Terrace Review — Wednesday, August 8, 1990 |

™,

Phantom on
the Skeena —

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In connection with Riverboat Days, the Terrace Review is pleased to

present this work of fiction on a riverboat theme by Terrace author .

Harriett Fjaagesund.

Tom stamped his feet ir-
ritably, trying to coax his cir-
culation back to life. Early dawn
was just beginning to stain the
sky. He glanced at his watch; a
little past six. ‘‘What the hell am
I doing out here anyway?’’ he
muttered.

He stared mocdily at the
river. It moved sluggishly, its
dark grey waters matching his
mood. He sighed heavily, then
slumped down on a large rock
and tried to pinpoint the exact
moment it had all started.

It had been early winter when
he’d first come to town and
hired on as a reporter with one
of the local newspapers. From
the very beginning he’d been
struck by the sheer beauty in the
north, It was a land that could
never be fully tamed.

~ Tt had been during his second

week with the newspaper that
he’d met Old Jack. If he had
another name, Tom never dis-
covered it. Jack was a kind of
over-the-hill gopher at the of-
fice.

Jack loved talking about the
river, He’d spent most of his life
‘on the Skeena and said he knew

hinted, would make your blood
run cold. Then he’d told Tom
the story of the phantom stern-
wheeler that he claimed still
plied these waters.
_ The riverboat was supposed to
_make her run just after spring
break-up. For a week or two,
Jack said, sometime after early
dawn, you might catch a glimpse
of her. sailing down Kitselas
Canyon.
Of course, Tom had been
skeptical. A ghostly riverboat

Stepping out in style, Heather Graydon added a touch of class to the Riverboat Days parade as
she accompanied the Tolsec Security float down Lakelse Ave. |

sailing the Skeena River?
Ridiculous! But Jack had been
adamant. He swore the stern-
wheeler existed; she was as real
as any apparition could be.
“Tom dismissed the story as an
_ old-‘man’s fantasy. He settled in-
to his job, prepared to forget

_ | - about Old Jack and his fantastic

tale. As he shivered through his
. first northern winter, he hardly
gave a thought to the story.

But things changed when the
ice began to melt on the river.

He found himself haunted by
the story. Try as he might, he
couldn’t quite get it out of his
mind. It nagged his waking
hours: and crept into his dreams
at night.

He’d always been obsessed
with mysterious legends, mostly,
he suspected, because he didn’t
really believe they existed. Final-
ly, in desperation, he had given
in. Feeling somewhat foolish,
he’d kept his plans to himself.

Tom nudged the empty ther-
mos at his feet. He had con-
sidered adding a shot of whiskey
to the coffee, but had decided
against it at the last moment. He

wanted a clear head. He stood

The Terrace and District Chamber of Commerce float featured thelr outsize Kermode bear, waving
its motorized head from side to side, and a young lady with a winning smile. — .

up and stretched, This was’ the
fourth morning he’d spent in
Kitselas Canyon,

_all the old tales. Some,.- he'd »

He dug his knuckles into his

eyes and yawned hugely. Climb- "

ing out of bed at four-thirty

every morning and driving all.

the way out here was beginning
to wear him down. He glanced.
up at the canyon’s rocky walls
and grimaced; climbing down
those walls in the near-darkness
was nerve wracking! ,
He looked at his watch, sur-
prised to discover that nearly an
hour had passed. The river flow-
ed sullenly past his feet. If it had
any secrets, it kept them to it-
self. Deciding he’d had enough,
Tom picked up his flashlight and
thermos and stuffed them in the
oversize pockets of his jacket.
Hunching his shoulders against
the dampness, he began the tir-
ing climb back to the top. As he
climbed, his last conversation
with Jack slipped into his mind.
“Some claim she’s the In-
lander, the last sternwheeler to
work the Skeena. Others swear
it’s the Caledonia.” ‘“What do
you think?”? Tom had asked.
Jack shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know,
maybe the Mount Royal, she

sank in Kitselas Canyon, -

y’know. Rumour has it her safe
was full of gold when she went
down. The only thing I know for
sure is that she exists!”’
‘Damn!’ Tom listened to the
flashlight clatter down the can-
yon wall. He kicked viciously at
a small rock, sending it scuttling

‘after the flashlight. Cursing

Jack and his own stupidity, he
started back down after it. The
flashlight lay against 4 rock,
near the water’s edge. He was
just about to reach for it when a

sudden movement on the river
- caught his attention.

_ A heavy fog bank was rolling
toward him. The air seemed
curiously still, weighing heavily
against him. Tom stared hard at
the wall of fog; he could just
make out a vague shape inside
the fog. ;

The fog moved closer, and-a
jolt of fear shot through him.
He could feel the adrenaline
pounding through his veins,
making him light-headed.

Wreathed in an_ ethereal
cloud, a sternwheeler sailed
towards him. The riverboat
moved in eerie silence. From her
black funnel came long, pale
fingers of smoke. The railing
surrounding her main deck
stood out sharply white. As she
passed, Tom saw her paddle-
wheel throw up great billowing
clouds of water, yet not a sound
reached his ears, It was the com-
plete absence of sound that un-
nerved him the most. _

He watched with glazed eyes
as she sailed down the canyon,
around a bend and out of sight.
Legs shaking uncontrollably,
Tom stepped back from the
river. He stared a long moment
at the now empty river before
turning and bolting for the can-
yon walls.

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