NSummer
Page 29
“What?” Tallie said.
Tom explained. “Carl was a member of the US Geological Survey team that did the geodetic mapping of this part of the state, way back when. After World War II.”
Roper added, “From the top you can even see the brown smog over Denver. Must be ninety miles away, at least.”
“Is Reba back?”
“Yep. Last night.”
“Why don’t the two of you join us? We’ll all go.”
“Can’t. Reba’s being ornery this morning. Like to, though.”
“She kick you out again?”
Roper shrugged. “I never should have brought her up here in the first place,” he said. “She’s a city girl. Misses all her citified friends.” Roper flicked his ash.
“I love it up here,” Tallie said. She had stuffed her hands in her back pockets. Several very fine strands of brown hair had come loose from her pony-tail and hung down in her face.
Tom was so proud of her, then. She was so naturally herself, this waif of a girl. He wanted to show her off to the whole world. He wanted everyone to know that she was his woman. How fetching she was – slender like a new blade of grass. There were so many things to like about her. He liked the slight curve of her hips above her jeans, and her fresh smell, like a wild flower, only better. He liked the graceful way she moved at times. He liked her awkwardness too just as much, and her small breasts. Small was beautiful. He liked the way she held her head up high. She was a proud one, she was, on her good days. And on her bad days he loved her for her amazing courage. He loved her pert manner too. Her musical lilting speech pleased him to no end. Best of all, though, he liked the soulful way she peered out of those beautiful brown eyes of hers. Heck, he even loved those loose strands of hair and how they floated down in her face. Sometimes she blew them out of her eyes, those fine wisps of hair. This time she didn’t, maybe she didn’t notice them; or maybe she just didn’t care. He had half a mind to reach out and brush them back himself, those solitary strands, lighter than air. Not for any particular reason, only because he wanted to and because he liked touching her. She liked it when he touched her, he knew. He did not do it though. He was equally pleased just to admire those loose strands. Even if he could, he would not change a thing, not one strand. He liked her the way she was, wild and free.
“That settles it,” Roper said. “I want you to meet Reba.”
“We could drop by, later.”
“Heck yeah. Come for dinner. I’ll cut us some venison steaks.”
Tallie’s face was a question mark.
“Carl has a large buck curing out in the woods behind his trailer. Suspended from a cross-pole. I’ll show you, if you want.”
“Why out in the woods?”
“To keep it under wraps.”
“Under wraps?”
“Out of sight. The old man poached it.”
“Ohhh...”
“What time is it?” said Tom.
Roper peeled back his sleeve. “Already going on noon.”
“We’re getting a late start.”
Roper laughed and blew smoke. He crushed his cigarette out on the tail-gate.
“We’ll probably be late getting back. After we do the mountain I’m taking Tallie to the hot springs.”
“OK. We’ll eat when you get back. If you get back. Whenever. Be aware, though, if you don’t make it before dark I might have to eat your steaks and mine both.” A strange wrinkle moved across Roper’s brow. His smile was a taunt. “Strictly out of self-defense you understand.”
“Self-defense? Why?” Tallie said.
“Considering the bears.”
Her eyes got very wide. “You have bears?”
“Oh sure,” Roper said indifferently. “Sometimes they come sniffing around at night.”
“You mean, more than one?”
Roper winked. “Last week we had two in one night, didn’t we, Tom? My guess is they’re attracted to Reba, you know, because of her female scent. Too bad they scare the bejesus out of her.”
Tallie’s eyes were like globes.
“No sense tempting them with fresh cooked meat,” Roper said as he climbed back in his truck. “You two have fun on the mountain.”
“Dave, wait a second. I want Tallie to see the bumper sticker on the back of your truck. Tallie, come and check this out.” She stepped around to the back of the pickup. The bumper sticker had two parts and read:
UNDER THE DEMOCRATS MAN EXPLOITS MAN
UNDER THE REPUBLICANS ITS JUST THE OPPOSITE
“I like it,” she said. “And I totally agree.”
Roper gunned the engine, smiling as ever. “Be sure to take along a warm wrap. It can be mighty cold and windy on the mountain.”
He left for the spring. When he had loaded the cistern and came back through camp, Tom hitched a ride up to the landing to retrieve his pickup. As he was getting out, Roper said, “Why don’t you take Shep along. Do him good. He needs a workout.”
“Sure.”
“Shep, you go with Tom.” The dog leaped down out of Roper’s truck, then up again into the back of Tom’s, wagging his tail.
“See you.”
“Later, bud.”
They made ready, packed a lunch, sandwiches, apples, cheese, and raisins, chocolate bars, even a thermos of freshly brewed coffee. They also packed a water bottle, sweaters and windbreakers. But they never made it to Park View Mountain. They never made it out of camp. They ended up, same as before, shacked up in the little tent where they spent a good part of the afternoon in their private reality. Shep was more than content to snooze in the clearing.
FORTY EIGHT
Eventually they rose and dressed. Within the hour they were cruising north toward Walden. Slowly the enormous mass of Park View receded in the rear view. Shep rode in the back of the truck, nose forward, the wind preening his fur.
“What a fine dog.”
“And smart too. How’s your head?”
“Steady.” She was having another pain-free day. The second in a row.
“Marvelous.” They rode with the windows down, the draft in their faces. The July day was near perfect, dry and warm. There was hardly a cloud in the sky.
The country was wide, and the scenery bountiful with colors and vistas on every side. They passed occasional ranches and a few cabins. The roadside was a blush of purple asters, blue bells, and sweet lupine. The ditches brimmed with snowmelt, the water bright in the sunlight. Patchwork fields lay soaking on both sides of the highway. In places the meadows were like a rainbow. High grass was in full tassel along the revetments.
The road hardly wavered from its northwest heading. Tom cruised with a lazy finger on the wheel.
They rode in silence. They had become telepathic. He pointed to a hanging snow-field on a high ridge, west of the highway. It was breathtaking. She smiled and nodded. No need to speak.
The country changed. Now, they motored through the big-belted sage of North Park’s rolling mid-section. Occasional herds of cattle could be seen grazing the distant sage-flats. A few pronghorns dotted the sparse hills.
Just south of Walden he turned west on the highway to Rabbit Ears Pass. He followed it for a mile or so, then turned again onto an unimproved county road with a due west heading. Up ahead, the gravel road vanished into distance. Before them rose the Park Range, crowned by Mt. Zirkle.
“It’s hard to believe this goes someplace.”
“I know. But it does. You’ll see.”
“So, where are the hot springs?”
“At the foot of those high peaks. About seven miles ahead.”
“You’ve been to them?”
“Sure. We learned about them from Carl. The best part is that they were never developed commercially. The springs supposedly belong to the Walden Odd Fellows Club.”
“What a strange name.”
“Yes, how very odd.”
“Smart ass.”
“They’re kind of like the Lions, I guess, or the Elks. Carl says the spri
ngs were man-made.”
“How could hot springs be man-made?”
“Back in the fifties some wildcat driller hit mineral water instead of oil. Hot mineral water; and they’ve been flowing ever since, except for a short time in the 1960s when they ran dry. According to Carl, a bunch of hippies had moved in and set up camp around the springs. Nobody cared much, at first, but eventually the hippies became a nuisance because they wouldn’t leave. The Odd Fellows sent out the local sheriff and a posse to chase them off. But every time they evicted the squatters, the hippies would leave for awhile, then come back when the coast was clear. This went on until the Odd Fellows finally got fed up.”
“What did they do?”
“They sent out a bulldoze operator.”
“To what?”
“Bury them. They plowed them under.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It didn’t work, though. There was too much pressure from underground. After a few months the hot springs opened up again on their own. And I guess they’ve been running free, ever since, at a constant 106 degrees, summer and winter. It’s why they’re so good. They’re plenty hot. For some reason, though, the hippies never came back.”
“Oh, yes they did.”
There was mischief in her eyes. “Oh, I get it. I am you, and you are me, and we are all together.”
“You are the Walrus.”
“I am the Walrus.”
“Ku-ku-kuchub!”
They passed several miles in silence. The road had narrowed. They motored around a bend. “Look,” he finally said. “You can see ‘em. Across that pasture.”
“The hot springs? Where? Show me.”
“See the steam rising along the far edge of that meadow. Over there. If you look close.”
“Yah! Yah! I see the steam!”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if these are the best hot springs in the Rockies.”
“Why are they so good?”
“Well, they are not on any map. Usually, there’s nobody around.”
They slowed and crossed a cattle guard, then, came to a fork. He took the right branch. Turning again, he made another right and followed a rutted jeep trail along an old fence line. The track eventually played out at the edge of a cow pasture. He parked beside an irrigation ditch, full to the brim with fast-moving water. There were no other cars. They had the springs all to themselves. He turned off the engine. The only sound was the gentle breeze whispering in the prairie grass, and water gurgling. A meadowlark warbled in a nearby willow, a flute-like melody.
“Let’s do it!”
“Yippee!”
Tallie grabbed the towels and they spilled out. Shep was gone in an instant, sniffing here and there, this and that, checking out the meadow, that is, after he anointed the nearest fence post.
To reach the springs they had to negotiate a barbed-wire fence; but it was not a serious obstacle. Someone had thoughtfully constructed wooden stairs, which allowed them to step up and over the wires.
By now, Shep was far out in the meadow chasing his nose.
It was a pleasure to stroll the last hundred yards to the steaming springs along the irrigation ditch bordering the meadow. By foot seemed the proper way to arrive at such a place. The springs were five hundred feet higher than the wide floor of North Park, and the view across the valley to the distant Medicine Bow and Never Summer ranges was spectacular. They crossed a small footbridge, just two planks thrown over the ditch, and arrived at the main tank. It fed a series of lesser pools. The temperature of each decreased in stages, as the hot mineral water flowed from one pool down to the next. There was thus a temperature to suit every taste. The last tank was shallow and quite cool. The grass was deep and green where it drained out and the spring finally piddled away.
Without a word Tom leaped out of his clothes into the main tank. Tallie followed. The next moment they were up to their necks, arms floating free, hot mineral water bubbling up from deep underground, tickling their toes and massaging their bare skins.
“I feel ten pounds lighter,” Tom said. She had managed to sneak around behind him and pushed his head under. He got a good ducking but spun away and came up splashing. A furious water fight ensued. However, it soon ended in the middle of the pool where they came together. Another draw. He was hard before she touched him. He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders as she took him in, shuddering slightly. Her pony-tail was soaked, flat against her flushed skin.
Their unhurried coupling in the buoyant water was amazing. The mineral spring served to heighten their senses and, together they floated near to eternity. But the heat was cumulative and in the end it proved too much. They separated before they were done, abandoned the spring and finished casually in the cool grass beside the tank.
After toweling off, they dressed in silence, then, lazed about in the westering sun, amused by the great vole hunt unfolding out in the meadow. Shep the mighty hunter would sometimes double back with his nose down. Each time he sniffed out his quarry he would leap straight up, two feet in the air, at least; all four paws up at the same instant. He pounced the moment he came down.
“Simply incredible.”
“It’s the coyote in him.”
The dance number was comical but effective. Shep bagged several snacks as they watched.
Slowly the late afternoon sun dropped from sight behind the near ridge. The springs passed into shadow. As the day retreated across the meadow the line of shadow perceptibly lengthened across the valley floor. The paradox of the fading sun was that as it sank lower in the West the snow-capped mountains in the East were illumined all the more brightly, until all colors merged in a brilliant gold.
“What a sight.”
“Golly, it’s nice country.”
There was a long silence. “Tallie…”
“Yes?”
“Did you ever feel like...” He paused, then started again. “You know, sometimes I think all I want out of life is to go up into those mountains. And maybe never come back. Does that sound nuts to you?”
“Not to me.”
“Did you ever feel that way?”
“It would be a lot of fun. Tom, you know what?”
“What?”
“Earlier this afternoon, that’s what I was thinking. Remember, I told you I used to spend summers at my aunt Mary’s ranch. When I was very young. What I didn’t tell you is, they used to take me up into those mountains. But it was so many years ago. I had almost forgotten. I was thinking what fun it would be to do it, again. You and I. To go up there...and explore. What a name. Never Summer. It’s easy to see why they call them that.”
“Most years, the snow never melts. Last year, there was almost as much snow on the high peaks in September as in June. Damn near. There are lakes and springs up there too if you know where to look. And a few small glaciers”
“I really want to see Bowen Gulch. Could we go there?”
“Sure. We could follow the Illinois River, all the way in. You know the little creek by my camp?”
“Snyder Creek?”
“Yes. Well, two miles downstream it flows in to the Illinois.”
“See that notch on the horizon.” He pointed across the valley. “Right there. That’s where the Illinois comes out of the Never Summers.” He showed her. “Follow my arm.” She did.
“You mean...that little dip?”
“Yes. We could hike downstream to the Illinois, then make a right turn and follow it back up into the mountains. All the way in. Bowen Pass is at the head of that valley. Once you get above timberline you can tromp for miles through wild meadows and tundra and be as far from civilization as a person can get. You can see about everything that’s worth seeing. Carl says the view from up there is incredible. Then we could drop down the other side into Bowen Gulch. It would be easy. The pass is on the divide. You’ll love the shaggy old spruces. They blew me away. The biggest and oldest trees in Colorado....”
They made it back to Roper’s in time for dinner.
A crescent moon was up. There was more than enough pale light to see by, and to move about camp without tripping or bumping into things. Slowly, deliberately, he made his way through the lodgepoles to the edge of the meadow. He sat on the grassy slope listening to the wind. How he loved these unsettled nights. Frogs were sounding off down by the creek. “Galumph! GALUMPH! Galumph!”
A few clouds raced before the moon. Something stirred in him. He felt the start of something. What? He had no idea. Maybe another poem. Whatever, it was still formless. He moved to the temporary table near the fire pit. He had fashioned it by lashing together some poles and old boards. It was crude but served the purpose of a “camp table” well enough. He decided to forego the lantern. He didn’t want the hissing to distract him. He wanted to hear the night around him, especially the wind. He sat down, snapped on his flashlight, and laid it sideways.
That will do.
He could work nicely within its parabolic beam. He felt now that the thing inside him was a poem trying to be born.
He was pregnant and his labor was about to begin. He picked up the pen, but set it down again and cracked his knuckles. No hurry. He could wait. Whatever was coming would happen at its own speed, in its own time. He picked up the pen again and doodled on the yellow pad. Then he wrote the first thing that came into his head. Once the words started they flowed out. They were attached to feelings. He worked fast. The first verse came out like a fetus, perfectly formed. No changes were needed. Here is what he wrote:
There’s nothing like a skinny