Beech Mountain Breeze

by Ed Robinson

“He hates that,” I said. “I hate it too. I thought he’d stay for me, but I guess he couldn’t resist chasing the scent.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Start processing this place,” I said. “I’ll get the dog.”

  I called him several times and listened for a response. I heard him bark and headed in that direction.

  “Sit, stay,” I yelled. “Stop.”

  He yelped again, and I got a better sense of where the sound was coming from. I plowed through the woods, ignoring the need for awareness. I wasn’t particularly stealthy either. The need to recover my dog overrode other concerns.

  “Where are you, Red?”

  One last bark and I was able to find him. He sat obediently in a small clearing, waiting for me to catch up. As soon as I put the leash on him, he was ready to continue tracking. I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.

  “Brody,” I said into the radio. “I’ve got Red, and he’s got the scent. What should we do?”

  “There’s a lot to look over here,” she said. “I say follow it. I’ll be okay here.”

  “Keep your eyes and ears open,” I said. “Keep your weapon at the ready, just in case.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Go ahead.”

  I was apprehensive about leaving her alone, but I wanted to follow the scent as much as Red did. He was happy to oblige. I let him loose and waved my hand in the air.

  “Sniff him out, Boy,” I said. “Go get him.”

  He already knew which way to go. He took off at a good clip, nose down and ears flopping. I had to hustle to keep up. This was a fresh scent, the best we’d found yet. I tried to regain my sense of awareness and caution as we went. I kept my eyes ahead of us and tried to hear more than the movements of my dog. I tried to gather clues from the woods.

  I put together a theory in my mind. The hermit was at his hideout when he heard us coming. He probably heard us way back at the fork, or at least when we talked on the radio while searching the tunnels. It was plenty of time for him to gather a few things and take off. We’d been loud and maybe even a bit clumsy as we zeroed in on his location. It was not how I would have preferred to make my first encounter with the man, but without the dog, I’d have never found his camp.

  Now he’d bugged out just ahead of us. This was his turf, and he likely knew it extremely well. Based on what we knew about him so far, he probably had plans for just this event, maybe even multiple options for escape. A dog was the only thing that could foil those plans now that he was on the run. I urged Red on.

  “Let’s go, boy,” I said. “Get after him.”

  The dog was definitely onto something. All I could do was follow. He picked up speed, confident that he was on the trail. We were almost running when we encountered a rock wall. Its sheer face went straight up. There was no way I could climb it, and there was no way to get Red to the top. My dog barked at the rock wall, standing on his back legs with his paws on the stone. He looked up and continued barking. How had the hermit gone up? It seemed humanly impossible unless he was Spiderman, but Red was telling me that’s where he went.

  I walked around the right side of the edifice. A steep cliff dropped down to a creek. It wasn’t much more passable than the rock face. I tried the left side. It looked passable, though difficult. I called for Red to follow and began carefully picking my way over and around rocks. The dog was dubious. I had to pick him up occasionally to bring him along with me. Meanwhile, the hermit had the opportunity to put more distance between him and us.

  It took way too long to make it to the top of the rock wall. The hermit was long gone by then. Red picked up his scent, but it would be useless to continue. We didn’t want to be out here after dark. We didn’t have the necessary supplies, nor the will. We’d gotten close, but come up short. I found a rope tied to a thick tree at the top of the cliff. The hermit had set up his escape long before we’d ever been part of this chase. He simply pulled the rope up behind him before we got there. It wasn’t an unexpected development. It went pretty much as I had figured it would. I knew what I had to do.

  Brody and Red would not be involved. I had to come alone, ready to immerse myself in the woods. I’d known it from the start, but I needed a way to narrow the search. Brody and Red had helped me do just that, but in the end, they’d given us away. The hermit had been ready for this occasion. It hadn’t been that hard to plan for, but would he be equally prepared for what I knew I was capable of? Were his skills better than mine? He had a knack for remaining unseen, but so did I. It was doubtful that he had any experience being tracked by a legit mountain man. I was eager now to test myself against him. All of my doubts and fears about this challenge evaporated. I wanted it.

  Red was pissed when I called him off the search. He didn’t like it one bit.

  “Sorry, buddy,” I said. “We’ve got to round up Brody and go home. Good job. Good boy.”

  I scratched his ears the way he liked, but he was having none of it.

  I would have had him. I was right on his tail. Why are we stopping now?

  I felt silly apologizing to a dog, especially since he was right, but I had Brody to consider.

  “We’re on the way back,” I said over the radio.

  “What did you find?” she asked.

  “A clever escape,” I said. “Red still had him, but we’ve got to get out of here before it’s too late.”

  “Let me show you what I’ve found so far,” she said.

  I had to give Red a tug every now and then on our way back to the hermit’s hideout. He figured I was going the wrong way. He was right, but there was nothing I could do about it now. I was happy to see Brody again. Her smile was much nicer than Red’s frown.

  “I’ve got DNA all over the place,” she said. “Hair, nail clippings, you name it.”

  “What if he’s not in any DNA database?”

  “I can devise a makeshift fingerprint kit at home,” she said. “It won’t take but a minute to pull as many prints as we want.”

  “Assuming this is still here tomorrow,” I said.

  “You think he’ll tear this whole thing down overnight?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “More likely he’ll take what he wants and move on. Probably has a backup site out here somewhere.”

  “There’s a treasure trove of information here,” she said. “I’d hate to lose it.”

  “Do you want to come back tonight?” I asked. “It will be way dark by the time we can get back here.”

  “I don’t think we have an option,” she said. “I’ll round up some Ziplocks, tweezer, and what I need to take fingerprints. Some good flashlights too.”

  “If you’re game I’m game,” I said. “Kind of exciting actually.”

  “The faster we get home, the faster we can get back.”

  “Let’s roll.”

  We half-jogged during the trip back to the car. Red was still reluctant to leave. I had to spend a few minutes paying penance when we got home. He didn’t turn his nose up at the food I offered as a peace offering, but instead of taking his place on the couch, he chose the rug in front of the fireplace to lie on.

  Eleven

  Brody dug out some good flashlights to add to our packs. We grabbed a quick bite to eat before driving back to the Cherokee Wildlife Management Area. We found a new parking place closer to the hermit’s hideout. The GPS was hard to see at night, but we managed to follow it back to where we’d found the man’s campsite.

  We slowed and quieted on approach. I made Brody sit and wait while I listened for any signs of the hermit. I didn’t think he was home, so we crawled into the tunnel towards his secret hiding place. I led the way through the double curtain of grass into the small clearing that featured a well-camouflaged canvas tent. It was an old school army surplus green model, covered in years of moss and fallen vegetation. It was impossible to see from the air, and almost invisible from the ground. It was pushed back into the thicket as far as possible. Outside were some obvious signs of occu
pation, including a pot and pan sitting on a grate over an open fire pit. Plastic storage containers lined one wall. There was a small woodpile, with a hatchet stuck in a tree stump.

  We poked our heads inside and shined our lights around the interior. The bed was an inflatable mattress, covered with several decent looking comforters. Each sported bears or other cabin themes, likely stolen from Beech Mountain residences. There was a nice pair of boots next to the bed. A plastic shelf was full of paperback books. More plastic containers held clothes, dishes, and utensils.

  “A lot more comfortable than Pop’s cave,” I said.

  “I could almost live here,” Brody responded. “If it had electricity and hot water.”

  “If he needs those things he walks up to Beech and takes what he needs,” I said. “Or anything else that might come in handy.”

  It was a bit cluttered inside, but well-organized. There was a deck of cards on a small folding table next to the bed. An assortment of candles and battery powered lights were placed all around. A manual can opener sat on top of a stack of canned goods. Brody went to work collecting samples that would provide us with DNA. Once she was finished, she went outside and lit a small fire in the pit. She only let it burn for a few minutes before extinguishing it. She pulled a makeup brush out of her pocket and used it to collect some of the ash and carbon from the fire. She carefully carried the brush back inside and used the soot as fingerprint dust.

  There were good prints visible on numerous surfaces. She used pieces of tape to preserve three solid prints and placed them in small Ziplock bags. If this man’s prints or DNA were in any database, we had enough to identify him. We also had hair samples and even some fingernail clippings. All we needed was a match.

  We had what we needed, but we continued to poke around out of curiosity. There was no sign of pornography or alcohol consumption. There was no bible amongst his library, nor anything else that would indicate interest in religion. There was no anti-government literature or post-apocalyptic novels. There was no hoard of silver coins, or any boxes full of cash. Other than the books and the playing cards, everything he stored in his tent were things needed for survival and comfort.

  He had a modest collection of warm weather clothing. All of it was brand name merchandise, the type you’d expect to see in a cabin near a ski resort. Even the canned goods were a brand name. There wasn’t a Walmart or discount brand among them. One of the plastic bins held assorted rice and pasta side dishes, the kind that come in foil pouches or bags. We found no weapons, no guns or a bow anywhere. We did find a good hunting knife, along with some twine and small branches that might be used to make a snare.

  I perused his book collection, keeping in mind that they all probably came from houses on Beech Mountain. It consisted mostly of popular bestsellers but also included Walden by Henry David Thoreau. I found On Golden Pond, by Ernest Thompson, which I never knew was a book. I’d seen the movie many years earlier. There were a few books of local interest concerning the North Carolina Mountains, Appalachian Trail, and the mountains of North Carolina and Eastern Tennessee. All of these books were dog-eared and worn from use. I wondered if he ever dropped off the ones he’d read at the next house to replace whatever books he was taking. That was a common practice at marinas in Florida. I judged such places by the quality of their book exchange. I even started a few when my boat became overloaded with books.

  All of the evidence before us indicated exactly what one would expect; a single man living in the wilderness. There were no earth-shattering discoveries of radical ideology or end of the world prophecies. He was just a guy, who for whatever reason, had decided to live in the woods and avoid society. I couldn’t blame him, in fact, I sympathized with him. He was better off than the average homeless person. He lived close to nature. He had an endless supply of goods available to him close by, though he had to steal them. None of his victims were particularly harmed by his intrusions, which was key to his continued survival and anonymity. Too much heat would create an effort to hunt him down. He knew not to cross that line.

  I questioned how he was able to gain access to these houses, so I started looking for tools. He had several different saws, a hammer with a collection of nails, and a canvas repair kit. Those weren’t what I was looking for. I was searching for a lock picking kit, but didn’t find it. He must have it with him, or it was stowed at another location. He was getting into those houses without doing them damage. He had to have a way to gain entry. Not finding such tools meant that he took them with him when he bugged out. He was probably sitting safely in a vacant property on Beech Mountain right now, freshly showered with a full belly.

  I’d seen enough. Brody was done with her evidence collection, and it was getting late. We decided that we’d done enough and headed home. There was a different feel to the night on our way back to the car. We were full of excitement and anticipation on the way to the hermit’s place. Now it was even darker, and an ominous feeling hung in the air. We couldn’t move too fast in the darkness, and we couldn’t see much. I felt vulnerable to predators, or even the hermit if he decided to retaliate.

  “It’s creepy out here at night,” Brody said.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” I admitted. “Ears open. Ready your weapon.”

  “Whose idea was it to come back out here tonight?” she asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it was yours,” I said.

  “Should we sing or something?” she asked. “You know, to keep the wolves at bay?”

  “If I could I would,” I said. “But I’d be embarrassed for even you to hear my warbling.”

  “Warbling? What kind of word is that?”

  “I thought it meant bad singing,” I said.

  “I think it’s singing in general.”

  “Okay,” I said. “My bad, out of tune, grating warbling.”

  “You have a nice voice,” she said.

  “Except I can’t carry a tune,” I said. “Trust me on this one.”

  “Keep talking then,” she said. “Let the bears know we’re passing through.”

  We kept the conversation going until we reached the car, hoping that it would somehow protect us from any wildlife that could do us harm. We vowed never to hike through strange woods again after dark. Both of us were relieved when we finally got back to the parking area.

  “Too late to bother Rominger with our evidence,” Brody said.

  “We’ll bring it to him tomorrow,” I said. “That’s quite enough for tonight.”

  I worried about another encounter with the sexy policewoman Angelina during the drive home. Rominger had called her back into the investigation at the ski resort. I hoped that our evidence collection wouldn’t fall into her purview. Brody and I were as close as ever, but something about that woman made me weak in the knees. I didn’t have a good history of resisting temptation. I recalled an incident when a Russian sex slave thanked me for my efforts. I had a girlfriend at the time. I didn’t want to cheat on her, but the impromptu blowjob was more than I could resist. I let it happen, and I felt guilty about it later. I knew my weaknesses, and Angelina Will’s charm fell right into that wheelhouse.

  It had been an unusually long day. The sheer physical effort of the hiking caught up to me as soon as I sat down. Red came to nuzzle my hand, begging for a little rubbing. The next thing I knew it was almost morning. I woke up on the couch in an awkward position with Red at my feet. It wasn’t daylight yet, and I was still exhausted, so after a visit to the bathroom, I joined Brody in bed. If I woke her, she didn’t let on. Thankfully, I was able to fall asleep again in short order.

  That’s when the hermit showed up. It was just like an earlier dream. I’d catch a glimpse of him in the woods then he’d disappear. He was like a mirage, there but never within reach. He was always ten steps ahead of me, or ten trees, or ten rocks. I thought I had him twenty times, only to see him evaporate into the wilderness each time. Was he even there at all?

  Something startled me in the night. R
ed heard it too. I slid silently out of bed and went to a window to look outside. Pop Sutton’s face stared back at me. He had something to tell me. I wanted to open the window to get his advice, but it was still part of the dream. I was still in bed, and Red was snoring on the floor beside me. I gave up and got out of bed for real. I went straight to the coffee maker and turned it on. I put on some warm clothes and walked out on the porch to smell the fresh mountain air. The sun was starting to poke up over the mountains to our east. Rays of light shot through the trees like laser beams. One fat little bird pecked at our feeder, not afraid of my presence.

  We hadn’t eaten much the night before, and I was starving. I thought about cooking breakfast for a change. Brody always did the breakfast cooking, but I didn’t want to wake her with the smell of bacon. I’d get on it as soon as she stirred. I crept around the kitchen as quietly as I could, drinking my coffee and taking bacon and eggs out of the fridge. I put bread in the toaster and butter on the counter to soften. There was no movement from the bedroom.

  I took Red out for his morning constitutional. He chased four deer off the grassy area out back, but didn’t follow them far. He knew better. They’d be back to taunt him another day, especially when the apples started falling off the trees. The creek was at a low babble due to lack of rain. The soft sound was mesmerizing, but the growling in my stomach was loud. I didn’t let Red hang out too long. Once his business was complete, I made him come with me back inside. I peeked into the bedroom and saw that Brody was still out.

  I couldn’t take it any longer. I threw the bacon in the pan and scrambled some eggs in a bowl. I refreshed my coffee and put some bread in the toaster. The sizzling smells of breakfast stirred my gal, Brody. She staggered out in long johns and with her hair a mess. She was still beautiful. I handed her a cup of coffee and said good morning.