“Dave Finley,” the man said. “But you can call me Ranger Dave. That’s what most people call me.”
“Ranger Dave?” he asked, not realizing it would sound rude until he asked it, and it did.
“That’s right. Problem?”
“No. Not at all.” Except it makes me feel like I’m in a bad after-school special, is all, he thought but of course did not say. “I thought the whole point of this place was that it was safe.”
“The point of the place?”
“Well. I mean the point of sending me to this place.”
“Every area has its own special dangers,” Ranger Dave said. “We thought it would be a good idea to teach you the proper use of bear spray.”
“There are bears out here?”
“Oh, yes. Quite a number of them.”
“What kind of bears?”
“Black bears. And a growing population of grizzlies.”
“Grizzly bears,” Ethan repeated. “My mom wanted me to feel safe, so she sent me to a place that has grizzly bears.”
“With the proper use of bear spray—”
“Aren’t grizzly bears the ones that come after you even if you’re minding your own business?”
“Not always. But they certainly can.”
“And maul people to death?”
“By using smart—”
“And they weigh, like, hundreds of pounds?”
“Yes, about four to seven hundred is the average for an adult male around here.”
Ethan realized his mouth was gaping open. He processed the information briefly and decided the bears might be a good thing. Because they might be his ticket out of here. He could just call his mom and tell her there were grizzly bears here. Which she must not know if she’d agreed to send him. Any fool could see he’d be better off on the streets with the muggers and the murderers. At least they didn’t weigh seven hundred pounds.
He could learn the proper use of bear spray and bring a can home to Manhattan with him.
“Couldn’t I just stay out of those mountains? I mean, I know I live less than a mile from this national wilderness place. But couldn’t I just not go in there?”
“The sign marking the boundary of the Blythe River National Wilderness is about a quarter of a mile up the road from where we’re standing,” Ranger Dave said. Sounding official. “You’re welcome to be on either side of it you want. But the bears can’t read. So I wouldn’t count on their staying inside the boundaries. My advice would be to carry the spray anytime you’re outside the house.”
“Like, I open the door and step outside so my dog can pee . . . I’m supposed to have bear spray on me?”
“A lot of people don’t. But it’s what we advise. I’d be especially careful taking out the trash. An awful lot of people run into bears at their trash cans.”
Ethan stood, mouth still open, wondering if Ranger Dave had brought some of the stuff. Because he realized he shouldn’t even have gone this far from the house without it. He had already made a potentially fatal mistake. He had no idea what he was doing out here. It wasn’t his fault, he thought. He’d tried to tell his mother he didn’t know what he needed to know to live in the wild.
Meanwhile Ranger Dave was unclipping his can of bear spray from his belt and beginning the demonstration.
It was a big can to have on you everywhere you go, Ethan thought. At least twice the size of a can of soda. It reminded him of a miniature fire extinguisher. He pictured going through the next year of his life doing everything with only one hand, because he had that big can in the other. Except he wouldn’t be here a year, he realized. Because the bears would be his ticket home. Who sends a traumatized teen out to live with a bunch of grizzly bears?
“Now, if you’re out on a longer hike,” Ranger Dave said, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts, “and you’re carrying a pack, you never want to put the bear spray in your pack. Big mistake. You want to put it on your belt, right where you can get to it. If you need it, you’re going to need it fast.”
Ethan’s head felt a little swimmy, so he sat down in the rutted road again and said nothing.
“Now. The first thing you want to do is check the expiration date on the bottom of the can. Make sure it’s not expired, or close to expired. Make sure it’s made specially for use on bears. You want to get one that says bear repellent or deterrent. But it’s not a repellent like mosquito repellent. You don’t spray it on your clothes. That’ll actually attract the bear. Now, most bear attacks happen when a bear is surprised at close range. So it’s a good idea to make some noise as you move along. Some people like to sing while they hike. Or give a shout now and again.” Ranger Dave cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, bear! Hey, bear!”
“You sure they won’t think you’re calling them?”
Ranger Dave laughed. But Ethan hadn’t meant it as a joke.
“The bears around here don’t come when you call them, so don’t worry about that. Okay. Let’s say a bear is approaching you. And he’s close. Make sure the wind is in the right direction. You don’t want to spray this into a strong wind. You won’t like having it come back into your face.”
“Wait,” Ethan said.
“Okay. What?”
“How do you choose your direction? You have to spray it in the direction of the bear, right?”
“Well . . . yes.”
“So what if the wind is coming from behind him? I’m supposed to turn my back to the bear and spray it the other way?”
“No. You have to spray it in the direction of the bear, like you said.”
“So I have no control over whether I spray it into the wind or not.”
“You just do the best you can with that,” Ranger Dave said. Ethan gathered from his tone that he was running out of patience with Ethan as a student.
“That doesn’t really explain much. Let’s say I have to spray that stuff right into the wind, because that’s where the bear is. Then what? What would you call doing the best I can?”
“I’d say turn your head and shield your eyes as much as possible. It’s going to hurt. But probably not as much as a grizzly.”
Ethan pulled to his feet again.
“I’ve heard enough of this,” he said, and began to walk down the road toward the house.
“But the demonstration isn’t over.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” Ethan said over his shoulder. Then he stopped. Turned back to Ranger Dave. “Does my father know the proper use of bear spray?”
“He does. Yeah.”
“Then why didn’t he give me the lesson?”
Ranger Dave seemed to chew that over for a minute. Then he said, simply, “Guess you’d have to ask him about that.”
Ethan banged back into the house, throwing the door open so hard it hit the wall. His father jumped. He was standing in the kitchen. Still. Or again. Still looking a bit aimless.
It felt good to show his anger in front of his father. He’d been waiting to do that for a long time.
“Are. You. Freaking. Kidding me,” Ethan said. None of the one- or two-word sentences came out as a question.
“What? Are we still talking about what we were talking about when you stomped out? It’s hard to keep track with you.”
“No, now we’re talking about eight-hundred-pound grizzly bears who hide near your trash cans and maul you to death.”
“That’s why I had the ranger—”
“Right. Thanks so much for Ranger Dave. He was a treat. How could Mom bring me to this place by telling me it would be good for me because it’s so damned safe?”
“Ninety percent of bear attacks are shut down immediately when they get the spray in their faces.”
“Ninety percent.”
Ethan’s father seemed to realize his misstep. His face took on a sheepish look, one Ethan wasn’t used to seeing. Ethan tried to remember the last time he’d seen the slightest crack in his father’s confidence.
Noah opened his mouth but no words came out.
“So one in ten people who use the stuff get mauled anyway. Those aren’t the best odds, are they, Dad?” Ethan threw the word almost tauntingly. A clear insult. “I want to go home. Give me a can of that bear stuff and let me go home. I’ll stay alone if I have to. I’ll carry that crap around in Manhattan. I bet it’d stop more than nine out of ten muggers. Look. This is stupid. I don’t want to be here. Mom arranged this because she thought it would be safe, so it would be good for me. I’m just going to call her and tell her about the bears.”
“She knows there are grizzlies up here. Everybody knows that, Ethan. We’re less than a hundred miles from Yellowstone. Even you would have known if you’d thought about it.”
Ethan shook his head and locked himself in his bedroom.
A few minutes later his father called through the door.
“Ethan? I’m going for a run.”
“Fine. Go.”
“I’m taking the bear spray with the holster. But there’s a spare can in the pantry.”
“Whatever. I’m not going out there.”
“It’ll be hours. I might do about eighteen miles today. So don’t get worried. Just figure I’ll be back before sundown.”
“The longer, the better.”
Ethan heard no reply come through the door. He might have heard a sigh.
When he heard the front door slam, he ventured out to use the phone. To call his mother.
He had to leave a message. Well, three messages. Ethan was glad his father would be gone for a long time, for a number of reasons.
When she finally called back, Ethan didn’t hear the phone ring. He just heard her voice on the machine from his bedroom. The ringer must have been turned off on the phone. He ran to pick it up, but the first thing she said stopped him.
“Honey, I know,” she said. “But you have to know no place is completely safe. I was thinking it was a place that would improve your opinion of people. Just carry your bear spray and learn as you go. I really think it could be good for your confidence. I know you’re upset, but . . . please give it a chance. That’s all I ask. Just try it. Love you, sweetie.”
Then she hung up.
Ethan just stood, staring at the phone and wishing he had stayed for the rest of Ranger Dave’s lesson.
Chapter Six: Horses
Three weeks before his father disappeared
It was a Saturday, and Ethan had been counting on his father going out for a much-of-the-day run. He usually did on the weekends. But on this Saturday his father was nursing a slightly pulled hamstring, and stayed home.
So Ethan had to be the one to leave.
It was just after dawn, and still quite cold at the high altitude that had unfortunately become Ethan’s life.
He strapped on the bear spray with the holster, the one his father usually carried when running. He pulled on his winter parka and boots and stuffed gloves into his pocket.
“Where are you going?” his father asked as Ethan opened the front door.
Ethan stood a moment, light, dry snow swirling into his face.
“What do you care?”
“It’s always smart to tell somebody where you’re going.”
“Why?”
“In case you get lost.”
“I’m not going to get lost. I’m just going to walk down the road. If the road doesn’t get lost, neither will I.”
“Which way?”
“What?”
It felt cold now, with the wind sweeping past him into the house, and Rufus had bounded out of his line of vision.
“Which direction are you planning to walk down the road?”
“Oh. Well. Let’s see. Which direction has the most grizzly bears? Figure that out and then figure I went the other way.”
Ethan stepped out and slammed the door behind him. Hard.
He set off down the road, glancing nervously over his shoulder every third or fourth step.
He’d been trudging cautiously along behind the bounding Rufus for ten or fifteen minutes when he was startled by movement at the corner of his eye. It made his heart race instantly and caused him to miss a step.
He’d just reached the first house. The closest house to the A-frame. It had whitewashed board fences along the road in two sections, breaking in the middle to line both sides of a long, rutted dirt driveway.
It was along this driveway, outside the confines of the fence, that Ethan caught the movement. Two large animals barreled in his direction. But when he turned his head to face the danger, shocked into blankness, he saw they were not grizzly bears. Only horses. Two young-looking horses, chestnuts, their winter coats shaggy and thick. They looked almost like twins, except the white blazes on their long faces didn’t match. They wore leather halters. Ethan could hear and even feel the drumming of their hoofbeats on the hard ground.
“Stop ’em!” a voice bellowed out.
But Ethan didn’t see anybody, and couldn’t locate the pleading disembodied voice. So he just stood still at the head of the driveway, watching the horses gallop closer. Just as it struck him that he’d best get out of the way so as not to be trampled, he heard the voice again.
“You there! Head ’em off! Please!”
“How?” he shouted, still not knowing whom he was talking to.
Then he saw the man. He was behind the fence, near a rough barn that looked like a good wind could take it down. He was maybe fifty, with a gray beard and a ring of gray hair over his ears. His bare scalp glowed strangely red from either sun- or windburn. He had a potbelly. A little bit like Santa Claus might look, Ethan thought, before you got him cleaned up for the holidays.
The man held his hands wide at his sides and waved them upward in a pantomime of how you stop a horse. He seemed to honestly suggest that Ethan stand in front of the runaway pair and risk being trampled.
Just as Ethan prepared to walk on, he heard the last desperate word.
“Please!”
Deciding he could always jump away at the last minute, and assuming he would, Ethan positioned himself at the head of the driveway and raised his hands. To his amazement, the spooked pair of animals stopped, tossing their heads and snorting their opinions. Time stretched out, the moment frozen. Then Mr. Grungy Santa had them by their halters.
“Holy cow, did you ever just save my ass,” he said to Ethan. “Gate didn’t latch proper. You look cold. You want some coffee or hot cocoa or something? What’re you doing out in the middle of nowhere all by yourself?”
It sent a jolt through Ethan’s gut, because it reminded him of the cop. That dreadful night. The way the cop asked him what he’d been doing out in the city alone. Was it too dangerous, just walking down the road as he’d been doing? Should he not be out here?
The man led the two young horses back down the driveway toward the gate. Ethan followed. Partly because a conversation had been started, and was clearly not finished. Mostly because it seemed safer to be with someone else. Anyone.
“I’m staying just right up the road,” Ethan said.
He watched the horses’ flanks shift under their shaggy coats. Watched their tails swish nervously.
“Oh. Up in that A-frame? The rental?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.”
“Okay,” Ethan said. But he didn’t know the man’s name, so he didn’t know anything else to call him. He waited, but more information didn’t arrive.
He looked down the road toward town and saw Rufus standing alone, looking to see which way Ethan had gone. Ethan cupped his hands around his mouth and called the dog’s name as loudly as he could manage.
Rufus’s head came up, and he bounded in Ethan’s direction. The horses spooked and jumped, dancing and throwing their heads.
“Sorry,” Ethan said.
He followed the man and the horses through the gate.
“Get that shut behind us, okay?” the man asked him. “Make sure it really latches. In other words, be smart. Not like me.”
Ethan h
ad to take off his gloves to secure the board gate, the metal of the latch cold against his fingers. The man let go of the twin halters, and the chestnut horses cantered away, disappearing behind the barn.
Rufus ducked through the boards of the fence and joined up with Ethan.
“Yearlings,” the man said. “Not much training yet. You have no idea how much trouble you just saved me. No idea. I would’ve had to go out searching. On a horse. With a rope. Only it’s not easy to rope two colts more or less at once. I likely would’ve had to pay somebody to go out with me and track ’em down. Might’ve taken days. I owe you one. So, look. Hold tight to that dog. Some of the mules are none too friendly. I got one who’ll trample a dog if he gets half a chance. And don’t you get near him, either. He bites and he kicks.”
“Maybe I should be going,” Ethan said, his voice trembling just slightly.
“Don’t worry, they’re in that big corral. Let me get you some coffee to warm you up. That A-frame, you say? I saw there was a guy living there now but I didn’t see any kid. I mean, until this. Wait. You’re too young to drink coffee, aren’t you? I’ll make some cocoa.”
“I drink coffee,” Ethan said, holding tightly to Rufus’s collar.
“Still and all, I don’t want to be the one corrupting a kid.”
“I’m seventeen.”
The man leveled him with a stare that made Ethan’s face feel hot. “Really?”
“I know I don’t look it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I take people at their word. Besides. Not everybody looks their age. Now you take Jone. Our neighbor in one of those houses downhill. She’s seventy. Got children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren over on the Blythe River Reservation on the other side of the foothills. And she’s beautiful. Doesn’t look a day over fifty. You know Jone?”
“No, sir. I haven’t met any of the neighbors. Except you. Just now.”
“Well, there aren’t many to meet. At least, not until July or so when we thaw out for real. In the winter, and in spring like it is now, it’s just me and Marcus and Jone. If you ever meet her, put in a good word for me. With Jone. Not Marcus. I don’t care so much about him.”
Leaving Blythe River: A Novel Page 5
