Sixty-Four Degrees is a spell-binding adventure novel, set on the rivers and glaciers of the sub-Arctic, as well as the icy and turbulent waters of the Southern Ocean surrounding Antarctica. SIXTY-FOUR DEGREES By CHESLEY HINES AuthorHouse Copyright © 2010 Chesley Hines All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4490-7282-7 Chapter One August 2004 648' N, 1412' W A lone canoe glided through the softly falling snow and the mist rising from the Yukon River. Men were seated in the bow and stern of the canoe, and another man was lying amidships covered in a sleeping bag, with only his head visible. The men paddling were hunched over and looking down, though they occasionally glanced to each side to avoid looking into the snow. Their paddle strokes were weak. Fortunately, the river current was sufficient to propel them along. The Yukon River was rapidly freezing around them, but the ambient air was even colder, which created the mist rising from the water. Although the shore was not visible, the men apparently could see Eagle Bluff because the canoe turned to port toward the proximal shore fifty feet below the cliff overhanging the river, just upriver from the bluff. Had they not turned, they would have passed right by the hamlet of Eagle, Alaska, the last point of civilization, such as it is, before the Arctic Circle. Ten days earlier, Thomas Speight McClamrock had stood on the banks of the Yukon River, gazing at the broad expanse of water beyond three heavily loaded canoes. The canoes were pulled up on the embankment just below the Front Street levee in Dawson City, Yukon, Canada. As he studied the width of the river and the swiftly flowing current, he almost said out-loud, "I wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew." As an experienced physician, he had instinctively learned to apply his medical assessment skills to everything in life, much like the famous Napoleon's Glance, the so-called coup d'oeil. For the first time, he realized that the Yukon was wider and swifter than the Mississippi at New Orleans. He rationalized that the Yukon was probably not as deep, and none of the whirlpools so typical of the Mississippi were visible. Nevertheless, he was concerned that he might have put his son Josh and himself in danger. It was too late to back out now, and he did not think his ego could bear the embarrassment of backing out anyway. Also, he genuinely wanted to make the trip with Josh, but he certainly did not want to endanger his son. So he tried to hide any concern by putting on an air of jocular bravado. Tom was also disappointed in the Yukon's color and lack of clarity. He had assumed that the river would be clear, like a mountain stream. Instead, it looked milky, the result of it being a glacially fed river carrying detritus accumulated over hundreds of miles. Having grown up in Mississippi, where all the rivers and creeks were brown from muddy runoff, he had assumed that any stream in an area as pristine as he had imagined Alaska and northern Canada to be would certainly have clear rivers and streams. "Where should we put the beer?" Josh asked. This roused Tom out of his reverie. "Put two six-packs under each seat," Tom replied. Instead of going to church, he and Josh had bought two six-packs of Yukon Gold and two of Arctic Red from a bar that Sunday morning. They had arrived in Dawson too late on Saturday afternoon to buy it from a grocery store, where it would have been much cheaper. Tom felt intensely guilty about not going to church, especially now that they were facing potential danger. Being a regular churchgoer, the thought of buying beer in a saloon on Sunday, directly at an angle across the street from a church, was hard for him to handle. Although Tom was a Presbyterian, he still had a Mississippi Baptist guilt mentality, probably because his father had been a Baptist as a young man. Also, his mother was masterful at using guilt to control him. Nevertheless, he tried to justify it in his mind. They were about to leave, and he thought that having beer along would make the trip more enjoyable, especially since he wanted Josh to think that he was cool. They had arrived in Dawson on the previous afternoon, along with their guide, Jim Grote, and a married couple, David and Diana Wortham, after an arduous journey from Eagle, Alaska. After an excellent night's sleep in a delightful bed-and- breakfast, and an outstanding and equally excellent breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and biscuits made from scratch, they were all in fine spirits. Jim was a thirty-five-year-old history teacher in the Anchorage public school system. Of German and Russian ancestry, he was a native of North Dakota. He still said ya instead of yes, a reflection of his forebears. As one would expect from his northern European ancestry, Jim was blond, blue-eyed, and six feet tall, with rugged good looks and the lean and muscular build of a swimmer. He exuded confidence, and g