Toklat

By Robert H. Redding

Toklat, the grizzly bear cub, stared at the yellow sun until his eyes watered. It was a very hot day. In all of his five months of life on earth, he had never been so warm.

His mother and sister were lying near the creek where his sister had been playing in the water, splashing fans of white spray into the air. It was a game that Toklat liked, too—but not today. His energy was gone. Not the slightest breeze stirred the leaves of the birch and poplar trees in the forest. Not a cloud drifted in the blue sky to keep the sun company. The air around Toklat shimmered with heat waves.

Toklat ambled away from his mother and sister into the forest, looking for—he didn’t know what. Maybe a cooler place in which to lie down. Maybe a new game to divert his attention from the heat.

He moved slowly to the top of a low hill. From there he could see in every direction over the tops of the trees. Everything was motionless and quiet, except for one thing: Not far away a column of black smoke was rising, as straight as a cottonwood tree, several hundred feet into the air. Then it fanned out. The smoke spread across the sky like a cloud, drifting toward Toklat’s hill.

Even as he watched, Toklat’s sensitive nose caught a whiff of the acrid smoke. His eyesight wasn’t good, as is the case with most bears. His nose, however, made up for his poor vision. It told him of dinner, when his mother caught salmon in the creek. It told him that other bears or strange animals were in the area. It warned him of danger, and as Toklat sniffed now, he felt uneasy. Does this smell mean trouble? he wondered.

As Toklat watched the smoke, a breeze began to blow it toward him. And for the first time, the young bear saw fire beneath the smoke. The breeze became a wind, causing great spires of orange flame to leap through the forest, converting trees and brush to charcoal in minutes.

If he had had any experience with fire and smoke, Toklat would have fled right then. He’d have run back to his mother and sister, and they would have headed for the bare, high hills to the south. But Toklat had never seen a forest fire, and though his instincts told him to flee, he didn’t. He stayed where he was, fascinated by the roaring flames. And that fascination almost cost the grizzly bear cub his life.

Leaping toward Toklat, the fire sent advance balls of flame ahead of its main body. They ignited trees over a wide, blazing path. Some of the fireballs were lifted by powerful thermal currents—currents caused by the fire’s great heat—and dropped beyond Toklat, starting new fires between him and his mother.

All at once Toklat was aware that he stood in the middle of a ring of fire that hissed, roared, and lashed about like a monster with a life of its own. He bawled loudly.

As the fire snarled and whipped closer to him, Toklat bawled more frantically. He coughed and darted this way and that, trying to find a way through the fire.

In just moments his mother appeared on the outer edge of the flames. She stood on her hind legs, sniffing the air in search of her son. When she finally located him, she dropped to all fours and bawled for Toklat to come to her. He answered and started toward the sound of her voice. The two cried back and forth until Toklat could finally see his mother.

How reassuring she looked—so big and powerful and safe! Toklat wanted to be with her, but the fire had almost closed its ring. There was only a small place left that he could get through. Toklat knew that he’d have to dash through it, yet he hesitated because the stifling and rambling flames were so fierce! As Toklat cowered in fear, his mother bawled for him again, and the urging in her voice stirred the cub into action. Lowering his head, he ran. Flaming limbs dropped in his path, and Toklat stepped on one. His paw felt as though a hundred porcupine quills had all penetrated at once. He yelped in pain, but he plunged on. He made it through the narrow place even as sparks were singeing his fur.

Without nosing her cub for his hurts, the mother fled, with Toklat and his sister right behind her. They ran through the forest and climbed a high hill to its summit. There were no trees at the top, nothing but shale, so the fire would have nothing to feed on. The bears were safe.

Toklat sat on his rump and licked his sore paw. His mother looked him over, grumped in her chest a few times, then wandered off in search of shade. His sister followed her, but Toklat remained where he was for a while, licking his paw and watching the fire far below. Smoke filled the valley, and the forest had turned black where thousands of trees had burned. Despite the heat of the day and from the fire, as Toklat ran his moist tongue over his burned paw, he shivered. Fire would frighten him for as long as he lived. Never again would he just sit and watch it leap toward him. At the first sign of smoke or fire, he would race for the high hills and safety.

Illustrated by Dick Brown