. The blizzard had other ideas. For the first time since I flew into Uranium City three weeks ago, I thought I might die in the Canadian wilderness. The snow, just would not stop pounding against my shelter and, for an hour or so around midnight, I genuinely thought the wind might pull my tent from the ground. Eventually, the storm quieted down, and my camp managed to survive. There was no way I would be getting any sleep, though,

so I tried to make the early morning hours productive. I was just finishing my travel notes when something walked by my tent around 3 a.m. My mind struggled to process the shadow as it moved around my camp. The clouds must have cleared after the storm, because the world outside my tent was soaked in moonlight. So much brightness reflected off the snow that it seemed like dawn had come hours early. I saw the shadow clearest when it came close to the tent. It was roughly the size and shape of a man, but it moved with a jerking limp.

I saw all of its limbs were uneven, and its neck was bent so that one cheek was pressed against a shoulder. I opened my mouth about to say, hello? Like every idiot in a horror movie ever. Instead, I took a breath and slowly reached for my pack. My tent was murky, lit by a single LED camp lantern. The shadow was constantly moving, circling the tent and roaming around the perimeter of the site. I took two items for my rucksack, bear mace and a 44 Ruger Blackhawk. My breathing was getting quicker the more I watched whatever was inside my camp. A second shadow joined the first.

They stopped circling and moved away from my tent. A few moments later, I heard a banging sound as they raided my cooking supplies. Most of my actual food was 200 yards away. hanging from a branch in a dry bag. That's where I should have left the remains of my MRE, but the storm had kept me inside my tent. If my visitors were bears, they might be able to smell my dinner. Of course, if my visitors were bears,

they were acting more human than any animal I'd ever encountered. And in two decades as a wildlife photographer, I'd met a hell of a lot of creatures. I couldn't tell what the things were doing outside, so I took a breath and clicked off the lantern. My tent became dark, but the ambient moonlight coming off the snow was enough to show me that there weren't two shadows nearby.

There were at least half a dozen. And all of them seemed to be facing me now that my light was off. We were at a standstill for a long, lingering moment. Then one of the shadows stepped towards the tent. I cocked back the hammer of the revolver. is out there, you need to leave. I called out. The threat came out wheedling, a nasally squeak that probably sounded like an invitation to eat me. The shadows moved closer, and they yelled for them to stop. One pressed up against the tent. A nearly human face and torso distorted the fabric.

Its head was turned, as if it was trying to listen for something. Last, last warning, I whispered, please, please leave. Something outside the tent began to scream. The noise was immediate and overwhelming and unlike anything I'd ever heard in my life. It wasn't human and it wasn't animal. It was a distortion somewhere between. I didn't mean to pull the trigger. My hand jerked at the scream and then everything was drowned out by the roar of the revolver. Firing the gun without ear protection muted the world inside my tent and filled it with smoke.

I waved the air clear to see all of the shadows gathered in one spot. There was a dime-sized hole in my tent. I could feel the wind slithering through. The creatures outside were murmuring. It almost sounded like speech, but I couldn't make out any pattern, any rhythm. There was only a cacophony. As I stood watching, gun-gripped white-knuckle-tight,

the shadows began to walk away from the tent. The last figure was larger than the rest and moving slowly. It took me a moment to realize that it was too quick. creatures dragging a third. I waited the better part of an hour before opening the tent. I was back in my snow gear. I leaned out holding a flashlight and the Ruger. The visitors were gone. My camp was a churned up mess. Tracks led from the snow outside my tent down towards the shore. I looked around for any suspicious shadows. My tent was the only landmark between the lake and the forest, maybe 200 yards to the north. I couldn't see anything in the moonlight flooded field around me, except for snow

drifts. The creatures were gone. I pointed my flashlight down at the tracks closest to my tent and saw something shining against the beam. There were wet spots on the snow, a silvery fluid like mercury but darker. It paralleled the messy tracks in lines and splatters, blood, I guessed, or something like it. I followed the trail down to the edge of Lake Athabasca. The ice at the shoreline was cracked in many places. Large opening circumvented the shore as far as I could see. It reminded me of mouse holes in an old house,

something chewing its way out. The ice beyond the shore looked unbroken. I'm not sure what drove me to take those first shaky steps across the surface. I guess I felt like the ice offered some protection against whatever might be deeper in the lake. I wanted to see the things that came into my camp clearly. That was the only way it would feel real. After 50 yards, I dropped to one knee

to shine my flashlight directly down into the ice. Even with the beam and the full moon above, visibility into the water was terrible. I couldn't make out anything other than darkness and the occasional stream of bubbles. I stood up feeling like I was waking up from a dream. The ice under my feet shifted slightly. Looking down at the water again, I felt my throat drop into my stomach.

There was a shadow under the ice. It was small, but growing larger by the second. Judging by how quickly it was stretching, whatever was casting the shadow had to be massive and moving fast. I began to run for the shore. The next minute was a mad, tumbling sprint for solid ground. The ice continued to shift as I ran, with a few hairline cracks racing alongside me. There was a machine gun pop, pop, pop, and I realized the deeper fissures were opening across the lake.

I fell before I could reach the shore. I crawled the last few feet, eyes jammed shut, to avoid seeing the shadow get closer to the surface. I finally opened my eyes, and the lake lay well behind me. It was ice calm and still. I forced myself to creep closer to the shore. My flashlight held out like a knife. I'd lost the Ruger in my panic. There was no sign of the massive shadow under the ice.

Whatever it was must have sunk back into the depths of the Athabasca. I thought of a spider crawling back to the edge of its web whenever its meal manages to get away. I backed up my camp and was already hiking back towards Camsel Portage when the first light of dawn came rushing through the pines.