I had my first disappointment on my
seventh day in the forest when an armed paranoiac came into my camp with
an unleashed pit-bull making threats on my life. He was the second
person I had contact with since I arrived. I hoped that I had left
people like that behind in the city, but I've learned that in any group, you will find the same elements that comprise the greater
populace. As unfortunate as it is, you'll have that.
The day started out according to my
plans. I was growing used to the altitude and pace of the trees and
awoke with the rising sun. We rolled out of the tarps, dismantled the
camp, and moved to a spot I had previously scouted that was even more
off the beaten path. Friday was here and I didn't want to be seen.
Last weekend my spot was beyond all other campers, but I knew I
couldn't count on that being the case again. Considering travel time
and work schedules, we probably had several hours before the weekend
warriors converged on our paradise.
Just south of onion camp was a quad
trail that ran up a hill to the west and then turned north. It looked
like it might be rarely used. Leaving the path at the bend and
instead traveling southwest a few hundred feet, was a small copse of
trees. The towering pines obscured all but the forest itself. It
seemed as if we were miles from any sign that people had ever been
there. Scratching Maya behind the ears, I surveyed our new home and
said “Look at our front yard!”
I was able to set up there and be
virtually invisible to anybody unless they blundered upon us. The
curvature of the trail and proximity of the hill would naturally draw
the eye of any quad riders away from our direction. There was a huge old
Ponderosa at the turn that worked to our advantage. Our slightly
elevated position afforded me a 360 degree view of any encroaching
parties while seated. Instead of hanging the rope, we would sleep on
one tarp and cover ourselves with the other, maintaining a low
profile.
Our second objective of the day was to
hit the lake. I'd been washing myself out of two liter bottles for a week
and could stand a good dunking, no matter how cold. I also wanted to
try some fishing while we still had groceries so we didn't have any
surprises later that would adversely affect our diet. Maya did
excellently on the hike, frequently running ahead and doing wide
circles around me as I walked, which had been her method since she
was a pup. The Maya dog had always been an excellent scout.
The trees at Potato lake sit back
quite a ways from the water. If you have a pole in your hand there is
no hiding the fact. Fish cops can see you long before you see them.
Its not a good position to be in if you are a fugitive and lack the
proper permits. Understanding this, I carried fishing line and hooks
in my day pack and left the poles back at camp.
I dug around a bit with my machete,
looking for earthworms, but found none. Turning over rocks only
produced Roly-polys, so I caught a grasshopper and put him on the
hook. I tied a small piece of stick about eighteen inches up for float-able weight and heaved it about thirty feet out into the water.
Maya and I played fetch for a bit while I kept an eye on the 'hopper.
Nothing.
I secured the line with a rock,
and we explored the circumference of the lake, turning over the
occasional stone and keeping my eyes opened for crawdads. No luck
there as well. There was no sign of anybody ever fishing this lake.
No tangled line, empty worm buckets, errant bobbers, or any of the
evidence that is usually present wherever people fish. Come to think
of it, there was nothing in the many signs posted at the entrance
about fish at all. Surely the government would leave some kind of
prohibitive messages if this were a place folks fished.
Some days later, I asked a ranger and
he told me there are no fish in Potato Lake. The minnows are there to
keep down the algae. Its primarily maintained as a watering hole for
the numerous elk and other wildlife in the area. In fact, there
wasn't a three foot area around the banks that didn't show elk track.
There were no bear prints, but there were signs of assorted small
mammals and birds. No rabbit. I had yet to see a rabbit on the rim.
On the side of the lake opposite my
line, I stripped down, waded in to my waist and submerged myself.
When I came up, I was unable to suppress the need to yell from the
icy water. Maya, who had been wading around the edge, immediately
swam out to join the fun. It wasn't that much fun for me. Shivering,
I climbed out and soaped myself down with bio-compatables and
returned for a hasty rinse. I noticed people at the trail-head a
hundred yards or so away, coming my direction, so I scrambled out and
began dressing. They turned around and went back the way they came. I
felt bad that my nudity, even from a distance, had such a deleterious
effect on the local populace.
So far, I wasn't doing a very good job
of being inconspicuous.
Exhilarated by my chilling dip, and
seeing how well Maya was faring, we packed up the fishing line and
did a bit of exploring on our way back to our new camp. There was a
meadow we passed with a small dry stream bed running through it and
we followed it for a mile or so until it disappeared entirely. There
were one or two brackish puddles in low spots. The only wildlife we
saw were squirrels and ravens. We were cutting back overland to avoid
the rough cinders and stumbled upon a granite memorial marker, out of
sight of any trail or road, saying somebody died there. There were
three loose keys and twenty nine cents in change on the marker in
addition to a 410 gauge shotgun shell. I added a piece of turquoise.
That marker could be just about
anywhere. I went looking for it a few years back on a quad and
couldn't find it. I've always wondered what that mystery guy died of.
I guessed it was a heart attack, hunting mishap, or quad accident.
It was probably about three in the
afternoon when we turned up off of FR147 toward home. There was a
green Chevy parked at the corner of FR147 towing a travel trailer. There was
one older gentleman in a lawn chair by the door of the trailer. He
waved and yelled a friendly hello which I returned. He waved us over
and introduced himself as Pete. He said he was retired from the
telephone company and came up there every weekend “until September,
when it gets too cold”. He pulled out another chair and offered me
a delicious cold beer. He was alone, but had friends coming to meet
him later. I learned later that people in the forest alone almost always say that, whether it's true or not. We chatted for a while and he told stories about
the rim and the wildlife he'd seen there. “There's a few black
bears” he told me, “but they're hard to see, they don't go
anywhere near people usually.” That's kind of a bummer.
I thanked him and we continued on our
way. We crested the rise just before the quad track back to camp and
noticed a powder blue Ford station wagon parked at the bottom of our
quad track. There was a tent pitched across our trail and a pit-bull
chained to the bumper of the car. Between the car and the tent was a
playpen and a woman bending over a toddler. A little wiry fella with
a shaved head and no shirt was staring at us hard over the playpen.
I waved and hollered a friendly hello
and turned to approach his camp. He was, after all, camped on a
trail-head. It was our trail-head, and I didn't think he had the
right to block it. He came quickly from around the playpen, along the
way calling to his dog Sweet to do something in German. He yelled for
us to keep moving and then asked our business there. I thought this
was an odd, if not contradictory bit of business. He seemed to be
looking for trouble, so I called out that we were just hiking through
and then we continued past until we were out of sight at our original camp.
We stopped there to see if he was following. He wasn't.
We continued up and over the hill to
the place where I saw the bear tracks and turned left there. We
continued on for a couple of hundred yards and turned left again,
eventually approaching our new camp from the opposite side of the
hill. He was there waiting for us, facing away. We got pretty close
before he saw us and turned. He had an automatic pistol in his
waistband. The dog was unleashed at his side, so I took the leash
from my shoulders and hooked Maya up so she wouldn't charge. “For a
guy who doesn't want anybody near his camp, you sure are making
yourself at home in mine”, I said.
“What are you doing here? Where's
your vehicle? I've never seen anybody camped so far back in these
hills. Are you hiding from the law?” Ok, now I was getting a bit
jumpy myself. “I'm BACKPACKING”,
I told him. “A friend dropped me off yesterday. What business is it
of yours?”
“If
your dog comes near me I'll shoot it” he replied, noticing her low
growl and raised hackles. “Were you in my camp earlier? I followed
your bootprints. They're everywhere. You couldn't have made all those prints in one day”. (Stupid rookie mistake! Jeez,
I'm an idiot!). I told him my tennis shoe tracks are probably every
where too, and invited him to go over and check out the tread pattern
on them.
He ignored my offer and went on to tell me he had a wife and
kid and came to tell me he didn't want any trouble. Then he
threatened to shoot me if I came near his wife or baby. I told him he
sure didn't act like somebody who didn't want any trouble, he acted
as if he were looking for trouble or he
had something to hide. I asked if he had made similar threats to the
guy in the green Chevy with the RV trailer camped below him.
“I
have a gun!”, he said again, turned, and walked away. “Who
doesn't?” I called after him. He looked back once, possibly to
make sure I wasn't taking aim, and then he was out of sight. I calmed
Maya, took her leash off, and sat down on the tarp. I was shook. I'd
only been here a week and already somebody called me a fugitive and
threatened to shoot me. I really hoped this wasn't what my trip was
going to be like. I could get that kind of action in the city, and
recently had. I was getting real sick of idiots with guns. I smoked a
bowl to calm down.
Some
people just don't do well outside their environment; their comfort
zone. I reckon that was this guys problem. That or maybe he was
cooking meth. I'm sure glad his dog was friendlier and better trained
than he was. I was still a little scared, loose cannon and all. Since
our cover was blown, I moved back to onion camp so we were in a more
accessible location to the road and maybe safer that way. It would
also allow me to see the top of the quad trail in case that guy sent
the law up to check me out.
I fed
Maya and had a can of sardines and crackers for dinner, followed by a
can of peaches for dessert. Canned peaches kick ass in the woods. I
got to thinking, maybe I ought to let Pete know about this guy and
his threats, just in case anything happened to me. I put Maya on her
lead and started in that direction, but when I got to the asshole's
camp he was gone. Packed up and left. Weird. We went back home to
onion camp. No need to bother Pete.
Back
at camp I smoked some resin mixed with shake and ate another can of
peaches. Well satisfied, I smoked a cigarette of Mullein and
considered the events of the day. More than jerks with guns and chips
on their shoulders, I was worried for the lack of fish. This meant
I'd have to move on
when the supplies got light, probably within the week.
Knowing
that guy was gone, I could afford to be more angry than frightened.
The whole thing reminded me of the night before I left Phoenix.
It
was about midnight, and I had everything packed and ready to go in
the living room. I was about to try and get some sleep. Jim and his
wife were house sitting at his parents place, so I had the place to
myself. I realized I was out of coffee, so I dressed and started out
to walk to Walmart. I was barely out of the driveway when I noticed a
stereotype walking down the street toward me.
He
was a Mexican kid, with one of those pantyhose looking hairnets and a
white dress shirt only buttoned at the collar. He was wearing dress slacks and cowboy
boots with silver at the toe. He stared at me and I pretended not to
see him. He walked right up to me with a menacing look that I
pretended not to notice and I gave him a great big smiling “Hello!”
At
this point he was close enough in my face to smell his breath.
Looking me square in the eye, he asked me if I wanted to get smoked
and pulled back his shirt to show me a pistol in his waistband. I'd
never been asked a question like that out of the blue before, and was
at an immediate loss for what to say. With a personality like his,
simply saying “No” was probably playing right into his hand.
Watching Woody Harrelson in “White Men Can't Jump” taught me that
exaggerating my natural talent as a goofy rube from Indiana was a
handy way to get out of sticky situations sometimes. I replied with
the most transparent stall tactic ever. “What?”
Then
it came to me. “Do I want to get some smoke? Hell yeah I want to
get some smoke. Hang on, let me go in the house and get some money.”
I thought that if he thought I was stupid enough to go in the house
and get some money, I could get inside without getting shot, as he
might think he could rob me instead of just shooting me. It actually
worked and I made it into the house.
I was
alone and didn't have a phone. I thought he might come through the
door any minute and this time the gun might be out of his pants.
Still needing a sack of coffee (and maybe a rhubarb pie), I loaded my
.32 and went back out with the revolver in my hand. He seemed to be
gone. I walked maybe three blocks before I felt comfortable enough to
pocket the piece.
As
luck would have it, there was a cop in the parking lot of the Taco
Bell in front of the Walmart. I walked up to his window and he didn't
seem to notice me. All his attention was on his bean burrito. I
knocked on the window, startling him, and he rolled it down.
“Hey
man, I'm glad you're here!” I blurted at him. “Some Mexican kid
with the pantyhose on his head and a white dress shirt just showed me
a pistol and asked if I wanted to get smoked. He went north on
seventy third about five minutes ago!”
“What
are you doing out this time of night?” he asked. I told him I was
going to Walmart and he suggested I go do my shopping and when he was
through with his lunch he'd meet me out front to take a report.
“What?”
“Go
do your shopping, and after I eat, I'll come talk to you.”
I
couldn't believe it. I told him never mind. I thought he'd want to
catch some kid walking around the neighborhood offering to smoke
people. I walked away more pissed at the cop than at the kid. I
memorized the patrol car number and called 911 from the Walmart. I
told them the whole story and they offered to send a car out in an
hour or two to take a report about the kid with the gun. “Screw the
kid with the gun", I said. "He's going to be long gone. I want to report the cop.” “Okay, the
dispatcher said. Give me your name and address”. Screw that.
Remembering
I had the .32, I hung up the phone, bought my sack of beans and a
rhubarb pie and went home, avoiding the Taco Bell. I was going to be
so glad to get to the forest and leave the stinking city and people
like that behind.
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