The Wilds Page 2

This is the sort of place that makes you feel that every moment spent somewhere else was wasted.

  Whatever Cora might be doing right now, it’s lousy compared to this.

  Tough luck, Cora.

  If only she were here beside me, though. This would’ve been such a perfect place for making love. Especially for our first time. Now we’ll probably never…Good going, now I’m depressed.

  * * *

  It’s after supper. Ate a beef stew that came in a plastic pouch. Just had to add water, heat and serve. Vanilla pudding for dessert. I’m sitting by the fire, now. Nothing much happened since my last entry.

  I kept expecting other hikers to show up and camp by the lake. Nobody did, though. I’m the only person here. This doesn’t frighten me, which is funny. I think something must’ve happened to me last night when I did my “wildman” routine. Maybe it put me a little bit more in tune with nature. Who knows?

  For whatever reason, I really like being out here alone in the wilderness. I’m glad nobody has stopped by the lake. It’s all mine.

  * * *

  Whew! Just got back. Hiked all the way around the lake.

  I took my flashlight along. After a while, its beam seemed like an intrusion. Got between me and the night. So I shut it off and walked by moonlight.

  The moon made a silver path on the water, a path that led straight toward me and moved with me like the eyes in certain portraits.

  At the other side of the lake I sat on a boulder and looked across at my campfire. Though it burned low, it gave off a lot of light. The ruddy glow even shimmered on the front of my tent, which must’ve been twenty feet from the fire. I could see the entire campsite clearly.

  It was like looking at a theater stage. Watching it from a back row of seats, waiting for a player to walk on.

  The player is here now, seated on a log by the fire, hunched over his writing pad.

  But the spectator isn’t across the lake to watch.

  I’m a one-man show with only myself for an audience.

  Huh?

  Anyway, it was petty shocking to realize how the fire made my presence at the lake so conspicuous. The fire was like a sign that nature had been invaded by an alien.

  I’m no invader. I want to be part of all this.

  Anyway, now I’m going to douse the fire.

  June 19

  The tent was too – I don’t know – confining, restricting? Just call me Nature Boy. On my other camping trips, I always slept in a tent. The tent was shelter from the weather, protection from bugs and other critters, and very much a hiding place. It enclosed me, concealed me, made me feel safe.

  Those were always the good things about a tent. But they don’t seem good anymore.

  Last night, I couldn’t stand being inside my tent. Pretty soon I dragged my sleeping bag outside. It was wonderful. I stayed awake for a long time, savoring the night, and woke up before sunrise when the air was still gray. There was dew on my sleeping bag, and on my face. It made my face feel sticky. My breath came out in white puffs.

  I’d slept in my sweatsuit, which has a hooded top. It wasn’t nearly enough to keep me warm after I was out of my sleeping bag. I shook like crazy. When I peed, my urine steamed.

  I got the fire going again. It crackled and blazed and I crouched close to its heat. This morning, I loved my fire. And I really loved the sun when it finally rose high enough to clear the surrounding peaks.

  In the movies, direct sunlight burns vampires – causes them terrible agony and pretty soon chars them down to a pile of ashes. The way the sunlight felt this morning reminded me of that. Because to me it was the exact opposite. I craved it. I felt like a starving man presented with a feast. It restored me.

  I took off my sweats so I could feel the sun all over. The sun’s heat and the cool fresh morning breeze. It felt awfully good. It got me excited, too. I had this urge to circle the whole lake like I did last night, only do it naked. I didn’t have the nerve, though. Somebody might come along the trail and see me. With that in mind, I only stayed naked long enough to bring my jeans out of the tent and put them on.

  So I’m not quite the Nature Boy I’d like to be.

  What the hell, I’m new at this.

  Also, this area is too well traveled. It might seem like I have the whole place to myself, but there could be hikers just around a bend in the trail.

  I need to go deeper into the wilds.

  * * *

  Today’s hiking has been a lot easier than yesterday. For one thing, the trail has been up and down instead of a steady, steep climb. For another, my pack is much lighter. I left the tent behind.

  Took it down after breakfast, rolled it, and hid it among the rocks near the lake shore. I’ll retrieve it on the way out.

  Now, of course, there’ll probably be thunderstorms.

  Who cares? I’m well rid of the tent.

  Today, I ran into several groups of campers. Maybe twenty people, in all. Sure is a change from yesterday. And not a change I welcomed, either. The problem was, quite a few trails converged in the area beyond my lake.

  Even though I wanted to be alone, I acted friendly. I had nice chats with just about everyone. The basics were always the same. How long have you been out? Where did you spend last night? Where are you heading, and by which route? If somebody was coming from where you were going, you wanted to find out how the trail was and where there might be a good place to camp. I paid close attention to everybody’s routes because I wanted to spend the night without company.

  One more thing about the basics of trail-side conversation. Nobody could resist commenting about the fact that I was out here alone. I got all kinds of reactions. Some people gave me funny looks and soon hurried off. Others were simply curious. Some admired my bravery. A few seemed envious – as if they would much rather be out here by themselves than stuck with a group of annoying friends or relatives. What I got most often, though, were remarks like this:

  “You must be nuts. What if you break a leg? Who goes for help?”

  And, “You’re going smack up against the first rule of wilderness survival, boy.”

  And, “You’d better stay healthy, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

  Four guys from U.C. Berkeley actually invited me to join their group. I declined. Threw my Thoreau “solitude” quote at them, which seemed to impress one guy, but made two of them smirk. The fourth member of their party actually said, “What a dork.”

  Quite a few women crossed my path today. I enjoyed looking. Some were stout, some slender. Some were fairly pretty while others looked ordinary or worse. But I saw plenty of bare, tanned legs, shorts packed with firm buttocks, and midriffs on a couple of gals who wore their shirts pulled up and tied. The best thing I saw all day was a blonde in a tank top. She wasn’t much in the face department, but her shirt was almost transparent and she didn’t wear anything under it.

  She was the high point of my day, so far.

  Around mid-afternoon, I came to a nice lake. Unfortunately, people had already arrived and had their tents set up. So I kept going. The next lake also had a group of campers. From my map, I could see that there wasn’t another lake within five miles. No way would I make it that far today. But I kept hiking and things worked out.

  A stream cut across the trail. It was bridged by an old, fallen tree. Instead of crossing, I made my way upstream and found a good place to spend the night. A good, secluded place.

  The trail is far below, blocked from sight by boulders and trees.

  It bothers me a little that I’ve done this – taken a detour away from the trail in order to find a private place to spend the night. It makes me feel furtive, like I’m hiding out.

  I just wish all the other people would disappear so I could have the mountains completely to myself.

  Maybe if I go farther. Deeper in.

  The problem is, I only brought food for ten days, so I have to begin heading back after the fifth. Which only gives me two more days.

  Right now, I d
on’t feel like I want to return so soon.

  That could change, though. If it continues to be like Grand Central Station around here, I might be glad to leave.

  My place here, at least, is private. It’s great. The first thing I did was strip and wade into the water. The stream is so cold it hurts. I couldn’t stand it for very long. But I found a pothole in the rocks. It held warm water that must’ve come from a rainstorm. Luckily, it wasn’t very stagnant yet. It felt great. I stayed in it for a long time. It probably wasn’t all that fresh and clean, though, so after getting out, I rinsed in the cold stream.

  I’m warm again, now. I’ve been sitting in the sunlight writing all this for about an hour. Probably got myself a great sunburn. But maybe not. Maybe it’s too late in the day for sunburns.

  Better quit writing, now. Things to do before dark.

  June 20

  I cooked supper in the early evening yesterday, then doused my fire and sat by the stream to eat. Had mosquito trouble at around sundown when I was cleaning my mess kit and stuff. Had to get dressed, and also stink myself up with repellent. When the wind kicked up, the mosquitoes disappeared.

  Turned in early. Slept great. I must’ve really been bushed, because I hardly even noticed the solid rock under my sleeping bag and foam pad. Not even the noise of the rushing water bothered me. It was loud, too. From the sound of the stream, you’d think I had spread my sleeping bag in the middle of a freeway.

  I woke up this morning feeling an awful urgency to get moving. Only two days, then I’d need to head back. I didn’t even build a fire and have coffee, just packed and hit the trail as fast as I could.

  It’s noon, now. I’ve finally stopped to rest and eat and catch up with the journal.

  Made very good time. And the number of intruders has dwindled since yesterday. Thank god. I’m obviously making some progress.

  * * *

  Something funny is going on. It’s not really so funny, though. I don’t know exactly why, but I’m feeling more and more reluctant to encounter other people.

  This morning when hikers approached on the trail, I felt apprehensive. I greeted them, smiling, but didn’t stop to chat. My main concern was to get away from them. The thing is, there was nothing wrong with these people. They seemed perfectly nice and ordinary.

  About an hour after my lunch break this afternoon, I heard more people coming. They were still out of sight beyond a bend in the trail, but I could hear them.

  So I hid.

  I hurried off the trail and climbed up into the rocks and crouched out of sight.

  At the time, I told myself it was just a simple matter of preferring my own company. Sort of like turning down a party invitation because you’d rather stay home and read a book.

  While I crouched there hiding, though, I started to feel scared. Scared that the strangers coming along the trail would find me. My mouth went dry. My heart thudded. I trembled all over. It was ridiculous. They had no reason to hunt for me. If I hadn’t fled, we would’ve met on the trail, smiled and chatted. No big deal.

  After they’d passed my hiding place, a change came over me. Something seemed to grow out of my fear.

  Excitement.

  They hadn’t seen me, didn’t have a clue that I’d been crouched only a few yards away. I was invisible.

  An invisible man.

  Feeling exhilarated, I returned to the trail. I laughed quite a lot. Felt downright gleeful.

  It changes everything, being invisible.

  Later on this afternoon, I heard another batch of people coming. I bounded off the trail, climbed the slope and hid among the rocks. Just like last time. But very different, too. This time, I didn’t simply cower in hiding until the strangers had gone by; I raised my head and peered down at them.

  Spied on them.

  A man was in the lead, followed by a woman. This was an uphill grade, so they took their time. They trudged, leaning forward against the weight of their packs, their heads down. The yellow dust kicked up by the man swirled around the boots and shins of the woman. She wore red shorts and a gray T-shirt. She was built. The backpack straps pulling at her shoulders made her breasts really stick out. I could tell by how they moved that she was wearing a bra. The sight of them stirred me up a lot, anyway.

  Basically, I was looking at nothing I wouldn’t have seen if I’d stayed on the trail and said “howdy.” God only knows why it should make such a difference, watching it in secret. But it does. It sure does.

  I thought about following the couple. I wanted to. But the gal wasn’t all that special anyway, and they were heading in the wrong direction.

  That’s about all for now. It’s mid-afternoon and I hope to reach Mascot Lake in time to make camp before dark. Sure hope nobody else has the same idea.

  * * *

  After catching up with the writing, I returned to the trail and continued my journey.

  Arrived at Mascot Lake about an hour later. It was some distance from the main trail, so my view took in the entire lake. It looked blue and cold and wonderful. A thick crescent of woods along the near side would provide welcome shade, plus shelter from the winds. It looked like a very fine place to camp.

  Best of all, it looked deserted.

  I was overjoyed at the prospect of having the lake to myself. But then I noticed the tent. A green tent, nearly invisible among the trees and shadows near the shore.

  With a curse, I kicked a stone. The stone went skipping over the trail, raising puffs of yellow dust.

  What the hell, I thought. Win a few, lose a few.

  I kept walking. From off toward the lake came quiet sounds of voices, the chunking of a hatchet. One of the voices most definitely belonged to a woman. Staying on the trail, still walking, I scanned the area near the tent and spotted two figures. One was bent over and seemed to be cutting wood for the campfire. The other watched. It was impossible to tell which was the woman because they were too far away, standing among trees that partly blocked my view, and covered by the gloom of shadows.

  I kept walking.

  But the earlier thrill of hiding and spying on the hikers was mild compared to the fever that grabbed me as I walked away from Mascot Lake.

  I could return as the invisible man!

  Yes!

  After “disappearing” myself around a bend, I left the trail and made my way back toward the lake. Found a good, hidden place surrounded by walls of rock. This will be my base camp. I’ve gotten out of my sweaty clothes, and eaten a meal of jerky and gorp and dried peaches.

  The notion of sneaking up on the campers really has me excited. I can hardly stand it.

  Did Apaches feel this way just before they crept up on unwary settlers?

  I’m nervous enough without trying it naked. So I’ve gotten into my trunks and Nikes. Now I’m all caught up on the writing. Still a couple of hours before dark. I’m off!

  June 21

  After leaving here yesterday, I made my way back to Mascot Lake. Kept low, crawled. And finally positioned myself among some rocks directly across the lake from the camp. Like most alpine lakes, this one isn’t very large. From where I hid, I could’ve thrown a rock as far as the tent.

  Not until I had taken my position did I actually raise my head and study the campsite. It had a low, round wall of rocks for a fireplace, and enough wood piled nearby to last all night. There were sawed-off logs here and there for seats. A red backpack was propped upright against one of the logs. A blue backpack was propped against the foot of a tree. The tent was a few yards behind the fireplace, its front facing the lake. The flaps were down so I couldn’t see inside.

  I was giving the place a good inspection when a motion off to the side caught my eye.

  A woman in the trees. And she had a lot of bare skin.

  My heart whammed.

  But the thrill faded as soon as I got a better look at her. She was about twenty years old, had brown hair styled like a football helmet, a flat face with a wide nose, and a short, stocky body. She didn’
t look flabby, just broad. She wore a black bikini that would’ve looked better on someone tall and slim. On her, it looked peculiar. She did have a good tan, though. It was her best feature.

  She seemed to be amusing herself by throwing the hatchet at a tree off to the right of the tent. On the first try I witnessed, she planted the hatchet into the trunk. She strode forward and pulled it out, then turned around and seemed to measure her strides.

  I watched her for a while.

  Felt like throwing something at her. I’d gotten myself all in a sweat to spy on this gal, and worked my tail off sneaking around to where I might have a good view, only to find out she was a bow-wow. Shit!

  I was ready to leave, but didn’t dare.

  Where was the guy?

  Until I found him, I couldn’t move; he might be in a position to spot me.

  I scanned the entire stretch of trees over there, the whole shoreline, the rocky slopes curving around my side of the lake.

  Every ounce of thrill and excitement had drained out of this little adventure. I’d turned into a Peeping Tom for this, and now I was going to be caught and probably beaten half to death or something by this gal’s boyfriend/lover/whatever.

  The gal herself might end up using her hatchet on me.

  They could tie me to her target tree, and have some sport.

  I remembered my sheath knife. Still on the belt of my jeans, back with the rest of my stuff. The idea that I might need to defend myself had never occurred to me.

  Maybe I would be able to outrun the guy.

  WHERE WAS HE???

  Near panic, I looked everywhere. Still no sign of him.

  Had he gone for a stroll up the trail? Maybe he was taking a snooze inside the tent.

  Maybe I’d better try to get while the getting was good.

  But I couldn’t move. I felt frozen. Frozen, but burning up. Even this late in the afternoon, the sun was bearing down on me. There seemed to be no breeze at all. I was being broiled, and sweat poured off me. Still, frozen is what I was.