The Missing Grizzly Cubs Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Judy Young

  Cover illustration by Celia Krampien

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles. All inquiries should be addressed to:

  2395 South Huron Parkway, Suite 200, Ann Arbor, MI 48104

  www.sleepingbearpress.com

  © Sleeping Bear Press

  Printed and bound in the United States.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Young, Judy, 1956- author.

  Title: The missing grizzly cubs / Judy Young.

  Description: Ann Arbor, MI: Sleeping Bear Press, 2016.

  Series: The wild world of Buck Bray; Book 1

  Summary: Eleven-year-old Buck Bray travels to Denali National Park to shoot a new kids’ wilderness show, and with the cameraman’s daughter, they work to solve the mystery of two missing grizzly cubs.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016007682

  ISBN 9781585369706 (hard cover)

  ISBN 9781585369713 (paper back)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Grizzly bear--Fiction. | Bears--Fiction. | Television programs--Fiction. | Denali National Park and Preserve (Alaska)--Fiction.

  National parks and reserves--Fiction. | Animals--Alaska--Fiction.

  Mystery and detective stories.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.Y8664 Mis 2016 | DDC [FIc]--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016007682

  For the Gleason kids,

  who hiked up a mountain with me in

  Denali National Park and Preserve

  Your hiking buddy,

  Judy Young

  With special thanks to

  John “One-Take Bake” Baker, an Emmy Award–winning director,

  for consulting with me about cinematography,

  and

  Brady Baker, a conservation agent,

  for sharing his firsthand experiences about crawling in bear dens

  and darting hibernating bears.

  J.Y.

  Contents

  TAKE 1

  TAKE 2

  TAKE 3

  TAKE 4

  TAKE 5

  TAKE 6

  TAKE 7

  TAKE 8

  TAKE 9

  TAKE 10

  TAKE 11

  TAKE 12

  TAKE 13

  TAKE 14

  TAKE 15

  TAKE 16

  TAKE 17

  TAKE 18

  GLOSSARY

  TAKE 1:

  “DID YOU KNOW MOOSE ATTACK MORE PEOPLE THAN BEARS AND WOLVES COMBINED?”

  SUNDAY, AUGUST 11

  Buck knew he shouldn’t be walking through the dense Alaskan forest by himself, but he and his dad had been driving for more than a week. When they finally reached a campground each evening, Dad said he was too tired to do any exploring. And each morning Dad was busy writing scripts. But Buck was ready for some action. He wanted to see a grizzly, but he wasn’t going to see anything sitting in a camper all morning.

  Buck hadn’t gone far down the trail when he heard splashing noises. He quickened his steps. A swampy pond lay around the bend. His heart beating fast with anticipation, he sneaked behind a bushy willow and peeked through the leafy branches. It wasn’t a bear, but Buck wasn’t too disappointed. In the pond was a moose calf. It stuck its head in the water and came back up with strings of grasses slopping from its mouth. Buck smiled.

  It looks like it’s slurping green spaghetti, he thought.

  Buck pulled his camera from his pocket and took some pictures. Then he stood perfectly still, watching the young moose eat bite after bite. Suddenly there was the sharp crack of a stick breaking behind him. Buck turned and immediately froze. Standing only forty feet away was the calf’s mother. She was enormous. Busy eating leaves, she hadn’t noticed Buck. Slowly, Buck raised the camera.

  Although it was bright over the pond, it was dark in the forest, and the camera’s flash went off automatically. The mother moose’s head shot up. She looked straight at Buck. Then she looked at her calf. It was still in the pond. Buck was between the cow and her calf.

  Uh-oh, not a good place to be, Buck thought.

  The moose snorted and stomped, glaring at Buck. Buck talked quietly to her, trying to calm her with his voice.

  “You’re okay, Big Mama,” he said softly. “Don’t you worry about little ol’ me. I’m not going to hurt you or your baby. You just go back to eating your breakfast.”

  Again, the moose cuffed the ground with her hoof. As he spoke, Buck slowly backed up but hit a wall of willow bushes too thick to even crawl through. Little by little, he inched to the side, trying to put some distance between him and the agitated moose. The moose stepped toward him, easily covering ten feet in only two steps. Buck knew he shouldn’t move, but fear took over. He darted behind the trunk of a spruce. Ears back, the moose lowered her head and charged. The spruce wasn’t very big, and it didn’t offer much protection from the thirteen-hundred-pound wall of muscle that came straight at him.

  Suddenly the sound of their camper’s door slamming echoed through the forest. The noise startled the moose. As her head turned slightly toward the sound, her shoulder rammed into Buck and slammed him violently into a tree trunk. Buck fell to the ground as the moose easily stomped past him, crashing through the thick wall of willows and into the pond. Splashing through the water, her calf followed her to the far side. When they stepped into the dense forest, the huge creatures instantly disappeared from sight.

  “Buck, where are you?” Dad’s voice came loudly through the trees.

  “I’m right here,” Buck called back, hoping his voice didn’t sound as shaky as he felt. Buck got up and rotated his arm and shoulder around. Nothing was broken, but both were sore, and he could feel where big bruises were already developing. Buck took several deep breaths and strode casually up the trail toward the small remote campground, where the Green Beast was parked. Dad was walking down the trail toward him.

  “I told you not to go wandering off on your own,” Dad scolded him. “It’s not safe to be by yourself in grizzly country. I had no idea where you were.”

  “I didn’t go very far. But look what I saw!” Buck pulled the camera from his pocket and showed Dad the pictures. He didn’t mention the encounter with the cow moose.

  Dad looked at the camera. “Those are great shots, but a moose can be just as dangerous as a grizzly. Especially a mother wanting to protect her calf. She could have killed you.”

  Buck knew the moose could have easily stomped him to death. He also knew if he told Dad about the moose’s charge, Dad might have second thoughts about their venture.

  Six years before, Buck’s mom had died in a car crash. From then on, Buck had lived in Indiana with his grandparents while his dad roamed the far corners of the world, filming documentaries. Having a famous dad sounded exciting to all his friends, but to Buck it meant weeks and sometimes months without seeing his father. So, when Dad showed up after shooting the last episode of a series on Ancient Egypt, Buck was ready with an idea.

  “The producers loved the proposal!” Dad told Buck. “They said having a kid as the star of a wilderness show was just what they were looking for. They want the first episode to be shot in Denali National Park.”

  “Wow! I can’t believe it! I’m going to have my own TV show! And I get to go to Alaska! Maybe I’ll finally get to see a bear!”

  Dad was just as ex
cited. “And you know what the best part is? I don’t have to leave you behind. I hated not being around you for months on end.”

  “Me too, Dad,” Buck said, smiling up at his father. “Me too!”

  Now Buck followed his father back to the strange dark-green vehicle that was parked in the campground. The front half of the Green Beast looked like the cab of a military truck, and the back looked like a mix between a tank and a school bus. It had big heavy tires, propane tanks on the back, and solar panels on top. The words BRAY TRAVELING FILM STUDIO had always been printed on the cab doors in big white lettering, but before they left Indiana, Dad had surprised Buck. Above those words, in fancy white letters, he had added the new show’s name: THE WILD WORLD OF BUCK BRAY.

  Buck stepped in through the back door and slid onto one of the benches at the kitchen table. Inside, the Green Beast was like an ordinary camper. At the front, Dad’s bed stretched from side to side. The kitchen area was in the middle, and the table’s two benches were the only places to sit. In back were two narrow doors. One closed off a tiny bathroom. Through the other, Buck could see pictures of bears tacked to the walls beside his narrow bunk beds.

  “After breakfast we’ll head to Fairbanks to pick up Shoop and Tony at the airport,” Dad said. He handed Buck a box of cereal and pulled a carton of milk from the refrigerator.

  “I know Shoop is your cameraman, but who’s Tony?” Buck asked, pouring milk on his cereal.

  “Shoop’s kid,” Dad answered.

  “Oh,” Buck replied, but couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

  “What’s the matter?” Dad asked.

  “I thought I was the only one who would be on the show. How long have you known Shoop’s kid was coming too?”

  “I just found out this morning when Shoop texted me his arrival time. But don’t worry. It’s your show. Tony will be a gofer.”

  “A what?”

  “A gofer. Someone who goes for stuff,” Dad explained. “Plus, Shoop said his kid has a good eye with the camera and is great with audio too. We can use an extra hand, and you’ll have somebody your age to hang around with.”

  “How old is Tony?”

  “I think Shoop said grade six, so I guess eleven, like you.”

  Buck said nothing more until he finished his breakfast.

  “You’re right,” he finally admitted. “It will be fun to have someone to do stuff with, since you’re always working.”

  “Well, you know, I’ve told you. We’re not on a vacation. It takes a lot of work to produce a show,” Dad said, putting the dishes away. “So grab your scripts. It’s an hour to the airport. You can practice while we’re driving.”

  Buck moaned. “Again?” During the long days driving to Alaska, Dad had insisted Buck practice his lines. He had repeated the words so many times, he could have rattled off facts about Alaska’s mountains and animals in his sleep.

  The baggage pickup area at the airport was crowded, but there were only two kids who looked like they might be eleven years old. One was a boy standing at the far end of the baggage conveyor, his sweatshirt hood pulled over his head. The other was an Asian girl with a bright red backpack. She was sketching. A bearded man with a camo jacket and an identical red backpack stood near her.

  “Is that him? The guy with the hoodie?” Buck asked. But before Dad could answer, the boy took a suitcase from the conveyor and walked away with a woman standing nearby.

  “There’s Shoop,” Dad said, pointing toward a redheaded man standing beside the baggage conveyor.

  As Buck followed his dad toward Shoop, he spotted another boy. This one was about six years old with bright red hair, and he was running all over the place.

  Great, Buck thought, Dad misunderstood. Shoop said Tony was six, not in grade six.

  “Glad you made it, Shoop,” Dad said, slapping the redheaded man on the shoulder. “All your luggage get here?”

  “It’s all here,” Shoop said, grabbing a hard-sided black case with a big scratch on it from the conveyor. He set it down by a heap of suitcases and bags near his feet, and turned to Buck.

  “Hey, dude, you must be Buck. Nice to meet you. Go grab one of those luggage carts over there.” Shoop dug into his pocket and handed Buck a bunch of coins.

  I guess I’ll be stuck with a hyper six-year-old, Buck thought as he headed to the far wall. He put the coins into the slot and tried to push the cart. Its wheels turned sideways and wouldn’t roll. Buck discovered pulling worked better. So, walking backward, he pulled the cart toward Shoop. Not turning to see where he was going, he tripped over one of Shoop’s bags and fell on his butt. Someone giggled behind him. Buck jumped to his feet and whipped around. Right in front of him was the girl with the red backpack.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Toni.”

  “You’re a girl!”

  “Very perceptive.”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know?” Buck said. “My dad said your name was Tony, so I thought you’d be a boy.”

  “It’s short for Antoinette, and it’s spelled the girl way, with an i not a y. Shoop’s the one who came up with it. He says I don’t look a thing like an Antoinette.”

  Toni was a little shorter than Buck, skinny, with long hair and bangs that hung over her eyebrows. About a dozen loop bracelets in all different colors were on her right wrist, a rainbow-colored watchband on her left. Every fingernail was painted a different color, and when she smiled, each band on her braces was a different color, too.

  “You call your dad Shoop?” Buck asked.

  “Yeah, everyone calls him by his last name.”

  “Yeah, but he’s your dad.”

  “I know. But look at him. Does he look like a dad?”

  Shoop was wearing a tie-dye sweatshirt and an old pair of cargo pants. He hadn’t shaved for several days, and his chin was covered with whiskers a shade darker than the mop of bright red hair sticking out at all angles from his head. A small hoop earring was in one ear. Buck’s dad was just the opposite: clean-shaven with short brown hair, his polo shirt tucked neatly into his jeans.

  “Not really, but you don’t exactly look like his daughter, either.” The statement popped out of Buck’s mouth without him thinking. As soon as he said it, he realized it wasn’t very polite, but Toni didn’t seem to care.

  “Nope, I’m adopted,” she said, and went back to her sketchbook, ending the conversation. Buck reached for the cart, but before he pulled it any farther, something caught his eye.

  “What’s up with that guy?” Buck asked.

  Toni glanced up, shrugged, and went back to sketching, paying no attention to the man who was charging straight toward them, carrying a long hard-sided black case. The man’s eyes were intent on Shoop’s luggage, and for the second time that day, Buck was in the wrong place.

  “Get out of my way!” The man shoved Buck aside as he rushed past. Buck grimaced as his sore shoulder rammed into the luggage cart. The man grabbed Shoop’s case and dropped the one in his hand to the ground.

  “You took the wrong case,” the man said harshly to Shoop.

  Shoop leaned over and looked at the tag on the case by his feet.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Saying nothing, the man hurried away.

  “Awesome!” Buck said to himself as he stared after the man who disappeared into the crowd as quickly as the moose had vanished into the forest. But it wasn’t the man Buck was admiring. Attached to the zipper pull of the man’s red backpack hung a huge bear claw.

  TAKE 2:

  “AN INDIVIDUAL GRIZZLY BEAR’S HOME RANGE MAY COVER UP TO FOUR HUNDRED SQUARE MILES. THAT’S A PRETTY BIG BACKYARD!”

  The two-hour drive from Fairbanks to Denali National Park seemed to take forever. To make matters worse, Dad had invited Toni to ride with them in the Green Beast, so Buck and Toni were buckled together in the only passenger seat.

  At first Toni kept up an endless stream of chatter. Dad frequently added a comment or two, but Buck kept quiet.

  Ha
ving a guy to hang out with is one thing, he thought, but I don’t like the idea of being stuck with a girl all the time.

  “Look at that!” Toni suddenly blurted out. “A bear!”

  “Do you see it, Buck?” Dad’s voice sounded excited too. “It’s a black bear!”

  Toni leaned forward to see around Dad. Buck tried to lean even farther forward to see around Toni, but the shared seat belt pulled tightly across his shoulder. All he could see was Toni’s back.

  “Move! You’re in my way!” Buck complained.

  “Sorry,” Toni said. She sat back, but Buck didn’t see anything. Just forest.

  “It was on the side of the road,” Toni said, “but only for a second. I barely spotted it before it darted into the woods.”

  Buck flung himself back in his seat, crossed his arms, and gave the floor a good kick. It’s not fair, he thought. He had diligently watched for bears all the way through Canada and into Alaska. He’d seen moose and fox and even buffalo, but not a single bear. Toni had been in Alaska less than two hours, but she managed to look in the right direction at just the right moment and see a bear.

  Buck looked out his window. The forest was giving way to rustic hotels and lodges scattered among a variety of restaurants. Gift shops advertised T-shirts, Native American jewelry, bearskins, and moose antlers. Outfitters offered a medley of rafting and fishing trips as well as airplane and helicopter rides that landed on glaciers. Buck gave up on seeing a bear. They drove through the small town and had just reached the far end when Dad called out.

  “There it is,” he said. “The entrance to Denali!”

  At the side of the road was the big national park entrance sign. A mountain rose behind it in the distance.

  “Is that mountain Denali?” Toni asked as Dad turned right onto the park road.

  “No,” Buck answered like it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Denali is a lot bigger than that.”

  “Denali is the—” Dad said only those three words and then stopped.

  “Now?” Buck complained, but rattled off the script. “Denali is the tallest mountain in North America. It’s always covered in ice and snow, and most of the time it’s completely hidden in clouds. A lot of people who come here never get to see it at all.”