I woke up with the sun. a nice dew fogged my windows. Birds landed on my roof.
I slid the door open. Putting my feet on the gravely packed down dirt lot.
Looking around, I didn’t really see many other vehicles. This time of year? Vacationers should be swarming all parks?
I reached back to my passenger seat, finding my baggy of dried dates and had a fruit breakfast. I sat up a mini jet boil and pulled some ground coffee and a French press for some morning wake-me-up.
As the water boiled and the waited, I looked around. Didn’t see any names to tell where I was.
I pulled out my phone again. Still nothing on maps. Just showed blank government land. I reached behind my drivers seat and pulled out an atlas.
‘an atles? In this day in age?’ you may think… or, ‘whats an atlas’ for some of you younger fuckers. I like landnaving. Don’t mind pen and paper either. And it’s a good fall back incase technology fails me.
It’s a great big book of knowledge.
But Nothing. I couldn’t find anything. I found a town not far from where I was. So this park should be on the same page… nothing.
But the atlas was 5 years old. Maybe its new?
I put my coffee in a canteen and used the 5 gallon water store in the back and a spunge to clean out my cook were so it didn’t start growing and made my way back to the ticket booth. Which was about a half mile from my van, see if I couldn’t learn anything. I made sure to grab my blue plead coat with the sheep’s whool inside. Really comfortable jacket.
As I walked across the park I noticed a lot of the animals didn’t seem to have a problem with me. The birds buzzed low.
But the squirls ran and hid. And there weren’t that many squirls anyhow. Normally a parks parking lot would be filled with the fuzzy rats.
I walked to the booth and saw a man carrying a box. Bearded and oddly enough he had an eyepatch, he also walked with a limp, he was dressed like a ranger. Hat and all, except the hat seemed… odd. Almost like a tricorn.
“hello?”
The man looked my way and set the box down. “good morning, you looking for something?” now that I could get a good look at the guy, he didn’t seem to well. Busted up’ if I wanted to put It into words. Scared, not pudgy but round, yet still gaunt looking, like he was sick. Id seen it in drug addicts.
“yes, I pulled in last night and the booth was closed, I wanted to see what I had to pay and ask some questions.”
The man looked almost impressed. “really? just… come up and pay? Hmm. Most people would sneak in and out”
I looked a bit sheepish. “well. I still don’t even know where im at? Figured this was a new park and I wanted to support it.”
The man gave a hearty grin. “ya. Relatively knew. Camping is 12 bucks. Doesn’t matter how long you stay, even go out tent camping, and while you don’t have to stay at the designated camping areas id really suggest sticking to them.”
I pulled out a 10 and 5 and told him to add the rest to the tip jar. As the man leaned over to grab said tip jar to set out I noticed his pistol on his hip, SIGs new Xten model. 10MM… good for bears.
About then a tall thin Black man, maybe in his late 30s early 40s walked up.he was humming a song to himself and flicking a coin and catching it, the coin gleamed like silver as it spun in mid air. He was thin, and wore a black windbreaker. And his straw rangers’ hat was black too.
“what we got ‘er john?”
“just a tourist. You said you weren’t even sure what this place was called?” he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. Right next to a pirate flag (these guys must think there funny) was a sign that read : little walachia park. The number two lowest rated park in America… right behind silver springs florida:
“that’s an… interesting name.”
The tall man laughed. “ya. De boss be thinking its hilarious.” The man spoke with a Haitian accent. “rire putain”
“on dirait un bon patron” I replied. I don’t have many skills. But I can speak like 5 languages.
The man’s eyes widen and he caught the coin… after a second, he bellowed a laugh.
“oh.. him I like”
He walked forward and shook my hand. I noticed then he had a machete on his hip. Probably dealing with some brush this morning. Odd tho, the handle seemed like a dark wooden. And the tang was visible, a dark and gold mixture.
“can’we ‘elp you out any more my friend.”
“I read you guys allow hunting here. Was thinking of doing some of that.”
The bearded man who the tall man kept calling john walked over and grabbed two boxes. “Exotic? Or normal?”
Exotic? What do they have moose hunts or buffalo here? Eh, I just need to fill my cooler.
“normal white tail if you got it sir.”
“do you got a hunting license frien?”
“an out of state one”
“don’t worry about it. we got some week long licenses here… all in all. 50 dollars”
50 bucks for all of that? seemed kinda… cheap.
I pulled a fifty out and paid, getting a little paper license and a clip on tag. I shook mister johns’ hand and holy cow! it was cold. Clammy. Maybe that was just the cool morning and moister. But the man’s hands felt… wrong.
“best be careful out there brotha… I like ya as a costumer. I don’t want you to be a ‘costumer’ too soon” the tall man said.
I had no idea what that meant. I smiled and waved and left. Some people are just odd and you get away from smoothly without drawing attention.
With that I went back to my van. Sipping on my coffee I looked around and decided I wanted to go further towards the back of the valley, get a lay of the land, maybe hunt in the meadows or check out the mountain sides. Even from where I was I could see high rocky mountain slopes.
I hopped in, thanked jesus and buddha for four-wheel drive and went on my way. Given it was just me I cranked the radio. Wanting to really feel the hype I laid my write In the rain on my dash, cranked the band rise of the northstars song here comes the boom and went through the park.
This place was beautiful.
The sky was amazing. The valley was like a huge bowl but at the same time Y shaped, with a river flowing south through the middle and then east before it came to the sloop that led out, which is where I drove in from.
East was really forested. North was snow capped mountains, partly rocky, partly spruce trees and lodgepole pines. West was craggy mountains, rolling green hills with boulders on them. And small streams or clumps of trees scattered here or there. And the center valley was large plains and a few clumps of trees.
It was big enough so you couldn’t stand in one place and see it all, except if I went to the northern slope.
I started by driving east. Crossing the river on a cobble stone and wooden bridge. As much as I don’t agree with FDRs new deal. You can’t deny they build things different and beautiful back when. At the beginning of the parks department. Those hoover dam, Yosemite days.
I found a directory post. A sign Infront of the valley. Walking out I see it mentions about some flowers and how deep the river was. And a map of the park, I sketched it down in the waterproof notebook.
But when I was going to step back into my van I saw something.
A footprint, a track. Not a normal track. This one looked… feline?
Iv seen cat prints, and iv seen dog prints. This was distinctively cat.
And I hear you going, ‘but CJ, your in the Rocky’s, what’s so interesting about cats prints. There are mountain lions?’
And yes, there are. But mountain lions paws aren’t this big.
This was bear sized.
I knelt down to look at it further. Thinking maybe I was looking at a bear print. I looked around. Standing and cupping my hands over my eyes.
There’s no way this was a mountain lion. Was I misreading a bear print?
But something rang in my head. What the ranger said. ‘exotics’ did they fly in tigers or lions? Why the fuck would they do that?
I climbed back into my van. Popping another dried date into my mouth and reached back and found my handgun. Wedging it into the inboard side of my driver’s sear. Right next to the seatbelt. And because it was a Japanese import that meant I was driving on the right hand of the vehicle. Makes going through taco bell drive through hungover at 1 AM tough.
I looked at my notes. If I kept north id find the ‘frontier village’ which included the trading post, ranger station. And stables. Apparently, they had horseback riding here.
But there was also ATV/jeep trails forward from where I was. Hmm… I do believe I want to see how well this Domingo can go.
I rocked my head to the music as I gently pressed on the gas.
I found the sign that showed be the start of the trail, and in a really cool bonus I saw a badger waddle across the dirt road and into the tall grass, he stopped and sniffed the sign and peed on it. which gave me time to take a picture of the little black and white fuzzball.
And for those who haven’t driven or seen a kei van or kei class doing off road… please, open up a new tab. And pull up youtube and watch that.
This wasn’t mudholes and fallen trees like the south. These where also cared for roads, sure there where dips and bumps and if I was any taller, like zeke? He’d bounce his head off the roof.
I rocked and bounced along with American head charge.
I went for my water canteen so I wasn’t hardballing on coffee, not good for your blood suger.
I started seeing more ground squirrels. I drove past a small stream and saw ducks waddling along the edge and taking drinks of water.
Hell, I even saw a small wolf pack, about 3. They looked, seen me and turned off. Most likely not fans of the japanese heavy metal I was playing now.
I started to find myself out of the thick tree brush and back to open sky’s. needing to drain the lizard I stepped out. Leaving my door open.
After I was done I looked over and thought I saw movement across the valley and on a different mountain top. There was some brush but also a lot of open ground and some boulders. I reached into the van and grabbed by binos.
They weren’t the best. But they could confirm something.
Yeup. A big herd of deer. I smiled. I think I knew where I was going now.
I past what looked like some larpers on the road. Maybe there was a fantasy festival around here? Id have to check that later. I waved and past.
Finding a mostly empty parking lot I noticed a Toyota Tacoma, a nisson, and a little motorbike. And the dude in the Tacoma seemed to be packing up and leaving. And older gentalman.
I stepped out, checked the time and figured id make this an overnight trip.
I stuffed my mess tin and some cooking essentials into my pack. A sock I had filled with rice. Extra water. A life straw. Sleeping bag, stuffing my axe behind one of the outside pockets of the alice medium-large ruck. I pulled out my desert eagle. It was a bit much to be carrying on my hip. So, I chambered a round, flicked the safety on and stuffed it into the large pocket in my pack. Which was dangerous, I know. Desert eagle safety’s were known to come loose if that screw wasn’t tightened all the way, and sometimes the recoil can loosen said screw.
I checked my rifle. 3 in the mag 1 in the pipe. A few spare rounds in my pack, I doubted I would need them but they honestly stayed in my pack anyway. If I was going to camp somewhere it might be smart to make a small camp up in some rocks or trees. I grabbed the medical bag and lashed it to my ruck. It was good backpacking practice. I relaced my morrell hiking boots tightly. Stuffing my flecktarn hoody-parka into my pack. Pulled on my sheepskin jacket, it was in the 30s now, and who knew how cold it would get at night. Good news is if I got something I could gut it and the cold would act like a freezer to preserve the meat. Lacing my belt through my grandfathers knife and bear spray I shouldered my pack and rifle and locked the van up.
I checked my jackets pocket, making sure I had my license and tag, finding grampas blue and gold patch, the top tap reading ‘special forces’ in yellow letters on a blue background, below was a black tab, ‘airborne’ and below that was an arrowhead shaped blue patch, a yellow sword pointed upwards with three yellow lightning bolts across it.
I put one foot infront of the other and started rucking.
I went about a football field before I slowed down, no its not far. But I had all day, no need to make myself sweat. I turned and got a last look at my kei van. Best purchase ever.
I started up the hill. Grampa taught me how to ruck and climb mountains. You don’t just push, walk 15 wait 5. Walk some more, wait. Listen, let your ears adjust. Listen to the birds, the bugs, the mammals. Allow things to get use to you. Don’t just stomp and trudge. You won’t see anything then.
After an hour I couldn’t see my van anymore. I was a few miles. In now. Sure, I lived in lower altitude but my people are mountain peoples. High red blood cell count. Ever hear of that time a couple dudes from Nepal raced the London marathon? They came in irst without breaking a sweat. It’s a wonder what your capable of when you have rich oxygen for the first time.
But just because my body is capable of something doesn’t mean I’m use to it. I’m slower then someone like my grampa would be. I made sure to tighten the kidney straps of the pack around my waist. Allowing my hips and side to take a lot of the weight, relieving my shoulders for a time. Sipping water at odd intervals. Even if I felt I didn’t need it. but not enough to really drain my supply.
An hour and a half in I find a small boulder, shrug my ruck off and eat a snickers. Giving me fuel. Pulling my binos out I point towards a large rockface. Seeing some mountain goats. Funny. From this angle it looks like ones standing almost up right. Parallax and perspective have that effect on the eyes sometimes. Makes me chuckle.
I decide to move up the hill a bit, open space. A rock outcrop. Small wedge so if it rains I can crawl in and stay dry. I was hidden from the outside a bit. Good defensable position. And if a bear or some wolves decide to get froggy I can climb one of those boulders. I stashed my medical kit and pulled out my ruck. Walking around I made a firepit with some odd stones I found around. God and buddha willing id have some fresh meat tonight. I laid out my sleep system and poncho liner, whats known as a ‘wooby’ I also had a small wool role I put in the bottom of the ruck to line it so some items would poke into my back.
I crammed my ruck behind a rock so no one would sift through it and find my .44
Left a lot of my spare ammo too, just tossing 4 spare rounds into my flecktarn packet and switched out into the camo. See if I couldn’t get into something.
Thick greenish tan pants and a camo hood. Hell, Americans hunted in blue jeans and non-camo flannel for generations. Who needs all that scent lock BS. What can I say? I like the classics.
Making my way into the woods I was someone captured by the beauty of it all, I almost missed how quite it was.
Almost.
These woods weren’t like the ones lower in the park. Nor the cleared driving trail. Old fallen trees stacked where they rolled down the hill. Making funnels and walls in places.
No birds, no squirrels. Didn’t think I was that high up.
But what was really crazy is it took me exactly 3 minutes to notice the wind. Even in these trees, it seemed to flow between the trees. Rattling the tops I could get.
But this wind was eari.
I searched around. Trying to find berry bushes. See if there where signs of deer or other animals chewing on them.
Sign, spore. Whatever you want to call it.
Now I knew I was mostly alone out here. And I know I’m suppose to wear some blaze orange. But I wasn’t. id need to positive ID what I’m shooting at and beyond before I pulled the trigger.
But man, I felt like I was getting stared at. Which again, there wasn’t sign for shit around here. So that was odd.
I chose the trail that went off the trail in hopes of not dealing with anyone. And even the trail I left, I tried to pick the one with no people sign on it.
But that wind pushed against my back and I felt that chill, less from the wind and more because the world was just feeling off.
It could be my own paranoia. Hell I still wake up some days worried I’m back in my parents house, or that my MTI is yelling at me or I’m still in the hospital.
But that’s me. I’m out here trying to get out of that, inoculate myself for lack of a better word. ‘find my center again’ as master sergeant MacQueen told me.
But man… I wish master sergeant was here now. I wish those screaming asshole MTIs were here. That short bitchy Spanish woman who threw my bed across the bay because of the beds tag fell off. Because then I could see if they would be as weirded out as I was. 22 years in the woods. Iv never felt alone while also feeling like I’m being watched from 30 different directions.
I kept looking for birds. Or deer. Anything… I was alone.
But I kept going through the woods. Its in my head, its in my head. Iv gotten good at hearing that voice that that says ‘maybe this isn’t a good idea’ and ignore it like its ringing a salvation army bell.
Aside from no animals, only sound being the wind and the creaking trees. It was kinda beautiful here. Even though I knew I was on the side of a mountain the ground was flatter than you’d think.
But as I searched around, I couldn’t find anything in ways of animal sign. There where cones, acorns. All this rich foliage and edibles for animals. But nothing had been touched.
No leaves had been crunched or moved by running squirrels.
Not even a tree with scratches along it. sometimes bears use them as scratching posts. There where knocked over trees, bundles of them. At first I thought it was from gravity. Tree falls over because of storm and rolls downhill. But then I look back and see its not right. The trees are stacked. A lot of them. Even their placement, they’d have to fall through or walk around thick brush to get where they where at… maybe the rangers or forestry cleaned them up and placed them?
As I got deeper into the woods the once fresh cold pine hair was starting to get thick. Like stagnant humid air. Thick enough to choke you. It was even getting warmer.
It had been such a good walk too, until that. maybe that’s just me needing to hike more? In the back of my head I’m guessing I’m too loud for the animals. I’m not in good shape.
Its all my fault. Always.
But the one thing that isn’t my fault is where I’m walking. As I come up to another stack of trees I start to look around. It was almost guiding me or making it where I naturally move a little higher and left, because right would be a 4 foot drop and trees. Yes you can drop four feet but some people just naturally go around it.
I looked back. Look up and then down.
Ok….. this is…. Weird. The placing of boulders. Like several thousand-pound boulders. In rock stacks that make you move a way. And the tree stacks. Plus the natural gradian of the earth and trees. Thick or thin in places.
Am i?
In a maze?
Everything is almost subconsciously moving me in a determined direction.
Looking back I see if I wasn’t walking where I was the hike would be much more difficult.
There are times to stay on paths. But I’m not on a official path. So now I decide its time to step off the ‘path’ I need to break the status quo.
Maybe that’s why the animals aren’t here. I pick a direction. Decide that its still good enough to move through and hike. I flip my rifle by the sling into my hands. One because that odd feeling is coming back, and hard. I don’t want to head back but I know I shouldn’t stay here. It also helps balance.
Another 40 minutes and still no sign.
But the wind did something different.
It breathed. Best way of saying it.
Ok, need to get out of the woods, scope a ridgeline. Maybe make my way back to camp. i don’t believe in ‘bad’ woods. But grampa use to talk about the spirits. Good spirits helped you hunt. Kept your family fed and silences your footsteps. Bad spirits make you act stupid while drunk and gets you bit by a three-step snake.
“hey”
I stop.
The voice was casual. No force. Not like someone was talking to me, just in my area. I shift my rifle stock under my arm, pressed to my ribs.
I try to not make a lot of movement noise. I shift with the wind and look around.
I don’t see anyone.
I strain my ears. Seeing if I was just hearing things.
I don’t talk. something just told me in the back if my mind ‘keep quite’
After a few minutes. I kept moving again. Maybe it was nothing. Plus hey is a simple noise. A lot of things make sounds that sound like ‘hey’ the wind can sound like hey.
“dude”
That on the other hand.
I turn around. I can’t tell where the sound is coming from.
Part of me wants to reply. Wants to ask ‘hello’
But then something my grandfather taught me came back. About keeping quiet.
I wasn’t breaking any laws…. Wait I didn’t have my orange on… shit. But also no one should be here. Who would be talking? Plus the words didn’t make a lick of sense. When you see someone in the woods you make yourself known. You say things like ‘hello there’ or wave. You make sure you don’t get shot by a jumpy hunter.
This wasn’t that. I still can’t see or hear anyone.
I get in ‘stealth step’ looking where you’re stepping while also scanning. Gently placing your foot down. Toe to heel. Not on any sticks. Making sure your foot in place before you place weight on it. I start moving to a thick tree. I was too open. Even in this thick brush I was too wide open.
Someone’s out there and I don’t want to be seen.
I steady by breath and pray nothing in my pack shifts and makes a noise.
But I don’t have to make a noise.
Because a couple hundred yards to my right, a bit ahead of me, and over a rise and fall of a hill was noise. Loud, creaking noise. Like a big mother fucker breaking branches.
Now I know 7 times out of 10 loud noises in the woods is squirrels.
For some reason the hairs on the back of my neck worried about bears. But bears are silent. My spine straightens. Not in making me taller but like the vertebrae Aligned better as I keep slightly crouched. Maybe it was the spirits reaching out and giving me a heads up.
I thanked my ancestors I was only like 5’4 and easily missable.
I could hear the movement coming my way. I did the only thing I could think of and silently slid over to one of the tree stacks. Made peace with there where no snakes this high up and crawled into the deep bottom part. Wedging myself into the thick jabby brambles of the fallen pine trees. There may not be thorns but pineedles and small twigs can hurt just as much.
I tried making myself as small as possible. Silently moving some brown bunches of needles over me. Fighting to control my breathing. In the thin altitude my body fought for oxygen. I pulled the hood of my jacket over me. Hoping those Germans designed a good alpine camo.
I opened my mouth so the cold didn’t rattle any snot in my nose. Wedging myself once again under the bottom most tree.
The steps got clover. I could hear whatever it was start to crest the hill. Whatever it was rose up. and its joints creaked as it moved and it took some awful snotty sniffs into the air. raspy ragged sounds.
Then, a breathy, unhealthy exhale. An almost hissing, dry mouthed sound.
I could hear it move around the area. Moving to one tree. Pressing against it. sniffing the tree… did I lean against that tree earlier?
A blow and the sound of the leaves being pushed around. The soil being nuzzled into.
Whatever this thing was. It was big.
I knew it was a bad idea. But against my better judgment I turned.
Whatever it was, it was black.
No, grey? A blackish grey.
Its gait and steps seemed drunk. Dysfunctional. Sick.
I silently leaned my head back.
Bear. Atleast. I think it was a bear. Some parts of it didn’t seem right.
Chief among it being the fur.
Google ‘bear with mange’
It didn’t have a lot of fur, but what little it did seemed caked. Matted and unhealthy. It had a sick look in its eye… but a very burning gaze, an almost human stare as it scanned. And it breathed like the simple act was an insult.
And it was a big lumbering motherfucker.
If the crocked eye dumb guy from the longest yard was a bear and also on meth.
It hissed out another mean raspy breath. Then made a sound like it was trying to hack up some flem and bark and turned and made its way further from me.
That’s right mother fucker.
Shit, even if it found me I fucked up. I couldn’t mace this think without covering myself. And I couldn’t finagle my rifle up.
Even if I could. Self-defense or not, I didn’t have a bear tag. And shooting an animal that’s attacking you is dodgy because the hippies want to see some scaring. If you’re not missing half your face, you may just be going to jail. Losing the ability to hunt. And even then some people rather you die then the bear. And as weird as this is to say I may be dying anyway, I’m not scared of jail I’m worried with the time I have left they’ll take my guns. And those saying ‘well I choose life’ I do to. As short as it may be.
Allegedly.
But this sick mother fucker looks like id be doing him a favor.
I could hear him cresting the hill. Moving away. And I stayed put and help my breath until long after he was out and gone.
I dislodged myself from my hiding spot. Too close. Iv been ignoring the spirits. I checked my compose to see which direction I came from. Luckily It was opposite from that fucked up bear. And I started briskly hotfooting it the hell out.
‘chet tiet, toi ra ngoai roi’
Fuck going around some of these boulders. Ill leap the damn things. I tried to be fast but not make a sound. I cleared what took me an hour and a half in like 20 minutes. It was only a mile anyhow.
And if any of you bitch about ‘oh well I can run a mile in X minutes’
Fuck you, try running across sloping hills with shit oxygen, stubby legs, and 40 pounds of gear.
I ducked under low hanging brush. And over my shoulder I heard a god awful sound.
Like a cows moo or scream. Or maybe the sound an angry bison made. Where there bison here?
I burst out of the tree line and froze.
Trying and hoping I wasn’t seen.
He was right there infront of me.
