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Half an hour later, I waited by the pickup for Luka. We purchased all the supplies for the Ranch in bulk, shipped in on a smaller, faster ferry called The Lady Express. Luka showed up right on time, but we had to wait a few minutes for Brady Yates. I needed muscle for today’s shipment.
Brady arrived, looking rushed. “Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled in his gravelly voice. He’d worked at the Ranch every summer for the last twenty years or so, his face weathered beyond his sixty years. He loved the Norwegian fjords and took great care of them.
“Brady, this is Luka Novak. Luka, Brady Yates, the stableman.”
“And sometimes chauffeur. Good to see you again,” Luka said, shaking Brady’s hand.
“That’s right. Brady picked you up at the airport. Get in boys, we have a ton of supplies to pick up.”
I climbed behind the wheel, and Brady, a small wiry man, climbed in the backseat.
Luka got in the passenger seat. “Shotgun,” he said, glancing at me.
“That you are.” I smiled. So, he had a sense of humor. The pickup started with a roar, and we headed down the road.
We arrived early. The Lady Express wasn’t in yet. We didn’t have any guests scheduled to arrive, only a ton of groceries and a few special orders, like horse blankets. Luka lifted a pull-cart out of the pickup bed and the three of us wandered down to the dock. Breathing in the brisk, morning air, I zipped my down coat to the top.
Soon a boat whistle split the air, announcing the arrival of the ferry. We watched the silver and white two-tiered boat sail toward us, slicing through the blue-gray water. Right before it reached the dock, the ferry swung in a circle to back in, an impressive move.
On one trip, I had been allowed in the pilothouse with the captain. We’d been chatting amicably until we approached the dock. Then he was all business. He slowed and shifted the boat into neutral, then cranked the wheel and put it in gear. He did this a few times in quick succession, and the boat turned precisely, presenting the stern to the dock. I had actually applauded as the ferry sidled gently next to the dock that day, and he had taken a playful bow.
As the boat nestled into place, a crewman wrapped a thick, braided rope hanging from a dock piling around an industrial-sized cleat on the bow, securing the boat, then did the same for the stern.
First, the passengers disembarked, staring in awe at the dramatic surroundings. The people who were day-tripping had ninety minutes to dine in the landing restaurant, which was only open for lunch this off-season time of year, and only on the three days a week the ferry ran. People ambled toward the restaurant, and the ferry staff headed to the back of the boat that brimmed with cargo.
Luka grabbed the pull-cart. An impromptu line formed from the boat to the dock.
“Olivia.” the crewman who had secured the ferry nodded to me.
“Hey. You remember Brady Yates.”
“Brady,” the crewman nodded.
“And this is Luka Novak, our new kayak instructor and electrician.”
“Nice. Two for the price of one.”
The other ferry staff lined up to make a sort of bucket brigade for supplies. They politely waved at Luka, then began unloading the cargo. Boxes passed from hand to hand. I stayed toward the end and of the line, and when I recognized boxes from our order, I pointed them out to Brady and Luka.
“Where’s Keri?” someone called, referring to the owner of the Stehekin Bakery. “We’ve got a lot of boxes for her.”
“I’m here.” Keri rushed down the dock.
When I had first arrived at Stehekin, I had marveled at how all these people knew each other, helped each other, greeted each other with the nonchalance of familiarity. With only seventy-five permanent residents, it was a far cry from living in a city. After three years here, they all knew me, and it never failed to warm me inside when they casually said my name with a nod, as if we’d known each other forever. I felt welcome, like I belonged.
Luka had fallen into line and passed packages easily, taking from one person and handing off to the next, looking relaxed.
We were finishing up when West’s pickup pulled in. He jumped out and jogged toward us with a grin. “Hope I’m not too late to help.”
Even Luka chuckled.
“We’re just about done, as you can see.” I tried to sound stern.
“Sorry about that. Hey Luka, when you’re done, let’s go for a paddle.”
Luka glanced sidewise at me. “I don’t know,” he began. “We’ll need to unload the truck back at the Ranch.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You two go have fun. Kayaking is, after all, work-related.”
After the truck was loaded, Luka followed West and took off to Silver Bay Road and the boathouse.
I lingered on the dock. Brady looked at me quizzically. “Unless you have somewhere you need to be,” I said, “let’s watch West and Luka for a few minutes.”
“You and Randy spoil that boy, if you ask me,” Brady mumbled. “But then, nobody’s asking.” He crossed his arms.
Two kayaks glided out from the cattails lining the estuaries that fed the Stehekin River into the lake. When they were a fair distance away, they pointed their boats downlake and stopped. I could almost hear them say, ready, set, go, and they took off.
Luka surged in front of West as if he had just fired up an outboard motor. Astounding. He powered along for a couple of hundred yards, then eased up and fell back in line with West, who shook his head. They talked for a moment, then headed toward the painted rocks, vertical cliffs covered with petroglyphs, images of human figures and animals painted in a reddish dye by Native Americans of the past. The petroglyphs were the highlight of the kayak tour for the tourists.
West had won his share of kayak races, but Luka’s performance was astonishing. I wondered how Luka would do when it came time to manage tourists, many of whom had zero experience kayaking. Would he be patient or get bored? Time would tell.
Later that evening, I ran into West outside the cookhouse.
“That looked like fun today,” I said.
“Did you see that guy go?” He grinned.
“I did.”
“I met him at a kayak race in England,” West said.
“Is that where you told him about Stehekin?”
“Yup. I invited him to come see where I live, where I grew up. I was pretty surprised when he called me a few months later and took me up on the offer. You should have seen the race in England. He blew everyone else out of the water. No one came even close. He’s a legend in Croatia.”
“Hmm.” What did it take to become a legend in a country I knew absolutely zero about? And why would a legend end up here, in the middle of nowhere?
