Drone Chase by Pam Withers (English) Paperback Book

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When his orphan bear cub goes missing, sixteen-year-old drone enthusiast Ray McLellan decides to use his airborne spying skills to find it. Little does he know that the bear-poaching gang operating in the surrounding forest has drones too — and a cold welcome for those who would attempt to take them down.

FORMATPaperback LANGUAGEEnglish CONDITIONBrand New Publisher Description

Ray will need every ounce of his drone skills and outdoor smarts to recover his missing bear cub before poachers get to it first.When his orphan bear cub goes missing, sixteen-year-old drone enthusiast Ray McLellan decides to use his airborne spying skills to find it. Little does he know that an evil bear-poaching gang operating in the surrounding forest has drones, too — and a cold welcome for those who would attempt to take them down.As a New York City kid recently forced to move to the Great Bear Rainforest by his parents, Ray doesn't have a lifetime of outdoor instincts or familiarity with the valley and its wildlife. That makes him very different from his grumpy grandfather, who — like his new school friends — berates his city-kid uselessness at every opportunity. Can Ray use his drones and smarts to prove himself, find his cub, and expose what's going on in the woods?

Author Biography

Pam Withers is an award-winning author of over twenty young adult novels, including Red Maple nominees Tracker's Canyon and Stowaway, and two non-fiction books. She lives in Vancouver.

Review

Like any great survival story for reluctant readers, this kicks off with high adrenaline in a chapter-one bear attack and keeps on climbing ... This is an adventure to sink your claws into. * Booklist *An absolutely riveting story. * Shelley Hrdlitschka, author of The Grizzlies of Grouse Mountain *Pam Withers delivers a taut, well-crafted story that's sometimes funny, often suspenseful and always gripping. Drone Chase grabs readers by the throat and doesn't let go until the last page is turned. * David A. Poulsen, author of And Then the Sky Exploded *Drone Chase is a character-driven, first-person adventure story that would appeal to both readers looking for mystery or action and to those with an interest in dramatic character-driven plots. * CM: Canadian Review of Materials *May appeal to adventure-seekers. * School Library Journal *A great choice for filling the dearth of realistic adventure novels for the middle-school crowd. * School Library Journal, for Tracker's Canyon *Middle and high school students will appreciate this fast-paced adventure tale for the action alone. * VOYA, for Tracker's Canyon *

Review Quote

The fast-paced and suspenseful plot will keep readers rooting for Owen, Arturo, and the others.

Feature

An outdoor adventure story featuring drones, bear cubs, and poachers Suspensefully written, with white-knuckle tension throughout Author has written nineteen YA adventure novels especially popular with teenage boys, including reluctant readers Author's previous novels have three Red Maple Fiction Award nominations (2020: Stowaway , 2019: Tracker's Canyon , and 2013: Descent ), among other awards

Excerpt from Book

Chapter One Huddled in a down parka, with my hands held to the campfire, I glance down the slope to make sure my parents are still on their walk. Affirmative: Their bickering voices -- they haven''t stopped fighting since we moved here -- are disturbing the afternoon peace of the mountainside. Next, I peer at the little red tent a few feet away from me. My sleeping grandfather''s unlaced hiking boots are sticking out from under the flap. In fact, the whole tent is shuddering with his snoring like a half-inflated balloon. Zzz-zzz. The sound lifts my mood. It''s a good thing whiskered old mountain men need afternoon snoozes. Here at last, an opportunity to escape this boring, chilly campsite in the Canadian boonies. It''s not the first time this city boy has been hauled unwillingly here, into a desolate land of granite peaks, waterfalls, dodgy wildlife, and monster trees, but it''s definitely not somewhere I feel at home. For one thing, dark woods scare me, and this place has endless trees. I hate trees. They have a bad habit of eating my drones. Camping in general, in my private opinion, sucks. Who willingly goes for a hike in the sticks in May? Give me Central Park muggers any day over perilous predators hiding behind giant, moss-draped trees. I''m a New York City guy through and through. I reach into the beefy backpack Granddad has saddled me with -- "It''ll toughen you up," he said -- and touch the cellphone-sized drone the old man and my parents don''t know I''ve smuggled along. It''s a perfect antidote to the eerie woods. "Remote-control toys are for kids," Granddad ruled in his Irish brogue last month when my parents and I arrived. "They''re for city-park shenanigans. Got to get you in shape, teach you about woodsmanship, pry you out of that workshop o'' yours. Real life is the mountains, kid, and I''m going to teach you and yer city mom backcountry survival and appreciation for nature." Like that''s going to happen. As far as I can tell, Granddad has hated my "city mom" ever since she "stole away" his son to the other side of the continent. Given her high heels, makeup, New York personality, and lack of enthusiasm for the outdoors, in his mind she''s beneath his contempt. Which caused friction on our vacations here as far back as I can remember. But now that we''ve actually moved here, it''s way worse. Sitting close to where we''ve strung up the food bag on a rope between two trees -- "to make it fierce-hard for bears to reach it, grandson" -- I pull out my fifteen- hundred-dollar store-bought drone kit: bird, batteries, and remote. The drone is four wavy rings joined by a centre that resembles a small bug. I call him Bug. The 250-millimetre, one-pound device can fly for about twenty minutes before he conks out. Then, clever robot that he is, he automatically returns to me. Another thing: He folds so neatly I can slip him into my jeans pocket. As in, I can hide him from Granddad''s sharp eyes. We''re with Granddad because Dad tore us away from New York City. Granddad, an expert hunter and outdoorsman I admire but will never be like (as he reminds me regularly), lives in Bella Coola, in northern British Columbia. Bella Coola (population 150) is located in a mountain valley on a saltwater inlet maybe sixty miles -- or I guess I should say a hundred kilo metres, since I''m in Canada -- east of the Pacific Ocean, in the heart of the Great Bear Rainforest. Dad says we had to move here because Granddad''s health is "failing." Failing? To me, the dude is stronger and more stubborn than a ninehundred-pound grizzly -- and grizzlies actually live in the forests around here. Granddad is a headstrong taxidermist who stuffs and mounts dead furry animals for clients. So disgusting. According to Dad, Granddad''s terminal cancer means he doesn''t have many months to live. It''s true he''s not as tough as he used to be, but there''s still plenty of griz left in him. And while he afternoon-hibernates, I''m outta here. Yes, I''m supposed to stick close to camp, and yes, the woods are full of dangerous stuff that scares me to death. But the trees aren''t dense and dark right around camp, and it''s a chance to launch a drone, which is what I''m all about. I grab the bear-spray can and stuff it into my designer moto jeans pocket. Though I definitely hope I won''t meet a nasty bruin, I pretend I''d have the nerve to fire the peppery stuff into one''s face if I had to. Slapping away early-spring flies, I follow a path to a small clearing. Concentrate on the drone, not where the forest gets darker just up the slope. And don''t freak out if you see a bear. That ended badly last time. I unfold the drone''s arms and click in all four propellers, or props. Next, I give the 4K-sensor mini-camera a quick wipe-down, attach it to the body, and set the drone on the dewy grass of the clearing. After charging up my radio-sized remote controller for takeoff, I take a big step back and a deep breath and throw the throttle stick up. Yes! My slick graphite baby rises on cue and hovers in front of me with a happy hum. A surge of excitement ripples through my body, like it does no matter how many times I do this. Flying allows me to de-stress, to take a break from missing my New York City friends and worrying about Mom and Dad''s recent arguing or Granddad''s cancer. When I''m flying my drones, even ominous woods turn into my happy place for awhile. When the machine reaches four hundred feet (picture a forty-storey building), I admire Bug''s bird''s-eye view from the mini-tablet, slid onto my remote controller. Then, like the ace pilots I admire, I hit the throttle of the remote, tilting and thrusting till even I can appreciate Bug''s camera view of the crazy-tall trees, seriously blue sky, and icy glaciers that look like someone has spilled green Slurpees all over the mountaintops. I spot hairy mountain goats hanging out on a ridge and a real live eagle swooping high above them. Imagining myself as a miniature pilot in my drone, I bank left, barrel-rolling for the crowds below, dogfighting with the drones of my New York City friends, Arlo and Koa. What I wouldn''t give to be back there with them. Whoa! A nasty gust of wind catches my little guy. I do my best to keep him steady. But my remote controller starts beeping like crazy, warning me that Bug is losing connection to the controller because of wireless interference. Next thing I know, he is spinning out of control toward a tree. My fingers yank on the joystick, but I can''t get whatever''s loose to reconnect. I hit the return-to-home button in a desperate attempt to save Bug. He doesn''t respond -- Nooo! -- just clips a branch and free-falls toward the ground. At least I see where he''s landed. Stumbling through the brush, I head that way, trying not to trip over stupid roots or slip on damp moss. Phew! He is not so far away, just into the woods, on a small hillock of dirt half blocking a hole in the base of a giant cedar. In fact, my baby has parked himself partway into the entrance, like he''s shivering and wants a garage. As I sprint toward my flying machine, I see no cracks or breaks. I sigh in relief. We just might''ve gotten lucky. Except -- my stomach tightens as I draw closer -- for the smoke coming out of Bug''s far side. Wait, no. Not out of the drone. Out of the garage. And not smoke but -- No way. Breath! Someone or something is inside the tree breathing in the chill air. Something with a wet, black nose. Behind the nose, a massive bear''s head pushes out of the gap and gives an unholy growl, deep and menacing, like a Rottweiler crossed with a sasquatch. My eardrums vibrate like a subway''s running through my head, and terror electrifies every nerve. But even through the panic, I reach forward to scoop up my drone. I''m that kind of dad. Then I stagger back, tucking him into the back pocket of my jeans. "Most o'' the bears around here are still asleep," Granddad told my parents and me before this weekend''s camping trip. "To be sure, if we do run into one, climb a tree quick smart if it''s a grizzly. If it''s a black bear, drop face first to the ground, wrap yer arms around yer head and neck, and play dead. Never, ever run." Every cell in my body screams, Run . But channelling all the self-discipline I can, I force myself to freeze as the bear emerges. Grizzly or black bear? I recall Granddad''s lectures. "Grizzlies have upturned noses, small ears, shoulder humps, and long, straight claws." I have no idea which brand this girl is, but she''s one big customer. Seven feet tall, hairy as Chewbacca, and smelly as rancid oil. No more than fifty feet away, she''s clacking her teeth, flaring her nostrils, and making a sound like whoosh . Worse, two cubs the size of full-grown St. Bernards bound out of the tree like fluffy puppies, tumbling around Mama''s very large ass. While frantically weighing my options, I stand tall, meet the bear''s eyes, and attempt to project calm instead of terror. Being the kid of two veterinarians, I know a thing or two about animals. It''s super important they don''t sense panic or fear. In my parents'' clinic, I''ve always had a skill for calming dogs. My parents call me the animal whisperer. So, get a g-g-grip, Ray. Ref-f-frame t

Description for Sales People

An outdoor adventure story featuring drones, bear cubs, and poachers Suspensefully written, with white-knuckle tension throughout Author has written nineteen YA adventure novels especially popular with teenage boys, including reluctant readers Author's previous novels have three Red Maple Fiction Award nominations (2020: Stowaway , 2019: Tracker's Canyon , and 2013: Descent ), among other awards

Details ISBN1459747437 Author Pam Withers Pages 232 Audience Age 12-15 Language English ISBN-10 1459747437 ISBN-13 9781459747432 Format Paperback Year 2021 DEWEY 813.6 Publisher Dundurn Group Ltd Imprint Dundurn Group Ltd Place of Publication Toronto Country of Publication Canada Publication Date 2021-04-08 UK Release Date 2021-04-08 Alternative 9781459747449 Audience Teenage / Young adult We've got this

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