SODIUM:1 Harbinger

by Stephen Arseneault

  Chapter 3

  _______________________

  The trail out of base camp took us through a deep ravine and into a heavily wooded valley. The uneven ground was tough on the ankles, but we had each been out “practicing” for months whenever we had the chance. North Georgia offered many rugged trails, and we had made use of them to get into shape.

  We were headed for Lake Eleanor and did not expect to make it there before sunset. The further we would get into the backcountry, the more snowbanks we would see. In early June there were still snow pockets to be found in the shady areas of the high elevations. The higher you went, the more snow pockets there were.

  Once into the ravine, we were completely cut off from the outside world for the next ten days. The terrain was beautiful no matter which direction you looked. The clear, cool mountain air moved effortlessly through the evergreens. The only sounds other than our footsteps were the rustle of the breeze through the trees and the occasional bird chirping a warning to others.

  The afternoon passed quickly as we made our way up a valley along the Tuolumne River. All of us had smiles on our faces, and we each were pointing and gawking at every little interesting view that nature had to offer. Everything around us was pure in color and natural in design.

  Susi had been using her camera at every opportunity. Before the trip’s end she would have rolls of pictures for Bull and Allie to choose from for promoting the adventure package. Almost every shot she took would look like what you would see on a postcard. The backcountry of Yosemite National Forest was a wild and beautiful place.

  A slight breeze blew into our faces as we walked. We startled numerous deer and spooked a number of jackrabbits. As the valley narrowed a bit, we came upon a black bear. It was huge.

  I had never seen one up close and I had no desire to now. Bull and Allie advised that we stay well clear of it, as they would sometimes charge if they felt threatened. I had no desire to fend off a bear with my bat, so I stayed in the back of our little gang of adventurers.

  When it came to large animals, I had a phobia; even cows would make me squirm. Whenever I was near a pasture, they seemed to be staring at me with those big saucer eyes. It had always given me the willies.

  We soon made our way safely around the bear and continued on along the river. We had been making good time, so we stopped for a break. I flipped off my pack and sat down immediately on a large rock beside the water.

  It felt good to have the load off my back. My ribs were feeling better, and the swelling from the hornet stings was completely gone. The others soon joined me, and we sat around on the rock for a short time, just taking in the beauty of where we were.

  Bull began to tell us a story from his childhood, a story of his days in the Boy Scouts. His local troop had saved up enough money by doing odd jobs around town to pay for a train ride and a camping trip out to the Rocky Mountains. It had been quite the adventure for the sixteen young boys in his troop.

  Bull told us it was there that his scoutmaster had told them a story about a mountain lion and a Ute Indian boy named Chaate. The young boy was out hunting small game with his father when a grizzly bear surprised and cornered them.

  The boy and his father were each armed with a small spear. The father had done his best to keep the bear at bay until others in their hunting party could arrive to help, but the others never came, and the bear was moving ever closer. Just as the bear was about to make its final lunge, the boy cried out for help from the spirits of their ancestors.

  Moments later a mountain lion sprang from atop a nearby boulder onto the back of the bear. A fierce battle ensued between the bear and the lion. As the grizzly began to get the best of the mountain lion, the boy rushed in, jabbing the bear in the back with his spear. The bear was startled enough that it turned and ran. The mountain lion was severely injured and lay down in the grass where it was.

  The boy and his father watched sadly as the lion soon took its last breath. They knelt to give thanks to the lion spirit for having saved their lives. As they leaned over their fallen hero, a lion cub sprang from out of the wood with its tiny roar. It was an attempt to defend its fallen mother.

  The boy sat on the ground next to the lion and waited patiently while coaxing the cub to come to him. To the father's surprise, the cub's hostile whines soon turned to lost whimpers. Chaate was sad for the cub and grateful for its mother's sacrifice. So he pulled a bit of dried deer meat from a pouch and gestured for the cub to come take it. The father stayed back and became proud that his son was able to calm the animal to the point where it came and ate the deer meat from his hand.

  Before leaving to find the rest of their hunting party, the boy named the cub Minhafa. He then proclaimed it to be his protective spirit. For weeks the boy returned to the spot and brought food for Minhafa. He was always cautious with it being a wild animal, but the cub never made a threatening gesture toward him.

  The boy would sit peacefully in the grass to offer thanks. Minhafa grew quickly on the boy's offerings, and the day finally came when Minhafa did not show up for the boy's food. The father had become concerned about the boy, as the deadly grizzly was still in the surrounding woods. So he forbade Chaate from going back into the woods alone.

  Chaate continued to leave the village when he could slip away unseen. His offerings to Minhafa ended as more and more the young lion would no longer come to meet him. Before long, three years had passed since Chaate had last seen Minhafa. The boy, who was quickly becoming a man, had no fear of going into the woods alone despite his father's wishes.

  One day, as a group of young scouts were out hunting, Chaate stopped to get a drink of water from a stream. The boy laid down his spear, stooped down, cupped his hands in the water, and drank of its goodness. As he reached into the water for another handful, he suddenly heard a heavy breath coming from behind him. He turned his head slowly to see a grizzly only six feet away.

  Chaate had nowhere to run, as the grizzly had caught him by surprise. He could not yell for the others, as they would not make it in time to save him. At that moment he clutched his medicine bag, looked back into the stream, and softly spoke the words, “Minhafa... Minhafa...”

  Just as the bear was about to make its deadly lunge, a mountain lion leapt from the woods onto the bear's back. Chaate was startled, but soon had his wits about him. He picked up his spear and began to jab at the bear as it tangled with the lion.

  He was sure the lion was Minhafa; his animal spirit had come to his rescue. Within a minute the other boys in his party had come after hearing Chaate yelling along with the bear and mountain lion's fierce roars.

  Two of the boys began shooting arrows at the animals, but Chaate yelled at them to only shoot the bear. As the battle ensued, the bear began to lose ground and made a run for the woods. As the injured bear ran, the lion sprang across the stream and bolted up into the woods on the other side.

  The young scouts gave chase to the bear and had it cornered and weakened shortly thereafter. The old grizzly’s time had come to an end. The boys later returned to their village with a great prize. Chaate did not pursue the bear, but instead stayed at the stream looking longingly for his friend.

  Chaate's bravery eventually led him to become chief, and he claimed to have had several more encounters with the lion throughout his days. The lion never threatened him, but would seem to appear from nowhere if Chaate was in peril. His teepee was adorned with many deerskin paintings of Minhafa, and his animal spirit became the spirit protector of his people.

  The scoutmaster then told of how each of the scouts could summon their own spirit protector by going down to a stream. While spreading the water slowly with their hands, they would call out, “Minhafa... Minhafa...” And that was the story.

  Kyle chuckled and shook his head. He referenced the story as nothing more than a tall tale, and he began to tell Bull exactly what he thought of “Minhafa.” So Bull challenged him to call his own animal spirit from the river. As a sign of defiance, Kyle
decided to accept Bull's offer. He would show that the story was nothing more than Bull’s scoutmaster having fun with a bunch of kids. So Kyle moved over and knelt beside the water, stuck his hand in, and said, “Minhafa.”

  Bull insisted that he was doing it all wrong and that he had to look down into the water. He was to move both hands out, slowly clearing and calming a spot in front of him. So Kyle turned around, looked intently into the river, and once again said, “Minhafa.” This time he moved his hands outward to calm the water.

  As soon as his hands were out to his sides, a big, heavy hand grabbed the back of his head and dunked it into the cold mountain water. Kyle came up swinging while everyone laughed at his expense. As Bull jumped back laughing, he blurted out that a dunk was exactly what his scoutmaster had done to him and that he had waited twenty years to pass the story on to someone else. Everyone had a good laugh, and given Kyle's good nature, after his first moments of rage, he soon had a laugh himself. He shook his head and admitted to how gullible he had been.

  With the prank complete and our feet rested, it was time to get back on the trail. I was sometimes superstitious, so after making sure Bull was not close enough to give me a dunk, I went over to the water’s edge, leaned over, and said my own “Minhafas.”

  As we put our packs back on, Bull continued talking about how even though his scoutmaster had dunked him, as he had just dunked Kyle, he had told the kids that the story was true. It had been passed down through many generations of the Ute Indians.

  As we began our walk back along the river, Bull turned back toward us to speak and suddenly put his arms out, stopping our progress. He pointed downstream from where we had come. We turned to look, and just down the river about seventy-five yards, up on a large rock overlooking where we had been, stood a large mountain lion. Chill bumps rose on my arms from the coincidence of the lion and Bull's story. I had a death grip on my bat even though the big cat was far away. I grew nervous thinking that I would only have one swing at protecting myself. And here I was, in the woods with another large animal.

  As quickly as Bull had stopped us, the mountain lion looked our way for a moment and then casually turned and strode off into the woods in the other direction. We stood for five minutes looking back for any sign of its return. I suddenly came to the realization that my seemingly secure place in the back of the pack was not so secure. In a cowardly move, I stepped up and began talking to Allie to help secure my spot in the middle. It was not a moment to be proud of, but it was who I was.

  With the immediate threat diminished, we hiked for another hour before stopping to find a spot to set up a night’s camp. When we came to a shallow area of the river, we decided it was as good a place as any to cross. The footing was dicey and the water was frigid cold, but we managed our way across without incident.

  Since evening was approaching and we were ready for a rest, we selected a site by the river. We found a flat area about thirty feet from the river’s edge where we could tie lines between several trees to string up our tarps. Shortly after unpacking a campfire was lit.

  Bull pulled out a fly rod and was once again at the water attempting to stretch out the food we carried. The trout from base camp the night before had been delicious, and everyone was eager to have more.

  As Bull fished, Allie and Susi began to scout the surrounding area for small game. Allie was a crack shot and used Susi's High Standard .22. The small caliber would allow the bulk of the animal to be left for cooking if she happened to make a kill.

  Kyle and I had firewood duty and gathered more than was necessary to get us through the night. The temperatures during the day were reaching the upper sixties, and at night they would drop to near thirty. The low humidity and our nylon sleeping bags would make for a comfortable night’s sleep.

  Bull landed two trout, and Allie and Susi managed two squirrels while gathering a load of gooseberries. Our meal was set for the evening. The skies grew dark quickly. It was a moonless and cloudless night. A few feet away from the fire, the Milky Way was clearly visible. Our high altitude and ultradark skies would have made any astronomer giddy with excitement.

  We chatted around the fire for several hours before rolling out our sleeping bags to slip. After the day’s journey, all except for me were fast asleep. Being a light sleeper I could not shake the sight of the mountain lion from my head. Every little bump in the night had me sitting up and looking around.

  An hour after the others were fast asleep, the fatigue of the day finally took hold and I dozed off. It was just about midnight when my slumber was first disturbed. I awoke feeling something moving in my left hand. I felt around slowly for a flashlight with my free hand, fearing that I would end up with a snakebite or scorpion sting.

  When I turned on the light and shone it on my hand, I froze in terror. A big, brown, hairy spider was sitting square in my palm. It took me several seconds to return from the panic of terror to reality. I let out a high-pitched squeal and shook the beast from my hand. Again the terror set in as I looked back at my hand and the thousand baby spiders that were then scurrying in every direction.

  The others were now sitting up and reaching for their guns when I jumped up and ran over to the last few embers of the fire. I pushed my hand close to the heat in an attempt to drive the spiders off. My misguided attempt only made them scatter further and begin to move up my arm. For whatever reason, I was too overcome with fear to just brush them off with my other hand.

  I next ran to the river and dove into the frigid mountain water to wash them from my arm. The bitter cold did not deter me from getting rid of the thousand tiny terrors. I splashed around, letting out numerous squeals, for several minutes before I emerged from the water soaking wet and shivering.

  The others were all standing at the river’s edge with guns drawn and puzzled looks on their faces. When I told them of the spider, they all howled with laughter. When I added in the thousand babies, Bull doubled over on the ground and began to cry as he laughed.

  Whenever Bull laughed, you could not help but want to join in. So, I had a good laugh at my own expense while putting more wood on the fire. I desperately needed to warm my chilled body. It took another half hour before the camp was once again settled down and the adventurers were dozing off. By 2AM. my eyes were again too heavy to remain open, and I drifted off into a blissful sleep.

  I wasn't sure how long after it was when I was awakened by a loud crack and a bright flash. Through my fuzzy, sleepy eyes I could make out what looked like the last of a shooting star dropping over the horizon to what seemed like only a few miles away. Little did I know that it was a harbinger of things to come. After looking around at the others as they slept, I pulled my sleeping bag up under my chin and soon returned to that blissful place beyond consciousness that we all called sleep.