SODIUM:1 Harbinger

by Stephen Arseneault

  Chapter 2

  _______________________

  The Sacramento outfitter that we had rented equipment from had marked interesting points on a trail map for us to stop and see. One of those points was a waterfall he thought we might enjoy. It was a ten-minute hike off the right side of the trail; he insisted it was worth a look.

  When we exited the jeeps, I was given the option of staying behind. I once again insisted that I continue on. I was stubborn when it came to quitting; it was as though I always felt I had something to prove. Desperately needing to resolve unfinished business was a character trait that would dog me for the rest of my life.

  As we hiked along a rabbit trail, we kept an eye out for rattlesnakes. The snakes would sometimes be found along animal trails, sunning themselves in a warm spot while awaiting their prey. I stayed in the back of the pack as I didn't need to add a snakebite to my growing list of maladies.

  The trail proceeded up a gentle slope that was lined with meadows of ponderosa pine, fir, and incense cedar trees. It smelled wonderful, and despite my aches, the cool, dry mountain air made for a pleasant hike. We met up with a small stream that further down fed into the larger one we had crossed earlier. Our instructions were to proceed to the stream and then continue left, going upstream for another three hundred yards.

  The hiking was easy in and among the towering pines, as the thousands of years of needles falling had made a somewhat flat forest bed. The stream was ten feet wide and probably a foot deep in the middle. The downhill grade was steep enough that the water rushed endlessly by on its way out of the paradise that Yosemite was.

  As we came into a clearing we were greeted with a grand view of a thirty-foot waterfall. It dropped straight down into a naturally dammed pool at the bottom. The pure blue sky once again made the views undeniably incredible. Three deer went bounding off into the woods on the other side of the pool as we approached.

  Susi snapped a picture of the waterfall and then lined us up for a group photo. Her fancy camera had a timer on it that allowed her to press a button and then sneak into the picture before it was taken. We took two more just to be certain we had a good shot as it wasn't likely we would all be back that way again. Several clicks of the camera later, we were all released to wander about and take in nature's rewards.

  As we stood around gaping, I got the crazy notion that I wanted a picture taken with me standing at the top of the waterfall. I desired to have my own little piece of the story to tell that was not a whopping disaster. I could see a path through the rocks over to the left that looked easy enough for me to climb. The others thought it was not such a good idea given my prior mishaps, but as the injured party, I insisted.

  I made my way over to the boulders and began my climb. They were much bigger than they had appeared from our streamside viewpoint, but there was no way I was going to turn back. After a few shaky handholds and slips of my boots, I was able to make it to the top. It provided me with a feeling of accomplishment the trip had so far lacked.

  I walked over to the falls and made my way onto a flat rock that jutted out on the left-hand side. A fir tree stood on my right and the stream went over the falls on my left. I yelled down to Susi to get her camera ready. When she waved her hand, I thrust my arms out to my sides in a victory gesture. Despite my earlier troubles, I was finally having a bit of fun.

  Had I been paying attention to my surroundings, I would have noticed the large hornet’s nest in the fir tree to my right. I bumped a branch with my right arm as I stretched out for the shot. It was like an instant black cloud of angry hornets formed as the nest emptied and the steady hum of beating wings grew.

  Being of the keen emergency mind that I was, my reaction was slow. As the first two hornets jabbed their stingers into my right arm, the pain was enough to make me scream like a little girl. With a physical reaction I proceeded to drop and roll away from the nest. It was my only good instinctive move of the day. My roll sent me backward into the rushing stream and then over the waterfall to the grand pool below.

  The water was once again icy cold, and in my initial reaction to it I again took an unhealthy swig of it into my lungs. I was lucky that after falling the thirty feet, I landed square in the center of the deep pool. I was also lucky that the hornets did not follow.

  This time it was Allie who dove in and pulled me to the surface. As she dragged me to safety, Bull and Kyle clutched my arms and began to run. With one big pull they had me out of the water as they ran us away from the black swarm above.

  When they stopped, I sank to my knees and spat out several ounces of icy mountain water. The day was only half over, and I was now on my third major mishap. Only due to Allie's quick thinking had I managed to once again not drown.

  As I slowly got my breath back, my right arm began to swell. We made our way back to the jeeps as hurriedly as we could. I had never been stung by a hornet and was unsure of how my body would react. By the time we got to the vehicles, the swelling had slowed. While in pain from the stings, I was not in danger.

  We sat by the jeeps for another twenty minutes. The others once again offered to turn back toward the safety of civilization. I again would have none of it. As the wheels of the jeeps once again began to roll, I sat back and held onto my leather strap to further contemplate my miserable existence. The final hour on the trail was uneventful except for the constant bumping and bouncing that I had come to endure. By the time we rolled into base camp, my arm had almost returned to its normal size.

  As we rolled into the clearing at base camp, there was a small wooden sign that said “Welcome.” The jeeps were packed heavily with several large tents and a hoard of other supplies. We would spend the next night and half the next morning relaxing at base camp before beginning our long hike on foot.

  Within an hour the tents were set up, a campfire was going, and the supplies had been unpacked. I felt a bit like a heel sitting over on a rock while watching the others make camp. My usefulness was limited, and they were insistent on my resting. So, I watched as the four people who made up my little world moved about preparing for the day’s end.

  With the daylight waning, Bull retrieved two fly-fishing rods and asked if I wanted to join him. I would have trouble casting, and with my lack of fly-fishing experience, I declined. I found a large, flat rock to sit upon while Bull and Allie waded into the ice-cold waters. This time, they had tall rubber boots on that would protect them from the cold. I sat in the last spot of sun as it began to fall behind a ridge.

  As I sat back and listened to the sound of the rushing stream, I could hear not too far behind me the call of a California pygmy owl. That call was immediately followed by the call of a great horned owl. I had no idea of what birds they were at the time other than being owls, but it brought a calming end to a day when I had been bounced, bruised, nearly drowned— twice—and stung by hornets. As I rested, the sounds of nature and the beauty of Yosemite brought me back to the place of happiness that I had achieved earlier, if only for a moment, as I stood on top of the waterfall.

  After fifteen minutes in the stream, Bull and Allie came out with four large trout. They proceeded to gut and clean them along the edge of the stream. The fillets were then brought back to the campfire to cook for dinner. Our friend in Sacramento had supplied us with steaks packed in dry ice; along with the trout, we had a feast fit for a king.

  I was stuffed and satisfied as the darkness overtook the small meadow. During the next half hour the temperature dropped almost twenty degrees, making the campfire that much more appealing. We sat around the fire laughing at the day’s events, which were mostly at my expense. Bull quipped that I would have plenty to tell everyone when I got home... if I got home.

  As the fire slowly burned down to just embers, first Kyle and Susi, then Bull and Allie, made their way into their respective tents. I followed just after. The soft grass of the meadow and the extra bedrolls that we had packed in the jeeps made for a comfortable first night’s sleep. I was normally a
light sleeper, but the day had me fatigued. As soon as I hit my sleeping bag, it was lights out until dawn.

  I awoke the next morning to the sound and smell of bacon frying in a skillet. When I emerged from the tent with sleep in my eyes, it dawned on me that we had no sinks or running water to wash up with. Bull pointed me toward a stack of towels and then to the stream with a big grin on his face. The ice-cold water along with the cool morning temperature was a real eye-opener. After washing up, I quickly made my way back to the warmth of the fire.

  The plan for the day was to break camp and to pack up the supplies we would not be taking with us. They would be bound and hoisted up into the trees in an attempt to keep wandering bears from getting at them. We would then prepare our packs for the hike.

  The Sacramento outfitter had arranged for the jeeps and leftover supplies to be picked up that afternoon. Once out of base camp, we would have no contact with the civilized world until we reached the trail end at the town of Lundy. We had a long hike ahead.

  After a good breakfast, the morning was spent packing and preparing. We left enough food out for sandwiches and then proceeded to go over a checklist for each of our packs. I was a bit embarrassed, as my pack was lighter than Allie's. But I wasn't going to complain. Allie was an avid hiker and in much better physical condition than I.

  For protection, Bull carried a .45-caliber Colt M1911A1, while Kyle and Allie had Browning 9 mm HPs. Susi had a new Hi Standard .22. Bull also carried a 1956 Kodiak bear bow. It pulled fifty-seven pounds, making him the only one of us able to use it. His quiver only had four arrows, so he had no plans of using the bow until we neared the final days of the trip.

  I was not a firearms enthusiast, having accidently shot and injured my dog as a kid. I instead chose to carry a hickory Hillerich & Bradsby S44 baseball bat that I'd had since my high school days. It was the same bat that Pat Ankenman had used when he played for the Brooklyn Dodgers during WWII. For being in the big leagues and weighing in at only 125 pounds, he was a remarkable player. His achievements had always given me confidence that I could overcome any physical hardships that came about because of my height.

  For a short guy, I swung a mean bat back and had a rocket arm. My big problem was with catching the ball, and with that problem, so went my high school baseball dreams. Handguns made me nervous, while my bat was an old friend. I figured I could also use the bat as a substitute for a walking stick. My protection on the trip would be limited to a circle with a five-foot radius.

  By 11AM. we were ready to break for our lunch before starting our eighty-seven-mile trek through the wilderness. I had a nervous energy about me. On one hand, I was excited to get going, and on the other, I was dreading the physical pounding that I was sure to be enduring. But I reasoned that if my sister could do it, well... then so could I.

  Bull had flown out to Sacramento a months earlier to set up the trip. He was amazed and delighted at some of the new backpacking gear coming out of the area. He had planned to use much of it for our excursion. The fifty-pound pack for a week in the wilderness was becoming a thing of the past.

  We packed two ten-by-fifteen polyethylene tarps to share as shelter. They weighed almost nothing and rolled up nicely on top of my new lightweight aluminum pack frame. We had two hundred feet of nylon rope, which also provided a weight savings. We also carried some of the first available nylon sleeping bags, which weighed in at less than six pounds each.

  All the savings in the gear meant room for extra food or other nice-to-haves. Since I only weighed in at 160 pounds myself, those savings made a huge difference in the weight I would have to carry. My pack frame, fully loaded, came in at 27 pounds. It was heavy, but I was ready for the task. Bull was our big hauler and had loaded his own pack to 48 pounds.

  The pack frames also sported padded hip mounts that added to the comfort on a long journey. Kyle and Allie were each loaded with 38 pounds, while Susi's pack weight matched mine. Together we were hauling 170 pounds of gear plus a few extra pounds for sidearms… and my ball bat.

  I was told by the others that my pack would get lighter as we went along. The moment I put it on, I felt like I might have been deceived. I could tell it was going to be a long second half of the day as we made our way out of base camp. I looked back fondly at the Jeeps and had to resist the urge to run back, back to the civilized world where sinks, showers, and electricity were available to all.

  Had I known what was coming, I would have never left the safety and security of Atlanta. There is something to be said about the bliss of not knowing everything, especially if you are the only one who wants to talk about it. Sometimes you have to accept whatever it is that life throws at you and continue on while putting down one foot after another. Our real journey was only just beginning.