by Joe Russell
“Hey,” Sandra said to Jen after nudging her in the side gently. “I saw you eyeing those roosters earlier. If you ask nicely, I’m sure they’ll let you take one.”
Jen groaned and gave Sandra a shove. As far apart as they were in age, they were still best friends, even though sometimes Sandra secretly felt more like Jen’s mother. This had kind of been one of those times since she had begun dating Mike, and Sandra was hoping that this time together would help. She wanted to like Mike if he and Jen were going to be together, but although she was generally less quick to judge than Dave, at least out loud, she had had many of the same concerns about their compatibility. She had a feeling that this weekend together would reveal a lot.
Chapter 3
Spruce Knob, West Virginia. Present Day.
After they had each gotten into their vehicles, Jen and Mike followed Dave and Sandra up the windy forest road to the west. This road was paved and in significantly better shape than the relative mountain goat trail they had traveled down and back up the western slope earlier that day, and it wasn’t long before Dave’s truck and Jen’s Subaru Forester were pulling off the road at a spot that Dave thought was as good as any to park for a couple of days. He always got nervous about parking and leaving the vehicle in such remote areas and figured it was safer here near the overlook, where there should be at least a few cars every hour passing by that might discourage any would-be burglars.
They each began organizing and making last minute preparations to their packs, and Dave and Sandra changed from their more casual shoes to their Merrell hiking boots. Dave and Sandra usually did their shopping together and had a similar sense of style, so they often ended up picking out similar gear and clothing. Jen was outfitted differently, but generally had good stuff because she often either received hand-me-downs from Dave or Sandra or asked them for advice when shopping for outdoor apparel. She had a woman’s Kelty pack, and Sandra had a North Face. Dave had a large Kelty pack that he had purchased several years before in college, but wasn’t using it on this trip. Although it was optimal for overnight backpacking, in terms of capacity and weight distribution, he preferred to use his Rush 72 for outings like this. If they were going to be out for a week straight, he might have used the Kelty, but he figured that just having survival gear wasn’t necessarily good enough if you weren’t comfortable with using it. Not that a backpack was a complicated instrument to master, but he figured that actually using it a few times each year on overnight hikes, along with some of his other key gear would help him, should he ever have to use his Get Home Bag to, well, get home. Using this pack and other items in it was a test drive of sorts.
For this reason, he packed a little differently than the average hiker. While most backpackers preferred to error heavily on the side of efficiency, using lightweight gear and taking only the essentials, Dave leaned more toward ruggedness, reliability, and hardware and brought along items he knew he probably wouldn’t need. He had grown up playing both sports and music and knew that although both were important, skill through practice was far more important than raw talent. This was why he willingly burdened himself with fifteen more pounds of gear than the next person on the trail, partly because he would rather have something and not need it, than need it and not have it, and partly to practice packing, carrying, and using it before the day came when he may need it for real. It was the only easy way to try and learn what worked and what didn’t.
As usual, he took longer to prepare his pack than the rest of the group. He had a change of clothes, an MRE, some Mountain House food bags, two Nalgene canteens, a sleeping bag, water filter, his Maglite XL50 flashlight, extra batteries, matches, a compass, his Victorinox Swiss Army Swisschamp pocket knife, the Snugpak tent that he and Sandra would be using, and a few other odds and ends. He secured the BK17 with its cross-draw sheath to his belt on his left hip, and clipped his Esee Junglas to his pack. It was a ten-inch beast of a blade that was a nice mix of a machete and bowie knife that could both slash brush and chop wood, a nice combination for the sometimes brushy hardwood forests of the Appalachians where they did most of their hiking. It wasn’t a light piece, but again, he erred on the side of having what he might not need. He checked the Ruger, which was his trail pistol, and slipped the leather pocket holster he used for it into the right-hand thigh pocket of his cargo shorts. It was a good compromise for this purpose, he thought. He knew that his full-size Beretta with +P duty rounds, or a .45 would be a better gun for fighting off a bear or mountain lion, but was just too heavy and bulky to want to carry, especially for miles with a heavy pack. On the other hand, the power and capacity limitation of a smaller sub-compact or his .38 revolver left him feeling vulnerable, should he have to fight off a large animal or human aggressor that was well armed. This wasn’t Shenandoah National Park on a Saturday with trails that looked like the line for a slide at a waterpark. This was the backcountry, where contact with an aggressive creature, either of the four- or two-legged variety, was too likely to not consider. This was why he carried the Ruger. Comparable in size and weight to a Glock 26, it was capable of receiving a full size seventeen round magazine or a compact ten rounder for concealed carry, and the firepower of the high-quality Hornady hollow points he loaded it with were what he considered sufficient. Still, the pistol was relatively lightweight, small, and typical of Ruger firearms, was designed to function reliably in dirty, unfavorable outdoor conditions.
Dave noticed that everyone else seemed to be finished getting ready and was probably watching him meticulously preparing for war, as if he were about to head off on some combat mission into the jungle like Rambo. He smiled to himself as he viewed the mental image, not minding one bit if that was how they thought of him. Out in the woods was where he felt the most at home.
“Everyone ready?” Dave asked the group as he hoisted his pack up and onto his back.
“Not as ready as you,” Jen teased, and the others snickered.
“Well,” Dave replied casually, “you’ll thank me when y'all get carried off by Indians or something and I’m the one rescuing you. Actually, Sandra’s probably already warned you that this is Magua’s territory, so everyone be alert.” Jen and Mike chuckled, and although Dave wasn’t exactly sure why, he just smiled. Inside joke, he guessed to himself. Although he wasn’t immune to what others thought of him, he had long ago accepted that most people would, at best, not understand his preparedness attitude, either because they were ignorant or blind. He wasn’t hoping something would happen, but he somehow knew that someday his mental awareness and physical preparations would save the lives of himself or those around him. After all, although it had been more providence than his own vigilance, he had already had one instance where that had been the case, and he had vowed to never forget that and grow complacent. As far as this hike went, or most similar outings for that matter, he wasn’t going all out in the gear department. They thought he was packing heavy, but they had no idea. He had left a lot of goodies that were simply overkill, even for him, for anything short of an extreme crisis in his truck. He didn’t like being so far from home without his gear, but knew he couldn’t carry everything in his kit on the trail. Still, by most people’s standards, he was packing heavy and was more prepared for the unknown than probably anyone else they’d encounter in these mountains… and considering he didn’t know who that would be, he liked it that way.
They found their trailhead on the left-hand side of the road and began following it. It was angling almost due north, bringing them down into the valley to their west at a gentle angle.
“I guess we’re not going to have service down here either,” Mike said from behind Dave, who was walking behind Sandra.
Dave rolled his eyes, but said nicely enough, “No, probably not until we get back to the Seneca Rocks area.” He hadn’t even bothered to bring his phone. He knew he wouldn’t have service anyway and Sandra would be taking plenty of pictures on her phone.
“Shoot!” he heard Jen half shout behind him. He tu
rned around, wondering what was wrong. “I knew I forgot something!” she finished.
Dave smiled at her, half sarcastically, and said, “I think you’ll survive without it. It’s not like you’ll be able to do much with it anyway. Plus, we’ve gone almost a mile already and downhill at that, so going back for it would take a little while. I don’t think the captain up here would want to deviate anymore from our schedule.” He felt Sandra give him a light punch on his right tricep.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said. “I hope that’s all I forgot.”
The group continued down the trail for some time without much conversation. Although they were still angling downhill, it was rough terrain and with the heavy packs, required concentration. After about an hour, the mountain began to slope more steeply to the west, and there was a left-hand switchback. This continued for about two more miles, taking them generally to the northwest and deeper into the valley below.
✽ ✽ ✽
“I think I hear water.” Jen finally broke the silence after about twenty minutes of quiet. They had been on the trail for nearly two and a half hours and it was nearly 3:30 in the afternoon. Her voice had a hint of both excitement and exhaustion. “Can we stop for a bit? My quads are on fire.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Dave replied to everyone. “I could use a snack anyway.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s been three hours, so you must be starving!” she replied in a faux-sympathetic tone. Sandra snickered and muttered in agreement.
“Hey, if I get too hungry, it’ll be worse for you all than for me,” Dave shot back, grinning. He had a reputation - that he didn't deny - of getting hangry, or angry when he was hungry. “This is a good place anyway,” he continued, as if the others needed convincing. “The creek means we’re coming to the bottom of the slope and to the valley. A good breaking point to rest for a little while.”
“All right, but not too long,” Sandra said. As usual, she was the one driving the schedule, even if there wasn’t one. Dave certainly wasn’t unmotivated in most areas, but he tended to err on the side of taking his time with things, unless there was a specific reason to rush. Sandra was the time-driven one who constantly recorded her steps with her Fitbit, timed her runs, and preferred to push as long as possible between stops on a road trip.
The group continued on for a short distance longer and finally, the creek they had been hearing came into view. As Dave had predicted, it was running parallel to the valley in a south-southwest direction, meaning they had reached the valley floor. Really, it was more of a canyon than a valley, as Dave could make out the bottom of the next ridge’s eastern slope less than a hundred yards to the west.
Jen plopped down on a boulder not far from the bank of the creek. It is a typical Appalachian creek, Dave thought, about twenty feet across with a rocky bottom. The water looked cold. It was white and swirling where it tumbled through the boulders, and a deep, clear green where it was still. It was shallow, less than a foot deep in the faster moving spots, and several feet deep in the slow pools in between. This is a nice spot, Dave thought to himself. It was too early to make camp for tonight, but maybe if the trail followed the creek, they could find a similar spot in a couple of hours.
Dave gladly took a seat on another boulder near Jen, and the rest of the group found seats as well. As good of shape as he was in, Dave was ready for a rest. Walking downhill with a heavy pack can be just as exhausting as traveling uphill, and he was feeling it. He pulled a 32-ounce Nalgene canteen out of its pouch that was strapped on the side of his Rush pack. He had two, one on each side, and tried to alternate between the two, in order to keep his pack balanced on his shoulders. He took a long pull, enjoying the much-needed water that was still cool and refreshing. He opened the main compartment of his pack and retrieved a granola bar from a small mesh pocket inside. He ate the granola bar in three bites and washed it down with another long gulp from the canteen.
While doing this, he looked down at his arms. Uncovered by his tank top, his tan skin was shiny with sweat and seemed extra dark in the shady forest. His eyes drifted to the scar on the boney side of his left forearm, as it so often did. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, but it was still there, plain as a tattoo and probably would be just as long. He began to feel his heartrate rise as his mind was hijacked from the present and jumped from the day he had received it to the days and months following. Although he had yet to go one waking day or maybe an hour without thinking about it, if only for a moment, it was getting better. He used to get so angry that he scared those around him. Not that he would ever hurt anyone without good reason, especially those he cared for, but that was something only he could truly know and understand. He was certain that there were others, mainly Sandra, that knew this as well or at least believed it. Still, he did not miss the days when his anger would spill over and result in almost daily rants about the injustice of what had happened. Those verbal eruptions had never graduated into physical action of any sense and that wasn’t just by chance or luck. Dave knew that God had brought him through the trials no differently than any great men or women of the Bible and that his fate wasn’t left up to chance. Whether by God’s grace or his own self-control, Dave had never in his life acted outside of his own mind. When he did vent, it was nothing more than himself not caring if those around him knew what was really on his mind. However, there came a point when he rarely had anything new to say and he realized it would be better for those around him - and himself - if he didn’t talk about it unless he had to. And honestly, it had gotten better. A lot better.
Dave was shaken from his dark pondering when Sandra suggested that they keep moving. She had the trail map out and was using it to point out to Mike and Jen where she thought they were and where a good camping site might be. He took one more drink from his canteen, then stood up, shouldering his pack.
“Hopefully, the creek isn’t too difficult to cross,” Sandra was saying. “It doesn’t look like there’s a bridge or anything.”
“I’m sure there are good rocks or a log,” Jen said, not fazed by Sandra’s concern.
“Well, if not, we can just camp here,” Dave said, intending to irritate Sandra, who shot him one of her trademark playful glares. “All right, let’s go,” he said, in a more serious but light tone.
The group began walking again and was at the creek bank less than a minute later. As Sandra had predicted, there was no easy way to cross, much less a nice bridge for them. There were several small, mossy boulders littering the creek bed, unapologetically disrupting the water’s swift flow downstream. Dave thought to himself that it wouldn’t be difficult to cross without heavy packs, but the load that each was carrying would make it harder to jump or keep balance.
Without saying a word, he took the lead and began crossing. He didn’t hesitate between steps and hops, but was thoughtful about his movements, knowing that between his pack and the moss, it wouldn’t be difficult to slip and wind up sideways in the water. In less than thirty seconds he made his last jump, his boot sinking into the sand a little on the western bank of the creek.
When he turned around, he saw that Mike had already begun to cross and that Sandra wasn’t far behind him. Dave wondered if Mike had ever done anything like this. His running shoes and cheap department store backpack didn’t exactly help his backpacker image, but Dave admitted that at least he was out here and hadn’t been too loud or complained as much as Dave had predicted. Maybe Mike wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe.
Ironically, as Dave was thinking this, Mike made a leap to a rock about halfway across the stream and didn’t quite make it. His foot landed on the rock, but he didn’t jump far enough, and his other foot landed in the water under him. Even with one leg in the stream, he was leaning backward and his pack caused him to lose his balance. Dave watched in what appeared to be slow motion as Mike began falling backward, moving the foot that had been on the rock too late to steady himself and keep from falling all together. Then to make matters worse, on his way down, one
of his flailing arms struck Sandra in the chest, causing her to lose her balance as well. Both fell quite ungracefully into the creek, less than a second apart.
Dave immediately dropped his pack on the bank and moved quickly back toward the center of the stream, not bothering to stay out of the water this time. He grabbed Sandra’s arm and easily helped pull her up. Even with her fully-loaded pack, he still outweighed her by forty or so pounds, and she was very fit and agile. Mike was a different story. He was about Dave’s height, but built like the high school football player that he had been less than a year ago - a slightly chunky but very strong two hundred and twenty pounds or so, plus another thirty for his backpack. The water was deeper there than where Sandra had fallen in, but Mike was able to roll over, stomach down, and with a little help from Dave, climb back up onto the relatively dry rock.
Panting and muttering, the group made it to the west side of the bank with no more incidents, then all dropped their packs. Dave could tell that Sandra was upset, although she hadn’t blatantly called out Mike for literally taking her down with him. He apologized to her anyway, presumably sensing it as well.
“Hey, sorry, Sandi,” he said in a humble tone that Dave hadn’t heard before from him. “I swear, I didn’t mean to knock you down… it was just a natural reaction.”
“It’s all right,” Sandra replied, half convincingly. “I just hope my stuff didn’t get too wet.” She unzipped the small pocket on the waist strap of her backpack where she usually kept her phone and pulled it out with a grim look on her face. It was obviously very wet.
“This sucks!” Mike exclaimed, his previous tone gone, as he pulled his own phone from the pocket of his cargo shorts. “It won’t even come on!”
“Don’t try to turn them on,” Dave instructed. “If the water hasn’t already fried them, trying to use them will. Maybe when we set up camp, we can take them apart the best we can and let them soak in some of the rice we brought. Maybe by morning, they’ll have dried out and will work again.”
