And Leif thought: If I die here, it is my fault. I should know about bears.

He let his eyes whip past the bear, saw scattered bits of not-quite-dry bear dung here and there. Small piles he had not noticed.

But I was tired. Pushing the canoe endlessly after the whirlpool. Too tired to even see the bear sign? I should have gotten back in the canoe and gone to a safe place to rest. To fish. To live.

To live.

It was all there. All I had to do was look. Open my eyes and look. See.

And now the bear stood. Leif’s fate, his future, stood a few steps away, studying him.

Measuring me.

And it is all my fault.

It was all there and I didn’t see it because . . .

Because I’m a damn fool.

And he thought finally, on top of all the other thoughts: Because I don’t fit in. I am here, but not here. I am not real to this place.

I have been only passing through.

Now the bear snorted – Leif could smell its breath: rotten fish, maybe a tooth gone bad, some berries – and moved its head sideways back and forth with the nose raised, the mouth a little open.

To smell me better. To air-taste me.

But suddenly with a grunt the bear turned and walked away, vanished still without a sound in the surrounding trees and was gone. As if it had never existed.

A ghost bear.

But no. It had been real.

He knew it by the feel of his knees that, on their own, weakened and lowered him into the water.

It had been a real bear.

And it could have killed me. Eaten me. Did not maybe because it was too full of salmon – had been working at a run and eaten its fill – or just luck. It could have ended what I am or ever could be.

Because I, Leif, did not fit in.

Was not part of where I am, part of the trees and sea and wind and whales and, yes, the bear as well.

He should have been part of it all but he was just passing through.

And he made a vow now to Odin:

I will join with and of this place.

I will see.

And learn.

And know this place and all places that will come to me.

With this silent vow, and a deeper understanding, he wrapped the blanket – now dry – in a bundle with the pot and axe and cord, his meagre all – and tied them into the canoe. Then he slid the craft into the water, jumped in with the paddle, and worked away, staying near the shore – as he would always try to do – in case there was another unexpected whirlpool.