Fade to Grey (Book 1): Fade to Grey (20 page)
So there you have it Mr. Recorder, that was today, or rather
yesterday, since it’s now almost 1:00 AM. I’m tired, I’m tired of talking, I’m
just . . . tired. Good night.
April 21
st
*click*
I am packed and loaded. It’s about 9:30 AM, and I’ve only
been up for about an hour. That’s OK, I’d rather be well rested and a little
late getting started then on time and tired. The Gator runs on diesel; it’s got
a ten gallon tank which should be plenty to get up there and back several times
over, but that’s assuming a straight uninterrupted run. I’m taking another five
gallons with me. I’ve got the stump jumpers packed, and I’ve checked what Uncle
Andy calls the “crash kit.” That’s basically a field repair kit for the Gator—tire
plugs, fix a flat, basic tools—stuff like that. My main backpack is also in the
cargo section, wrapped in a garbage bag in case it rains. The pack itself is
made by Osprey, and fully loaded it tips the scales at just under thirty-two
pounds, not including any water in the hydration bladder. Do you remember way,
way back almost four days ago when I didn’t have a care in the world and was
planning on going camping for a month? Yeah, me either. Anyhow, where was I. Oh
yeah, the Gator. I’ve also got a chainsaw, extra chains, gas, and bar oil
stowed, as well as a nylon tow strap. The front of the Gator has a medium duty
winch mounted on it, really just enough to help it along if it got buried in
the mud, but its real use, as we found out a few years ago, was pulling some
trees out of the way. I hope I don’t have to do that too many times though. The
weather this morning is cold and clear, the outdoor thermometer on the cabin
porch showed twenty-nine degrees when I got up. It feels like it’s going to
warm up though. I took a long hot shower a few minutes ago, shaved and changed
into clean clothes. Max is bouncing off the walls. He loves going camping. Heck
. . . if I even touch my backpack at home he starts whining. Well, I think
we’re both ready so I’m going to head out.
*click*
Whoops, my last minute mental checklist pointed out some
glaring omissions. I had to go back inside the cabin, fire up my laptop and
hook it up to Uncle Andy’s printer. I opened up the GPS mapping program again
and printed off several pages, both satellite images and topographical maps
from several different viewing heights. I also remembered this time to grab my
GPS unit that I had left sitting on the breakfast table . . . twice.
*click*
Damn it, why is it always something. Like I need more
problems in my life right now. Grrrrr . . . So I got my maps and GPS and went
over my checklist . . . again. As far as I could tell I was officially ready to
go. I powered up the GPS unit and waited . . . it normally takes a minute or
two for it to lock on with enough satellites for a position fix. Five minutes
later I was still waiting. Two minutes after that it finally said “ready to
navigate,” I was about to change displays so I could get to the correct screen
and enter in the coordinates where I’d need to get off of the logging road. My
eyes went wide and I did a double take, looking again at the unit, not
believing what I was seeing. Normally, once the unit has a position fix it will
give an “accuracy” number at the bottom. It’s basically a variable distance
based on the signal strength of the satellites and any interference, like tree
cover or power lines. On the model of GPS I have, the accuracy as usually
somewhere between ten and twenty feet. It was reading “accuracy 2477 feet.”
*click*
It’s a little after 1:00 PM and I’m stopping for a quick
lunch. The GPS accuracy is still reading in the thousands of feet. I turned it
off and on several times, the only thing that changed was it picked up the
satellites a little bit faster. Crap . . . well it can’t be helped. If I figure
that I actually left the cabin at about 10:00 AM, in three hours I’ve gone
about five and a half miles. Not too good. The trees that I’ve cut through—so
far about a dozen—won’t have to be cut again on my return trip, so that ought
to speed things up on the way back. I stumped jumped eight to ten more also. Max
has been having a ball though, jumping over fallen trees, chasing rabbits into
brush piles, generally raising Cain in a good way . . . he needed to burn off
some energy. I wish I could say the same. Cold pop tarts, a granola bar and a
bag of Cool Ranch Doritos—yummy. Well my five minute lunch is over. Max has
blood on his muzzle and a big smile on his face so I’d imagine his lunch is
over as well. The temperature is up to over fifty now, still blue skies. Gotta
hit the road.
*click*
Decision time. I’m about eight miles further up the road, and
there is what looks like an avalanche of trees across my path. Not a real
avalanche, it just looks like where maybe half of the hillside decided to fall
all at once, probably during an ice storm last winter. Max and I have been
exploring this clog, looking for the easiest way through. There isn’t one. No
matter which way I slice it, it’s going to take me several hours at least to
make a passable, um . . . “passage” through here. I looked with binoculars up
the road and from my vantage point, it would seem that I have about a mile of
clear trail on the other side of this logjam. At least from what I can tell
with binoculars. So like I said, decision time. Do I lose a couple hours
cutting through this mess to gain a mile of potentially clear road? Or do I
cut my losses, park the Gator and hoof it? I guess it’s really a no brainer. Breaking
out the backpack. Later.
*click*
OK it’s a little after dark now . . . I’ve used my GPS to get
to the point where the logging road comes closest to the clearing that the
helicopter landed in, about five miles west of me. Five hard miles. Plus or
minus over 2000 feet of accuracy. Five miles of brush, swamps, briars and
bears, oh my. I’m camping along the logging road for tonight. The tent is up,
fire is going, extra wood is stacked. Life is good. Until I think about why I’m
here and what has happened in the past few days. Crap. I’ve got water boiling
for the Mountain House beef stew that I’m having for supper. Max is going to
get dry dog food mixed with warm water. He actually likes it a lot. Well, not
as much as he likes raw meat or Uncle Andy’s flap jacks though. It’s a
beautiful night, crystal clear skies with stars glittering like . . . glitter. I
never was a poet. There is a small stream nearby, and I’m going to refill my
water before I leave tomorrow morning. My plans, such as they are at this
point, is to get up early, pack and head west through the brush and briars, and
oh yeah, did I mention bears. Max keeps looking towards the stream. Probably
just a deer. Probably.
April 22
nd
*click*
It’s April 22
nd
, 6:30 AM, it’s starting to get a
little cloudy, although the temperatures didn’t drop much during the night . .
. it’s still around forty-five degrees. I slept really good last night, and I
feel awake and energized. Max started a low growl sometime in the middle of the
night. Whatever heard him must have decided that there were easier prospects
for food then inside the dark green tent. I think I was asleep by 7:00 PM last
night. Put me in a tent in the middle of nowhere on a cool night with the owls
hooting all around, and I’ll be out like a light before you know it. I got out
of the tent around 5:30 AM, dug a little trench up in the brush and used the
facilities, then washed up with some anti-bacterial baby wipes I brought with
me. Useful little things, although the ones I brought make me smell like a
nursery. After cleaning up I lowered the food compartment of my backpack down
from the tree limb where I had hung it out of the reach of bears. That’s one of
the things I love about my Osprey backpack. It’s built as a modular system,
with three separate sections. You can run with all three for extended trips or
mix and match as the situation arises. I keep all edible things in the center
compartment, that way I’ve got the rest of my supplies in the tent with me and
I can hang the center section up off the ground out of the reach of bears. Truth
be told I do have some small consumables in the top section as well—tea bags,
foil packed instant soup, a few pieces of hard candy—that sort of thing. After reattaching
the center section I grabbed my water filter from the upper compartment and refilled
my supply from the stream. Instead of building a fire I used my trusty Pocket
Rocket stove to heat up some water . . . it’s a lot quicker. When it was hot,
half of it went on Max’s breakfast and the other half I added to an instant
oatmeal packet for me. As soon as I finish packing I’m heading west. As a side
note, just for grins I tried the radio last night—nothing—I’m too far out I
guess. Or maybe they weren’t listening.
*click*
OK, according to my maps and intuition, the clearing should
be less than a mile ahead. I’ve been trying to skirt the edge of this small
ravine that works its way in the general direction I’d like to go. Thank
goodness for TOPO maps. It’s a little after 11:00 AM, and I’ve been making
progress steadily, backtracking occasionally to get around some of the more impenetrable
thickets and swamps. I’ve seen several fresh piles of bear scat, and about an
hour ago something large crashed through the brush heading away from us, I
never saw what it was though. Max is shadowing me. When he was a puppy, the
wolf part of him started showing through and he would circle around me at a
distance of fifty to one hundred feet or so, “play stalking” me. That game
gradually turned into one of his commands: “shadow.” When I tell Max to
“shadow” he’ll roam around me, not always keeping me in sight, but always in
his range of awareness. He also knows “guard the truck, easy, tight, wait, no,
and protect.” When I whistle he comes, always. The command “tight” is like
shadow, but he stays a lot closer. “Protect” is as of yet untested. When I give
that command he’ll crouch and growl, lips curled back exposing his teeth. It’s
truly frightening if he’s looking at you. He’s also very good with a few hand
signs. “Wait, down, and come” are the three he knows best. Max has never been
to any type of obedience school or law enforcement canine training center, he’s
all natural. I’d much rather have a dog with a free spirit and a lot of heart
than perfect obedience. I think I’ve hit the mark with Max. After a quick lunch
of soup for me and some dry dog food for Max I’m going to push through again.
*click*
Well I started to record this and then noticed that the low
battery icon was flashing, so I had to switch out with some new AAA’s. However I’m
at the clearing. The GPS was practically useless in the thick brush, so once
the ravine petered out I kept shooting lines at 280 degrees with my compass,
putting me a little north of due west. I figured if I was going to miss the
clearing, it would be better to miss it on the north side than on the south. It
was so doggone thick and swampy in there I was half a wandering if I’d end up
camping in the brush for the night. It made using a compass almost as bad as
the GPS. No major casualties—unless you count the smashed radio. Right before
the ravine ended I took a water break. When I went to take off my pack, I must
have bumped it against a tree branch, and that was enough to knock off the
radio that I had clipped there. Anyway, it fell and hit a rock. Figures.
When I picked it up, it was making a strange jingle, like some BB’s in a tin
can. And it wouldn’t turn on. The case is intact, but I must have knocked
something loose inside of it. Maybe my uncle can fix it . . . he’s always been
a whiz with stuff like that. Anyhow, I’m at the clearing . . . and I know they
didn’t stay here, the question is where did they go. My plan is to travel north.
Now that I’ve broken through most of the thickest stuff, what lies ahead should
be fairly easy going. According to my maps, the first of several small lakes
should be directly north of me. If I don’t find her there, I’m going to set up
my camp and reevaluate. The cloud cover is thickening a bit and the occasional
breeze is getting slightly stronger, something may be brewing.
*click*
Campsite is up. I found a small U-shaped clearing in the
willows about seventy feet from the lake. A nice flat spot on a piece of
slightly elevated land, almost like it was made specifically for my tent. The
willows will also give me a good windbreak. As far as I can tell, there are only
two downsides to this place. The first is that the nearest tree that’s large
enough for me to hoist my pack out of bear range is almost 200 feet away. The
second downside is that Emily is not here. So much for quick and easy. I spent
some time gathering some dead wood, piled it up and covered it with a garbage
bag held down by rocks. I’ve got a choice to make now. I’ve got to assume that
the guide had at least a mediocre knowledge of what he was doing. That means
they’re going to set up their tent as a base camp and travel outward from there
each day. Looking at my map, the two most likely places are both about two to
three miles away. One to the west-northwest and one to the east. Yep, opposite
directions. Figures. Max is playing in the lake, picking up rocks and throwing
them with his mouth and then sticking his face underwater and picking it up
again. Clown. It looks like a good lake for fishing, then again most lakes up
here do. In the lake directly out from my tent a single tree is standing. The
tree isn’t alive, but it looks really cool, especially with the eagles nest in
the top of it. I haven’t seen the eagle yet though. I brought a small
telescoping rod with me, maybe I’ll try it later. Right now I want to see if I
can find the girl. East or west, which way do I go, which way do I go?
