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A Pocketful of Stories by Siegfried Bucher 318 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0481; ISBN 1-55369-079-6; US$26.50, C$29.95, EUR21.50, £15.50 A Pocketful of Stories is a collection of fiction and non-fiction short stories inspired by the author's adventurous life and those lives of friends and acquaintances of his. These stories have never before been published.
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about the book
about the author
Table of Contents and excerpts
catalogue info
About the Book
In A Pocketful of Stories, author Siegfried Bucher brings together a collection of fiction and non-fiction short stories inspired by the author's many-sided experiences and of persons with whom he was acquainted. Bucher conveys these stories with a profound understanding of human nature, and a deep respect and appreciation of nature's power and beauty.
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About the Author Siegfried Bucher, a Swiss-born Canadian, was educated in Switzerland where he received, in 1951, the degree of Engineer. His preference for geophysical science led him to Canada where he was active in exploration for oil and gas, primarily in the Arctic regions of Canada. He was instrumental in developing seismic data gathering on ice. He pioneered the small-equipment Arctic exploration crew and the heli-portable mountain seismic crew, concepts for minimizing damage to the environment by using space age technology together with the re-introduction of man as the key figure. An experienced mountaineer, he made several successful first ascents on previously unclimbed peaks in the Rocky Mountains and Baffin Island.
Also by Siegfried Bucher:
Dangerous Encounters
The First Five Years
North of the Arctic Circle
The Calling and the Spell
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Table of Contents and excerpts
Table of Contents
Tricks of Fate, 1
The Cornice, 20
Into the Wild, 26
Emerging Talent, 46
Nothing for Granted, 68
A First Ascent, 97
Jed's Remorse, 122
To Catch A Chill, 155
The Broken Rope, 163
Jonny, 184
Christmas the Diesel Was Dirty, 196
Not a Dull Moment, 205
Hunk -- An Obsession, 229
The Flute, 238
Peterley, 264
Fifty-Five Years Later, 286
from "Tricks of Fate"
Dawn broke before he awoke. The shadows of night lingered in the valley until it was bright with sunlight. After packing his gear, he walked down to the spot where he had gone through the ice. Though the temperature had fallen some more during the night and was now fifty-eight below freezing, only a skin of ice had formed over the hole. He stirred it with a stick. It was then that he noticed the strong current coming up from beneath, for the broken ice pans swirled slowly around. Presumably, it was a spring that survived any cold spell and often was hidden under thin ice. It was one of those ironical tricks of fate that overtake everyone who ventures the wintry outdoors at one time or another.
It had been the second incident that could have cost his life. There had been a poacher, a malicious man, and the thin ice, an insidious element. Never again would he take man or element for granted when exposed to their unpredictable moods.
He stared at the swirling ice pans for a while, then lifted his eyes and gazed across the lake. His heart throbbed -- what if the hole had been farther out from shore? The dividing line between life and death is too finely drawn to be crossed, he thought and shuddered.
from "Jonny"
Listening to their familiar song and moved by their delightful melodies, Jonny wondered anew whether he was doing the right thing in leaving home. Even as his determination began to wane, he imagined how he would be admired by his friends for having spent all alone a whole night away form home. They certainly must miss him now and await his return. After all, he had left yesterday without telling anybody. Or could it be that they did not miss him at all? This thought made him feel cold all over.
Well, he always could return and find out. But that would not be right. He had thought about all this for a long time and had made up his mind. Yet now he felt uneasy and was not sure what he ought to do. He felt lonely and unhappy. He could have cried, but he was a boy, and boys did not cry. That was girl stuff.
His thoughts were interrupted. The weird call of a loon drifted across the lake, dissolving all sentimentality in him and returning his determination. He shouldered his duffel bag and resolutely walked through the knee-high, wet grass to the highway. There he stood at the curb and waited for the next car to pick him up, a shy Indian boy, half his round youthful face hidden under unkempt strands of bluish-dark hair. He was of slender build, about four feet two tall, wore blue jeans, its cuffs turned up a few inches, as was the accepted custom, and a buckskin jacket over a woolen shirt with red pattern. His feet were caught in used cowboy boots, the heels slightly worn, the shafts polished to a glossy shine. He was not much older than ten.
During the early morning hours only few cars and trucks were on the road. Jonny trembled all over -- not from expectancy to hitch a ride, but from being wet and cold. After a long time -- it seemed to him an eternity -- the headlights of a vehicle appeared out of the morning mist. A big freight truck thundered past, but Jonny did not stick out his thumb. He knew better. Still, he felt let down, his empty stomach in a knot. Then he spotted another light beam feeling its way across the pavement with its yellow centerline. His hopes rose immediately and he gestured promptly with his thumb. The speeding car slowed up, came to a full stop a few yards past him and, to his surprise, backed up. Chad Venters, the driver, reached over, unlocked the door and opened it.
"D'you want a lift?" he called.
Jonny grabbed the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He took a step or two, balked and stared.
He's one of us. They've sent him to look for me and to pick me up, flashed in his head, and for a fleet moment he was scared and wanted to run away.
Oh, what's the use... I'm caught, he thought disheartened, and nodded.
"Then get in. I'm in a hurry. Throw your bag in the back seat and lock the door," Chad said, not unkindly. "And lock it," he added as an afterthought.
Jonny did as bidden. He did not give Chad another look and thus failed to observe that he was a white man with a generous growth of black hair, dark tanned face and hands, and could easily be mistaken for an Indian. Only his eyes betrayed his race; they were blue, and Jonny missed to see that. Shivering sporadically, he stretched into the front seat and stared at the dashboard.
"Please... turn up the heat... I'm cold," he stammered, his teeth chattering.
Chad smiled. He doesn't beat around the bush, that's for sure, he thought and pushed the heat control lever to 'high'. At this, Jonny turned his head and gave him a thankful glance. Then he sank deeper into the seat and in a short time, a slight and regular heaving of his shoulders showed that he was sound asleep.
Catalogue Information
