SODIUM:1 Harbinger

by Stephen Arseneault

  Chapter 4

  _______________________

  Dawn came early, and by the time I opened my eyes, Bull and Allie were already up and catching breakfast. Kyle came over and frizzled my hair with his hand while telling me it was time to get up. I rolled over to shield the early light from my eyes in an attempt to catch those last few zzz's.

  After my roll, Kyle decided to have a little fun by telling me not to move because there was a spider on my sleeping bag. I knew it to not be true, but the thought of the night before had me wide awake. I got out of my bag and moved over to warm myself by the new morning campfire.

  Susi had packed a small tin of ground coffee that was brewing over the fire. It was a surprise to me, and as an avid coffee drinker I was salivating at the thought of a nice cup o’ joe. The coffee was black and harsh, but it was heaven in a cup.

  By the time Bull and Allie returned with our morning feast of a jackrabbit and two more squirrels, I was ready to get at the day. The catch was skinned and gutted in the river and then staked out over the fire. Small game was plentiful in the Yosemite backcountry, and it had not been a particularly harsh winter, so we hoped to not be bothered by hungry beasts.

  As we sat around the fire eating, I told the others of the bright flash from the night before. Kyle quipped that perhaps I was hallucinating after being bitten by the spider. The more I talked about the event, the more it made me wonder.

  The loud crack and the flash had awakened me, but all I had seen was the tail end of the streaking light. It struck me as funny that even as close as it seemed to be, there was no noise or vibration from an impact. The others had passed it off as a shooting star, but for whatever reason, I could not agree.

  We broke camp soon after breakfast and began our day’s hike to our first real landmark, Lake Eleanor. The nearby reservoir of Cherry Lake had just been dammed a year earlier, so we left it off of the trails we had chosen. Lake Eleanor was 26,000 acres in size and provided both water and power to San Francisco. Since this was supposed to be a wilderness trip, we branched off early from Eleanor Creek to bypass the dam.

  It was midafternoon when we reached the southern edge of the lake. We broke for lunch and a brief rest and then quickly got back on the trail. The scenery from the edge of the lake was stunning.

  The pure blue sky reflected off the glassy, motionless water. You felt as though you could pick up a flat rock and skip it all the way to the other side, nearly a quarter of a mile away. The wildlife was plentiful along the lake, as we startled many jackrabbits and spotted many hawks. Wild turkeys were occasionally seen scurrying in and out of the brush.

  The woods were bountiful in 1957, and on our second encounter with a turkey, Allie bagged a ten-pounder. Again using Susi's .22. The unlucky fowl was plucked, cleaned, and packed away for dinner later that evening.

  We spotted a red fox, which Bull looked up in his Animals of Yosemite book. The book said the fox had likely been hunted to extinction and had not been seen since the 1920s, but there it was, quickly scampering out of sight before Susi could snap a picture. The rediscovery of the Nevada red fox would have to be left for another day.

  As the hike continued, we reached a sandy beach where Frog Creek would lead us up to Laurel Lake. Once at Laurel Lake, we would make camp for the evening. The terrain that day had not been difficult, but it had been a long hike, and we were all eager to sink our teeth into the turkey.

  When we reached Laurel Lake, Allie dressed the turkey for the fire while Bull and Kyle had their go at fishing. We ate well that evening and sat around the campfire afterward talking about the day’s rewards. As darkness once again fell and the fire began to die down, we each made our way into our sleeping bags under the tarps.

  In another cowardly move, I had managed to position my bag between the two couples. If something was going to invade our campsite, I did not want to be the unfortunate person that it attacked. I was still unable to fall asleep as easily as the others and lay awake thinking about where we were and what we had seen that day.

  It was then that I got an urge to answer nature’s call. I would have to go into the woods by myself in order to drain my now-ready-to-burst bladder. I cursed myself for having not gone when everyone was up and the campfire was still going strong, but nature had a way of not cooperating when the time was most convenient. I slid out of my bag, picked up my bat, and walked into the edge of the dark, sinister wood nearby.

  I leaned the bat against a tree and began to relieve myself. I was startled when I heard a rustling sound off to my left. I peered into the dark wood while attempting to hurry as fear began to get the better of me. In my state of nervousness, I could not finish my pee as the darkness seemed to creep ever closer.

  It was then that I had to pinch off in midstream... there were two deep-red, glowing eyes that were looking in my direction from about forty yards away. The red devil eyes then turned into brighter fine points and narrowed as if focusing on me directly. I reached for my bat and knocked it over. I then fumbled on the ground in the darkness trying to find it. When I finally got a grip on the handle, I jumped to my feet and ran back into camp.

  I quietly awakened Bull and the others and began to tell of what I had seen. Kyle immediately pointed out that my fly was open. Their next reaction was to laugh and tease me again about the spider. But I persisted in my story, so Bull and Kyle got their handguns and followed me to where I had seen the red devil eyes.

  We stood for ten minutes, looking and listening, but nothing moved or made a sound. When Kyle had seen enough, he turned with a huff and made his way back to the tarps. Bull stood with me another few minutes while I swore to him that I had seen two red eyes. I described how they had focused in on me.

  Bull gave me the benefit of the doubt, as he knew from my reactions that I had indeed seen something. Sometimes an animal’s eyes in the wood can reflect light and appear to glow, but that would only happen if a light was being shone in their direction. There were no lights around other than the dull embers of the fire, and I had come to relieve myself carrying only the bat.

  I felt bad for waking the others and then not having anything to see. I told Bull we may as well wait and come out to look in the morning. He agreed and sent me back to the tarps while he stayed to take a break of his own. I was almost back by the smoldering campfire when five loud shots rang out, striking fear into my heart.

  The girls were instantly up, and with their guns at the ready, they and Kyle hustled over to where Bull was standing. I then realized that I was alone in the camp with only my bat. I made haste to join the others.

  As I approached, Bull had one arm out with his hand facing back at us, telling us to stop. He then brought one finger up to his mouth to attain our silence. We all listened intently and heard nothing but the constant chirp of crickets.

  Another five minutes passed, and we moved back to the tarps. We sat up for several hours discussing what had happened. Bull had seen the red devil eyes too. He said they had appeared to be moving slowly toward him, so he had drawn his .45 cal and fired off the five shots we had heard.

  He thought one of those five rounds may have hit its target, as whatever it was had jerked quickly. It then let out a hiss and turned away. He could barely make out the sound of it moving quickly off through the woods. We relit the fire and decided that two of us would stay up and keep an eye out for the intruder. Bull and Allie would go first, while Kyle and I would take the early morning watch. It was again difficult for me to get to sleep, but the fatigue of the day soon took its toll. I dozed off soundly.

  It was 3AM when Bull awakened us for our monitoring duty. As we sat by the fire peering off into the woods, I told Kyle of the strange light and noise I had seen the night before. I told him I thought it was probably a shooting star, even though it had appeared to slow slightly before dropping behind the ridge. And I had expected a vibration or at least some faint noise of an impact, but had not heard nor felt any.

  As we sat by the fire, we lo
oked through Bull's manual of Yosemite animals and found no reference to red, glowing eyes. Again I was to the point of fondly thinking about my boring insurance job. I thought about how good the warmth, comfort, and security of my own bed would feel. I had been on a roller coaster this entire trip, and I had no vision as to where the next turn, drop, or mishap was going to be. In my normal obsessive way, I began to believe I would never be going home... home to the peace and security of Atlanta.

  When dawn finally came, the others were up and moving about the camp. We had grits and leftover turkey for breakfast. We then began packing up for our next hike. Before we left, it was decided that we would search the woods around where the red eyes had been seen.

  For half an hour we walked, looking for any sign of whoever or whatever had been out there. Bull could find no trace of animal tracks, and we were just about to give up when Allie noticed a small spot of liquid on top of a boulder. There were several drops of whatever it was.

  On the ground just below it was a large, almost perfect circle. It looked as though something had been poured over it, dissolving all the grass, weeds, and sticks, leaving an almost bare spot of nothing but dirt.

  It would not have drawn our attention had it not been an almost perfect circle. With nothing other than the anomaly to look at, we again turned our attention back to the liquid. Bull smelled it and remarked that it had an oily smell. He then touched it and rubbed it between two fingertips. He said it was definitely a type of oil and that it had not come from an animal.

  There was someone else in the woods with us, and we were going to have to keep a close watch out for them. I hoped that it was just some other nosy hikers, but the fact that one of them, or at least something they had, had been hit by a .45 cal round had me edgy and wishing I had a gun of my own. We looked around for several minutes and then made our way back to the packs.

  The fire was soaked with water from the lake to make sure we did not start a disaster. You would not want to be trapped in the woodsy, grassy backcountry with a wildfire chasing you. With a little bad luck and the wind blowing in the wrong direction, you could easily be overtaken by the flames or smoke. For hikers, a wildfire was an extremely dangerous event.

  With the campsite clean, we donned our packs and proceeded on to the next leg of the journey. I again managed to be in the middle of the group, not wanting to be surprised by whoever or whatever had been spying on us the night before.

  The day’s hike would be to the northern edge of Hetch Hetchy Reservoir. We would have a stop at Tueeulala Falls, Wapama Falls, and finally Rancheria Falls. Bull had a trail map with topological info on it, and with our trusty compasses, it seemed rather easy to navigate our course.

  We made our way back to the south down the other side of Frog Creek. When we left the creek at a big bend, we continued on for a short distance before starting to make our way down to Hetch Hetchy. It was a fifteen-hundred-foot drop over the next several miles. The downward trek compared to our prior day’s ascension helped to speed us along the way.

  We arrived at Hetch Hetchy about a half mile up from the dam and proceeded eastward toward Tueeulala Falls. Tueeulala Falls was a high falls and made for impressive pictures this time of year. The creeks and streams that fed it were all at high levels from the spring and summer snowmelts. It took us two hours to hike to the top of the falls; at close to nine hundred feet of incline.

  We broke for lunch and a rest while we gazed over Hetch Hetchy Reservoir from our lofty perch. Again, the scenery was breathtaking. And as I had suspected might happen earlier, Susi had used her last roll of film. We rested for half an hour and then began our hike back to the trail below. The almost two-hour trek going up turned into a half-hour hike on the way down.

  It was just after lunch when my legs really started to feel a burn from the hike. I found myself happy that Wapama Falls was only a few hundred yards further on.

  Wapama Falls was huge compared to Tueeulala. The volume of water was easily three to four times as much. When we again reached the edge of Hetch Hetchy, we took a break and rested. With all of the wondrous scenery, the fear and the troubles of the night before seemed to fade away.

  From Wapama we proceeded on along the shoreline of Hetch Hetchy. We had a fantastic view of Kalona Rock, which jutted upward from the opposite shoreline. Kalona was a massive piece of granite that rose almost a thousand feet up. It seemed to loom above you as you walked. The elevation continued to increase as we hiked toward Rancheria Falls.

  There were several sets of falls along Rancheria Creek, and our path would take us past them all. As we continued, the terrain had turned rocky and once again uphill, so our forward progress slowed. I was getting fatigued, and I was sure the others were starting to see it in my increasing grumpiness. When we arrived at the second set of falls, we decided it was as good a place as any to set up camp.

  I was exhausted, but somehow my sister seemed as chipper as ever. She had continued on with her fitness through gymnastics and running since her college days. I, on the other hand, usually spent my spare time cozied up to the bar trying to entertain clients. I had gone out hiking for several months before coming on the trip, but apparently that had not been enough. I slid out of my pack, removed my boots and socks, and walked over into the icy-cool water of the creek.

  The cold bit into my feet and I immediately hopped back out, but after another try I began to feel relief. As I stood in the water, I turned to see the girls setting up the tarps while Bull and Kyle headed out to hunt down dinner.

  Even though Yosemite was a national park, back in the 1950s the rangers did not seem to mind if wilderness hikers in the backcountry hunted small game. Since there were not a lot of visitors, there was no real danger of overhunting. Commercial hunting, though, was absolutely banned and, if you were caught, it came with hefty fines. This night we once again had squirrel, and we chopped up three of the six potatoes I was carrying in my pack. I was glad to be rid of the extra pounds I had been carrying, and the squirrel stew hit the spot.

  After eating, the girls had asked us politely to go off into the woods because they wanted to bathe in the falls. We were all in need of a hygienic overhaul at that point, so we obliged and walked downstream. We were soon out of sight. With an hour of daylight remaining, they washed and hung their clothes and got into the spare sets they had in their packs. We returned after twenty minutes and then sent them downstream so that we could do the same.

  The water was frigid, but it felt good to once again be clean. We had been on the trail for three solid days. It was funny how back then body odor did not seem to bother people quite as much. It was an odor that would be completely unacceptable when back in the business circles of Atlanta. I later wondered if we were all just so used to it that we accepted it as a part of life.

  We had planned on staying around the area a little late in the morning to allow for extra rest, which would be followed with a shorter day of hiking. With the coming elevations, the terrain was only going to get tougher. As we settled around the fire, the topic of the red devil eyes again came up. Bull thought it was probably just poachers, or, worst case, it could have been someone looking to rob us. The outfitter had told Bull that he had never run into trouble himself, but he had heard the occasional story of a hiker or two being robbed at gunpoint. I was not fond of this new revelation.

  As the sun was setting, we still had a bit daylight left. Bull and Allie decided they would take a walk up the creek as a sort of evening stroll. I got nervous that Kyle and Susi were going to want to do the same, leaving me behind and making me the old fifth wheel, sitting at the camp alone, waiting to be devoured by a large animal. But the two of them made no effort to take a walk of their own, so I continued to hide my cowardly thoughts.

  Bull and Allie came back after twenty minutes. Bull began telling us about a butchered animal just up the creek about a quarter mile. It was a jackrabbit that someone had filleted open and then chopped up as if poking around inside. He thought it curio
us and was now of the opinion that it probably was poachers, criminals, whom he had the pleasure of shooting at the night before.

  Bull was an avid hunter, but he detested sport hunting where no effort was made to make use of the animal. To him, it just seemed like the senseless killing of a living creature. Why not just shoot a tree or a rock, he had often said. Someone had done a very precise carving job on the jackrabbit and had not kept the fur or the meat. What bothered him most was the fact that the rabbit was still fresh. It had been there for less than a day, which meant whoever had done it in was likely still in the area.

  We talked about how we might defend the camp if someone chose to confront us, and about how we would each take a two-hour turn during the night to keep watch. Bull was irritated as he thought and talked about how this could ruin his adventure-package plans. Irritating Bull was hard to do, as I had tried many times over the years to get him riled up. He would usually break down and laugh at my attempts. He was a good guy and great friend.

  As we settled in to sleep, I decided to take the last watch at 4AM. I was usually up at five in the morning at home so I could get that first cup of coffee. I had planned to get Susi's coffee tin to make a cup to start my day off right. I was also keeping Susi's .22 handy in case there was trouble. I was a terrible shot, and a .22 would not do much to stop a man or a large animal, but at least it was something.

  We gathered enough wood to keep a decent fire going through the night and then bedded down with Susi staying up first. The day’s hike had me worn out, and that night I was the first to nod off into nowhere-land. The night’s sleep was blissful.