The helicopter pilot lowered the craft until it rested on the ice. "This is where Mr. Trager told me to go."
"But there's nothing here but snow and ice," Dana said.
Jeremy blinked at the brilliance reflected from the snow. " Well, we won't have to worry about lighting as long as we film during the day."
Dana pointed at a dark spot by the side of the lake. "And there's that shack. Maybe it has indoor plumbing?"
"We can only hope." Jeremy helped the crew unloaded the steadycam and backup batteries.
"What are we doing here, anyway?" Dan pouted.
"Covering the Great Northern Dogsled Race, on location." Casey adjusted his sunglasses.
“I want to check out the cabin," Dana said.
"That's not a cabin, it's a shack."
"How can you tell?"
"A cabin would have a few cords of firewood stacked out here. Do you see any firewood?"
"Walk with me, Casey, in case there's a moose in there."
"A moose? There's nothing here for a moose to eat. There's no moose."
"Just humor me.
"Right. What am I going to do about a moose?"
"Recite it the soccer scores."
A tiny dark speck could be seen in the distance.
The shack didn't have running water, or a fireplace and chimney, or a floor, or electricity -- "good thing we brought the battery packs" -- but it did have an in-house, more or less. It sufficed. Dana nodded to Casey, who went back outside and shut the door.
The dark thing got bigger.
"I need a direction to shoot," said the cameraman.
Natalie turned all around. "Aim over there." She pointed in the general direction of the dark thing.
Dana came out of the shack and they waited, leaning against the cabin to avoid the wind. “That’s a terrible in-house,” she commented. “I’m not coming back here for vacation, no matter what Calvin wants.”
"I'm sure Calvin will take you to Toronto, or Algonquin Park, or somewhere with a bathroom, Dana," Natalie said.
The dark thing turned into a dozen dogs pulling a sled. The man standing on the back of the sled wore a heavy parka with a logo with a buffalo's head on it. "Whoa, Diefenbaker," he said. When the sled stopped, the dogs sat down, tongues panting. "Can I help you?"
"Aren't you the lead team in the Great Northern Dogsled Race?"
"No, I'm not. Sergeant Benton Fraser, RCMP. If you're looking for that race, you’re 20 miles too far over. " He pointed toward the east.
"Thank you very much, Sergeant," Dana turned and walked toward the helicopter, yelling, "Taxi!" The crew followed her with the equipment.
"Where are we?" Dan asked.
"At a fishing shack on Great Slave Lake."
"Then that wasn't an in-house…"
"No, I’m afraid not. It’s a good thing the muskellunge aren’t biting today.”
Dan and Casey exchanged glances with Jeremy.
"Best not to tell her, then."
“Hey, you guys coming or not?” Dana yelled, waving from the helicopter.
The dogsled was already becoming a speck in the distance as they took off.